New Term, New Quinine

Every year in St. Andrews had a different theme; every year had a different feel, a different texture, a different atmosphere. The year in Fife Park, which I will consistently refer to as ‘Second Year’, was a sophomore journey of borderline psychosis. Only an idiot could be nostalgic about some of the memories I will recount.

I am just such an idiot.  I can still recall the élan of those days with a trip through my MP3s folder. Guided by Frank’s discerning taste, I still dearly hold on to The Delgados, Belle and Sebastian, six cover versions of Aha’s Take On Me, and a funny mashup of Star Trek dialogue that makes it sound like Spock is boldly fucking Captain Kirk in the ass.

I was in new territory, all that second year, because I’d been so lost in the first. I’m not proud of the person I used to be. I didn’t know much about the world, but I knew just about enough to be a douchebag. I used to blame everyone but myself when my blindnesses caught up with me. I used to scream and wail with entitlement. I used to be a little shit. And I am lucky, so very lucky, that I did not simply grow into the fullness of adulthood without being made aware of that, as most people do.

When I finally caught up with myself, at the end of the first year in St. Andrews, and at the beginning of this book, I was a damn mess. You should know this. I was happy, all of the time, even when I was miserable; it’s true. But I was miserable kind of a lot, as well.

I made more mistakes in that first year than I’ve ever made. So many that it was sometimes impossible to tell where I’d gone wrong, or what to learn from them. I am fortunate to have had friends who were in equal parts forgiving and critical, or else I might have never known.

A lot of Freshers died in that first year. Seven or eight, I think. A few fell off cliffs. One of them was one of us, though I never knew him well enough. There weren’t many other years like ours. For one guy, it was at the very beginning of the year, away on an introductory Mountaineering Club field trip, held even before any lectures had begun. His parents were still in town, in fact. I can’t imagine anything worse. Then again, some poor chap got hit in the chest with a football and died on the spot. All of which goes to show that you can never tell how things are going to work out.