Being at Cambridge is like being on Big Brother. Am I right? (*hint* - I am right.)

Think about it.

Flashback to Fresher's Week: a group of weirdly intelligent, hormone-fuelled strangers are placed in a house, compelled to befriend one another, made to compete with one another for the chance of becoming successful Chancellors of the Exchequer, Presidents of the JCR, ultimate BNOCs. They live, work, sleep and breathe in this shared space, often unable to escape the bubble for weeks.

This social construction – a disfigured microcosm of human life – becomes their norm, where Moët runs freely, gowns are but another outerwear option and stress is merely a universal personality trait. Welcome to Big Brother, the college edition.

You are dropped in at the deep end. Alliances are formed, with some individuals engaging in lecture-note-swapping, others canoodling in secluded corners of college, while some watch films and drink bubble tea as a means of ignoring their responsibilities and adulthood in general (whatever that is).

Others pass the time in the bar, where drink is cheap and cake is in abundance. Others become shut-ins, recluses in a world of grand halls, wine cellars and infinite pomp.

“Life can still be tough. So occasionally, the housemates visit the equivalent of the College Diary Room. You know, those termly meetings with your tutor”

And then there’s the library. Where wi-fi leads to dangerous Facebook/Crushbridge/Instagram stalking and a considerable lack of academic study. Some wise owls read in the corner. Others scan ASOS for formal wear. Being a student is hard.

A series of challenges face the housemates. The frustrations of Saturday morning tourists (I mean, for God’s sake, get out of the road *rings bell aggressively*), the annoying music coming from the room above (Metallica? At 8am?) or the need to write four essays in three days.

Then there’s the considerable lack of Vitamin C and B12 intake, the need to exercise despite eternal exhaustion, the need to curb the number of times one calls one’s mother in a day, the institutionalised compulsion to drink at college receptions, and the infamous ‘intellectual crush’ situation are but a few of the tasks they must overcome. They partake in group challenges: marching against Trump, attending Pink Week Formals, RAG blind dates, debates at the Union. Their unity is touching.

Life can still be tough. So occasionally, the housemates visit the equivalent of the College Diary Room. You know, those termly meetings with your tutor, where you go in expecting a five-minute chat, and end up leaving having regurgitated your life story, your fears, frustrations and aims in life.

Supervisors, deans, directors of studies and the media observe your actions, critique them, drawing conclusions that lead to the banning of BYO wine (at Trinity, at least), a dreaded 2:2 grade in an essay you finished at 1am and the reaffirming of the Cambridge stereotype as a money-burning Tory immune to the struggles of daily life. For some, this results in the need to drop out, to leave the house in the pursuit of something more, for ‘real life’ as opposed to manufactured living.

And then there is the inter-collegiate storeroom: Sainsbury’s. This is where the animalistic tendencies of the Cambridge student come to light. Who will grasp the last box of red grapes reduced to £1.50? Who will claim the fruits (and vegetables) of the refrigerated bargain bin? Whose pizza will be cooked first? Who will nab the last can of gin and diet tonic? Do you really need to buy your fourth bag of Mini Eggs? 

Bravery alone can turn grey skies into Cloud Nine

Then, one’s time in the house comes to an end. If you are one of the lucky ones who have made it to the end of the line, you know that soon it will be time for you to venture out into the real world again – but not before you are ranked, in a particular order (!)

Enter stage left, the Class List. You wait, with bated breath, to see how others have interpreted your performance – are you worthy of a double First? Some are swallowed by the Big Brother house, and remain in academia for eternity. Others go on to greatness, the Cambridge experience launching their career. When they are evicted, no one need ask ‘Who is she?’ – for the people already know. She is a Cambridge graduate, ready to take on the world.

Life may well be a game, but there’s so much more to this world than exams and grand halls, gowns, supervisions and the reading list you are struggling to get through. So, play the game – if you so wish – but make it your own. Shape it, craft it, change the rules and don’t be afraid. Do this, and, I promise, you will win