The Queer Second Year

The Queer Second Year Once the first year of university has come to pass, some students have noted a strange phenomenon. This oddity, this queer second year, has become common enough nowadays to warrant some kind of explanation. For many students, the first year represents a cacophonic concoction of alcohol, ink, sweat, and saliva.

Our brains sit and soak in this slurry absorbing nothing but the perfection of their rapture. Perhaps, for the first time, we are also able to turn the discordant droning of our pragmatic parents into alcoholic ambience. However, whilst all this is going on, our insoluble sorrows and undigested irritations endure unnoticed and untouched. Once the second year tolls its melancholy round, calling us to take our heads out of this cerebral solution, we are left to chew on the bits and pieces that we ignored.

As the relatively more serious second year strikes, some students find that they are no longer quite as distracted as they once were. In essence, once the pace of University life slows to the restful rhythm of a turning page, some students find themselves dwelling on more than just their work. This phenomenon, in reality, is not as strange or as surprising as the name would suggest.

Going out with friends, drinking, meeting new people, exploring your new surroundings, joining societies, and leaving a dribble of ink left to scrawl an essay are pleasures that provision us with a refuge from all of the most daunting aspects of Uni. Once they are removed, or restricted by a swelling work requirement, we are left pondering larger questions than we are accustomed to: Why am I here? Can I cope with this new life?

Can I live up to my parents expectations? Who am I without the familiarity of my home life? It is unsurprising that we get confused muddling with these riddles, particularly when the level of thought that we must turn into ink makes it plausible to argue that we are more like squids than Homo sapiens! Herein lies the queerness of the queer second year: such compelling and intimidating thoughts were drowned out by comparatively insignificant trifles, but, with the arrival of an important year of education; they are given enough air to gurgle, froth, and splutter imploringly for resolution.

There is no need to balk in fear at the idea of your second year, however. Simple coping mechanisms are easily accessible. You don’t have to try to grasp these slippery worries unaided, like someone trying to catch a fish with their bare hands. More than anything else, simply taking the time to hear how you feel about things is extremely useful.

It is far easier to know how you feel when you escape the distracting clamour of everyday life for the mellifluous melody of serene solitude. So be kind to yourself, do not work too hard, and pursue pleasures that can be enjoyed on your own. It does not take too much imagination to find such things: Perhaps go for a walk somewhere rural, listen to music in your room, go for a run, start a journal, or even spend time with a friend who has courage enough to hear your sincerest feelings.

These simple pleasures provide you with the perfect time to distil the complex chemistry of university life into a far simpler solution. Once you have found the time to know your mind, the queer second year will seem far more familiar and far more friendly.

Phil Connor