So that's it, we're done and graduated. Winced at that £45 to hire a hat and a hood and robes that nearly suffocated me on more than one occasion, didn't fall over on my way to accept my degree, got to float around in the prettiest ASOS dress I could find to celebrate the fact I got a 2.1 honours after 4 years of blood, sweat and tears.
It's weird to think: come September I won't be making the pilgrimage back to the steel city to set up home in another flat for another year. I won't be lugging books and binders and flasks of cooling tea to class or the library to try and fit as much as I physically can about East Asian politics and the Cold War and the Rise of China and its untold consequences on the region and Korean Business strategies into the space left by new words and phrases and definitions.
It's weird that: this is the end of my stint in education and I have far more freedom than deadlines and coursework and essays and no I can't I shouldn't I have to study's have ever allowed before.
I'm a sentimental person and I have so much love for university and my experience that I feel I need to be brutally honest with it - about it - to help me transition into a place of peace as this era of my life ends and a new chapter with fresh pages begins.