Results day

I hadn’t seriously considered that things could go wrong on A level results day. I woke up late (to the distress of my entire family) and got a cup of tea. I sat down to open That Email with only a late stage surge of the jitters. 

Rank complacency, but I was confident. I had done the work and I believed that it would pay off. My GCSEs were near perfect, I had straight A*s in my mocks. The preparation had gone well; the exams threw up no last minute doubts. All I needed was A*AA and I would be studying Law at Cambridge. This was an aspiration to which I had dedicated my energies for the better part of my life. To have received an offer was improbable; everyone said getting the grades was the easy part. I’d never had trouble with that before. 

But there they were - three squat B’s on the page.

I have had two years to ponder the whys of those three little letters and I won’t indulge in them here. Suffice to say, they shoved an academic eighteen-year-old into the adult world with a potent and premature dose of life’s favourite lesson: think you can tell? You never can, honey. 

Clearing

Clearing is where students go who don’t fit in a nice production line. The name, I know, refers to the opportunity afforded universities to ‘clear’ spaces they have on their courses. But as a student, raw from a first taste of life’s big ‘downs’, you can’t help but feel you are the one being cleared from the cutting-room floor.

Again and again I read out my name, student number, details, grades. These seemed a foreign thing to me, identity not yet re-moulded following that first scarring in a smooth, certain youth. I had spent weeks agonising over my subject and university choices, hazarding shaky ideas of an independent future. These became fully formed visions as the offers rolled in, details shaded in at interview and open days. Now the choice was beyond my grasp; the loss of agency dizzying. By the end of the day, I was all for doing a runner and joining the navy. 

Then I saw a place for Politics, Philosophy and Economics at Queen’s. I thought the Lanyon was pretty and I thought the country sounded interesting. The idea of quitting England somewhat satisfied the jump-ship impulse which was fuelling all military-related imaginings. Part of me had long wanted to study PPE and secretly shrank from the lettered conformity of the law. So I took the place and I moved to a country I’d never visited before.

In New York for The Future-Ready Skills for Leaders Programme

Arriving

I’m not sure how they’ve achieved this, but every staff member at Queen’s is noticeably and unassailably lovely. Might be something to do with the accent, or the fact that literally everything is ‘wee’ (if you haven’t yet, go pay a visit to the wee big fish. The wee Titanic museum?). Very probably the string quartet and the wide availability of above-standard baked goods at all Queen’s events were significant factors in my first positive impressions.

"Every staff member at Queen’s is noticeably and unassailably lovely."

Whatever the reason, when I flew in and out in one day for the Open Day, a week ahead of moving in, I was sold. I walked though Botanic for the first time in some lucky golden rays of September sun. The birds and the botanicals were doing that thing they do that draws the students in and won’t let them leave til closing. And there it was: a settled quiet. Yes, my options were narrowed by circumstance. But at that moment, I chose Queen’s as freely as in all those hours spent noting and crossing out and ticking the other alternatives, back in Year 12.

I quickly had confirmation of my accommodation in Ash Ave, BT9, and I moved there with my Dad. Had an explore of the Treehouse (very bougie, lots of free stuff - make use of it, first years). Munched some Tayto for the culture (in hindsight a poor move as I never did like crisps). And there I was, sitting alone on a single bed in a very yellow room, my stuff boxed high around me. It was undeniably ugly. Breeze blocks are not a cuddly construction material, however much yellow they are doused in. However, I blu-tacked and I pin-boarded and I was sent hapless plants. Within a week I decided it did a convincing job of industrial chic. By move-out day I considered it perfect.

We had taken the early ferry and on three hours of sleep the faces of my ten flatmates blurred, I forgot their names and the Dungiven accent was a foreign language. I had a sorry can of Heinz soup, feeling exposed preparing meals in front of strangers for the first time. 

My brain was fried and I wanted to crawl back into the cosy blind dependency of childhood. But my family was the other side of the Irish Sea and my friends were probably sitting and feeling the exact same thing at that moment in time - so I did as freshers must and I hit the Union Bar instead.

Settling in; the debateable concluding wisdom of a twenty-year-old

In the first year I climbed a few Mournes, I rowed a few boats, I fell in love and I made wonderful, curious friends. At Queen’s I have won national level rowing medals and travelled to Spain, New York and the UN; I have swum in the prettiest of seas and drank the best Guinness. I have found a subject which lets my mind get at the big questions, the important ones. In Northern Ireland I have found a home of my own. It has its problems and it is the more interesting for it. 

I am often asked if I am glad things turned out as they did, often ready loaded with that terrible truism, ‘everything happens for a reason’ to reassure the asker. To me, comparing an ephemeral former future with a joyful, real present is to compare apples with…seahorses? If I hadn’t come to Queen’s, would I have learnt how the Danish make rice pudding? About Peruvian witches or Zimbabwean fences? Would I have encountered the Belfast nun? Or that guy who feeds the swans on the Lagan at half six every morning, without fail. These experiences are become me. I don’t want life without them.

"Queen’s has been my healing place."

At Queen’s I have won national level rowing medals

Clearing hurts. Everyone feels they have a right to judge you on those little letters, but none of it can near the judgement you cast on yourself. You push on anyway and I promise you, you heal. Queen’s has been my healing place. It has been the place for the making of new wounds, and their healing place. I think this might be what adulthood is. Some people don’t have big life shocks at eighteen; some never do; others have them younger. You overcome them and you are the stronger and the more beautiful for it. Because life starts after those letters.

Find out more

Clearing at Queen's

Information for GB students

Your Student Guide

Ella Howard Politics, Philosophy and Economics | Undergraduate Student | UK Hey! I’m a second year Politics, Philosophy and Economics student at Queen’s. Filling a bit of summer time with some blog writing that hopefully will be of interest and possibly even help to at least one person out there. I am likely somewhere manifesting Stout Cortez in a state of wild surmise. Or Mick Jagger (as in, Get Off Of My Cloud and not one of the more rogue moods of Mick, realised I should clarify). You pick.