Education.

Educationally the last two semesters of my degree were at times, a little disappointing. As I accumulated a schedule full of required courses I felt as though my degree was less niche than I had anticipated and more repetitive. The most enjoyment I found out of my classes were in electives. Every week I mentally checked off that we were closer not only to the weekend but my Thursday night art history course. I would bring a pen and a notebook accompanied by a cup of tea and be present. Although I was beyond pleased to be in a class where I was thirsty to actually learn I began to feel troubled by it as well wondering if I was in the right degree. I have spent just one week in classes in France but already I can feel the excitement to learn steep into my system. Abandoning both phone and laptop during class I insist on scratching my notes in one of the several notebooks that I had insisted on packing and which I feel challenged to use. This ensures that I am focused upon the lecture and not becoming distracted by the little red dot appearing next to the message blurb along the bottom of my laptop screen.

As I take a steps outside of my major requirements I am privy to a world of political sciences, law and a personal favourite — feminist studies. To explore other areas of study is to give oneself the opportunity to live fuller. Through these courses my world is allowed to expand beyond Vancouver and further beyond Aix as well. Concepts brushed over in one communications class may be thoughtfully and thoroughly pulled apart within that of a political sciences class. To read the paper or maybe to be rather honest an article on The New York Times and be able to gather this acquired knowledge is a privilege for which I became increasingly thankful for. My dad decided that university was money well spent when in my first semester and first level linguistic course I discovered the official name of a certain dad joke. The joke: mixing up the first letters of two words: i.e. parking spot —> sparking pot. The official name: a spoonerism. He has been able to use this word at every dinner party since Fall 2016.

I relax into the stiff classroom chairs and find myself enamoured with the knowledge of the professors my eyes following them as they stroll back and forth across the room swaying in their hands in search of an English definition. Smiling when they resort back their native tongue of French and wishing wholeheartedly that I could speak the language as so eloquently. For quite sometime I sat on the fence of what to do post graduation uncertain of whether or not to attempt a crack at the work force or head straight towards a masters. I can now count the remaining semesters of my undergrad on one hand and as I fall back into the comforting rhythm of learning I find the idea of relinquishing academia to my past a little unnerving. Introductory stories told by each professor about their own educational past not only leaves me awe-struck but additionally allow me to feel grateful for the minimal time I have spent in that same, tight world. This is no declaration to suggest that I shall now attend post-graduate school and my applications are being stamped and mailed off immediately! But rather a call to the appreciation I have for an institution that with all its flaw, I am falling back in tune with.