Maths MSc

  • Everybody who’s gone to university will almost definitely tell you that university was the best time of their life. I’ve only spent one year there, and I couldn’t agree less.

    It all began on the 27th of September 2004, the day I became a Maths student at UCL. I had been looking forward to that day probably since year 11 when those wretched public exams had first become a part of my life. I looked forward to the freedom of being able to skip classes, just like that, without having to make up an excuse for it. I looked forward to making friends with interesting people whose interests expanded beyond make-up, Hollywood stars and reality television. The day had arrived, but now I was dreading it. UCL was a big place with thousands of students. There were roughly 100 people on my course; a big change from being the only student in my maths class.

    The first week involved a lot of queuing, more queuing, and finally, a bit more queuing. We had a few introductory lectures, boring of course as I had expected. There was however one on Chaos Theory, which I still remember one year later and so, must have been good. The other thing I remember was being told that on top of the 20 hours or so of lecture time we would have, we were expected to spend another 20 hours studying on our own. I was convinced that doing 40 hours of maths per week would drive me insane by the end of my degree; it was a relief to meet some final year students who seemed sane enough.

    The end of the week brought Freshers’ Fair, when the university becomes a fully-packed market place where students gather in masses to collect useless freebies, pens, credit cards, even cameras from Barclays. Scattered policemen controlled the crowds and ensured that we moved in an orderly fashion. Amazed, feeling very lost and confused, I drifted along with the crowd, almost carried along by them. Eventually, we reached the end, and I went home.

    The second week began, and so did the16 hours of lectures, 2 tutorials and 4 pieces of coursework, per week. I drowned. Or so I thought. Actually, I probably would have, had I not found a group of friends to work with, to share difficulties and solve problems with. Somehow, we managed to stay afloat.

    Although my studies were my priority and took up most of my time, they aren’t what made my year so special. My older sister had strongly advised me to join lots of clubs and societies on top of the Islamic society, and for once I took heed of her advice. Playing badminton, chess, volunteering and being part of the Union not only gave me a much-needed break from Maths, I also met lots of different people and had some very interesting conversations. I was constantly busy, but mostly happy. I had the international group of friends I had always wanted: from China, Lebanon, Turkey, France and Portugal. I was also starting to feel a part of the Islamic Society. Ramadan had been a very spiritually up-lifting time, seeing so many students from all over coming together to eat and pray and to share experiences with. I learnt an enormous amount during those iftaars, and I also had a few delicious biryanis.

    The first two terms flew by. When I look back, there is one day that really sticks out. I was sitting in the common room trying to finish a piece of homework. There weren’t that many students and the room, strangely enough, was almost silent. Suddenly a girl sitting on her own in the corner asks in a clear, loud voice, to everyone: “What’s this?” as she points to her teeth. We’re all a bit shocked of course, and nobody says anything. “What’s this?” She asks again. One of the guys sitting at the back, while trying to stop himself from laughing, replies: “Teeth”. I hear another whisper mine and everyone else’s thought: “See what happens when you do a Maths Degree.”

    The first two terms, just like life in general, consisted of lots of ups and downs, and probably a lot more downs, and when the Easter holidays arrived and revision time began, it was definitely down, down and down again. But fortunately, this only lasted for 3 weeks. I tried all the revision techniques I was taught at school but had always thought useless. For some unknown reason, they actually helped this time. Gradually, I became in control of my revision, and when the exams began, I knew I was going to be fine.

    Of course a few of the exams didn’t go as well as I’d hoped, but fortunately, the day of the last exam quickly arrived. By then it had become almost a routine. I automatically filled in all the details on the front page. Then, while waiting for the late and stressed students to frantically rush in looking for their allocated place, I read some Du’as and Surahs by heart and probably looked like a lunatic talking to herself. It helped me to calm down, and focus. Lastly, that all-important phrase, the one we all love and hate simultaneously: “you may begin; good luck”.

    Question after question, page after page, and finally, it was over. We all rushed outside where one girl was jumping up and down almost hysterically. I was happy that my exams were over but I also felt a strange loss. My first year at UCL as a maths student was over. I hugged my friends, said good-bye and slowly walked towards the station, wondering how to begin my four-month long holiday.

    Sarah Mauthoor – MSc Maths