A Year Past Rejection

“The world is indeed full of peril, and in it there are many dark places; but still there is much that is fair, and though in all lands love now is mingled with grief, it grows perhaps the greater.”

 -- J. R. R. Tolkien, The Fellowship of the Ring.

A year ago today, I posted this picture and quote after walking around my subdivision at twilight in a bit of a daze. The previous Friday, I rode the bus to uni nearly crying because nothing seemed to be working out. By the following Wednesday, I had a full scholarship to write my PhD at the university of my dreams.

It’s been a year now, and within the next few days I’ll be submitting my thesis outline and first chapter for review by the department. It’s been an amazing year, full of plays, concerts, travel, church events, friends, and (occasionally) academic work. The year hasn’t been everything I expected, but, in many ways, it’s been so much better.

 

Now more than ever, though, I’m glad this PhD position didn’t fall into my lap. I’m so thankful for those months last year where I felt rejected, and alone, and a failure.

Writing a PhD is hard work. The hours are long, the expectations are high, and the paperwork is never-ending.

What’s most difficult about the PhD, though, isn’t the work itself—it’s finding the motivation to actually do the work. It’s putting in the hours at the office when people tell you, “You’re just a first year; you don’t need to work so hard.” It’s managing to care about some entertainment that Queen Elizabeth saw in 1575 when it seems like everyone else’s project is so much more interesting and relevant. It’s keeping a smile on your face when your supervisor is disappointed and you feel you can never be a real academic.

Basically, doing a PhD is about managing your imperfections in a system that expects constant perfection.

For me, as a Christian, doing my PhD is about daily acknowledging that I’m not doing this on my own strength. I’m so flawed, so inadequate, but God has given me an amazing opportunity and He will guide me through it.

That’s why I’m glad my PhD applications weren’t a glorious string of acceptances. Because now I know that I’m not here because of my intelligence, or my academic excellence, or my copious extracurriculars.

Facing rejection before starting my PhD taught me that I am very much not perfect, but neither do I have to be. And now, whether my friends are complimenting me on a theatrical performance or my supervisor is tearing my chapter to shreds, I have absolute confidence that I am valuable not because I can somehow achieve perfection, but because He strengthens me.

Day 46- A Year Later

Receiving an inordinately expensive piece of paper

A year ago today, I convocated at Western with a Bachelor’s degree in English literature. The next day, I submitted my SSHRC application—a 25-page document for a scholarship worth up to $105,000.

Today, I should be crossing the stage with the other members of my cohort to receive my Master of Arts Degree from Western. Instead, I’m sitting in a flat in Scotland, working towards my PhD at the University of St. Andrews, courtesy of a SSHRC scholarship and generous funding from the university.

It’s been a wild ride. I’ve read thousands of pages, written 45,000 words, cried at rejections and jumped with joy at the acceptances that meant everything. The Masters year wasn’t always fun. Nothing about it was easy. But it was so, so worth it.

To be corny and cliché, it was the people that made my Master’s experience enjoyable. I owe so much to everyone I interacted with that year: the family I lived with who were there for me through the string of rejections, the professors who helped me with proposals or wrote references or just listened when I needed to rant about the stresses of grad school, and, most of all, the wonderful MA and PhD students who made classes so enjoyable.

I might not miss the long nights struggling to finish marking, or the mornings waking up at five to read 90 pages of Freud before class, or the 12 hour days writing three papers in a week, but I definitely miss Wednesday evenings at the grad club and Friday mornings grumbling about the uselessness of bibliography class and afternoons in the “bunker” chatting about everything from the definition of “English” literature to the meaning of marriage to Victorian mummy unwrappings.

Final day with the MA cohort

I wish I could be there to convocate with everyone this morning. I’m so proud of everyone who made it through the year, as well as those who had the courage to drop out when they realized that the program wasn’t for them. I’m so thankful for the intellectual discussions and the Doctor Who evenings, for people who love both Shakespeare and David Tennant.

To everyone convocating today, I wish you all the best. Whether you’re heading on to a PhD or running away from academia as fast as you can, know that I’m thinking about you and praying for you.

Enjoy your thirty seconds on the stage this morning—I might be in Scotland, but I’ll definitely be there in spirit… and possibly lurking the video livestream… J

-21 Days: Three Weeks and Counting

In three weeks, I'll be back in St. Andrews. 

I leave Halifax on the 7th and arrive in Glasgow early on the 8th, meaning that by mid afternoon I'll be installed once again in St. Andrews. I'm hoping the jet-lag won't be too severe, as I'm arriving in the middle of Freshers' week and I'll already have missed a number of events, so I'd rather not miss more. It'll be so exciting to do Freshers' week again, this time going to events to see old friends, rather than standing awkwardly at a dozen different 'give it a go' sessions. 

This year will be different. I don't even know how different yet, but I do know that I can't count on it to be all that much like my exchange year. 

For starters, I'm a legit student this time. As in, an honest-to-goodness staying-for-three-years and earning-a-degree student. This isn't a year out, where courses transfer as pass/fail. This time, academics need to be top priority.

On top of that, I'm a legit PhD student. I won't be an undergrad moaning about 9:00am lectures, or madly scrambling to finish a reading, or pretending I'm intelligent because I took a quick look at secondary sources. I'll be heading in to my office every morning setting my own schedule, studiously reading everything I can find in my area, and hopefully contributing articles of my own. My MA gave me a taste of real scholarship, but next year will crank that up a notch.

Most importantly, I'm a legit PhD student at St. Andrews. As in, the third oldest university in the English-speaking world. One of the top universities in the world. 600 years old. The alma matter of royalty. An institute of learning that was already well established by the time Shakespeare wrote the plays I study. Last year, I had the privilege of temporarily belonging to that world-- the next three years will tie me forever to the name of St. Andrews. 

To be honest... I'm terrified. Excited, yes. Exhilarated, that too. But, more than anything, I can't believe my dream is coming true, and I'm both excited and scared for what that means. Getting my PhD from St. Andrews will be both the hardest and the best thing I've ever done. And it all starts in three weeks.

Success and Rejection

Forest near my home

I'm so bewildered right now. My life could not possibly have taken a more dramatic turn in the past few days. 

Just over a week ago, I took the bus to university nearly crying. I'd been rejected from two universities and the other two weren't providing me with enough funding to afford to attend. My papers weren't going well. I was looking for jobs, but even with a Masters it seemed like I wasn't qualified for anything.

And then Friday Afternoon happened. 

I can't release details yet, not until everything is finalized, but I now have the opportunity to go do my PhD in the UK next year, which is what I've hoped and prayed and worked for all this past year. 

One big yes began an avalanche of yeses, all happening so fast I could barely keep track. I went from a burnt-out MA student uncertain if I'd ever enter a classroom again to a desirable PhD candidate with grad chairs at prestigious universities casually saying they'd love to have me and graduate financial managers suggesting we meet up for drinks and world experts in my field chatting in my office and offering to help in any way they could. 

It's wonderful. It's crazy. It's utterly beyond what I could have expected.

Moonlight walk the evening I heard the news

It’s also, quite frankly, a tad uncomfortable. I’m exactly the same person I was a week ago, but just with one highly important piece of paper in my hand. And now everyone wants to help me out. I’m the go-to success story that makes my department look good. I’m the rags to riches fairy tale.

I always assumed that people doing PhDs at prestigious universities with sizable scholarships had it all together. They were the best of the best. They were smart. And hardworking. And somehow magical—everything worked out for them. They could sit in their comfy office chairs with all their applications and grant proposals comfortably behind them and smile because they had succeeded at life.

But that’s not how it is. Maybe for some people, but not for me. I was rejected. I was burnt-out. I was so lost and confused. If there’s one thing I know about life, it’s that I most definitely don’t have it all together.

There’s a lot of hard work coming. I may have gotten the PhD position of my dreams, but actually getting the degree won’t be easy. And then there’re postdocs. And adjunct positions. And maybe, sometime in the future, a professor’s chair.

Western

I certainly haven’t written my last application or received my last rejection. Life is not all sunshine and rainbows from here on. I may have gotten accepted where it counted most, and I am beyond thrilled. But I am still the same person who was rejected.

I want to be the person who learns from those rejections rather than the one who pretends it’ll never happen again. I want to remember how hard the road has been so far so I can be more empathetic towards the ones travelling behind me and more respectful of the ones ahead. I want to sincerely thank everyone who has supported me so far and in turn support everyone I can.

I want to grow, yet not become a different person from last week, before everything went right. My worth as a human being does not depend on what one scholarship committee thinks of two pages I’ve written. I want to work hard and trust God and move forward knowing that I am not defined, ultimately, by either my academic failures, or my successes. 

Day 150: Well, I'm Back

“But Sam turned to Bywater, and so came back up the Hill, as day was ending once more. And he went on, and there was yellow light, and fire within; and the evening meal was ready, and he was expected. And Rose drew him in, and set him in his chair, and put little Elanor upon his lap.
He drew a deep breath. ‘Well, I’m back,’ he said.”

-- J. R. R. Tolkien, The Return of the King

Final day in St. Andrews- a walk on the 18th hole of the Old Course

Day 150. I’ve been back in Canada for 150 days. Yikes.

It’s been good, for the most part. I won’t lie and say that it wasn’t hard to leave Scotland and that every moment back in Canada has been amazing and that I never want to leave here again. Coming back was difficult and stressful and full of reverse culture shock and longing for cobbled streets and old stone buildings.

But, despite all that, it has been good to come back. I needed to return to Canada and see my country through new eyes. Yes, there are plenty of things that now frustrate me, like how spread out everything is or how people don’t know how to queue or how no one properly appreciates a good cup of tea. Yet, there are so many things I do appreciate, like proper malls and nice airports and heated houses and having all my clothes with me and having a family who knows me so well and loves me anyways.

I’m glad to have returned. I don’t think it would have been good for me to have stayed away much longer. Living the crazy life of an exchange student, it’s far too easy to forget that “home”—whatever that word means—does actually matter.

That’s the problem with going on exchange: it’s so temporary… and so exciting for that very reason. During my one year at St. Andrews I packed in several years’ worth of travel and theatre-going and celebrity-meeting. I did so much that home couldn’t help but feel boring… but I only did so much because I wasn’t at home. My friends who call Britain home could have done just as much as I did, but they didn’t, because they were at home. It was the exchange that gave me license to have such an amazing year, not the living in Britain.

An exchange is fundamentally transitory. It’s got an absolute beginning and end. It’s like a little bubble space off of real life. I never want to say that it has no bearing on real life, because it absolutely does, but it still is a special time that must end. I might even go as far as to say that the fact that an exchange year ends is ultimately what makes it all worthwhile.

That’s why I had to come back. Because returning to Canada and reevaluating my homeland also allows me to look back and appreciate Scotland for what it was: a life changing year. My year abroad changed me in so many ways that didn’t even become evident until I came back. It’s all well and good to reinvent yourself in a new country, but the real test is when you come back “home.”

This probably all sounds too final, like I’m content return home and put my exchange year behind me. That’s not true at all. Right now I’m doing all I can to get myself back to Britain and I still don’t particularly want to stay in Canada long term. But I know that returning here was important, even essential, and I’m so glad, after 150 days, that I came back. 

Day 263: Soakings

It appears that every tradition at St. Andrew’s involves getting cold and wet. Raisin Weekend, the May Dip (more about that in another post), Pier jumps, and now Soakings.

Soakings are a bizarre combination of celebration and revenge. After you finish your final exam of your final year (which, for me, was at 11:30 on Monday) your friends waylay you outside your examination venue and douse you with water (and occasionally glitter. Or champagne. Or flour. Or flowers. But technically it’s supposed to be just water). This serves as a wonderfully amusing way to celebrate the end of your undergrad degree.

A friend's soaking this afternoon, with an unconventional soaking implement.

I’ve been to a bunch of soakings, some by friends’ houses when they were writing take-home exams, other times in officially designated ‘soaking areas’ by the main exam venues. The ones at houses tend to be a little crazier, since they aren’t subject to the water-only regulation, but the ones at official venues are fun because there’re often multiple people getting soaked at the same time, like when the medics all finished their final exam on the same afternoon.

A friend's soaking in her backyard. Water was followed by several containers of glitter. :)

Being soaked is the oddest mix of feeling so hated and so loved at the same time. Although getting doused with water isn’t exactly pleasant (especially with Scotland’s temperatures, wind, and rain), you’re so elated to be done your degree and so pleased to see that all of your friends have come to celebrate with you, that you welcome the buckets of ice-cold water (although your nicer friends bring warm water to help you avoid hypothermia.)

Group photo after my soaking. Love these people! <3

My soaking is one of my favourite St. Andrew’s memories. Four years of intense study at four different universities, all culminating in a few minutes of dodging streams of water and giving friends big wet hugs. A huge thanks to all my friends who came to my soaking and helped make the ending of my undergraduate career really memorable! St. Andrew’s really was the perfect place to spend the last year of my undergrad.

Day 230: The Sorcerer

"All is prepared for sealing and for signing!"
A scene in the middle of Act I

The Gilbert and Sullivan Society’s production of The Sorcerer closed yesterday, leaving me with a crippling case of post-show-depression this evening. Twenty four hours ago we would have just taken our bows and I’d be running into the foyer to hug friends and listen to their congratulations and thank them for coming to see the show (seriously, to anyone who came to see the show—thanks so much! It means the world to me that you came out and enjoyed it).

Myself and Peter Sutton as John Wellington Wells--
the Sorcerer

The Sorcerer was a very different show than Iolanthe. Set in the village of Ploverleigh in the west of England, the plot is a mix of A Midsummer Night’s Dream and Doctor Faustus. Alexis and Aline are about to get married and so they decide that everyone in the village should also be in love. Enlisting the help of John Wellington Wells, the local sorcerer, they concoct a love potion which causes everyone in the village to fall asleep… and then fall in love with the first person they see. Mayhem ensues, resulting in the death of the sorcerer, but the eventual happiness of everyone else.

Some fine ladies of Ploverleigh...
and an unexpected visitor

I was a chorus member and choreographer for the show, which was great fun. Though The Sorcerer isn’t my favourite G&S operetta, the chorus has some fun songs and is onstage for a substantial amount of time. We also had some acting to do (falling in—and out!— of love) as well as some semi-complicated blocking/dance, so the show presented a bit of a challenge even though I wasn’t a principal.

The Lady Sangazure (left) condescends to pose with
the lower classes

Thankfully, the show isn’t really quite over. On May 3^rd, St. Andrew’s is hosting Scotland’s celebrations of the International Gilbert and Sullivan Day, which include speeches, a three course dinner, and a promenade performance of The Sorcerer through the town. Then, in August, we’re taking the show to the International Gilbert and Sullivan Festival in Harrogate (in the north of England). These performances won’t be the same, of course, but still… it’s a chance to revisit Ploverleigh and sing all the songs again!

Upper class ladies of Ploverleigh

What I’ll really miss, though, are the people. There’s really nothing that brings people together like being in a show. When the final curtain went down and I realized that I’d likely never perform with many of these people again… I just didn’t know how to deal. It’s been absolutely magical to inhabit the fictional world of Ploverleigh with all these friends and so very hard to leave.

My stage husband, Ronan

But. BUT. This is far too pessimistic a view of acting. Yes, it’s tough when a show’s over. It’s hard to tear myself away from the people and the music and the costumes and the lights and the story… but there are more stages to tread, and more characters to play, and more stories to tell.

Yes, I’m sad The Sorcerer is over. But, in the end, I’m even happier that it was a part of my life. Thank you so much to the cast and crew—you were all fantastic, and I’m honoured to have worked alongside you.

The entire chorus (points for spotting me!)

Day 187: Halfway (and What Six Months has Taught Me)

Day 187. This past Monday, Day 183, was the halfway point of my time in Europe, exactly six months after my arrival in Scotland.

It’s odd to be halfway done (or two-thirds, if you’re only considering my time in St. Andrew’s, and not the three summer months I’ll spend in Europe.) It feels like I’ve always been here. I can’t imagine not knowing my way around St. Andrew’s, not using the word ‘biscuit’ correctly, not hanging out with all the amazing people I’ve met… St. Andrew’s has become home.

Sunset at Caulk Abbey, near Nottingham.

When I attempted to write this post yesterday, it descended into a sort of mope-fest about how I didn’t want to leave. So, today, I decided to take a more positive direction, and share five things I’ve always known, but that my time here has really cemented in my mind.  

1- The world is a big place

Canada may be a big country, but there’s just so much more out there in the world. There’s more to life than travelling back and forth between PEI and Ontario, more to do than sitting in my room writing essays. I used to love the idea of the ivory tower academic, sitting alone amidst books and papers, but after seeing more of the world I could never cut myself off from it.

Phone booths in Cambridge

2- Everyone’s got a story

My favourite thing about travel is meeting people, whether that’s a friend I’ve become super close to here in St. Andrew’s, or a random guy I chatted with on the bus. Everyone has such unique experiences and I can learn so much from them. Meeting so many new people has helped me to stop talking about myself and to really listen to other people.

3- People are worth investing in

Amidst the craziness of essays and shows and exams and events, people have to come first. I can’t let myself get too busy to chat for an hour on the streetcorner, or to pick up a family’s children from school, or to ask a friend “How are you?” and mean it. I’ve been really privileged recently to have some close friends share difficult aspects of their lives with me, and taking the time to listen and pray with them was 110% worth it.

4- I can be a friend

Too often I’ve been afraid to get close to people because I thought they wouldn’t want my friendship. I’ve waited for them to ‘make the first move,’ and, if that didn’t happen, I just let them drift away. This year I’ve been much more confident in my abilities to be a friend—I’ll ask people over for tea, or go up to new circles at church, or give random hugs. Sometimes people don’t reciprocate, and that’s alright, but most of the time I’ve gained new friends.

Overlooking the Danube, Budapest.

5- Say Yes

My drama coach taught me this years ago, and it’s finally starting to take hold in my life. Saying Yes means taking advantage of the opportunities that life gives you. It means visiting an ill friend when you should be writing an essay. It means waking up at dawn to dance on the pier. It means bussing all the way to London to see Coriolanus. Saying Yes isn’t an excuse for being irresponsible, but it means not missing out on once-in-a-lifetime opportunities.

That’s what I’ve learned in six months on exchange. Maybe my list is a little sentimentalized, but it’s all true. My time in St. Andrew’s has been (and will continue to be) a life-changing experience, in so many ways. 

Day 152: Back in St. A!

 I’m back “home” in St. Andrew’s. Back at classes. Back walking the familiar three streets. Back to seeing friends everywhere and back to looking forward to hanging out at G&S and CU events.

The John Lennon wall in Prague

I’m loving it. The first few hours felt so deliciously fresh and new—I could see the familiar town with new eyes, appreciate the cobbled streets and the stone buildings. I could walk around without constantly checking a map, but the town still felt just a tad untouched after I had been away for so long.

It feels normal now, after I’ve been back for about three days. I've seen almost everyone, restocked my cupboards, and done most of my unpacking. The initial strangeness has past and normal life has begun.

Now comes the time to blog properly about my trip. I’ve been writing blog posts as I went along, so I actually only have two more posts to complete before I have a whole 11-post series to share with you.

The major holdup will be the photos. I took nearly 2000 pictures over the forty days, so I’m a little swamped with sorting and editing. Right now I don’t even know where to begin. Kayla already has her photos and blog posts up- no idea how she did it!

To be fair, she didn’t have a large scholarship application to complete the weekend after getting back. I’ve just finalized my application for the Ontario Graduate Scholarship, worth $15,000 for a year. If I get it, then that’ll give me enough to be financially worry-free next year. If not, well, I’ll still have enough to survive, but I may not be able to afford a car, or going to see plays, or travelling to see my family, or going out to dinner, or youth conferences… all those ‘extra’ things. Strange, how an academic scholarship will finance all the non-academic aspects of my life! I guess all the academic things are sort of non-negotiable, so I’ll be paying for them no matter what.

At any rate, I’ve submitted my application, so I can now stop thinking about my MA next year and concentrate on my modules this semester: Scottish Literature and T. S. Eliot. Both my professors seem friendly, knowledgeable, and comfortable in front of a class, and both have fantastic Scottish accents. It seems it’ll be an intense semester (T. S. Eliot is going to require so much work!) but I’m looking forward to it.

On that note, time for me to stop blogging and start reading T. S. Eliot’s biography… fun times…

And maybe tomorrow... York!

Day 71: Iolanthe Opening

Back in the good old days when Iolanthe was still an everyday part of my life, I wrote a couple blog posts about the experience. Due to lack of photos and general busy-ness, I never posted them. So now, I present to you, a series of three posts about Iolanthe. Today's installment was written the day of the first show, when I was definitely feeling the pre-show jitters...

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Iolanthe opens today!

It’s bizarre to think that we’ll actually be performing in just a few hours. The dress rehearsal yesterday, where we finally got to use the real stage, made it feel a bit more real, but it’s still strange to think that all our hard work is going to pay off tonight.

There's nothing like being on stage again...

We’ve put so much effort into this show. Gilbert and Sullivan Operettas aren’t easy, but I’ve been really impressed with how everyone has handled the challenge. For the most part it’s been relatively smooth sailing, until the past few weeks where the little issues have started to surface. Singing with a live orchestra, for instance, is much more difficult than I expected. However, everyone’s really stepped up their game in the past few days, and I’m confident everything will fall into place tonight.

Fairies watching during the dress rehearsal

We had a bit of a scare on Saturday when our title character was ill. One of the other chorus principles was bumped up to play Iolanthe, so I had to take her songs and a few lines. It was a little stressful, having to learn extra parts at such short notice, but it was also really exciting to find that we were so well prepared to handle the crisis. As it turned out, the actress playing Iolanthe was better in time for the dress rehearsal, so the show will run as planned. But I still know Lelia’s part, in case she accidentally trips on the stairs…

One thing I’ve loved about being in Iolanthe is that I got to be the choreographer for the show. I joined the production expecting that there would be quite a bit of choreography involved (all the Gilbert and Sullivan operettas I’ve seen before have been quite dance-heavy) and was disappointed to learn that there would be very little dance. When the director learned I was interested in choreography, he started giving me little bits of music to fill with dance until eventually, just three weeks ago, I was officially dubbed Lord High Choreographer.

Loudly let the trumpets bray!

Initially, it was rather stressful being thrown into this role three weeks before the show (not that I’m complaining—I kinda asked for it…) I had four dance segments to create and teach to a cast of mainly non-dancers. The first choreography rehearsal was really nerve-wracking because I had just spent hours composing the dances, and I was worried the director wouldn’t like them. Instead, he really liked what I had created, and he contributed a couple ideas to make them even better. My volunteer dancers were also super keen and enthusiastic, and they learned the combination really quickly.

In short, Iolanthe has been a whirlwind of singing and dancing, of new experiences and new friends combined with general Gilbert and Sullivan awesomeness. It’s been so much fun, and I’m already excited for next year’s production. 

Day 63-64: Raisin Weekend

If you’re my friend on facebook, you might have seen photos like this floating around:

As my mom commented: “Looks like something straight out of a horror movie.”

Thanks, mom. :)

It’s no horror movie, it’s Raisin weekend. Quite possibly the most bizarre experience of my life. Full of parties, scavenger hunts, team challenges, crazy costumes, and shaving foam, there really isn’t anything else like it.

I’m not quite sure how to start describing Raisin. I guess it kinda begins with the idea of academic families, which is where third years ‘adopt’ first years as their kids. As an exchange student, I also got adopted by third years (which is slightly odd, since they’re both younger than me, haha). Here are my lovely parents:

The cool thing about getting adopted means that you don’t just get parents, but you also get brothers and sisters, and possibly even step-siblings or parents. For instance, parents normally adopt separately (not in couples) but my mom adopted a few people with a specific guy, making that guy her academic “husband,” so he’s my stepfather and his kids are my stepbrothers.

My mum's family (the orange team!)

I don’t know if any of that explanation made sense, but if not, then that’s okay. It’s confusing enough here, where everyone knows what’s going on. If I casually mention that I had coffee with my mom the other day, everyone starts wondering if my real mom actually came all the way from Canada.

Playing chubby bunny...

Alrighty: this past weekend was Raisin weekend, which is when all the academic families party together. Apparently the tradition began years back, when fathers would take their children on a tour of the pubs, and in return the kids would give their fathers raisins to brighten up their bland student diet. Now the tour of the pubs is normally a party at the father’s house, and the raisins are usually wine.

On Sunday, I spent the afternoon at a party with my mom’s side of the family. Three mothers had their party together, so we had lots of inter-family challenges, like a scavenger hunt where we had to take photos all over St. Andrew’s, like this lovely shot from the top of St. Rule’s tower:

One of the rules of the scavenger hunt was that someone had to be carried the entire time… Guess who that was?

We played a bunch of other games at the house, like the cereal box challenge where you have to pick up a cereal box in your teeth with only your feet touching the ground. It’s not terribly difficult at the beginning, but then you start ripping strips off the box until there’s basically nothing left…

Tessa (my sister) looks so elegant trying to pick up the cereal box.

My method is somewhat less elegant, but it worked well.

After my mother’s party, I headed to my dad’s, where we had a lovely dinner and played a bunch of fun games, like smashing the piñata or building the tallest sculpture out of marshmallows and pasta. I also tried Cider, which here is alcoholic and tastes a bit like beer (which I hate) but the kind of cider I had was really fruity, so it was much more like pop.

Winning sculpture!

Twister (the extra plates on the sides had challenges)

Me and my bros (and dad)

Bright and early Monday morning we were up to prepare for the real fun of Raisin: the foam fight. First, all the kids go to their mum’s houses and get dressed up: my mum dressed us all up as biscuits! (I’m the oreo)

Biscuits. :)

Then, once you’re in costume, you walk to your dad’s house where he gives you the Raisin receipt. The idea of the receipt was originally to testify that you were a good child and you gave him wine like you were supposed to, but now the receipts are basically whatever huge object the father can find to force his children to carry around. In my case, our receipt was an entire paddling pool with slush and rubber ducks! We had to tote this all the way up to Sally’s quad, which took us nearly half an hour (thanks, Dad…)

My bros, dad, and the raisin receipt

Once at the quad, you toss your receipt in one of the dumpsters (such a waste… but I saved one rubber duck!) and enter the foam fight. Apparently the fight comes out of a tradition where if you didn’t have your receipt, you’d be dunked in the fountain, or some such madness. Now, it just means that all the freshers get cans of shaving foam which they proceed to spray on everyone else until the entire quad, and everyone in it, is completely covered in white. Need some evidence? Check out this BBC gallery.

And that, my friends, is Raisin, in all of its St. Andrews madness. There’s really nothing that’s odder, or more archetypically St. Andrew’s than a weekend of parties, crazy challenges, and shaving foam.