First Year, First Class, First Crisis

First Year, First Class, First Crisis

The start of university is supposed to be exhilarating, right? The excitement of new experiences, meeting new people, and a fresh chapter in life. But here I am, in my first year, overwhelmed and struggling to keep my head above water. I thought I’d have it all figured out by now. However, I find myself caught in a whirlwind of lectures, assignments, and an ever-growing pressure to meet challenging standards. “First class or nothing,” they say. But what happens when first class feels like a distant dream, and second class starts to look like the best I can do?

The expectations are suffocating. From the moment I stepped onto campus, I was bombarded with tales of students securing first-class honors, landing Dean’s Awards, and achieving academic perfection. A first-class degree isn’t just about grades, it’s status. It’s about walking into a room and being respected because of the recognition attached to that shiny first-class certificate. The doors it can open, the opportunities it promises, the power it carries–those are the things everyone talks about. A first-class degree is the golden ticket. You’ve made it.

But what if I don’t? What if I end up with a second-class degree, something that seems so much less prestigious, so much more “average”? In a world that praises perfection, a second class feels like a shadow in comparison. I wonder what it means for my future. Will people still take me seriously? Will I have the same respect, the same opportunities, if I don’t have that first-class distinction next to my name?

A second-class degree feels like a compromise - a failure in a system that demands nothing less than the best. It is terrifying - the fear of being overlooked, of not standing out among the crowd of students with perfect grades and shiny honors. The pressure to be more than just “good enough” becomes overwhelming. I am told that a second-class degree doesn’t carry the same weight, it does not open as many doors, and it does not command the same kind of attention. It’s the difference between someone people notice and someone who just blends in.

And yet, despite all this fear and pressure, I can not help but ask myself, “Is it worth all the anxiety? Is it worth sacrificing my mental health just to chase a label?” After all, no one talks about the price we pay for the pursuit of perfection. No one talks about the sleepless nights, the stress, the isolation, and the feeling that no matter how much we give, it’ll never be enough.

The truth? I am exhausted physically, mentally and emotionally. Every single day feels like I am fighting just to stay afloat, just to meet the expectations that weigh down on me. And with every passing moment, the realization sinks deeper…I am not sure that I can keep this up. The exams are getting closer, and the panic inside of me is growing. What if I don’t make it? What if my best isn’t enough? What if all this pressure breaks me before I can ever prove that I am worth more than the grade on my paper?

And then there’s the thought that haunts me: What will I say to Mum and Dad when the results come in? What do I tell them when they ask how it went and how their hopes and dreams for me aligned with what I actually achieved? I can already hear the disappointment in their voices and the silent judgment in their eyes. How do I look them in the face if I don’t make it? Will they still be proud of me even if I fall short?

Right now, I don’t know what comes next. But I do know this: the crisis isn’t just about the degree anymore. It’s about whether I can survive this pressure without losing myself in the process. It's about holding on to whatever’s left of my sanity as I try to meet the demanding standards that everyone expects of me. Will I make it? Or will I burn out trying?

And the scariest part? I am still waiting to find out.

Miss psychedelic❣️ 02/02/25.

*{A raw, first-year reflection on chasing academic excellence, originally published in my faculty’s magazine, Impulsum Epoch.}*✨✨