Life As It Is

March 2

It still feels new, but not in a chaotic way. Just that slight adjustment period where everyone is pretending they’re ready for the semester, even if they’re not.

I woke up before my alarm today. Not because I was anxious just because my body is used to school mornings. Five years of law has trained me well. Once your brain learns that missing a lecture can cost you clarity for weeks, it doesn’t let you oversleep easily.

For a few seconds, I lay there thinking about yesterday. The noise of campus. The professor’s reminder that this is our final session. The way the words “final year” keep sounding louder in my head than when other people say them.

This is the beginning of the end of my law journey.

I don’t think it has fully sunk in yet.

The morning felt ordinary. I made tea, scrolled briefly through class group chats — already buzzing with assignment reminders and timetable corrections. Someone had sent a long message about project supervision slots filling up fast. Final year students don’t waste time.

By the time I stepped outside, the street was already alive. Students walking in groups. Some laughing loudly like it’s just another semester. Others moving quietly, probably calculating GPAs in their heads.

Campus on the second day always feels more settled than the first. Yesterday was reunion energy. Today is reality.

In class, the seats filled faster than usual. No one wants to start the final year badly. There’s a seriousness in the air now. Even the backbenchers look alert.

During lecture, I found myself paying attention in a different way. Not just listening to pass exams but listening like someone who knows she will soon leave this space. Every explanation feels like it carries weight. Every correction feels important.

At one point, the lecturer paused and looked around the room.

“You are almost done here,” he said. “What you choose to take seriously now will show in your results.”

Almost done here.

It’s strange. For years, I counted how far I still had to go. Now I’m counting how little is left.

After class, I walked slowly through the faculty corridor. I’ve passed these walls hundreds of times. The faded faculty portraits. The notice boards covered in overlapping announcements. The bench near the staircase that is always half-broken.

Nothing has changed.

But everything feels like it’s shifting.

I saw some 100-level students asking for directions. Their voices were small, uncertain. I remembered my first week how overwhelming the faculty seemed. The big words. The serious faces. The pressure.

Back then, 500level students looked untouchable.

Now I am one of them, and I still feel like I’m figuring things out.

I met Amaka and Tobi after lectures. We stood under the usual tree, talking about course outlines and how unfair it is that final-year workload somehow feels heavier even when it isn’t technically more.

“Just graduate in peace,” Tobi said.

We all agreed.

Peace has become the goal. Not perfection. Not drama. Just steady completion.

Later in the afternoon, I went to the library for a while. It wasn’t packed yet, but there was intention in the room. Students flipping through materials with focus. Highlighters moving quickly across pages. The soft hum of fans struggling against the heat.

I opened my notebook and wrote at the top:

500L — Second Day

Looking at it gave me a quiet sense of pride.

Five years ago, I wasn’t sure I would adjust to law. The workload felt endless. The reading lists looked impossible. There were nights I doubted whether I belonged here at all.

Now, I can follow lectures without feeling lost. I can read cases without panicking. I understand how to structure arguments. Growth happened somewhere between exhaustion and persistence.

It wasn’t dramatic. It was gradual.

On my way back home, I noticed how normal everything looked buses honking, food vendors calling out, students arguing about football. The world doesn’t pause just because it’s your final year.

And maybe that’s comforting.

This semester doesn’t feel like fireworks. It feels like focus. Like tightening your grip before crossing a finish line.

When I got back, I placed my books on the table and sat for a moment without moving. Not tired exactly. Just thoughtful.

Beginning of the end.

It sounds heavy, but it doesn’t feel sad.

It feels earned.

I am no longer the intimidated 100level girl.

I am not yet a lawyer.

I am somewhere in between experienced, but still learning.

Maybe that’s what this stage is about.

Not rushing.

Not panicking.

Just being intentional.

Second day of resumption.

Nothing extraordinary happened.

And yet, everything feels significant.

Because this time next year, I won’t be writing about lectures and faculty corridors anymore.

I’ll be writing about something else.

For now, though, I am here.

Still a law student.

Still learning.

Still becoming.