Demain...

And thus, I find myself on a tightrope of self-doubt. Tomorrow morning I’ll either reach the other side, or, my rope will be cut, and I’ll fall into the recess below. Excuse my melodrama and let me explain myself. Tomorrow I find out whether or not I’ve been accepted to Cambridge to read Theology. To the majority of the people in the world it will seem like I’m massively over thinking this, but I know I’m not. Which is why I find myself writing this, at a quarter past midnight on a Wednesday morning (Tuesday evening?)

Cambridge is, and has been, my goal for the last 15 years, whether I’ve formally acknowledged it or not. Since I can remember my life was planned out for me – “go to posh prep school, academically flourish, get a scholarship to public school, do well in my exams and go to Cambridge, just like my Dad.”

It sounds so sad to see that on a piece of paper, and many will see it as hopeless, that a four year old girl could have spent her time dreaming of such things, but dreaming I have. Other universities have come and gone, I’ve entertained thoughts of others, and yet, throughout, like that first love you can never forget, Cambridge has never left my mind.  Two years ago now, I visited it properly for the first time, and I fell in love with it all over again. I chose not to apply there the first time around for a variety of reasons: the A*, the lack of social life, Oxford was “better” for English (my then chosen subject), and of course, my brother was applying, and I couldn’t bear the competition. So I applied to Oxford, blindly, like so many do, without looking at my college and without doing much preparation or working on my application much. I turned up for my interview, having not read half the things referenced on my personal statement, hated my college and all the other applicants and spent all my time in the pub with the guy I was trying to impress. He got in, I, unsurprisingly, didn’t.  Cue to this year – I’ve left school, finished my A- Levels, achieved the A*s I so worried I wouldn’t get, and realised I should have just applied to Cambridge in the first place. Having dabbled in Philosophy I realised that I’d actually really rather do Theology – more tangible, as far as I can see it. I spent the best part of 4 weeks writing my personal statement. I can honestly say that while it is by me, it was, in many ways a collaborative piece; I showed it to many people who all gave me their opinions, be it on content or grammar, before I finally sent it in, maybe 3 days before the Cambridge deadline.  Post personal statement I had the supplementary Cambridge questionnaire thrust upon me: more details – what I’d studied at school (in ALL my subjects), all my module marks, another Personal Statement and not forgetting something stupid like 300 characters on what I do in my free time which shows my interest in the subject…(never before have I been so glad that my parents have taken me travelling.)

And once that was all done and dusted? Well, there was the wait to hear if I’d got an interview. I was the last to hear, and the last to have the actual interview, something I was thankful for, so I could finish all those important books I’d mentioned but not quite finished. Well, finish them I did, plus there was the total dissection of my personal statement, the revision of all the topics I’d done for AS and A level. This revision was almost a blessing, seeing how I was working a job I hated where there was next to nothing to do, and the few tasks I had were unbearably dull…. (“Maya, please can you file these papers?” “Oh sorry, I’m preparing my Cambridge application.” “Oh, right, I’ll do it myself, don’t you worry then, good luck.” Etc.)

And finally the big day came. Two interviews, each at a different college, with two different people: four interviewers in total, four people to impress, two chances to make a good impression. I went, I saw, and I have yet to find out if I conquered. Have I done well in interviews in the past? No. And I don’t know if I did well on these. But a girl can pray.

Anyway, this post is not exciting, and no doubt very few if anyone will want to read it, but there we go. I had to write it. This for me is the greatest catharsis. I know how much I worked, I know how much I deserve this, and I know how much I want it. So not everybody will understand why this means so much to me, and I accept that, but the reality is, it does. I pray that I get a place. And if I don’t…well…I guess life will go on.