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Ani: As a first-year student, I wondered … how do I figure out how much time an assignment needs?
Being realistic about what I can accomplish in a day, not pretending I’m capable of doing everything completely right on the first try — that’s the kind of honesty that benefits my work. And admittedly, though I loathe the idea of contributing to the flood of foggy advice that’s already out there, I think that’s the kind of honesty that could help a lot of people get beyond the initial pause in progress that comes with starting their first year.
Before I even hit university, I’d heard so much about how hard it would be to pause procrastination and budget my time accordingly in my first year.
I listened to all kinds of tips and tricks across every type of social media, spoke to anyone who would dare to share and still didn’t have a clear idea about what my work ethic would look like after high school.
I had gotten so much premature advice, and I managed to apply absolutely none of it came time to worry about deadlines.
For a while there, I floundered between giving myself far too much time and far too little time for assignments across subjects. I would give myself two weeks for a philosophy paper that only took six days, two hours for a discussion post that should have taken a day and completely freeze in the face of many other projects.
Honestly, I still haven’t mastered the concept of budgeting my time, and as my responsibilities and priorities evolve, I become less certain that such mastery is even possible. However, I can say with confidence that now more than ever, I know myself.
I know now that when the weather gets warm, I lose focus and drag my feet. I know that I don’t enjoy study groups. I know that total silence is just as debilitating as endless chatter when it comes to background noise for me.
Most importantly though, I know how to be honest with myself. In a world full of conflicting advice, honesty is the only thing that has led to success across subjects.
Ani is a student in the Faculty of Arts studying psychology and creative writing. She's fascinated by the way different people decide to organize their lives and often wonders how the human mind is able to make sense of the chaos of life. As such, she often spends her days tweaking her own organizational systems and considering the pros and cons of different approaches. When she’s not stewing about the logistics of life, she enjoys getting lost in recipe books and catching up with friends.
Jhenica: As a first-year, I wondered … do I belong here?”
If you’re sitting in a lecture hall convinced you're the only one who doesn’t belong, I hope you remember this: growth rarely begins with certainty. Sometimes it begins with shaking hands and the courage to stay long enough to grow into it.
My hesitation began the moment Bear Tracks informed me of the limited seats remaining in the course — but nothing could rival the anxiety of physically occupying one of the 500 seats in a room that felt both large yet suffocatingly small.
It felt imposterous. To think that I — a person with nothing but a stolen opportunity — could hold a seat amongst the world’s finest.
During my very first biology test, my hands shook. I twiddled my pencil nervously and kicked at nothing in failed attempts to ground myself in an intensity-10 earthquake. The noise wouldn’t drown out; the doubt crept in and housed itself where my self-esteem fought — and failed — to keep out. A thought crept in: “I was not deserving.”
I was the Tiktaalik : the fish caught in evolution. Evolved enough for my fins to taste the sand, yet burdened by the pressure of gravity and comparison; I remained stuck as I watched the others run. I humbly turned my test over, resting my head atop the blank bubble sheet as I sunk deeper into the ocean where fish belonged — off the land and sacrificed to their bigger counterparts.
It was then, when I truly focused on the people in front of me, that I saw it: the same trembling hands, the familiar pencil-twirling and the fluttering feet.
For a moment, I wondered if I had been asking the wrong questions. I had spent the entire exam asking myself, “What if I’m not deserving? What if I don’t belong among the world’s finest? What if my dream was too large for someone like me?”
But what made anyone else more deserving of that seat?
The room was filled with people who, like me, were still becoming who they would be. Some more prepared. Some more confident. Some might have known exactly where they were going. But none of us had arrived as the finished versions of ourselves.
Maybe the seat was not a reward for having already become the person I wanted to be. Maybe it was an opportunity to become her.
That realization altered the way I viewed deservingness. It’s not the absence of fear, doubt or uncertainty that makes someone worthy of taking up space; it's the willingness to keep showing up despite them.
Jhenica (she/her) is a psychology student in the Faculty of Science who is curious about people, passionate about learning and always willing to ask “why?” She's fascinated by human behaviour and the experiences that shape us. Outside of her studies, Jhenica enjoys writing poetry, playing guitar and embracing opportunities that challenge her to grow. She's driven by curiosity, ambition and the belief that asking questions and having the courage to pursue the answers can lead to meaningful change.