Editor’s Letter – “New year, new me”

[dropcap]I[/dropcap] had a disturbing dream last night. Hearing two knocks at my door I sat up and observed a hooded figure, stretching out a skeletal hand and holding two bony fingers out. It let out a horrifying wail which sounded oddly like “Down it fresher!” but grew steadily quieter.
Around it, society membership stickers scattered across the floor dissolved into dust and were blown away.
Upon waking up, I realised that this was no ordinary nightmare, but a ghost of university-future. Second-year was approaching.
Well, at least that’s the common perception. I’ve begun to realise that my vision was merely an amalgamation of overhearing older students’ jaded grunts in the library, and approval-seeking fresher insults on Yik Yak.
Second year is supposedly where fun goes to suffer a painful death as your work actually affects your degree and it’s no longer acceptable to wear the purple-soaked mankini from last night’s POP into a lecture.

second-year could be your best year at university.

You no longer have time to participate in as many societies as possible but are instead expected to become a nocturnal creature, who prowls around the library suffering from caffeine-induced fits like an extra from the Excorcist. However, there is no reason why any of this should come to fruition.
In fact, second-year could be your best year at university. Yes, you have to work harder than you may have previously but this isn’t the end of days, but rather a new beginning.
It means that you inevitably apply greater intensity to everything you do; not just to cracking a chemical formula or to rinsing an obscure poem of meaning, but also to your social and extracurricular life.
Your time is even more valuable but this doesn’t mean you limit it strictly to your work. Instead, the dawning realisation that you’re halfway through what is universally termed as the ‘best years of your life’ fills you with an unquenchable thirst to accomplish as much as possible.
You could still find yourself wielding a lacrosse stick for the first time or thrusting your pelvis at a lecturer in Shades-esque fashion during RAG week.
First year is undeniably filled with fun memories, but the unique freedoms one has during this year is usually dedicated to bacchanali- an drinking sessions and the type of debauchery usually found on the deepest recesses of MTV.

The sprightly, carefree first year that you once were (…) has perhaps disappeared, but this is no bad thing.

You may join some societies but there is the constant, lingering thought that you have an entire year to start something new. Second-year doesn’t have the same luxury so throw yourself into Warwick’s countless opportunities.
This could be the best year of your life. The sprightly, carefree first year that you once were, who was liberal in what constitutes a toilet and formed a sweaty cocoon in the Copper Rooms, has perhaps disappeared, but this is no bad thing.
In its place is a second-year ready to seize university by storm.