For the first time in two months, my university house is thick with an empty silence. I’m the last woman standing; it’s the last day of term before Easter, and the rest of my housemates have already gone home. I have the whole house to myself, which is a rare occurrence – with the five of us, it’s unusual that there’s ever not somebody home – and I’m trying to make the most of it. I’m trying to appreciate that I have full control over the TV remote. I’ve left all of my cooking utensils strewn over every kitchen counter, just because I can. Earlier, I blasted my music as loudly as I could and sang even louder, taking full advantage of the fact that no one was around to hear how dreadfully off-key I was.
But now, as I sit down to write this, the excitement has worn off, and I’m conscious of the house’s stillness. All I can hear now is the humming of the fridge and the tick-tocking of the boiler clock, which only serve to remind me of how, not even twelve hours ago, the sound of Valerie by Amy Winehouse had been vibrating through my floorboards (my housemate’s usual pick of early morning music) and my closest friends were all within an arm’s reach; and how, as graduation looms, it’s less than three months until the day arrives when the five of us will be under the same roof for the last time. They’re reminding me how little of a home this house is without any of them in it.
I came to university in my first year as a rather pessimistic nineteen-year-old. I didn’t have high expectations. In fact, I didn’t have any at all. Having had, like many, my last year of secondary school cut short by Covid, I was still mourning the fact that I was never going to go back there, and moving into halls felt like somebody pushing me over a cliff-edge without even being kind enough to countdown from three. I was very much clinging onto a past that I had no choice but to leave behind, and I found it difficult to imagine better days ahead (as depressing as that sounds). I wish I could go back and tell myself how wrong I was.
The other week, one of my housemates, ironically, was telling me how much she dislikes the word “housemate”. She said that for her, the term means less than a friend and more of an acquaintance. It took me by surprise because I had never thought of it that way before. For me, “housemate” has come to mean something even greater than just a mere “friend”. I say the word “housemate” and I think of our inside jokes and the many embarrassing drunken night-out stories that we share. I think of the time that one of them brought me a bowl of chicken pesto pasta when I was too ill to even get out of bed. I think of them decking out the front room with balloons and confetti for my 21st birthday and the times we’ve spent laughing and talking until late despite having a 9 am first thing the next morning.
A friend of mine asked me whether I would ever think about doing my master’s at Nottingham. I considered it for a moment because I genuinely do love it here; our campus was one of the main reasons I selected Nottingham as my first choice back in 2019 in my final year of school, and I have thoroughly enjoyed my degree. But I shook my head and told him no. When I graduate in July, my greatest achievement will not just be the classification written on my certificate – it’ll be the friends I have made here. Nottingham just wouldn’t be the same without my housemates to come home to.
As I prepare for my last few weeks of being an undergrad, I’m trying to remind myself that amid the nostalgia of every “last” time – from the last lecture to the last night out – I’m lucky to have something so good to be so afraid to say goodbye to. To have made such genuine friendships here has been beyond anything I could have expected. And if there’s anything I’m looking forward to, it will be seeing what we will all get up to, along with the hope that our lives will still somewhat intertwine.
I’m incredibly lucky that the risk of signing a house contract back in first year with four girls I had only known for a month would turn out to be the most fun three years that I’ve ever had. I truly wouldn’t have had them any other way.