Flip through the latest issue of Gulf Weekly.
I am currently in the process of applying to university. If you have read any of my previous articles, then that should not come as a surprise to you, as I have spouted superfluously the many doubts and queries that, we, as students hold for our future.
Yet, this week, I am not going to bore you with more anxiousness and apprehension. Instead, I am going to share with you a learning of sorts that I stumbled upon whilst filling in the past qualification section of my application.
In order to fill in this information; I had to acquire my old GCSE certificates, which I knew my mother had accumulated and stowed away somewhere. However, I was not aware at the time, of the sheer extent of my mother’s gatherings as I stumbled upon an obese, overfed folder that was bursting at the seams, with ‘Hannah’ cast across it in my mother’s large and near illegible writing, with a thin layer of dust spread on top.
Not only did this contain my GCSE grades, but every single grade that I have ever received dating back 11 years to my Year 2 report card. Said report card, even included a photo of a scrawny six-year-old me, where, quite frankly, I looked like a mini serial killer.
Yet, after reading through the numerous teachers’ comments and grades from the years past, something struck me. Despite my impeccable and precise memory; many of their comments were just sieved out of my brain, although, at the time, my teachers’ opinions were the be all and end all of my schooling life. Which shows me, over-worrying about opinions, critiques and grades, is near pointless, because in ten years’ time, you’re not even going to remember.
