For as long as I can remember I have believed (or at least I have tried to believe) that everything happens for a reason.
It's always seemed to me that if something doesn't work out (say a job interview, or an exam, or maybe even a relationship), then there's nearly always something better waiting for you around the corner. I know that not everyone will agree with this philosophy, and assume that I live in a world full of rainbows, cupcakes and unicorns (which is only half true).
I never really planned on coming to Glasgow to study. I just added it onto my UCAS application five minutes before I sent it off, to make the most of having five choices. When I didn't get into Cambridge I thought it was the end of the world, and when my back-ups turned me down one-by-one, Glasgow became my only option. So I arrived in Glasgow all set to study English Literature, fully believing that the university's system of first year students having to pick three subjects to study was utterly ridiculous. I picked English Language, because it seemed like a sensible choice, and Italian, because I thought it would be fun to tell people I'm studying Italian. I ended up HATING the literature course, and by time I'd started second year I'd near enough scrapped the four-year degree and set my heart on a five-year joint honours course including a year abroad in Italy.
It might not happen. By September, I could very well find myself back in Glasgow, back on the four-year degree plan, and I would be happy with that. I love this city. I love the people, and more importantly, I hardly ever get lost any more. At the same time though, it would be incredible to spend a year completely immersed in a foreign city, where I don't know anyone, and I have to start from scratch. If I don't get to do it now, I'm not sure I'll get the opportunity again – there's always a chance that life will get in the way. Whichever way it works out, I'm sure there will be a reason for it, and I'm sure I'll be happy about it.
If I hadn't come to Glasgow, I wouldn't have been able to spend two years living with my sister, (although I would probably have far fewer bike-related bruises). If I'd gone to Cambridge like I wanted – like I'd dreamed of since I could say 'University' – I would never have been able to completely change my course, and I highly doubt that I would be preparing myself to go off and study in the land of pasta, pizza, and Peroni.