Three strikes and a pandemic: A letter to the class of 2020
In a letter to her fellow 2020 graduates, Margareta Durovcikova reflects on the past three years at UCL and reminds them that taking care of each other is the only way to face uncertainty.
Art by Muskan Chaudhri
Dear friends,
I find myself on my parents’ couch most days, drifting between feelings of hopelessness and desperation for answers with occasional bursts of motivation. Ever since I stepped onto the plane at Stansted Airport, half asleep and heavyhearted six months ago, I have been a bundle of emotions. Angry that my last months at university had been taken away from me; sad that I do not close this chapter of my life with my friends; nostalgic about all the moments I took for granted. We were meant to be sitting our exams for the last time. We were supposed to be bonding over a lack of sleep in the library. We were supposed to have one last cramming session, one last all-nighter, one last crowded trip to Excel. We were abruptly stripped of all these experiences and left to face huge uncertainty alone. Yet this is not the first time we have experienced uncertainty throughout university.
As we turned up on our first day, fresh-faced, buzzing with excitement and worry, we headed into the unknown with our heads held high. Suddenly we found ourselves at the university we had been working hard towards and among so many different people. We were thrown into the belly of the beautiful and chaotic beast that is central London and asked to navigate its intricacies along with new friendships and independent lives. How did we know whom we should trust, whom we should confide in, what our place was in this new world? And how the hell did we know how to get to the Royal National Hotel? We made new friendships and broke some of them off. We discovered a fascination with our subject, but also the reality of hard work in academia. We found new depths of feelings like the lightness of joy and the unbearable weight of loneliness and depression. Our lecturers went on strike and campus became a battlefield. We made the treacherous journey to Excel for the first time and celebrated getting through first year, even if scarred. Throughout all that, we helped each other find that lecture hall, we shared those notes and ranted about the annoying sounds of Excel. We had faced and defeated uncertainty that year. Alone and together.
So second year came along, quietly and then all at once. We left accommodation and adapted to the rhythm of a new shared house. We bonded over dinners, laughed over the TV and fought over unwashed dishes. University work pressed on, so we rolled our sleeves up and wiped sweat off of our faces. Our subject slowly lost its charm, and like an old lover, we saw all of it. Its beauty, its struggles, its scars and its ugliness. Nevertheless, we carried on, uncertain about whether we would ever fall in love with our subject again. So, we partied, we stained the walls with wine and spent the nights stumbling over our words while laughing. Through sobering realisations that came with the morning, we gradually found ourselves out of certain relationships but also in loving friendships that kept us sane. Still we were uncertain about the future of the world, as the relations between European countries heated along with the planet. Yet, we marched together, we debated and helped each other gain new perspectives. The strong current of the past two years carried us forward, past uncertainty.
Alas, we floated into third year and found ourselves in a tornado. We greeted UCL like an old friend and the university welcomed us with stories of the past two years stored in its walls. We knew its secret pathways and we found ourselves settled. Settled in a group and settled within ourselves. We were slowly discovering who we wanted to be and who we wanted around. London was finally a real home. Yet, campus became a battlefield again as our lecturers went on strike twice. How would this affect our lectures? How could we work on our dissertations? These questions seemed pivotal; and in the midst of it all, the reality of a pandemic dawned upon us. So UCL closed down and we moved back home. The only certainty in our lives became our graduation ceremonies. They were guarantees that we would see at least some of our friends again. Until they were not anymore. And then came exams. We scrambled to finish up last assignments, procrastinated and reminisced. Thousands of kilometres away from our friends. Alone.
Along there somewhere we felt all the lasts without knowing it. Think of the last time you went home from university. The last time you went to a lecture. The last time you sat in the library. The last time you felt the gentle droplets of English rain on your face. The last time you hugged your friends. You never know when it is your last time, so pause every now and then. It may sound cliché, but there is something to it. Walk home and really pay attention. Pay attention to how the streetlight glimmers in the puddle of rainwater. Look at how the trees move in a quiet agreement with the wind. Notice the worried faces of hurrying and grumpy Londoners. Observe dirty newspapers as they float freely in the air. Listen to the sounds of streets that never tire of company. There is so much beauty to be seen in the ugly details.
But as we slowly move on, we face even more uncertainty. To be able to face the changing and unsure world that is unravelling around us, we must remember to lean on the people who got us through uncertainty before. We have faced the uncertainty of the past three years together and this kept us resilient. We have to help each other and care for each other because we are never really alone. All you need to do is seek friendship and you will find it. Seek to care about others and they will care about you. Because the moment we stop caring about each other, we lose everything.
The radical act of caring about others will help us get through the pandemic and face the looming issues waiting for us at the end. Care about those who are vulnerable and immunocompromised but when this is all over, remember to care for those facing droughts and floods due to climate change, those afraid for their lives in the presence of the police or those fighting for freedom in a restrictive regime.
Class of 2020, let’s be the generation that rules by compassion.
Until we see each other again.
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