Five F*cking Years Later

I graduated.
Yeah, I can’t believe it either.
I spent five years passionlessly studying psychology, and let me tell you, it was taxing. Committing to a field for which you might be suited for, but can’t face, is draining – DRAINING. It reflects in your performance.
It certainly reflected in mine.
I wrote nineteen supps, both by choice and not. I failed seven modules; twice by not even making DP. I was excluded, and in essence, it took five years to complete a three year degree.
Yet, here I am – a waitress with a degree.
I’d start to thank people, but anyone I ever befriended got excluded, got a girlfriend, went to DUT, or graduated before me. I was alone at the end.
This was fine, seeing as I never went to campus anyway.
Any trip was for veg breyani, and veg breyani only.
There were some wonderful campus moments. I met a lot of great people. I got caught eating someone’s face. I climbed onto rooftops. I got too drunk in a carpark. I created a social media sensation, UKZN FitFinder. I ugly-cried outside MTB. I befriended admin staff. I took photos of insects. I did a lot.
Even so, campus isn’t for everybody.
This is surreal. I don’t have words.
I’m not excited. If anything, there’s just a mixture of relief and anxiety.
What next, you know? I don’t want to be a waitress forever.
Suddenly, time is daunting – but only just so. If there’s anything I learnt in these five years, it’s to not act for the sake of doing things.
Fuck the next logical step. You have time. We have time. It’s not worth the demotivation and pressure.
Not even a little.
So, five years later, hey?
I’m done.
Just done.