I was a very curious child, and would rummage through drawer after drawer in my childhood home, often finding old coins, stamps, pictures, tickets, flyers – material manifestations of our lives, forgettable yet essential. Once I found a scrapbook that my mother had put together over many years, and I spent hours running my hands over old napkins, bottle tops, crisp packets, and maps, in awe of their vintage designs and vibrant colours. These bits and bobs were accompanied by small notes, and in my young mind, I met my mother’s younger self, travelling across the world, making mistakes and learning from them. I must have only been eight or nine, but I was enraptured by the scrapbook, and by the triviality of these small, physical items that would usually be thrown away, becoming pages and pages of her life.

“These bits and bobs were accompanied by small notes, and in my young mind, I met my mother’s younger self, travelling across the world, making mistakes and learning from them”

So, when I started at Cambridge back in 2021, I started my own. Nearly four years on it is stuffed so full that it barely resembles a book anymore. The first page contains a small, brown envelope with my first year room number written on it in black biro. I am catapulted back to the bright orange walls and empty bottles of wine that decorated my room. I am nostalgic for the days where first years lived in incredible chaos together, windows facing each other, as we stumbled through living away from home for the first time and went slightly crazy after two years of lockdown. A few more flicks through and I find a near-vintage Woo Wednesday flyer, a ticket for “Lola’s,” before it became “Kiki’s’,” and wristbands from Downing and Jesus May Balls 2022. I fondly remember when I had the energy to attend every Rumboogie, recognising nearly everyone on the dancefloor, and dragging myself to my Thursday morning supervisions with ibuprofen and a dream.

I flick a little further and find my certificate from Halfway Hall, where I was aptly awarded “most overcommitted”. The certificate is coincidentally surrounded by ADC tickets for shows that I choreographed, directed, reviewed and saw with friends. A few pages along is the Trinity May Ball programme from my second year, remembering the decadence of champagne-filled decorative boats, espresso martinis and jazz. I have also cut out the first time my name was in print in Varsity and stuck the pages in. There are flowers, train tickets, receipts, posters, postcards, maps, bookmarks, and business cards, all which tell a tale of the highs and lows of university life, from European choir tours to the Edinburgh Fringe, dissertation stresses to post-exam celebrations.

“dragging myself to my Thursday morning supervisions with ibuprofen and a dream”

I find my old CamFM membership card, photo booth pictures, and the menu from my graduation meal and am reminded of how drastically I have changed since I stuck that brown envelope in the first page at 18, fresh-faced and eager. The most recent few entries include a flyer from Watersprite film festival, a receipt from dinner with a graduated friend, and multiple complimentary tickets to my production of Sweet Charity at the ADC, and I am plunged back into the present, grateful for the bonus year that my masters afforded me.

“I used to justify my ambition by saying ‘prove them wrong,’ but Cambridge theatre has given me a chance to ‘prove them right’”

Stuffed in the back of the book are thank-you cards from my years of Cambridge theatre. These are the truly life-changing components of this notebook, as I am touched by the kind words and encouragement in each and every card, and am hit with a wave of intense gratitude for the far-reaching community that theatre has given me. I used to justify my ambition by saying ‘prove them wrong,’ but Cambridge theatre has given me a chance to ‘prove them right.’

I have dipped my toe into almost every opportunity on offer at Cambridge, and my scrapbook is a vibrant reminder of the fun I had while doing it. I look back with warmth in my heart, and will have these memories in physical form for a lifetime. Perhaps one day, someone will find this book in my attic and be transported back into my youth, full of theatre and friends, pimms and beer, love and loss, and a time full of hope for the future.