Coming out of our closets

Let's sit back and imagine that you're in the shoes of a specialist, preparing yourself to meet  a new patient in your office. You don't know what to expect; you don't know what this person is like and you have no idea what health problem you are going to be treating.

Your patient walks in and you note that they smile at you, but seem a bit distant. You can't help but notice that she is watching your every move with scrutiny and yet, she can't look you directly in the eye. Her arms are folded. Her legs are jittering - she doesn't want to be here. You ask her what's going on and what brings her in today. Without looking at you, she answers quietly, and with some reluctance: "I have depression and anxiety disorder. I've had it for ages and I still can't figure out why." You nod, grab a pen and a pad and start writing.

As someone who has the invisible illnesses mentioned above, I am ashamed to admit that my behaviour at my last appointment with a mental health specialist mirrored that of the one above. In fact, that's exactly how it went, and I wish it hadn't been the case. Why did I act this way? Because I was afraid to be there, I really didn't want to be there and because of my low expectations of the visit.

If it wasn't already obvious, I find identifying as a disabled student incredibly difficult. Admitting that you have mental health issues whilst you are a student feels like you are coming out of the closet, as it probably does in any stage of your life. Not in the traditional sense of the term 'closet', but in another sense; a sense of hiding away and fearing having these difficult conversations with people. It is scary, I have hated living in my closet, but it needs to be done. Repeatedly, in my case, because I keep jumping back inside, overcome with shame, which I'm pretty sure is not the general rule for how this works. Currently, I have both feet outside of my closet and am sat inside with the doors open, deliberating what to do next. 

In my case, I find it easier to hide my illness from those I am not close to, especially if they are unfamiliar with the symptoms of depression and anxiety. Those who aren't close to me won't notice how much I procrastinate because I find focusing on tasks difficult and that I'm increasingly easily distracted. They won't notice the bags under my eyes because I'm not sleeping enough. They won't notice that I don't enjoy doing all the thing I used to do. They won't notice how stressed and panicked I am almost all the time.  And that is just the tip of the iceberg. Of course, I'm not saying that these people should be blamed for not noticing these things. Before I was diagnosed, I wouldn't have noticed these symptoms in others either. But I wish that I had been given that knowledge - that I knew the symptoms so I could have recognised them not just in myself, but in others too. If I had talked about these things, if I had the courage to talk about them now, I would have known. 

The fact is that lots of other people suffer with mental illnesses that don't just include depression or anxiety, and that happen for a multitude of reasons. In fact, one in four people suffer which means that it's almost certain you know someone who has a mental illness, whether you know about it or not.

It's hard. It's so hard to talk about it. It's a dark and miserable subject that no one wants to really have a conversation about, especially when it's a loved one going through the experience themselves. And on my end, it's difficult to talk about too. It's difficult to 'come out' to someone about your mental health. It's hard feeling like you're letting everyone you love down by being 'different.' But if we don't have these difficult conversations, it's not going to be one in four people who suffer with invisible illnesses. It's going to become four in four who suffer. The truth is that it's important to have these conversations and important to let people like me know that we aren't alone.To give people the courage to step out of our closets, confront our issues and embrace our illnesses and defeat them. After all, a closet is no place for a person to live in. Believe me. 

Should pole fitness be banned?

For those of you who either know me or read this blog regularly you will know several things about me. Firstly, you will know that I go to a wonderful institution called Swansea University, where I am currently studying in my final year of an undergraduate degree in History. Secondly, you will also know that I write for an amazing media outlet called The Waterfront Newspaper, which is run by and written for students. It really helps an aspiring journalist like me out.

I've preached before about how great writing for the Waterfront is, but sometimes, when my stress levels exceed my sanity levels, I forget. Today, however, I was reminded why I love it so much as we published a story about our union banning a pole fitness society, on the basis that "it is inextricably linked to the multi million pound sex industry."

Stories like this remind us that pole dancing is still considered a controversial subject. On a global scale, for very many people pole dancing is an art form that involuntarily invokes images of strip clubs and erotic entertainment. What needs to be stressed, however, is that pole dancing is not stripping. It can be athletic and artistic, which I believe are the two core elements for a pole fitness society at Swansea Students' Union.

I've been worked up and angry about this issue all day, and now that the newspaper has gone to print, I feel that I can finally have my say on the issue. The Students' Union wrote a letter in response to the banning of the society (which you can find here). So, I'm going to take this time to respond to their letter with my own thoughts.

Pole fitness and pole dancing are a direct spin off from lap dancing. Can we separate 'pole fitness' from 'pole dancing?' We believe that you cannot, because whatever you name it, pole 'fitness' or pole 'dancing', you are still participating in the social context of what the pole represents. Everyone knows where it comes from, that pole dancers are to be found in strip clubs and sex establishments and that pole dancing is a dance form specifically designed to sexually excite the watcher. Pole dancers are almost always women and watchers almost always men.

Here's my argument with that one. If a man were to dance on a pole in, say for arguments sake, a circus act, he would be applauded for his strength and flexibility. No one would call into question 'what the pole represents' and no one would ask why he was not 'in a strip club or sex establishment.' If a woman were to do the same routine, people begin the use words such as 'erotic' and 'sexual'. From my poor understanding and knowledge on the subject, (again, I'm very athletically challenged), the movements these women do are no different than gymnasts and yet, because a pole is involved, it is automatically sexual. With the creation and increase of pole dance as a sport and a means to get fit, very many people now see it beyond and outside of the strip clubs, but this way of forward thinking will not be able to progress if Swansea Students' Union cannot see beyond what the pole 'represents'.

Although 'pole fitness' is sold as an empowering activity, we believe that women have been deceived into thinking that this is a way of taking charge of their sexuality and their own decisions. Moreover, we believe that it is just a further debasement of our culture and another sign of a creeping backlash against women's true empowerment.

It infuriates me that the board are misguidedly (and probably accidentally) implying that women are easily deceived and incapable of making up their own minds. The statement is simply demeaning to women who go to these classes. I'm pretty sure that none of the trustees on the board have ever been to a pole dancing class or spoken to those who do. And I am pretty sure that these women do not pole dance for empowerment, to regain control of their sexuality or to impress men.

We believe that this is linked to the rise of 'Raunch Culture' in our society and our ever increasing pornified world where women are increasingly being portrayed and treated as objects for sexual enjoyment. This not only normalises the practise of 'pole fitness' but encourages and hoodwinks young girls and women into accepting and embracing this behaviour.

For me, pole dance isn't more sexual than other dance forms; it's that society perceives it as more sexual than other dance forms. Facing facts, yes, some of the origins of pole fitness comes from strip clubs. But if we're really concerned about the origins and perceptions of dance, would the Students' Union not have to ban street dance, due to its perception of links to gang culture? If there was a street dance society at Swansea, would that be banned too?

As a Students' Union, we should not be deaf to the very real issue of 'pole fitness' playing a part in upholding the Raunch Culture and objectification of women and girls and the impact of this on our female students. We have achieved some outstanding work on gender equality, notably by banning the sales of Lad's Mags in the Union, the banning of sexist advertisements and the Zero Tolerance Campaign. We believe that allowing the Pole Fitness Society would not be in line with our gender equality work.

Am I the only one who finds it contradictory that the university is promoting gender equality and yet, the union has fallen open to the sexist thinking that results in the prejudice around pole dance as a sport? No? Good - let's continue.

Swansea City Council has recently passed a 'Nil Policy' for the establishment of Sex Entertainment Venues in the City, and Welsh Government has a 'Right to be Safe' policy, which outlines its strategy for ending violence against women and girls. Pole dancing and the sex industry is a part of that and are seen as a form of violence against women.

Evidence also shows that young women aged 16-24 are the group of women who experience the most domestic and sexual violence. This is the age of a large group of our female students. We believe that activities such as 'pole fitness' contributes to an atmosphere where women are viewed as sexual objects and where violence against them is acceptable.

Attempting to link pole fitness classes and societies with violence against women is both completely wrong and very dangerous. To blame violence against women by men on the actions of these women who choose to partake in pole fitness classes is effectively buying into the rape culture of passing blame onto women. Additionally, if anything, women who are fit are stronger and could probably kick a guys arse. I know several women who can do just that.

For me, the arguments of the Trustee Board against pole fitness seem to be based on prejudice and fear.  I don't pole dance personally so maybe I'm not the best person to speculate, but I think the board seriously need to consider what pole dancing really is and how empowering a movement it actually is to women. It is their right to choose whether they want to take part in pole fitness or not and by banning the society at Swansea, a female student is unable to make that choice and that, my friends, is not empowerment.

Kind of like studying abroad....

Would you guys believe it, I’m in America?

Yep. America. The US of A.  And it’s actually rather lovely, considering I’ve only been asked where Wales is in England once and that everyone keeps asking me to say things in my ‘cute accent’. The American people are actually rather decent, I’ve found, though they still don’t know how to spell simple words such as ‘Colour’ or ‘Programme’ properly. As I write this on the shiny Mac computer in the student newspaper room, it’s underlining the correctly spelt words above in red.

Shut up American computer, I’ve been writing and spelling things for years. I know what I’m doing here.

So, yes, as you can see, I’m enjoying America. I’ve learnt a lot of things whilst I’ve been here already, such as that the fact that my name is apparently uncommon in America and everyone feels the need to compliment how beautiful a name it is.

Americaaaaa
Gemma Parry

Well done parents. You have the American approval. You chose my name well.

But in all seriousness now, I am actually enjoying my time here. We’ve been doing absolutely loads of stuff on journalism and media and all the stuff that I’m probably going to use one day, as well as finally getting round to setting up my own website, which will be linked up to this blog when I figure it all out. It has honestly been a bit overwhelming, with all the hands on learning and being immersed in American culture. We’ve been up to the Rockies, (did I mention I’m in Colorado by the way? Clearly not…), we celebrated American Independence, (we British didn’t even care anyways, India was a far better choice,) we’ve been to a rodeo and lots of other stuff I can’t even remember right now. It’s lovely that they’re trying so hard to show us what American culture is all about but, frankly, I’m mostly here for the food.

I think I’ve gained my body weight twice over again whilst being here. Even the vegetables here taste divine. It’s so confusing because I’ve spent most of my life holding a personal vendetta against vegetables that aren’t potatoes but I suppose it’s a good thing. I bet they coat them in sugar to make them taste better. I must try this when I get home.

 

So yeah, I’ve been here now for around about 24 days and I’m leaving for Britain on Saturday. It’s gone quickly actually, and I can’t believe it’s all over already. I think I’m more than ready to come home now though. I’m really starting to miss Britain, my family and my friends. In fact, it’s my little brothers’ tenth birthday tomorrow, which makes being away from home even worse.  That coupled with the fact that I’m not of legal drinking age here and that when I get back into my boyfriend’s house, I’ll probably be handed a glass of some sort of alcoholic beverage, makes me miss home even more. But I’m sure I can hold out for four more days.

Anyway, there is a point to this blog apart from my random musings on American life. And that is the positives of doing exchange programmes or studying abroad. I never really saw it as much of a good thing before but, now that I’ve done it for myself, I can truly see how wonderful it is.

1) Travelling to places you’ve never been before

Before this, I had never been to America before.  A few of the people I travelled here with hadn’t done it before either, so it was completely brand new and exciting. Like most people, I was expecting the version of America that I have seen on shows such as 90210 (best show ever, by the way) and, in some aspects, I was pleasantly surprised to find it completely different to my expectations.  It’s been a massive learning curve and I really wouldn’t hesitate to come back here again.

Me, Kayla and Jack 

2) Making friends for life

The first day of my arrival, everything was a bit awkward. I was sharing a bathroom with two of the only other females on my course who were already firm friends after travelling around America before the course started and, of course, having made friends back in Swansea. I felt left out, sad and tired. But mostly hungry after all my travelling. And so, one of the guys on our course went to Subway and brought me back a massive meal, and well, we all bonded. Over food – my favorite thing. It was a magical moment.

What was really the best thing about it was the fact that these two girls have now become friends for life. We have bonded and shared this experience whilst we have been here and they are without a doubt among the funniest and most cheerful people I’ve had the pleasure to meet. There is no doubt in my mind that we will continue to be friends when we get back to the UK and that counts for each and every single one of the other eight people on the course too.

3) Learning new things

This goes without saying. Being in a brand new environment obviously means that you will learn brand new things. But it’s still a wonderful learning experience, all the same.

Diana and I

4) Personal growth

To you, I may still seem to be the same immature student that I was before I embarked on this adventure and I suppose I still am in some ways. But I feel very differently about the world around me. I feel that I understand it a bit better and that I understand myself a bit better. It makes me feel sorry for my poor boyfriend who puts up with me, day in day out. I’m sorry babe, but it’s all good fun, right? My point is that I feel like I’ve developed as a person and that I can understand where I want to go a bit better. That can’t be a bad thing.

5) More stuff for the CV

I hate CVs. I really do. I hate writing them and I hate sending them off and I hate people reading them. But I feel a bit better about my terrible CV right now, knowing that I have had this experience that I can show off to potential employers, that not many other students will have had. Plus, I apparently get a shiny graduation certificate at the end of the programme to take home. My mother will hang it up in the house – it’ll look lovely.

My ultimate point is that travelling and studying abroad is incredibly rewarding. It’s even nicer for me because I’ve always really wanted to do it without spending the incredibly long time away from my home. So the fact that this course is compacted into one month is a bonus for me.

At the Rockies! 

I will be very sad to leave America – I’ve made incredible friends here and it’ll be really strange not waking up every day and barging into Polly and Diana’s room and bothering them with my nonsense talk. It’ll also be very strange not waking up and putting sun cream on straight away, but I hear that Britain is currently in the middle of a heat wave, so that transition should be easy enough.  But I still can’t wait to get back to Britain and cause the havoc that usually follows me around all over again.

Good luck with that, Britain. 

Giving up new year's resolutions

I've never really enjoyed New Years Eve.

I know it sounds absolutely ridiculous because it's one of the few days of the year that people are legitimately licensed to get drunk before midnight with not only your friends, but your parents and (if you're me or you live in an incredibly small village/town) your grandparents. I have no objections to putting my liver through such hefty alcohol abuse, and there's no issue whatsoever with making a fool out of myself as I declare my undying love for the other drunks in the pub/bar/club or general space I'm inhabiting. It's just that it gets me down - makes me all melancholic and remorseful and more whiny than usual.

When I'm not complaining to the point of epic 'please-shut-the-hell-up' proportions about what I should have done with the previous year, how my body weight has sky rocketed and doubled over the last two weeks of the Christmas holidays, and of the state of my car which I have still failed to clean out, I'm left wondering idly why the goddess and beacon of all that is wonderful that is me is not enjoying the new year's celebrations. Mostly.

This year, I found myself fighting through crowds in London, jumping barriers and feeling like a complete idiot as I hoisted my very overdressed legs over iron barriers whilst carrying two bottles of Smirnoff ice. I found myself in Trafalgar square at midnight, watching the fireworks that were happening around the corner go off on a big screen next to Nelson's column. With my loving and wonderful boyfriend next to me, wearing a beanie hat, smoking a cigar and drinking gin and tonic from a can, I realised two very important things.

1) I've never enjoyed new years eve because I'm anticipating the let down that will transpire after I've made my 'new year resolutions.'

2) I am a proper Billy no mates.

Many of us make personal pledges to improve our lives at the beginning of a new year. We delude ourselves into believing that the beginning of every new year leads on to a brand new us. We have decided that we will all work out every day, go gluten-free, think more positive thoughts or do more random acts of kindness.

It's the one tradition that I could never and will never be able to wrap my head around. Let's face it folks, new year's resolutions are just plain stupid. Yep, there we go. I've actually said it. Choosing one single day to start a major life change just isn't logical, which is why the majority don't work and most of us end up feeling like failures until next year. I'm not saying some haven't been successful - just that a lot go unfulfilled. Just imagine - if every single person in the UK promised to diet and go to the gym every week as a part of their resolution, we'd be a much thinner society and I, a much more jealous woman.

So, why do so many of us make and break our yearly resolutions to read more books, work harder in life, quit smoking, be healthier and to look after our money a bit better? You'll be pleased to know that I think I've nailed it in three points.

1) We anticipate too much and want it all too quickly.

In this life, there are two types of people. There are the incredibly irritating ones who can pick up a new hobby or take on a challenge like it's absolutely nothing. And then, there are people who are, well, more normal and realistic. For example, a friend of mine has the amazing ability to pick up instruments and just play them like a pro, which I'm insanely jealous of right now, as I try to fathom out the mandolin my father impulsively bought me for Christmas. In short, they have that both wonderful and annoying ability to effortlessly succeed in everything they do.

Unfortunately, most of the British population and in fact, normal people, are not this person. If you are, (like me), woefully and pathetically out of shape, gathering sponsorship to run a marathon by the following summer isn't only demoralizing, it's downright madness. Of course, that doesn't mean that anyone should now abandon their desires to lose weight, be healthier, run marathons, swim the English channel, drink less or learn to play volleyball, just because I've said so. I'm just saying we need to be realistic about our expectations - some targets just aren't reachable and need modification. As well as time.

2) Giving up because the results don't come quickly enough.

I've been to the gym once before for five minutes of torture to welcome in the new year, followed by a hasty retreat. In the time that have passed since, I have longed to lose weight and to be able to walk up a flight of stairs without collapsing. But the gym, for me, is not the place to do that, with the bacon sandwiches in the cafe next door tempting me as soon as I walk outside. And it is especially not the place to do it at the beginning of the year.

I know of people that have and that go to the gym on a regular basis, but they know to avoid it during the month of January. Without fail, in January, people flock from left, right and centre to get in shape. The treadmills and free weights are occupied from dusk to dawn with these people who are determined to fight the flab. But, by February, the gym is usually empty again and my friends can return to lifting weights in relative peace for the rest of the year.

New year's resolutions are nearly always sincere - people don't say to themselves on January first "Yes - this year, I think I'll make a half - arsed attempt to lose a bit of weight and eat healthier." People do want to be able to cut back on the sweets and quit smoking, but it requires commitment, not just on January first, but on the second and the third and every day that follows up until December.

3) The first of January is an awful starting point

Of all the days we can choose to start making a major difference to our lives, January the first has to be, without a shadow of a doubt, the worst. It's the one day of the year in which the entire nation is collectively waking up with severe headaches and incurable hangovers. Collectively, we drag ourselves to our kitchens, which are decimated from the previous evening, pour ourselves cups of coffee or glasses of water. Fresh in our drunken humiliation, we remember the new year has happened and try to convince ourselves that, yes, today is the day I'm going to become a better person.

Urgh.

It's completely understandable why January the first seems like the best day to start fresh and anew. It marks the end of the holidays - the end of the presents, large and fattening meals, the gingerbread cookies, the champagne at 11 am  the eggnog and mulled wine. But, just because something so wonderful has ended, does it really mean we have to make ourselves over to mark that?

Probably not.

It's not like all the physical remains of the holidays magically disappear at the stroke of midnight on January first. The remains of the Christmas tree stay up for another week and I've heard that fruitcake lasts a hell of a long time beyond Christmas day. My point is that making a significant lifestyle change isn't easy - you're either ready to do it there and then or you aren't. The beginning of a new year isn't going to make it any easier on you to go out for a daily run. If anything, the cold weather and the tight shorts combo you've been eyeing up will make it damn near impossible.

Sorry to be the bearer of bad news...

Now that's over and done with, I'm off to finish off the essays that I promised I would have finished by now, and to do all the work I have procrastinated against until now, hereby marking my glorious failure of Gemma Parry's 2012 new year's resolution.

I'll come up with one for 2013 in June, when I know where I'm better placed for success. 

Loans, grants, overdrafts and being poor

After a two hour long session in a lecture room next to a guy who reverted to the technique of copying down every word that I wrote rather than using his brain, and a student behind me who was determined to beat out the introduction to Phil Collins hit song 'In the air tonight' on the back of my chair every five seconds, I can't say I'm feeling ecstatic about university life at the moment. However, even at this very moment as I feast on crappy canteen food and dry cheerios  I am still paying to go to these lecture rooms that consist of students slumped on chairs pretending to listen to the lecture while they doodle and throw things at each other, a lecturer nearly crying with the passion of his subject and the occasional question and answer time.

Yep. I'm living the high life.

Anyway, today, after trudging back to the Waterfront office, and deliberating whether to trip up the student in front of me, (it was the one who had kicked my pelvis out of place during our lecture,) I decided that it was finally time to pay off my internet bills for my shiny new house and, of course, for my room in my shiny new house.

It cost me just over a grand.

A GRAND. A whole load of money that big just... POOF! Gone in a flash. I had tears of pain in my eyes as I clicked the button to confirm that, yes, I was actually going to give away all that money and no, I wasn't going to change my mind, just so I don't have to sleep in a cardboard box.

And with that sum of money in mind, I wouldn't object to the box right now.

 

www.funnyjunk.com

Now, I know that I don't have it as bad as some students do. I guess I could say that I'm rather lucky with the fact that my parents decided to have me when they did. A year later, and I'd be facing tuition fees of about £9,000. (We'll ignore the fact that I'm Welsh and that my government is purely awesome for the next few minutes)

Last year, as you may well know, (Hi Stalkers!) I started my education at Swansea University. The school talk about student finance seemed a long time ago then - it was way back in July at the end of year 12 and for some reason, it was scheduled for a Friday afternoon, which had followed a week of 'learning'. I can assure you that I was not prepared to listen to somebody coming in from Glamorgan University to reel off a pre-prepared and over-rehearsed speech about university and, 'more importantly' student finance. As she rambled on, my mind, and most of the minds of those around me, drifted to fresher's fortnight, the parties, the alcohol, the societies, the alcohol, meeting new people and possibly finding a bit of independence, (which I am yet to find.)

I vaguely remember being told to apply for my student loan as soon as I had decided which university I wanted to go to and which course I wanted to do. Unfortunately, I didn't listen to a word and I was stuck at the last minute, panicking, trying to remember which bits to fill out and what to put down. Fortunately, my mother is an accountant, (and a damn good one at that), and filled it out for me in ten minutes flat, while making my dinner - the women is a domestic goddess.

Then, I had to change my current bank account to a student one. On this occasion, my dear mother dragged me out of my room, away from my Friends box set and into the bank on NatWest to partake in what I assumed would be a ten minute job. Actually, I turned out to be there for at least an hour, what with my easily distracted persona marvelling at the bank advisers hair and thick welsh accent and the fact that at least a ton of information was being thrown at me about saving accounts, debit cards, overdrafts, all on top of the actual current account. It makes my head spin to think about it now - I wisely passed on my money issues to my mother.

So now, my purse is brimming with cards for this, and that and everything else, and I feel like a business women. Well, on the outside anyway. On the inside, I'm worried about remembering my bank details and wishing it could be a tad easier, especially for me, being a History student and all. (We're very easily confused.) The only thing I did look forward to was getting a free railcard. The disappointment I felt when discovering that NatWest had scrapped that perk of the deal is symbolised in the phone bill my mother used up telling them how useless they were.

Unlike most fresher's, I didn't budget and I actually survived my first year. Like a true student, my finance outgoings were decided on unplanned impulsivity. Now I'm in my second year and looking at the seriously depleting rates of my bank account, I can't help but worry about how I will survive off chocolate animal biscuits again at my grand old age of 20... nearly...

NatWest provides it's answer to my problem with a piece of plastic, called a 'credit card' and a scam to take all my money known as an 'overdraft.'

Handy isn't it?

The tuition fees of over three grand that I pay each year was a lot for me to take in. I've never even seen a fifty pound note, so you can imagine how it blew my mind that universities wanted to take all this money from me that I didn't have. I can only imagine how the incoming fresher takes the news that they have to pay up to £9,000 a year to not attend the lectures and seminars that they're supposed to, but to spend the year drinking their livers into a state of shock and living off takeaways.

This is where the beauty of the 'student loan' comes in. Taking out a student loan for university is like indentured servitude. You will be paying your way to freedom for the rest of your life. You'll soon be living off cereal, (like me), and craving some protein or meat or... well, anything other than cereal. Basically, if you're going to take out a loan, do so wisely - make sure your parents are loaded or that you take out a subscription to online bingo.

But, it can sort of help you out during the poorest time of your life. I genuinely don't think I'd be alive right now, if it weren't for my student loan. With my inability to get a job, the lack of jobs and rent to pay, food to buy and alcohol to purchase and consume to drown out my money worries, my student loan is absolutely vital to my continued existence. While I wish I didn't have to depend so heavily on the government, (especially because it's English), I have to pass on my heartfelt thanks for keeping me alive for so long.

Perhaps I'm worrying too much. I've managed my finances rather well when I've accumulated money in the past, so coping with the virtual money that is now lingering around should be relatively easy. Learning to budget may or may not come in time but until then, pop tarts and animal biscuits should see me through this semester. And if I'm coping, (ish) I assure you that the rest of the student population will most definitely survive.  

Just don't ask me how - I'll let you know when I figure it out. 

Student loans video <---- Watch this - It'll make your poor, empty student lives way more interesting!