17 Oct 2016

So you’ve just graduated from high school, maybe even amongst the top of your school, area, state–what have you. You’re at the top of your intellectual game. Maybe mum was right, maybe you really are special. Big surprise, a university wants to make you an offer. You’re finally going to be able to unleash the inner you, let your sunflower blossom.

You go to your first lecture, and God does it just feel right. This is the type of learning you’ve been waiting for. None of that one foot in front of the other bullsh*t. Leaps and bounds. The first tutorial rolls around and you sit in one of those green cushioned, plastic, ergonomic chairs with a smugness not seen since the misinformed Liberal supporters witnessed Tony Abbot take office (and then by the rest of Australia when that bumbling goober embarrassed them in spectacular, onion eating fashion).

Taxpayer funded, off-rack Tarocash suits aside, you are ready to drop the IQ bomb. Eisenhower ain’t got nothin’ on you. You are ready to flex on these basic b*tches. You are ready to cement your status as top dog. You open your mouth and… someone else answers the question. Actually, everyone else answers all the questions, in a way you hadn’t even thought of. You try to start a discussion but the point that you had been oh so proud of conceiving quickly gets shut down, and the course of the conversation soon escapes from you. Worst yet, you can’t keep up. Was mum wrong? Am I not special? Uh-oh.

You come to the disheartening conclusion:

I am the basic bitch.

It’s a classic case of being a little fish in a big pond. Of course you might have been one of the brightest wherever you came from, but guess what? So is everyone else, and that’s totally fine. They say if you’re the smartest one in the room, you’re in the wrong room, and the university experience is all about being in the right room.

I personally got blindsided by what I thought was a bludge subject (I mean, Philosophy and Social Critique? C’mon…). Little did I know, not only was the theory hardcore, but everyone was cerebrally leagues beyond me. Group work comprised of everyone else throwing their metaphorical hat in, and me being a glorified bobblehead (or indeed like a cornered Tony Abbot), nodding away at a precise tempo as to not give away the fact all I had up here (*points to temple*) was a wind up chimp clapping tiny cymbals.

But then I started doing the readings. I started making notes. Soon enough I was able to contribute to class wide discussions, and even lead on, dictating the course of the conversation. Being challenged like that kept me on my toes and eventually, I became a top dog.

Someone who is escaping my mind at this very moment (but not enough that I am not above plagiarizing) once said there will always be someone smarter, more capable, or even more talented- but you can always be the most hardworking. Up the ante. If someone works on something for two hours, invest four hours. If someone revises something ten times, revise it for a slick twenty. Get up an hour earlier, and go to bed an hour later. Hard work pays off.

We’re all more than basic bitches. Go on, I believe in you.

by Garry Lu