Orange-Tinted Glasses
by Caitlin Small (Satire)
QUB love bombed me.
I hadn’t even finished secondary school before they were practically drooling over the thought of having me. Prospectus letters, emails, and days I was personally invited to – ME! The University is literally named after the Queen, who was my favourite person in the whole, entire world – that’s no coincidence. So, you can imagine I was literally gagging with excitement to arrive. It was meant to be my sanctuary, my safe place.
Two years in and now I’m chopped liver. First, it started small, like not immediately using water cannons against the Irish language protestors. Next thing you know, my lecturer said Derry… chills followed immediately. Now they aren’t even trying to hide the fact that they’re seeing other people. GAA society gets a freshers’ fair stall, and the famine is apparently part of the curriculum, as if my own trauma means literally nothing. I tried to be nonchalant about it, water off a duck’s back, yano, but I can’t take it anymore. This week was the final straw. I saw them sitting cosied up to the Irish language society at some stupid event, feeding each other Soda bread and Guinness, practically drooling over each other. There wasn’t a cheese and pickle sandwich in sight.
So, I ran out, hungry and sobbing. They didn’t even acknowledge me. So, as any other reasonable person would do, I sent the “what are we” email at 2 am, drunk. I laid out all the receipts. The tuition fees, in Great British Pounds no less, every open day I attended, every tote bag received, every promise of a neutral space. After everything I had given, I deserved to know whether we could ever be exclusive.
With one swift motion, I was hit with a wave of post-send clarity. I sat there, vulnerable and exposed, as though I had just streaked through the Holylands, draped in nothing but my sash and bowler hat. It took three days to hear back, and what did I read? “Thank you for your email. The University is committed to fostering a welcoming environment for our diverse students. Kindest regards.”
Wow.
At first, I thought, “This is giving Lundy”, but then I read it over a few times…again and again. “Committed”… to me? “Welcoming”, that means they want me there, right? Right. And “fostering” kinda means growth, like they’re growing a relationship with me. Checks out. Maybe it’s commitment issues, maybe it’s the Shinners. Who knows. I replied, “No sweat, totally understand xx,” just so they know I’m loyal. And waiting.
My flatmate thinks I’m in a weird, parasocial relationship with my university, but she wasn’t there at that first open day. She didn’t see the Union flag that they had hoisted up on the wall. Well, behind the huge plant, but that doesn’t matter. It was there. It had to mean something. I know what we had was real, even if QUB doesn’t want to admit it. I was raised to stick with things, no matter what literally everyone else wants, and this is no exception.
