To begin with, that title isnβt an attack on anyone who may have performed below their expectations. This is just something Iβve heard in the past that always seems to reappear in my mind when I myself perform below my expectations. I'm also writing this just to recap on everything, because I think this will provide a decent base. Now that Iβve cleared that, I think itβs time to talk about my woeful experience as a sixth-form student.
First and foremost, I think we should talk about what my mind duped me into believing before I enrolled in my schoolβs sixth form, and then I will discuss the heart-shattering reality of it all. After my GCSE results in August, I was confident in my ability to put in the effort for another two years of gruelling study. I was passionate about my subjects as wβ¦ well, not exactly all of my subjects, but two of those three slots had been easily filled by the English subjects (i.e. English literature and English language). Now I had to make the most difficult decision, which was selecting my third option from what there was on offer. I make this sound more intense than it actually was, but my mind had been cornered due to, umm, reasons, and my choices had been narrowed down quite a bit, courtesy of a few βhelpfulβ factors that have almost always influenced my education to quite a reasonable extent if I say so myself. There would be no third humanities option for me here. No, not at all. Not any of that βsoftβ tripe like theology or sociology. Oh no, it was time to take a STEM. And wooow, I should have listened to other peopleβs advice telling me to take what I had a passion for, instead of dying trying to pigeonhole myself into something I wasnβt ever fully immersed in. Anyway, I picked chemistry. Why did I pick that science specifically? Easy question. It was the STEM subject that I scored highest in at GCSE. Moving on, I had set myself up for a hell that not even someone with 20/20 vision could have seen coming if they were armed with my levels of delusion.
I thought that I was going to get pretty stonking grades to be fair. A*A*A to be exact. Haha. HAHA! Wow. I was such a naΓ―ve fool! Honestly though, I really thought it would be something not too dissimilar to GCSEs. I dismissed some of the claims of the gulf between KS4 and KS5, especially concerning difficulty. It was almost as though I thought that I could actually conjure up a set of top grades! (I do wonder whether I would have attained those grades if I had taken my retrospective dream combination at another sixth-form college, which was law, politics and philosophy.)
I also had this weird dream going on that I could make Oxbridge. My GCSE grades didnβt exactly scream βOxbridge candidateβ, but I felt that they had just surpassed the threshold for what was required to get into my desired course (no father, not medicine, Iβm sorry). I had this feeling that there was a chance to achieve βgreatnessβ. Too bad the next academic year had to give me the biggest wake-up call of my life. Itβs time to discuss the reality. I guess it HAD to come at some point.
The first major setback to my sixth-form dream was my chemistry grade at the end of the lower sixth. This wasnβt very pretty. In fact, if my exam performance was a description of a football match, it would have been a humiliation, an absolute thrashing. There was no contest. Iβd say it was men against boys out there, with AQA being the adults. Truthfully speaking, I didnβt fare well, at all. I attained a D grade, and to be honest, I probably didnβt deserve more. I hadnβt exactly been working like a Trojan since the beginning of the academic year, and I left revision to the end. I had always been struggling on end-of-topic assessments and failed to raise any concerns. It was pretty disappointing, but I also know that there was a chance at redemption. I could resit and attain a grade B, which would elevate my grades to early-entry quality. My other predicted grades were an A* and an A (I thought they were two A*s, for some reason), so this was really all I needed.
During the summer holidays, I verily tried everything to improve. I revised implacably for the forthcoming resit! I was indefatigable. I went over content multiple times and practised a few papers, trying to fill any knowledge cavities as effectively as I could. I actually felt like I was in one of those βstudy with me for twelve hoursβ videos on YouTube at times. By the end of it all, I could now actually approach an AS chemistry paper with a degree of confidence and elan that my lower-sixth self couldnβt even fathom.
However, coming to the end of the summer holidays, I was knocked down by my second major setback. Unbeknown to me as I was mourning the loss of a relative abroad, the moderators at AQA had docked marks for pretty much ever extended project. Fantastic. Just what I needed. The two-mark deduction that my project fell victim to was just enough for it to fall through the floor of the A grade. My ambitions were looking pretty uncertain here. While I do like making people laugh, I prefer it to be with me and not at me, and Iβd probably want the people that are laughing to be my friends rather than the Cambridge admission tutors. I moped, self-pitiedβ¦ moped again. It was just a depressive cycle really. I wouldnβt call it vicious. I donβt think I had enough energy for that.
After I managed to regain my grip on the real world and continue living my life, I realised that a prediction of A*A*A and a B in EPQ wouldnβt exactly ravage my chances of applying to Oxbridge. On Monday, it was showtime. If I ever wanted a time for all of my word work to pay off, this was it. I canβt lie; I was quite anxious. Despite this, I had slept well, gone over notes in the free-period before and remembered that, unlike last time, I was actually prepared. I know, pretty shocking for someone as indolent as myself, but I really was!
Come Friday, I received my result. I was anticipating something special. I felt as though something had clicked, and now it was time to see the fruits of my training. The result was aβ¦
Wow. I actually gasped at that result. For the first time in a while, I legitimately felt like a failure and an embarrassment. I was incredulous. I think my body shut down for a split second as well. It really felt like a spit in the face.
My third major setback, and the one that officially ruled me out of early entry. This was one of those moments when words had truly failed me. I wish the ground just swallowed me there and then. I felt the earth open up from under me. My soul was drained of its last ounce of optimism, and the death knell for any prosperous future that might have occurred had been rung. If my self-confidence were a human, it had its kneecaps shot, was senselessly dragged through shards of glass and dipped head-first into concentrated hydrochloric acid in that very moment. I had never felt so weak, and useless.
I know that thereβs a science/arts dichotomy, but I don't believe itβs as sharp as many people delineate it. Iβm not too fond of this persisting notion that youβre either a βscience personβ or a βhumanities personβ. But after this experience, you do wonder that there just might be some truth to all of it after all. I just wish that such a revelation didnβt come at the expense of my future. Maybe itβs time to give up on being this sort of βall-rounderβ. I do sometimes feel like Iβm one of those students breaking the mould a little with my subject combination. I donβt want to be a coward that runs away from a challenge, but maybe it is time to know my place. A little late, but better than never. I honestly donβt know how much more my confidence can take of this really, because it keeps hitting a new low every time. Every time I think that it can only get better because it canβt get any worse, it manages to full further into the abyss! Damn!
I have been told that this universe gives you back what you put in. Iβve also been frequently told that I have an ego that puts a psychopathβs one to shame, and that I am a po-faced piece of ****. Maybe itβs time to be a little more positive as well.
With that all being said, life isnβt about how many hits you can dish out. Itβs about how hits you can take and get up after that. Life is the hardest hitter known to man. It can punch you anywhere and still be more painful than any effective liver shot you receive from anyone on this planet. If I really am a student worthy of going into a top-quality higher-education institution like I once thought, I should probably get up, move on and work some more! Itβs not over yet!
Regardless of my result yesterday, life moves on, and so will I, because I think Iβm old enough to realise that the world wonβt wait for me to recover. It waits for no one.
P.S. Thanks to anyone that read this little blog. If you have any concerns about my grammar, spelling and/or punctuation, do contact me. Itβs always nice to have a fresh pair of eyes reading your work. If you have any other opinions, please share them. Iβd be happy to hear them.