Chasing the finish line

I heaved a sigh of relief as I stepped through the gates of Sterling Crest University. Finally. After three months of being cooped up at home, I was finally free. Thank God my mother hadn’t made those three months a living hell. I loved my family, but there was only so much time I could spend under my parents’ roof before I started craving a little independence. Hi, my name is Serena, and I was seventeen when I began my university journey. I’m the oldest of four children, which means I have three younger brothers who, depending on the day, can be either the sweetest boys in the world or the reason I consider running away from home. My parents are comfortably well-off. My father is a scientist, while my mother is a teacher who has worked her way up to become a vice principal. I’ve never really been a mummy’s girl. If you asked me, I would proudly tell you that I’m Daddy’s girl through and through. Physically, I’m five feet six inches tall, slim, with dark skin, long eyelashes, and straight legs. Nothing particularly extraordinary, but I’ve always been comfortable with the way I look. And now, I was standing at the entrance of my university, ready to begin a new chapter of my life. At least, that was what I told myself. I glanced up at the enormous gates. The words STERLING CREST UNIVERSITY were boldly displayed above them. Students walked past me in groups, some laughing, others talking on their phones, while a few hurried along with books tucked beneath their arms. I adjusted the strap of my bag and continued walking. The buildings were beautiful. Everything looked bigger and more impressive than I had imagined. Students moved around with the confidence of people who knew exactly where they were going. I envied them a little. For me, this wasn’t supposed to be the university I attended. My high school friends and I had spent months planning our university lives. We had dreamed of attending Silverstone University together, taking classes together, eating together, and making memories that we would laugh about years later. We had practically planned our entire future. Unfortunately, my mother had other ideas. Silverstone University had a reputation for being difficult to get into. According to her, the university could reject applicants for reasons she didn’t understand, and she wasn’t willing to risk my admission. So, without giving me much room to argue, she applied to Sterling Crest University alone. And I got in. Of course, I was grateful to have secured admission, but that didn’t mean I was happy about the circumstances. I wanted Silverstone. I wanted my friends. Most importantly, I wanted to make that decision for myself. Still, I made a promise as I walked through the campus that morning. I would keep in touch with my high school friends. I would visit them whenever I could, and I wouldn’t get too attached to anyone at Sterling Crest. After all, I was convinced I would eventually transfer to my dream university. Why bother making new friends when I wouldn’t be staying long enough to enjoy them? Looking back, I probably should have known better than to make promises about a future I hadn’t even experienced. But at seventeen, I thought I knew more than I actually did. I was a Political Science major, and after admiring the campus for a little longer, I finally made my way towards my department’s building. On the way, I noticed a man standing near the entrance with several brochures advertising cheap and affordable accommodation. Accommodation. That reminded me of something my older cousin had told me. He was in his final year at Sterling Crest, and according to him, renting a room outside campus was much better than staying in the university hostel. He had made it sound exciting. Your own room. Your own space. No one constantly telling you what to do. At the time, it sounded like a dream. I didn’t yet understand that having your own space also meant being responsible for everything that happened inside it. My father had already paid the rent for my first room before I even arrived at university. The building was still being completed, but he had insisted on securing a place for me early. There were two boys and seven girls in the lodge, and everyone seemed friendly enough. Unfortunately, I barely had time to interact with anyone because my father and older cousin had accompanied me. My father was particularly enthusiastic about introducing me to everyone. “This is my daughter,” he announced proudly to anyone who cared to listen. “She just finished high school. Please look after her.” Daddy! I wanted the ground to swallow me. I wasn’t a little girl anymore. I was starting university, for goodness’ sake. But my father didn’t seem to understand that. When we finally had a moment alone, he turned to me with a serious expression. “Serena, there’s one condition.” I raised an eyebrow. “What condition?” “I’ll only allow you to live here if you have a roommate.” I stared at him. “A roommate? Daddy, why?” “Because you’re naive, and I don’t want the world taking advantage of you.” I folded my arms. “I’m a big girl now.” He laughed. “The only time I’ll consider you a big girl is when you’re sixty.” “Daddy!” He laughed even harder. I rolled my eyes, but I couldn’t stay annoyed with him for long. That was the thing about my father. He could frustrate me to no end, but he always knew how to make me smile. On our way home, he continued giving me advice, including a rather suspicious warning about the boys living in my lodge. “Those boys don’t look like good news,” he said. “Daddy, you don’t even know them.” “I don’t need to know them. I have eyes.” I shook my head and turned towards the window, smiling despite myself. Apparently, my university experience had barely begun, and my father had already decided that every male student was a potential problem. A few days later, my grandmother gave me another reason to feel excited about school. She had bought me a laptop and a laptop bag. I was practically glowing when she handed them to me. “Make this family proud,” she said. “I will, Grandma!” I thanked her repeatedly, barely able to contain my excitement. I couldn’t wait to put the laptop to good use. I imagined taking notes during lectures, researching assignments, and finally having something that felt entirely mine. For the first time, university life seemed real. Classes resumed a week later. The difference between high school and university became obvious almost immediately. During my first lecture, I discovered that university lecturers didn’t necessarily care whether everyone was settled before beginning a class. One lecturer walked in, dropped his materials on the table, and started teaching without waiting for the students still entering the room. I stared at him in disbelief. Was that normal? Apparently, it was. From my first lecture to my fifth, I continued commuting from home because I still hadn’t found a roommate. The journey was long, exhausting, and increasingly unbearable. By the time I arrived on campus, I was already tired. By the time I returned home, I wanted nothing more than to collapse into bed. I hated every minute of it. My only consolation was the thought of seeing my high school friends whenever I got the chance. Then, one day, while I was in transit, I noticed a girl whose appearance reminded me of my high school best friend. She had a beautiful afro, and something about her made me want to approach her. I hesitated briefly before deciding to take my chances. “Hey,” I said, smiling at her. “Do you have a place to stay?” She looked surprised by the question. “No, not yet.” I almost laughed with relief. We exchanged contact information, and before long, we were talking regularly. When I explained my situation to my parents, they agreed to let her move in with me after speaking with her mother. Finally, I could stop commuting every day. The day I packed my belongings, I felt a strange mixture of excitement and sadness. I folded my clothes, arranged my books, and packed the last of my belongings into my bag. Everything suddenly felt more permanent than it had before. My father stood nearby, watching me. When I finished packing, I walked over and hugged him. He wrapped his arms around me and held me close for a moment before pulling away to count some money into my hands. “Here. Use this wisely.” “I will, Daddy.” My mother, of course, had her own collection of advice. She warned me about everything from the people I might encounter to the dangers I probably hadn’t even considered. I listened, although I thought some of her warnings were unnecessarily extreme. My father was easier to deal with. He simply reminded me to be careful and to come home on weekends to collect my allowance. I was seventeen and didn’t yet have a bank account, so that was our arrangement. Before leaving, I hugged my youngest brother, who was nine at the time. He looked at me with the expression of someone who couldn’t understand why his big sister had to leave him behind. “You spent six years in boarding school,” he said, his voice carrying a hint of frustration. “And now you’re going to another school that’s far away from home. I thought you were going to Silverstone so you wouldn’t leave me here all alone with Mom and Dad.” I stared at him for a moment, unsure whether to laugh or pull him into a hug. That was the thing about being the oldest. Everyone expected you to be strong enough to leave, grow up, and find your own way in the world. But nobody ever talked about how difficult it could be for the people you left behind. I smiled at him, even though something inside me felt unexpectedly heavy. I was excited to leave home. But I was going to miss it, too. That evening, after my family left, I realized I hadn’t made any arrangements for dinner. I couldn’t cook anything substantial, and it was already too late to start experimenting in the kitchen. So I took some money and strolled to a small restaurant nearby. I ordered a few dishes and settled down to eat. While I waited, I overheard a group of men having a conversation that made me uncomfortable. I won’t repeat what they said, but I remember wondering why people felt the need to discuss such things in public. Some conversations belonged behind closed doors, preferably spoken in low voices. You can call me a prude if you want. I don’t care. When I finished eating, I made my way back to the lodge. The evening breeze brushed against my skin as I walked, and for the first time that day, I stopped thinking about the excitement of university. Instead, I thought about what I had actually done. I had moved out of my parents’ house. I had my own room. Nobody was going to remind me to eat, tell me when to wash my clothes, or magically produce a meal whenever I got hungry. I was responsible for myself now. And that was when the reality of independence finally hit me. There was only one small problem. I couldn’t cook. I couldn’t even make a decent pot of rice. Thank God my father had given me enough money to buy food outside while I learned. Otherwise, I might have starved in the name of independence. The kitchen utensils I had bought remained untouched, looking more decorative than useful. I entered my room and switched on the light. The walls were painted light green and ash. The room had its own kitchen, bathroom, and toilet. It wasn’t luxurious, but it was mine. I dropped my bag, sat on the bed, and looked around. For the first time in my life, I was truly on my own. And although I had no idea what the future held, I couldn’t deny that a small part of me was thrilled. University was finally happening. Whatever came next, I was ready to find out.