Just two more days left in Chelmsford and I am the weirdest mix of scared and excited.
Part of me wants to ring Cardiff University and tell them I won’t be studying there this year after all because I’m sissying out and I’d like to stay home. I want to cry every time I consider saying another temporary goodbye to my friends and family. I feel like I’m sixteen again and all I should be doing is spending time with friends at the park, going to Smirnoff Ice house parties and worrying about GCSE results . When I imagine waking up in my new room in Cardiff Sunday morning I want to run up to bed, hide under the duvet and never come out. I can hope that the next two days go slowly, but I doubt I’ll have much luck: The next two days I am so busy seeing friends, shopping and packing that I might as well be going to Cardiff in an hour or so.
The other part of me keeps telling everyone who asks just how much I am looking forward to going back to Cardiff and how I cannot wait for the fresh start. This part isn’t lying either, there is a part of me (quite a big part of me) that is exploding with enthusiasm. I cannot wait to unpack and decorate my new room, to go out in Cardiff with friends I haven’t seen in ages, to experience my first university house parties, to get a job, even to sit surrounded by books in the library studying a brand new and hopefully interesting topic. I may be sad summer is over, but I was admittedly a little excited when I had to pull a jumper out of my wardrobe to wear yesterday and even when I left the house with an umbrella.
How one Bronwen can feel so scared and so excited all at one time baffles me.