My first year at university was a struggle to say the least; I dragged six suitcases, a guitar, a bunch of useless adapters, and a ukulele across an ocean. I was allocated to a hall of residence "DRA", the big one outside of town. The soulless one, devoid of heart. It was also quite expensive, a reminder that weighed on me now that I had been attributed the fear-inducing "International Student" status despite being a UK citizen. My punishment for being forced abroad, for being exposed to cultures, plural. It would be an understatement though, to say I was excited. It's university. My first roommate seemed really sweet, and she invited me to a party. Maybe we could innocently tease the boys in our flat, complain about their lack of cleanliness, organise flat dinners, become a real girls group. A feminist trio, because we were three you see. Though I learned soon enough that we were one, me, and they were two. I missed the party I had been invited to, a...
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