NOSTALGIA UK

NOSTALGIA UK

With A-Level "kids" in London (Christmas 1994)

The first half of my first semester flew by in a blur, and before I knew it, Christmas had arrived. I think it was Sani (my Jenan mate) who told me that the entire Morrison's Academy group was heading down to London and insisted me to join them. With no other plans and Stag Hill campus that had turned eerily silent, I thought—why not? It was only 30 minutes away by train from Guildford.

Looking back, it’s strange, the things that stick in my mind—random, arguably insignificant fragments of my history.

I remember Farouk cooking rice porridge with one whole chicken for dinner one night. But, as the late Dolores O'Riordan said, maybe it was "just my imagination". Could the rice cooker really have been that big? The chicken couldn't have been that small. Who knows—but that’s what my memory insists.

One particular night, either on Christmas Day or Boxing Day, we went out as a group (to eat?). Until today, whenever I am in London during Christmas, the mood from that night always drifts back into my thought—it was damp, biting cold, and a London so quiet that it felt like an entirely different city. That was when I learned that, during the Christmas break, London practically shuts down.

Apart from them, there were Sani, Suhaimi @ Mat Hai, Dian, and I believe Azmy @ Kun or Coon too. Then Mukhriz, possibly Shahrin, Ghazaly @ Ustaz, Faisal and I'm sure a few of others too whose names escape me completely now. All of them have gone on to achieve great success in their careers, and a couple I think have ended up marrying each other (have they?)

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The Quiet Centre (late 1994, early 1995)

Back then, the nearest mosque was in Woking, a short train ride from Guildford. It would cost money, and without a car, getting there was a bit of a hassle—especially in between lectures. In fact, I only found out about that mosque much later, probably in my second year.

On one edge of campus, right next to the Guildford Cathedral, stood the university’s Quiet Centre—a small, cylindrical, single-story building designed as a multi-faith space. Through the Islamic Students Society, the muslim students were granted permission to use it for Friday prayers, as well as other religious activities like iftar and terawih during Ramadhan.

It was here that I truly began to observe and understand the different mazhabs and the subtle variations in practice. If there was ever a model for a united Muslim organisation, this was it. Regardless of nationality or background, everyone came together under the banner of Islamic Students Society—Pakistanis, Mauritians, Malaysians, Indonesians, Egyptians, Bruneians, Iranians, Lebanese, Singaporeans, Jordanians, Africans, Bangladeshis—you name it. Diversity was embraced.

At the time, our imam at the Quiet Centre was a Lebanese PhD student, whose name I might recall later (though his face and presence remain crystal clear in my mind). He was a man of remarkable character—his demeanour, his kindness, and the way he spoke to others all left a lasting impression. His khutbahs were unique—he delivered them with his eyes closed, hands placed on his midriff (in the position of prayer), speaking straight from the heart.

If we remember, the years 1994 and 1995 were marked by the Oslo Accords, leading to the formation of the Palestinian Authority (PA) under the leadership of the late Yasser Arafat. If there was anyone was most affected and opinionated about it, it would be those closest to the situation—and the Imam, being Lebanese, was one of them. Many of his sermons centred around the Palestine-Israel conflict, particularly the developments surrounding the Oslo Accords.

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Ms Gay who wasn't one (1994)

All the foreign students in my course were required to attend a communication skills class—a sort of hybrid between an English lesson and a discussion workshop. If I recall correctly, it was held once per week. Personally, my English was already improving at a steady pace, and I like to think this class helped speed things up a little more. The sessions usually revolved around current topics, articles, or book excerpts, which we would then discuss and share our opinions on. It was all about comprehension and conversation, really.

The class took place in a small group setting in one of the rooms in another department and building. It was led and facilitated by Ms. Gay, whom I later learned was the wife or partner of Mr. Brent Work, our American Systems Analysis & Design lecturer. Judging by the different surnames, I’m guessing it was the latter.

Ms. Gay was a soft-spoken English woman, likely in her late 30s or early 40s at the time. And when I say soft-spoken, I mean really soft—her voice was so gentle and soothing that, honestly, it could put you to sleep. Looking back, her personality and voice were probably not the best fit for a class meant to be lively and discussion-heavy... she just didn’t bring the energy needed to keep the conversation flowing.

But what really made things interesting—and I know I probably shouldn’t laugh about it—was that Ms. Gay had crossed eyes. This sometimes led to hilariously confusing moments when she asked one of us to read or speak. You were never quite sure whether she was looking at you or someone else at the other end of the table!

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Professor Schuman (1994)

Professor Schuman was another American in my department, and probably the oldest lecturer there. Of course, this was just my assumption based on his appearance—but I don’t think I was wrong. If I remember correctly, he was the head of the entire Maths and Computing department. His office was a bit secluded compared to the rest of the staff, tucked away in a quieter part of the floor.

To be honest, I don’t recall much about his lectures—except that he taught us programming in Pascal. Kids growing up in today’s IT world have probably never even heard of Pascal. It was a popular programming language back in the '90s, especially for teaching. That being said, I did actually use it to develop a commercial application during my "sandwich year"—the industrial placement year between my second and final year of university.

But what I can’t forget is his distinctive appearance. He was short for an American, with a slightly slouched posture and a slow, deliberate gait that carried an air of quiet authority. His whitish facial hair covered nearly the entire lower half of his face, to the point that even his mouth was barely visible. And then, there was his voice—slow and steady, perfectly matching his pace. It had a deep, rough quality, almost as if it belonged to a thrash metal singer. His speech had no dramatic rises or falls; if you charted its frequency on paper, it would be a nearly flat horizontal line, with the occasional jagged peaks from the rawness of his tone.

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Sometimes it's not easy to be Discrete (1994)

I must admit, back in Jenan (my secondary school), Additional Maths for me was all about memorising formulas and spending endless hours applying them to sample exam questions. I actually found it fun—breaking down my "answer-finding" process into multiple lines of partial derivations to get to the value of x or y. It was never about solving problems—just about getting the right answer, if you know what I mean.

So when I started attending Discrete Mathematics classes with Dr. David Pitt, my brain just couldn’t handle it. Suddenly, it wasn’t about plugging numbers into formulas anymore—it was about solving real problems. And that’s when my mind jammed. I felt completely lost, like an idiot. It hit me that I had never really trained my brain to think logically or solve problems—I had only trained it to find answers.

It took me quite a while to finally get the hang of logical mathematical problem-solving. There were moments when I felt like giving up—especially when we got into topics like recursion (I can’t quite recall its mathematical equivalent). Anyone who has done programming knows what I mean—it’s one of those concepts that doesn’t come naturally to everyone. It’s easy to get sucked so deep into it that you would struggle to find your way out.

Dr. Pitt’s lectures were always held in a large lecture theatre since his students came from various courses, I presume mostly those doing Maths & Statistics. And I have to say—he was quite a character. Not because of his words, but because of his movements and gestures when lecturing. It was as if he was performing some kind of quirky dance routine 😆.

In the end, I think I finally managed to wrap my head somehow around Discrete Maths—at least most of it. And yes, some bits of it did turn out to be useful later on when I started working with algorithms and programming codes.

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Dr. Ahmad and 6 words are too many (1994)

Dr. Ahmad was another lecturer I have never forgotten—the person who first introduced me to the world of Artificial Intelligence (AI), particularly natural language processing (NLP). At the time, he was a well-regarded researcher in the field, with numerous PhD students under his guidance, all deeply immersed in the challenge of trying to make machines understand, interpret, and generate human language. This was about four years before the birth of Google, and ELIZA was still widely recognised in AI (for those unfamiliar with "her," feel free to Google it now!).

Dr. Ahmad was Pakistani, and from his accent, it was clear he had come to the UK later in life. I assumed he had come to the UK for his studies before eventually becoming a lecturer at the university. He always seemed incredibly busy—never walking at a leisurely pace, always rushing from one room to the next. It was difficult to catch even five minutes of conversation with him. Whenever he stepped into the classroom, he carried an air of urgency, as if eager to get through the lecture and move on to his next responsibility.

Yet, there was no doubt about his passion for AI, especially natural language processing. One thing from him has stuck with me over the years—his constant reminder that a well-constructed sentence should contain no more than six words (or ... maybe eight). Any longer, he warned, ambiguity would start creeping in. At the time, striking a balance between clarity and naturalness in language was a critical challenge in NLP—after all, this was still the early days of the field.

For my final-year project, upon returning from my industrial placement, I chose Dr. Ahmad as my supervisor—a sketch and story that will come later.

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Mr. Brent Work and the Art of Systems Thinking (1994)

How many of your university lecturers do you still remember? I remember a few. One of them was Mr. Brent Work, one of the three American lecturers in my course. He taught a core subject called Systems Analysis & Design—a subject that, at first glance, seemed to be all about bubbles and connecting lines.

Mr. Work was the first American I had ever met and interacted with (well… mostly listened to, if I’m being honest). It was fascinating to observe his teaching style compared to his British colleagues. In my eyes back then, he bore a resemblance to Richard Gere. Everything about him felt more casual, from the way he dressed to the way he spoke. He always showed up in loose trousers and a plain long-sleeved shirt, with the sleeves permanently rolled up above his elbows. Occasionally, he even wore loafers instead of proper shoes.

His manner of teaching was just as relaxed. He moved around the front of the classroom in an effortless rhythm—not overly animated, just enough to show his passion. He didn’t quite lecture at us rather more trying to invite us into a conversation. The way he presented, the way he explained—it was smooth, like a well-rehearsed performance, yet completely natural.

I remember we were required to get a red hardcover book titled simply Systems Analysis and Design. It wasn’t a thick book—maybe 200 pages at most—but inside, it was filled with bubbles, lines, and descriptions of how best to put them together. I still have that book, tucked away somewhere in my parents' house back in South Kedah. It wasn’t just a textbook; it became a practical guide I continued to reference even after I graduated and started working in the late ’90s and early 2000s.

At some point, the subject became so much more than just bubbles and lines. The discussions expanded beyond diagrams and methodologies into economics, philosophy, industrial design, history, culture, politics and all the forces that shape how organisations function. That was when I realised Systems Analysis & Design wasn’t just about systems in the technical sense; it was about organisational processes, about how different parts of it interacts and how to optimise these “systems” for better efficiency.

It was Mr. Work who introduced us to Peter Drucker, a name that has stuck with me ever since.

A former coursemate and a friend, Marwan, recently reminded me of something Mr. Work once said:

"In the future, nations will be run by profit-making entities."

Looking at today’s world, it’s hard to deny how true that prediction was. The biggest example? Elon Musk and Trump’s administration.

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Fuzzy, darkish, messy (1994)

One downside of living on campus? The absolute chaos of weekend nights.

Come weekend nights, the whole place went wild. Parties popped up here and there. Students were doing all sorts of crazy things—anything goes. There were rules, at the same time no rules. I could just picture some stumbling back to their rooms, puking along the way—if they even made it back at all. It was a total mess. You’d hear screaming, laughter, shouting, moaning, girls singing, blasting music, door banging, you name it. Luckily I didn’t live too close to the Students' Union—that would've driven me insane . The first-years were the worst, those who just just came off age. Girls wore the skimpiest dresses they could find, summer or not, flocking to the Bojanglez club down town if not the union's club. Boys wore jeans so loose they were barely hanging on.

On some residence halls' floors—including mine at Battersea Court—the kitchen became the party hub. The lights would go off, some random disco light would be set up. It was all about drinking, dancing, getting wasted till early morning. I joined a couple of times. But honestly, it wasn’t my thing, plus I was a very socially awkward kid. I could stand the music and all, but the alcohol and cigarettes? Nope. The sheer stench of beer was always disgusting to me. And dealing with drunk people? Not fun at all. After a while, I started avoiding the whole thing altogether.

Luckily, I had my priorities straight. The first year was tough, and it was tough for three reasons:

- I didn’t do A-Levels, so some of the math topics were a bit out of my league.

- My English had improved quite a bit, but minor subjects such as sociology, psychology and economics demanded another level of proficiency altogether

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The small town of Guildford (1994)

Coming from Glasgow, Guildford felt like a stark contrast—tiny in comparison. Tiny, yet undeniably charming.

Located south of London on the way to Portsmouth, Guildford sat along A3 road or a direct train line from Waterloo. The town itself rested on a gentle incline, as much of the surrounding region was hilly. At its heart, Guildford was centred around just two main streets, one of which—the high street—was entirely pedestrianised. I remember the town being remarkably tidy, peaceful, and never too crowded, with a postcard-perfect charm.

The cobbled high street sloped gently uphill, flanked by two rows of historic shopfronts. As you ascended, you came across an ornate old clock, suspended by a side arm attached to one of the buildings. Turning back, you would be rewarded with a breathtaking view of greater Guildford and the rolling hills beyond. At the foot of the High Street, the River Wey flowed beside it, adding to the town's charm.

Like many English towns, Guildford had its main shopping mall—the Friary Centre, if I remember the name correctly. Some of the bigger stores, however, were scattered around the High Street or tucked into quieter corners. Debenhams, a major name back then (now gone, I believe), stood in its own building beside the River Wey. I used to buy discounted perfumes there as gifts to take home for summer. Marks & Spencer held a spot on the High Street, as did my go-to clothing store, Topman, though it was somewhat hidden inside a small arcade. There was also a small Sainsbury’s, and of course, WH Smith, the ever-present British bookstore. At the entrance to a walkway connecting the town’s two main streets sat a watch and jewellery shop, a landmark of sorts in my memory.

Tucked behind the right row of shophouses as you ascended the High Street was the Guildford Castle. A medieval relic dating back to the 11th century, it sat in a serene garden that burst with colour in spring and summer, offering a peaceful retreat from the town’s centre.

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MSA - The introduction (1994)

A few days after we arrived, the new batch of Malaysians, including myself, were invited by the Malaysian Students Society (MSA) to a small welcome apéro in one of the lecture theatres. Azam was the president at the time, and I remember him standing at the front, giving us a warm welcome. If I had to guess, he was probably joined by Mawardi, Hadi, Rozaini, Kak Kartina, and another master’s student who was dating one of my lecturers (I think her name was Anne), along with maybe a couple of others.

Azam was pretty upbeat about the whole MSA setup, but at the same time, I got the sense he was looking forward to handing over the reins. He, Mawardi (who I also mentioned in an earlier post), and Hadi were all doing Chemical Engineering. Hadi seemed to have a more rugged, independent lifestyle—he lived off-campus, moved around quite a bit, and owned this whitish racing bike (which I later ended up buying). Rozaini was the odd one out among the boys, being the only one not in Chemical Engineering—he was doing Mechanical instead. Kartina, meanwhile, was doing a Master’s in Hotel and Tourism Management, married to a French husband, and living in their own house not far from campus. I don't remember what Anne did.

The new academic term brought new faces, though I’m not entirely sure if they were all there that evening:

Faeez and Leni, the two girls who were in my Computing & IT course (I talked about them in an earlier post).

Badrul, from the Institute of Medical Research (IMR) in KL, was doing his PhD in Toxicology. He was one of those people who always seemed ridiculously relaxed, no matter the situation. I remember he smoked quite a bit, and in the early days, he was alone in Guildford before his family joined him.

Teresa was another PhD student doing research in some area of Telecommunications or Satellite, if I'm not mistaken.

Then there was Mew—the standout among us—doing a Master’s in Dance Studies, which felt pretty unique. She had this bubbly, funny personality, and her dance performance at International Night that year was absolutely mesmerizing—one of those moments that just stuck with me. After so many years, I finally managed to track her down in January 2024.

Then there was Hariyati, a UIA lecturer doing her PhD in Psychology. She spoke (American) English with precise articulation, an excellent choice of words. Another UIA lecturer was Ainol, soft-spoken, doing her PhD in Linguistics (wow, I still remember that!). She later married Azman, who flew in all the way from the USA for the nikah.

We also had a couple—Nurina and Shukor—both doing their PhDs. I don’t remember their fields of study, though if I’m not wrong, Shukor wasn’t actually based in Surrey but was doing his research at Reading.

Then there was Mei Ling and her brother, both (I think) in Electrical or Electronic Engineering. We didn’t interact much at first, but by the second year, when they lived next door, we got to know each other a bit better.

The Malaysian community at Surrey was small—maybe that’s what made it special. Even though we knew each other, we were still a bit scattered, each living our own lives… or in my case, no life. 😆

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The Stag Hill Campus in the 90s

The thing about Surrey, a campus university, as opposed to a city university, is that everything was contained within a single defined area. And when I say everything, I mean everything—academic departments, computer labs, the library, student accommodations, the Students’ Union, medical centre, restaurants, bookshops, a sundry shop, the sports hall & gym, a bank, and even a laundrette. That first week was all about getting to know the campus.

The university was built on the slopes of Stag Hill, with the beautiful Guildford Cathedral towering above it. There were two main entrances/exits:

The West "Gate" – Primarily for vehicles, connecting to the A3, the main road linking London and Portsmouth.

The East "Gate" – The main student entry point and the bus route into Guildford town.

If you walked from West to East, here’s what you’d see, straight from my memory:

The campus gym and sports hall sat just inside the West Gate, where we, the Malaysian students, played badminton once a week. Across from it was the Toxicology Department, the only department building I remember being gated. A little further up was the Dance & Art Studies Department—at the time, I found it interesting that a university offered such courses. Behind it was Cathedral Court, one of the residence halls, and further up the slope was the Quiet Centre, where Friday prayers, iftar, and Tarawih prayers were held. Across the street from Dance & Art Studies Department, a small path led to Twyford Court, one of the pricier residence halls, next to a large football field.

At this point, the road split into two:

The left path led through two rows of tall buildings connected by glass bridges. Chemical Engineering was one of the first departmentd on the left I remember. Further up was Maths & Computing, my department, followed by the renowned Satellite & Telecommunication Department—possibly one of or the reason for then-Prime Minister Dr. Mahathir’s visit in 1995. Walking further would take you to Stag Hill lake.

The right path led to the university library, with a large 24-hour shared computer room attached to it. A narrow walkway next to it took you to SPAR, our go-to convenience store and concrete stairs to the university bookstore. Opposite the library entrance was the campus laundrette. Further up, the main university canteen sat on the left, directly across from Battersea Court, my residence hall. Nearby was Surrey Court, another residence hall, followed by the main lecture theatre building, where large classes were held.

Walking further, you’d pass a vegetarian restaurant—which, looking back, was quite progressive for the time.

Then the road sloped downward, leading to the Students’ Union, home to the elected student reps and the venue for weekend parties and discos. Attached to it was the student pub, with an outdoor seating area where, on warm sunny days, some of us coursemates would lounge between lectures. Opposite this area, across the street, was Stag Hill Court, another residence hall.

Continuing downhill, you’d pass the most expensive en-suite accommodations and the campus medical centre. This was the eastern edge of the campus, where the East Gate stood. Right next to it was Yorkie’s Bridge, a pedestrian bridge that led into town.

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A visit by an OP* (1994)

When I decided to pursue my degree in Guildford, several friends, including Shaikh, told me to look for someone named Mawardi. His name seemed to be well-known, popular among my batchmates at the Morrison’s Academy in Crieff and those who had studied at RMC (Royal Military College in Sungai Besi). Mawardi had been at both of these prestigious schools.

I don’t recall ever reaching out to him before arriving in Guildford. My plan was to look for him only after I had settled in. But somehow, he found me first. I suspect it was Shaikh who told him I was coming down from Glasgow. In those days, with no mobile phones, getting in touch required a little more effort. After a few days at the uni, Mawardi managed to track me down. I can only guess that he got my floor’s landline extension and called me through that. Each floor had a communal phone back then, and students could contact one another using assigned extensions.

This part, I remember clearly: One evening, he came to visit me in my room at the Battersea Court. The element of surprise was part of the fun back then ... there was no Google, Facebook, Instagram and the likes. I had never met Mawardi and had only a vague idea of what he might look like. When I opened the door, there he was—a man slightly shorter than me, with dark skin, neatly cropped inky-black hair, and a well-trimmed beard without a moustache. The beard made him look more mature than he was. I was 18, and he couldn’t have been more than 20. When he smiled, his teeth were flawless—both in color and alignment.

I invited him in. I remember sitting in my study chair while he took the single-seater sofa provided in the room. That was when I got to know him.

There aren’t many people in life who are naturally careful with their words—who speak with deliberate thought, choosing respectful phrasing, maintaining a calm tone, and balancing speech with silence. He seemed to be one of them.

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This sketch is more of a reconstruction of what might have happened that day - a lecture on the subject of Relational Database by the head of our programme, Dr. David Bowers, a towering English figure. The actual memories have long been buried alongside countless dead brain cells.

I was enrolled in a Bachelor's degree in Computing & IT, which was essentially Computer Science with a mix of modelling, mathematics, and business subjects—back in the days when IT was the new buzzword. Our cohort wasn’t particularly large. I can’t recall the exact number, but I do remember that there weren’t many of us, and the majority were international students.

Some names still linger in my memory, including one person who now lives just 9 kilometres from where I am:

Panos – Greek

Natasha – Greek

Dimitri – Greek

Costas – Greek

Jenni – Greek

Carl – English

Graham Bird – English

Rafiq – British (Pakistani)

Ramin – Iranian (a former soldier from the Iran-Iraq war)

David Preston – English

Robert Butson – English (a mature student, married to a Malaysian, Myriam)

Claire – English

Austin – English

Benjamin – Bosnian

Dragos – Serbian

(Name escapes me for now) – Finnish

Marwan – Lebanese

Leni – Malaysian

Faeez – Malaysian

And… me – Malaysian

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Leni & Faeez (October 1994)

I think it was only on the second day or perhaps sometime in the first week that I finally met Leni and Feez. As far as I can recall, there was a delay in their travel from Malaysia. Prior to this, they had been pursuing their A-Level at a Mara college of some sort (I forget the name, a place in Bangi I think).

I'm pretty sure when we first met it was in one the smaller lecture rooms in our department (Department of Computing & Maths, or Maths & Computing, I don't remember anymore which comes first). That being said, I think I had seen Faeez walking in front of the library the day before.

Faeez was really slender almost willowy, tall for a Malaysian or Asian in general. Her features didn't immediately place her in the typical Malaysian mould. I later learned that her lineage was a blend of Irish, Kadazan and Malay blood. She was extremely soft-spoken and a bit on the extreme end of shyness. Her face, framed by a hijab, in particular the cheeks, would always turn red when she had a good laugh.

Leni on the other hand was a petit, urban Subang girl. A bit tomboyish in my eyes, with a natural loose hairdo down to just above her shoulders, added to that relaxed style. Her go-to wardrobe, I later observed, was a brown leather jacket, slim-fit jeans and a pair of leather, above ankle shoes with a zip on the side on really small feet.

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Morning wish (4 Oct 2025)

That first night, while most of the freshers were out mingling, laughing, and revelling in their newfound freedom away from home, I was in my room. After changing into my pyjamas (yes, I actually wore proper pyjamas back then), I spent some time neatly arranging my things, making sure everything was in its place, and packing my small rucksack for the next day. Then, I just lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, thinking about what was to come.

I’d always been this way—nervous around new people, dreading social situations. And tomorrow? It was going to be nothing but new faces—new coursemates, new lecturers, new everything.

The next morning, not feeling entirely ready to face the day, I got up early and headed to the kitchen for breakfast before the others woke up. That’s when I ran into Alice, rummaging through the fridge, in her own "pyjamas", I guess looking for her food:

That moment which is very much crystal clear in my mind, confirmed two things:

Choosing a co-ed floor was absolutely the right decision.

I was severely overdressed for bed.

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Floormates (3 Oct 1994)

After the Welcome Apéro, I headed back to my hall, where I met a few of my floormates. There was Darrel—though I’m convinced his name was spelt completely differently—from Seychelles, also in his first year, studying (I think) Maths. Then there was Carlos from Brazil, just starting his PhD, a blonde English girl with glasses (let’s call her Alice), another English girl with curly black hair (let’s assign her Nerissa), and finally, a Chinese-Scottish guy studying a science subject, who I’ll name Robert.

Darrel was an odd one. I never once saw him attend a lecture. Most of the time, he was just lazing around in his room, smoking—probably to get high. Carlos, on the other hand, was practically learning English while doing his PhD, so conversations with him required a great deal of patience. He would take his time carefully piecing together grammatically perfect sentences. Alice was incredibly friendly and talkative, while Nerissa was quieter, a bit shy, but always generous with her smiles.

Robert stood out to me the most. He was exceptionally polite when he spoke, always choosing his words carefully, and his English was so clear and neutral that you’d never guess he was Scottish. We often found ourselves chatting in the kitchen about random things. One time, he told me about a trip back to China where he used a public toilet with a single drainage trench—everyone just squatted in a row over it. That image stuck with me.

That night, I had an early one. Tomorrow was gonna be the very first academic day of my uni life—I need to be fresh and ready take it on.

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Socialising with my Coke.

After checking in and getting a quick feel for my new room, I headed back down to the Welcome Apero at a nearby building—though, looking at the current campus map, I can’t seem to locate its name. What I do remember is a big flock of us, the new students, making our way to the venue together. It was perched on slightly higher ground, possibly a two-story building on a slope, with the apero taking place on the upper floor.

The atmosphere was lively. Everyone seemed to be in high spirits, the teaching staff wore their most welcoming smiles, and the International Students Director—Dr. ... something—looked particularly thrilled. He was a well-known figure among the international students, and I couldn't help but wonder if his excitement had something to do with the sheer number of us, each bringing in an average of £8,000 per year. A hefty bonus must have been on the horizon for him.

As for me, I’ve never been one for social gatherings, and that night was no different. Even now, I still struggle, to some extent, with being in a room full of strangers, but back then, it was almost unbearable. The whole concept of an apero was also completely foreign to me, making the experience even more daunting. So there I was—this skinny, long-haired, awkward-looking Asian kid—standing almost still, clutching a glass of Coke, staring at it as if hoping time would move faster so I could escape back to the solitude of my new room.