I must have been 12 or 13 years old when I first saw a picture of a person wearing an academic gown in my English workbook. I don’t remember the title of the chapter, but I imagine it must have been something unimaginative like ‘Life in Britain’ or ‘The British Education System’. What I do remember though is my reaction to the picture. ‘Gosh’, I thought. ‘That’s the coolest gown I have ever seen. I’d do anything to get one of those’. My immature and hormone-ridden 13-year-old brain had trouble dealing with the more common aspects of everyday life back then, but it had no trouble figuring out how great one would feel wearing that thing. How proud. How smart. How truly and utterly amazing.
When I was handed my sacred robe last week, I could not have been prouder. ‘If you go next door, we will dress you’, the person who handed me my robe said. I could barely believe my luck! If there are people to dress you, you have officially won at life. When my personal dresser put the hat on my head and it fit perfectly, I sighed a sigh of relief. When ordering my gown, I had measured my head with my headphones and a suitcase belt, so my apprehension that my hat might not fit was not totally unfounded. ‘Good measuring’, my dresser said. I had done well! I knew I deserved that academic title. And the came the moment, I had been looking forward to for so long. I looked down on myself – and felt the life go out of me. The last time I regretted an outfit so much was when I decided to dress up as a Brazilian dancer at age 10 and then found out that people could see my underwear. To cut a long story short, I felt horrible. Truly and utterly stupid.
After the first shock, I told myself that I would feel better as soon as I joined my equally robed colleagues and teachers, so I made my way to the great hall and waited for the start of the ceremony. But things did not improve. When university personnel, headed by person with a sour face carrying an ugly sceptre, entered the hall, I knew I would be waiting for an improvement in vain. The teachers I admired and respected so much looked like they had quit their jobs and run away with a travelling circus. The only thing that was missing from the picture was a monkey sitting on someone’s shoulder. I would not have been surprised if one of them had taken out some juggling balls and entertained us with tricks. The ceremony itself had all the ingredients I expected it to have: semi-inspirational speeches telling us we were unique and should make our mark on the world, excited parents and a not fully literate person mispronouncing my name. To my great disappointment, we did not get to touch the sceptre.
If I had to name two highlights of my day, the tied first prize would go to my two guests J and L. I was immensely thankful they came to support me in what is probably the busiest week of the year, so I decided to start a new tradition and prepared graduation goody bags for them, containing mostly sugar in different forms and a bottle of water. Also, I would be walking down an aisle in a fancy gown, so realistically speaking, this is the closest I will ever come to a wedding, which made the goody bags all the more appropriate. Both guests took their role very seriously. If you heard someone repeatedly shout, ‘Sit down. SIT DOWN NOW!’, that was my friend J. L was similarly assertive when she took our photo with the words, ‘You’re happy now!’ Add to that about 10 instances in which one of the two re-arranged my robe because it had gone to awkward places (that being dressed thing turned out to be an all-day event), and you know why I could not have wished for better company.
Do I regret going on a journey to get that gown? Absolutely not. Because had I not had the idea of that gown in my mind, I might not have been brave enough to move to London. And when I think back to my time at university as what was repeatedly referred to as a ‘mature student’, I will not remember the gown. I will remember sitting in the grass and having coffee and hanging out in the library. And when I think back to the ceremony, I will remember the many hugs and the joy and the laughter. I will remember the moment I burst into tears during the ceremony when my dear friend N bowed to our teachers and proved to me that we are not all born equal – some people are just better, and she is one of them. But most of all, I will remember the lesson I learned that day: the destination might not be what you thought, so make sure enjoy the journey. It might be the adventure of a lifetime. It might be truly and utterly amazing.
