3 years ago, I started my English Language and Creative Writing degree with absolutely no idea what I wanted to do. I loved writing and that was all I knew, and so I applied to the University of Chester. This month, I finally handed in my dissertation, a piece about prisoners of war at Changi during World War 2, marking the end of my three-year stint as a student.
£30,000 worth of debt later, I still have absolutely no idea what I want to do. I feel somewhat like a fish out of water, beans without toast or Ant without Dec. I'm no longer a student and yet I have no clear vision as to where I'm next heading. And that scares me. My whole life has been a series of plans. GCSE's. A Levels. Uni. But now? Now I'm lost in the big wide world of opportunity. When people ask me what I want to do, the easy options is to say teaching, or something in publishing, but the reality of obtaining a job in such fields with little to no experience is proving excruciating. I find myself wishing I had friends in high places and then remember that the North is not the land of potential. Maybe I should move to London and have done with it.
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