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Kirsty Thomson writes about her experience receiving the Pfizer vaccine as a key worker in a Care Home. Image description: 'Not Enough Hands' was produced during the 2020 period of quarantine, when many countries around the world went into lockdown to tackle the spread of Covid-19. It’s a personal response; particularly with the student nurse I live with in mind, to crisis, uncertainty, and altered states of being. On the 13th of January, I received my first dosage of the COVID vaccine. Specifically, the Pfizer COVID vaccine. I’m 21, an essential worker in a care home, a student at the University of Edinburgh, and last year in April, I had the virus. There’s a lot of information going around about the vaccines and what the procedure of getting it done entails. I’m here to run you through my entire experience, so that any fears and anxieties you may have had about getting the jab can be washed away. I’m by no means a scientific expert, so it was important to me to talk about my experience in a way that people would understand, even without a medical or scientific background. Think of this section as a very haphazard and basic, but important, crash course on the vaccine. The Pfizer vaccine is what is known as an mRNA vaccine which, instead of giving you a small and inactivated version of a virus, works by teaching your cells how to make the proteins that can help to trigger an immune response. That immune response, which produces antibodies, is what protects you from getting sick. It essentially gives your cells the means to fight the virus. The jab itself is administered into your arm and comes in two doses which are spaced 13 weeks apart. I got mine at work, and the nurses who were administering the vaccine came in their own car, while the vaccine was transported completely separately. This was to ensure that the vaccine was kept at the correct temperature. As I work in a Home where there are elderly and frail residents also getting the jab, the nurses had adrenaline on hand. Whilst I’m not too keen on needles, I did see that it was quite a small one, so that should debunk any worries about being given a tracking microchip by Bill Gates! A lot of people’s primary concern with the vaccine is the potential aftereffects, which is understandable as we don’t know a great deal about it nor the virus itself. I was lucky that my side effects were mild to the point of being non-existent. All I have is a very small bruise. Some of my colleagues spoke with me about their arms being numb or sore, something which often happens after an injection. I am glad to report that even after two weeks, no new limbs nor nipples have appeared. Vaccines are so important in helping us protect not only ourselves but our communities too. Vaccines of all different kinds continue each year to prevent up to 3 million deaths worldwide. They also help to eradicate illnesses that, throughout history, have had devastating consequences. At the moment, the COVID vaccine is being offered to a specific group in society: essential workers, people aged over 70, and those who are vulnerable and have been shielding. Over the next few months though, the rollout will begin to extend to other communities. We must try to protect ourselves and those around us from this virus; it has plagued our lives for too long and now we have the means to begin fighting it before it has the chance to infect more people. After all, it’s only a small scratch. This article was edited by Tamara El-Halawani and Phoebe McKechnie, students at the University of Edinburgh.

The final instalment of our 2020 Reflections by Chloe and Kirsten. Artwork by Issy Stephens in collaboration with Ekphriasis for their 4th digital volume (Instagram: @lightsleeperstudio). Issy’s website: https://lightsleeperstudio.com/ Ekphriasis’ website: https://www.ekphriasis.com/ Chloe Lawson At the end of January last year, I met a friend after a tutorial. We complained about morning lectures and the trek to university from our flats. At some point during our conversation, we watched in disbelieving awe footage of the deserted Wuhan streets and marvelled at the apocalyptic scenes. It was like watching a documentary; it was shocking and unsettling but remained distant, mere images on a screen. Afterwards, the phone was pocketed and we continued to rail at trivial inconveniences. Just over a month later, murmurs of panic had begun to inch their way into conversations as the first universities cancelled their exams and the previously remote Wuhan scenes were replicated across Europe. In conversation with a friend, I wondered at the prospect of our exams being cancelled, more out of laziness than any true understanding of the impending global situation. In a tone that can only be described as boyish arrogance, I was assured by my companion that they wouldn’t be, though now it is clear that it was in fact ignorance and a shared naivety about the rapidly advancing virus. A mere two days after this interaction, my flatmates and I had all been called home by fretting parents as fear spread exponentially. We hurriedly gutted our flat, said our farewells and booked transport home. The airport was eerily empty and I was reminded of the images of Wuhan. I remember feeling slightly irritated at having to leave Edinburgh early, as well as a form of curious excitement at the prospect of living through a historical pandemic (guess my degree!). My experience over the summer of 2020 was, like the majority of others, isolating. However, on reflection, I was incredibly privileged. Yes, I was irritated at having to cancel plans made to travel to Jordan and Myanmar. Yes, I was uneasy due to the uncertainty clouding my return to university, and yes, I was frustrated at times by the monotony of the days and weeks stretching out before me, punctured by socially distanced walks or essential trips to the supermarket. Nonetheless, living in the countryside with a large garden surrounded by hills during the summer, I led a bucolic existence for 6 months. Despite the world crumbling around me, I was able to spend time with my family and to enjoy being at home without feeling the pressure of having to do something productive every day. Ironically, it was when I returned to university for the winter months that the worst effects of 2020 were felt. With the combination of seasonal and pandemic mental health crises, the unsettling side effects of a year in isolation were starkly visible. Freshers imprisoned in blocks of student accommodation without sufficient food, robbed of the traditional and much-anticipated experiences of first year, with rising student suicides across the country. Mental health concerns combined with pandemic panic, contradictory messages from the government and darkening days culminated in a subdued Christmas. Come New Year's Eve, messages such as “2020 see ya never” were plastered all over Instagram and yet in the early weeks of 2021, the preceding year continues to haunt us. I can only hope that by 2022, we shall be able to resume in-person lectures and the trek to university from our flats. Kirsten Provan I had 2020 in my sights long before it arrived. It was a point I was always moving steadily towards. The year I was going to graduate and start my actual, proper life. Seems laughable now, doesn’t it? Instead of the glittering year I had hoped for, my time, like everyone else’s, was defined by broken promises and cancelled plans. I still graduated, but online, alone, rather than amongst my class. We still celebrated, but in the garden, reserved, rather than proudly in McEwan Hall. It was oddly anti-climactic. My university career just seemed to fizzle out. Completely discombobulated, I decided to turn my intended year of endings into one of new beginnings. I threw myself into a postgraduate degree and became completely immersed in university life again, if only to forget the messy reality beyond George Square. While the whole world felt stagnant, it was nice to be busy. Things are weird right now. Nothing looks how I had imagined it would. Real life remains on hold. But 2020 did ultimately, miraculously, bring me some good surprises, as well as all that lovely doom and gloom. This article was edited by Tamara El-Halawani and Phoebe McKechnie.

We never expected our early twenties to be like this - the second of our 2020 reflection pieces looks at lockdown traditions, graduation difficulties and the once in a lifetime opportunity to pause, grow and change. Amy Houghton It was the year that we all seemed to have a ‘good feeling’ about. The year that wasn't just a new year. The year that was somehow an opportunity to reinvent ourselves and get our lives together on a scale that only appears once every decade. Then it was the year that confined us to bubbles. The one that crippled communities and brought trauma to thousands upon thousands of individuals. The one in which we fell into fresh clichés, inhaling banana bread like no tomorrow, embracing hobbies as speedily as we abandoned them. Between the calamities, and the clapping, and the collective outrage, I was among those who had the privilege of stillness. As a result of my draw in the biological lottery and the life path that it enabled me to forge, 2020 gave me the fortune of slowing down. At first, I self-indulgently mourned the years of my twenties that were yet to happen and begrudgingly resigned myself to existence in stagnation. Time was meaningless and at once was hurriedly escaping through the tiny gaps of our desperately clenched fists. But then I discovered that the slow pace fed my soul. For the first time, I received my own kindness. I could immerse myself in the richness of everything I still had and everything I could still do. Small joys became where I found my fulfilment. This year will be the year that I continue building on the lessons that only stillness could grant me. It will be the year that I continue to live through gratitude. I did not ‘lose’ being twenty-one, and with or without indulgent travel and spontaneous opportunity, I will not lose twenty-two. So the saying goes: we can bloom where we are planted. But then I discovered that the slow pace fed my soul. For the first time, I received my own kindness. Clara Sablitzky I sketched a quick mind map of words to do with 2020 before writing this, just to see what came to mind. You’d be forgiven for thinking that the twelve words I chose reflected the unimaginable devastation and disruption of the past year, but there was only one: loss. I think, sadly, this word encapsulates many peoples’ experiences of the past year, whether they are mourning something tangible or something more abstract. I lost my Great Grandad in the summer, and the restrictions prevented us from attending his funeral, which meant I also lost my last chance to say goodbye. Somehow, though, this loss is easier to reconcile with than the loss of half of my second year of uni, my summer holidays and my year abroad and the thought of all the what-ifs and could-have-beens of time that I will never get back. I think at our age when life is only just beginning, we are so conscious of the life we should be living, experiences we should be enjoying and adventures we should be having. ‘Should’ is a funny word. It’s a modal verb - I’m a languages student, I had to - indicating obligation or duty or expressing the right state or situation for something to be in. I know I’m not the only one who thinks that 2020 ‘should’ have been different and it ‘should’ have been better. But ‘different’ and ‘better’ are personal and subjective and kind of incongruous with the objective strength of ‘should’. Who are we to decide what should have happened? ‘Should’ can only be used in the context of planning what comes next or criticising what’s come before and neither of those is conducive to enjoying the present, which is something I have definitely learned to do in 2020. So, looking at some of the other eleven words on my mind map - time, appreciation, growth, gratitude and love - I think I spent 2020 doing exactly what I should have done; looking after myself, and I think I’m different and better because of that. I know I’m not the only one who thinks that 2020 ‘should’ have been different and it ‘should’ have been better. But ‘different’ and ‘better’ are personal and subjective and kind of incongruous with the objective strength of ‘should’. Who are we to decide what should have happened? Rachel Watkins To say I had high hopes for the first year of what I am often told will be my ‘best years’ would be an understatement. As cliché as it sounds, I expected new experiences, meeting new people and seeing more of the world. Instead, this was replaced with moving back to my parent’s house, not seeing anyone but them for months, and only being allowed outside for an hour a day by law. But as time passed I learned to settle into this environment that I once knew so well, the unique experience of being with my parents as an adult, and learned to love where I live in a way I had never appreciated before. But as time passed I learned to settle into this environment that I once knew so well, the unique experience of being with my parents as an adult, and learned to love where I live in a way I had never appreciated before. This piece was edited by Tamara El-Halawani and Phoebe McKechnie.

The first of our 2020 reflection pieces. The global pandemic from nature's perspective by Maddie Noton. The houses are awash with morning sunlight. The reflective glimmers of their windows face the gaze of the blue skyline, and below is a burrow of tiny houses and shops. The brewing buzz of the city hums away like a diligent bumblebee as the approaching sun drowsily arises from its slumber. Perched upon a windowsill, the awakening dawn is observed by a robin. Like always, he prepares to greet the day. A redbreast and golden beak glow under a spotlight of sunshine whilst a pair of black, beady eyes survey potential flight routes through the city. Finally, he chooses a curved seat of black metal on which to rest. Extending his wings, he springs forward and rides the blowing breeze, deep into the heart of the city. He soars, skimming across rooftops of houses; gliding past unopened blinds and dances by an array of doors, waiting to be opened. But when his thin talons meet the cool touch of the metallic material, he notices an eerie and incomprehensible silence. The townspeople - the lively hustle and bustle of their rushing feet and bodies - are absent. The frivolous music of their movement is replaced by a looming quiet, which stretches and smothers itself over the surroundings. The robin turns his sharp sight to the shops, which stand devoid of their usual visitors who wade in and out like clockwork. Despite the sun’s strengthening glare, their interior lights, which often emit an artificial glow, cease to shine. This incongruent darkness unsettles the robin, who now hops off his pedestal to traverse the empty pathway ahead. Bumbling along, he recognises a quaint café, consistently swimming with customers and their hot beverages, which they curl their pale fingers around as the steam dances up from its surface. It perches on the corner of the district – a familiar sight: the door, offering invitation in a welcoming poise; scatterings of pastry crumbs assembled in a beckoning breakfast buffet and the rhythmic sway of feet, which cascade in step to the soft music from within. Fuelled by nostalgic enthusiasm and anticipating a hearty, morning snack, the robin quickens his approach. But something is amiss. Upon arrival, he sees shelves of untouched coffee cups; chairs resting on their front legs against the empty tables and the invitation of entry diminished by a glass door sealed shut. He hears the ghostly whistle of the wind, eclipsing any audible lullaby of music and rustling through the rickety chairs, which chatter in place of the conversations of customers encumbered on their seats. The robin clambers onto a table and puzzles over this odd morning. For as long as he remembers, as the light and warmth of the day routinely chase away the stifling darkness and cover the empty walkways, so too do the crowds of people. Yet now, in their absence, the robin is accompanied solely by intermittent specs of dust, which occupy the undisturbed air and gently jostle against their neighbours. The robin’s watchful gaze searches the street, expectant of the usual crowd of come-and-goers, but not even a mere whisper of the usual activity is present. He chooses to further investigate and sets off in the direction of the local park, where the normal hubbub of the town congregates in jovial masses. The visitors of this particular spot often bear wicker baskets of small pastries and other such goods, and – if feeling generous – they offer small samplings to the robin. Having now anticipated (and yet missed out on) breakfast, the robin is ready for a feast, and so hurriedly skips towards the park. But, instead, he stumbles upon a ghost town. As the grass brushes against his forlorn feathers, he scans the hilly desert. The trees appear unmoved by this strange abandonment, their jackets of green leaves hugging the oak beneath. So too are the flowers still blooming and brandishing their beauty amidst a gentle breeze. Yet their stagnant poise only draws close attention to the lifelessness of the scene, the empty echo of the valley. Suddenly, a person! A tall, fluorescently dressed individual sporting large, circular instruments over her ears, appears in sight. The robin is startled yet pleased with this confirmation of life. Politely, he steps forward to greet her, but she moves at a surprisingly quick pace: long legs bending and pushing off the ground with strange velocity. As the robin nears, he notices tight-fitting lycra, which clings to her skin, and he hears heavy breathing emitting from a red, flushed face. Then, as peculiar as the first, another person appears from the opposing direction. Again, dressed in similar attire and likewise panting like a dog, he approaches at speed, neither stopping for the robin nor even casting a sideward glance. The pair acknowledge one another with a brief nod, but do not speak. It would appear that the individuals create an extraordinary amount of distance between themselves when it is apparent to the robin that the path allows room for multiple passers-by. As fast as they appeared, the two are gone and the park resettles itself in its original isolated ambience. In a perplexing trance, the robin paces the park, the town, the shops, the cafes, the side streets, the main streets and the houses. The sunshine and its blanket of warmth begin to evanesce and retreat, painting the blue, cloudless sky in a piercing shade of orange. The sun itself succumbs to fatigue and sinks like a teardrop over the pastoral landscape. The robin completes his journey in the heart of the town, stopping at the familiar, metallic resting point on which he favours rest. Although he cannot fathom an explanation for the town’s sudden depletion of movement and activity, he assures himself that with the replenishment of day, the regularity of life will be reinstated. Satisfied in this confident conclusion, he marks the end of his day with a sleepy yawn, stretching out his feathery wings before leaping into his flight home. As he gathers height, the city shrinks away with the day’s light. The robin, preoccupied with the contemplation of the strange happenings of the day, does not notice the illumination of lights below his timid body, which beam from the windows of houses, stretching far and wide over the landscape. Instead, he anticipates a revitalising nap. He will return tomorrow to greet the day as usual. Maddie Noton is a second year MA Italian and English Literature student at the University of Edinburgh. This piece was edited by Phoebe McKechnie and Tamara El-Halawani.

Clara Sablitzky and friends share their tips for getting through the new semester. Here we are again. We’ve done this before, online uni, lockdown, so why does it just feel...worse? Maybe you’ve figured out what works for you, maybe you haven't and you need a little advice to get over the mid-semester hump, through exams and into summer by which time, hopefully (please, universe), we’ll be free! Back in November, I gave you 5 things to do every day to get you through the day - start there if you haven’t read that already! - so this time I’ve asked my friends how they’re feeling this lockdown and for their tips and advice, so we can all get through this together. “Do at least one thing every day that makes you happy” - Corrina Staying sane whilst doing uni at home is by no means an art form I have perfected. There are days I feel pretty hopeless and isolated. Everyone in my family works full time, so I’ve ended up spending most of my days by myself. But that isn’t to say I’ve not found ways to survive and even thrive during this bizarre - dare I say - opportunity. The hardest thing for me these past few months has been the constant uncertainty, as I’m not the most spontaneous and I like firm plans. To combat this, since being home, I have made a consistent effort to timetable my days. I colour code each job for the day, then tick them off. In essence: give yourself a to-do list and remind yourself how good it feels to get stuff done. That takes care of the academic part of my day, but that’s only a small part of who I am. To maintain motivation and interest in what you’re studying, the best piece of advice I could give would be to step away from the computer and uni work at a certain time each day. To reduce the burnout, make the conscious effort to do at least one thing every day that makes you happy- and schedule it if you need to. I would recommend some sort of creative outlet; today I’ll be baking an apple cake, but yesterday I attempted some embroidery. Lockdown has allowed me to pick up old hobbies I’ve not had the time for during regular uni. If you’re stumped creatively, I’d advise doing something nice for someone else. This could be as easy as making a round of teas for everyone or taking your dog for a walk at lunch. I just bought a birdfeeder I can attach to my window so I can watch the birds while I’m working. Finding joy in your day will help the world seem less bleak and remind you that this will be over one day. The best way to survive online uni? Remember who you are outside of it. “Find a random hobby to fill your time” - Zoë I’m at home with my family in this lockdown, like I’m sure a lot of people are, and I’m really not used to doing uni work at home, so it’s been a bit weird. I think my two main tips are: 1. Mini morning/evening routines so that at least each day has a coherent start and end. I’m not talking full-on YouTuber style routines like “I wake up at 4 am, drink 20 gallons of water, run a marathon and then eat 4 avocados” I just mean; wake-up at a decent time, check my phone for 10 minutes, have a shower and change to a different set of pyjamas, day-pyjamas if you will. Just the process of going through those easy tasks means you’ve at least started the day. 2. Find a random hobby to fill your time. We can’t see friends or go anywhere and, being at home, I no longer have to run to shops every day, as I would at uni because I refuse to do a big weekly food shop when the fridge is empty. I suddenly seem to have a lot of hours to fill in the day. Once I’ve watched a few lectures and done a reading - I would say ‘or two’ but who is doing more than one philosophy reading in a day? no thanks - I’m usually about done for the day, I’m not going to push myself to read every extra resource or write pages and pages of notes. Like… we’re in a pandemic, give yourself a break, once I’ve done the required tasks, I’m done you know. Hobby ideas you are welcome to copy: Old lady crafts; my personal crafts of choice have included rug-making, jewellery making and now crochet... Bingeing an entire TV show that has a horrific number of episodes. Currently, for me, this is Criminal Minds but there are many options to go for. You could take up an actual exercise like running… ew, but why do that when you could get your daily movement in by having a mini rave in your room to some 00s anthems or Russian Hardbass. Warning in advance, these are two very different genres so check which one you’re feeling before you start! I fear mixing them could lead to a potential brain injury. “Try to remain hopeful for what is to come” - Natalie Unlike the U.K., the United States is not in lockdown despite surges of covid-related deaths in recent weeks. Therefore, I can travel across the U.S. without many restrictions, but I don’t. I am an American international student who is struggling to determine when it is safe to return to Edinburgh and unsure of whether I will be able to return at all this semester. As I have gleaned from social media, many other American students in my position have taken this opportunity to travel across the U.S. I don’t blame them, it is an enticing possibility, but I would encourage any students who are tempted to travel to instead save up cash for vacationing after a vaccine has been distributed. Make a bucket list of places you must visit and you likely will be able to realize these wishes soon. Won’t it be more fun when more restaurants and bars are open and you don’t have to feel guilty for abusing loose travel restrictions? Learning remotely from a different country is tricky due to the time difference that places tutorials in the middle of the night and the feeling of detachment that comes from physically being so far away. It is frustrating to see individuals travelling for pleasure when I might not be able to for university. I am supposed to be abroad in France right now, but instead, I am in Connecticut; this school year has not panned out how I or anyone else imagined it would. Despite all of these disappointments, I try to remain hopeful for what is to come, the places I will be able to visit, and the people I will be able to meet. They will all still be there when the virus has passed, and the thought of that is getting me through online uni. Other advice includes: “Schedule in two daily cries, one in the morning and one in the evening to release emotions.” - Annabel Annabel’s right - sometimes if it all gets a bit much, just let it out. Just cry. It’s not weak and it’s not stupid. Just cry! How many pandemics have we been through before? None. It’s understandable to feel overwhelmed, but do reach out if it feels too hard to deal with on your own. “Do the ‘Yoga with Adrienne’* 30-day challenge!”- Kate I cannot recommend this enough; Kate’s definitely on to something here. If HIIT or running or weights isn’t your thing, it’s still so important to get your body moving to flood your system with endorphins to propel you through the day, the week, the lockdown. Just a walk and some yoga every day will help more than you can imagine. *Other yoga YouTubers are available. I hope you’ve found at least one piece of useful advice here and I really hope it helps you and makes your lockdown just that little bit easier. Whatever works for you, do that, and keep trying until you figure it out. You’ve got this! This article was written by Clara Sablitzky and students from the University of Edinburgh.

With artwork by Lowri Evans, Pranavi Hiremath asked five of her friends from India about their first lockdown experiences. They share some remarkable stories. Here is part two. Nishant studies Bachelor of Laws at the University of Lancaster. I am an Indian student studying at the University of Lancaster. In the last week of my second term (March 2020), India declared a national lockdown and I was stranded in the UK. Luckily, I have my elder brother studying in Edinburgh at the University of Edinburgh. After finishing the last week of my second term, I packed my entire belongings and stored most of my luggage in a storage facility at Lancaster. I took a train to Edinburgh to stay with my brother. At that time, even the UK had declared a lockdown and so the whole train was almost empty. An empty train felt very weird, but it was a good thing for me as I could maintain distance from other people and take two seats for myself. My brother stays in an apartment with three other friends. In the beginning week of my stay in Edinburgh, we were allowed to play in the Meadows. We used to play football with a few more of my brother's friends. But then the UK government imposed a stricter lockdown to control the spread of the virus and the Meadows were closed. So, my brother, his friends and I occupied ourselves with other fun activities in the apartment. We played poker with fake money at night and most of the time I had luck towards my side. We sometimes cooked pasta from scratch or chicken gravy for everyone. We used to go bulk shopping together in a friend's car and store food for at least a month. My online classes started after a month's break. I had to watch pre-recorded videos and then attend my seminars. But most of my time used went in watching Netflix. I had my exams in a few weeks. During that time even my brother and his friends got busy with their exams, so I started going for morning jogs to Blackford Hill. In no time, two and a half months passed by. It was then that the Indian government started the “Vande Bharat Mission”, to help Indians stranded outside of India, to travel back to India. My brother and I registered for travel. We asked for help wherever we could. We contacted our Uncle who stays in Edinburgh to recommend our names to the Embassy. From India, our parents were contacting the government to bring us back home. As soon as the mission started, a week later we were given tickets to fly back home and we didn’t miss it. Once we reached Chennai, India, we were quarantined for seven days in a government-recommended hotel. On the first day, they took a swab test and declared us negative the same day. On the seventh day, we had to give another swab test, which again tested negative. For those seven days, we did not leave our rooms. We were provided with food on our doorstep. For all the seven days my routine was fixed: eat, sleep, watch Netflix, and eat again. The first two or three days were fun, later it got mundane. Once we got out of the hotel, our parents had booked a taxi for us to go back home. Our home was at least 500 kilometres away and on the way, we had to stop at six police checkpoints, to provide our purpose of travel. After all of that, we finally reached home. Chandiya studies Engineering at the University of Edinburgh. The lockdown placed on 16th of March probably had the most impact on my life. I couldn’t even experience 5% of my University life that semester. It was my first year to have been away from my parents. I returned to India only in June when COVID-19 cases were rising in India, which I did not mind because of the food and the poor quality of living I was given in the UK. I stayed at catered accommodation, which should have been a better situation for the lockdown, but that wasn’t the case. Since it was catered, I did not have access to a kitchen which was a great disadvantage because the only food I was receiving was a sandwich and a snack for breakfast and dinner. With no lunch provided, it meant that I had to starve for a meal every day. As days passed, I started to get ready-made foods by ordering through Tesco’s delivery services but again the food started to cause me problems since I was eating too many instant foods and that was not healthy. The four months in lockdown put me and my family through things we never thought we’d have to face. Long story short, it was a bad time. Long story short, I survived. Jayawanti studies at the University of Edinburgh. On the 12th of March, there was widespread information all over my country on the closing of colleges due to the spread of the life-threatening coronavirus that put the world to a standstill for months to come. My worried parents had asked me to come back home for my safety. I, being a student of this esteemed University, decided to continue my classes and insisted to my parents that the University take all the measures to ensure the safety of its students. The very next day there was an announcement from the Vice-principal, that the final exams were to be cancelled and that international students were allowed to travel back home. By now the government of India had released a statement saying “All the flights from the UK will be cancelled from the 18th of March onwards’. I was in an oblivious state of mind as I had less than a day not only to pull myself together but to also pack up my entire stuff and travel to Glasgow in a cab as no flights were leaving from Edinburgh to India. Finally, I boarded the flight from Glasgow to Chennai via Dubai. When I reached Dubai, I had to wait for 8 hours for my connecting flight back home. This unusual situation made me fear being stuck in an airport, something that I had never felt before. There were flights before mine which were meant to leave for India but they were cancelled. I considered myself extremely fortunate because my flight wasn’t cancelled. I was able to reach home safely and was asked to self-quarantine for 28 days with a notice stuck in front of my house. This was an experience like no other and I am eternally grateful to everyone that took utmost care in bringing me back home safely. This piece was edited by Pranavi Hiremath and Tamara El-Halawani.

With artwork by Lowri Evans, Pranavi Hiremath asked five of her friends from India about their first lockdown experiences. They share some remarkable stories. Here is part one. Manab Mohanty studies Computer Science at the University of Edinburgh This year has been a ride for everyone, hasn't it? Many people will walk out with a story to tell, many will not be able to walk out at all. I was one of the early ones to contract the virus and the fact that I was able to live through it, came as a pleasant surprise to all the people I know back in my county in India. I remember back when I was 16, an astrologer was contacted because my father truly felt helpless about me. My exams in 10th grade were given way too much importance in life and now I find it funny that someone who reads stars and the lines on your palms was recruited to reassure my father that I’m going to be alright. He’d said one thing which I remember to this day, “When this guy hits 20, life is going to change forever for him. It’s up to him whether he walks out as a stronger successful person, or just starts to spiral out of control.” Yes, very dramatic. The funniest part is, this happened. I remembered all this to double-check what happens in 4-5 years. I got covid back when it was informally called ‘the coronavirus’ and it was just before I turned 20. Like everyone, I had booked flights in a hurry. My flight was 11 hours later from when I booked it, so obviously, my stuff had to see the worst of me. They were packed in a swift and nonsensical fashion, which I regretted when I came back again to open it up. I flew through Amsterdam- New Delhi- Bhubaneswar, a total of 30+ hours and I was so tired that I must have lost some weight. When I reached home, usually I would touch my father’s feet but this year none of that happened. This right here was the hardest thing which people are still going through. The world has changed and suddenly hugs and kisses are now weapons and not visiting family and friends is an act of love. Humans have been put into cages. We are animals now, spiralling out of control, but life goes on. I was checked at the airports obviously and I did not show any symptoms, so I could go back home. I started getting a fever and so the next day, my father took me to the hospital where I was tested. He insisted I get tested even if I did not have symptoms, just to be safe. The world has changed and suddenly hugs and kisses are now weapons and not visiting family and friends is an act of love. Humans have been put into cages. We are animals now, spiralling out of control, but life goes on. The worst thing was, there was only one guy before me who had been tested positive in my city and he was all over the news. My father also happens to be the superintendent of the hospital I was tested at. This was to my disadvantage if I tested positive as I would get into a lot of conflicts. And that is exactly what happened. Some people made up this story of how I was already in town for 10 days before I got tested and I was going around spreading the virus- even though I reached home on the 18th of March and got tested on the 19th. My family and I were all over the news and not in a great light. There was a lot of victim-shaming. That is what covid does; it makes you the bad guy. After even making it to the national news as someone who deliberately was spreading covid- escaping the law (otherwise how will the media get a story out of it) and after getting a lot of heat from people on my social media and threats to hang me and my family- I thought I will never get out of this. During all of this, while I was put into a hospital room for 14 days where no one would even come close to me, I did not feel human. The worst thing was, there was only one guy before me who had been tested positive in my city and he was all over the news...Some people made up this story of how I was already in town for 10 days before I got tested and I was going around spreading the virus...There was a lot of victim shaming. I came back home just two days before my birthday. I was so embarrassed and scared to be in my own home. The entire aspect of Covid disappeared into the background and everyone just saw me as a criminal. After having explained everything on my social media and to the government, with my boarding pass and other things I could put forth- the people who wanted to see the truth understood what had happened - the rest did not. Keeping aside all that, I had one of the best birthdays of my life. Never did I want to meet my family so desperately- the 14 days in the hospital felt longer than the year I spent at University. It was all so poetic and film-like. I eventually had trouble sleeping and had some problems like anxiety and PTSD, took medication for a while but eventually, everything seemed to get better. It always feels like it is never going to get better, but it always does. Time heals everything, doesn’t it? I eventually had trouble sleeping and had some problems like anxiety and PTSD, took medication for a while but eventually, everything seemed to get better. This would have never happened had it not been for the pandemic. The year I’ve had is something I would never wish upon others, but I’ve always been very optimistic and I genuinely feel much more strength now than I did at the beginning of the year and that’s the point of life. Whatever happens, might not be easy, but is important. Lasya Priyanjani Galla: BA Fashion Design at the University of Leeds. It was a normal weekend when I suddenly got an email saying that my University was temporarily closing and the whole country was going under a strict lockdown due to COVID-19. As an international student, I could only travel back home three months later. After going through so much trouble, I was alone in Leeds and India had cancelled all flights. There was so much stress about buying groceries and stocking up before the spread of the virus got too severe and it was unbelievable that life came to such a sudden pause, especially during the most important years of my life. Although I was a person who was isolated from her classmates, a part of me was pretty relieved when the lockdown began. The first days were a time of high motivation and effort on keeping up with the trend of learning a new skill. I would sketch, design, practice embroidery, and do lots of other things. These days also included movie marathons, long calls, and lots of eating. As I already said, I was very comfortable staying in my room and worrying about nothing. But nobody can keep passing days without a motive for tomorrow. I could have been a carefree person and enjoyed the beautiful springtime, being safe like a lot of my friends did, but I didn’t. I instead, unintentionally, began to reassess my personality and of course, at my age, such reassessments lead to overthinking. For me, overthinking or reassessing did not mean “rising from the ashes like a phoenix”, but it was just a realisation that broke me down and made me scared of entering my classrooms again or worse, entering the world and facing it. The days that came, once the days of high motivation dissolved, included all the overthinking. They just continued and they still seem to persist. The days that came, once the days of high motivation dissolved, included all the overthinking. They just continued and they still seem to persist. My lockdown experience wasn’t an Instagram fairy tale but was rather the opposite. Once India set up emergency flights for Indians away from their home, to get on to the list of one of the flights that was close to my city was another stressful thing to do. After a long two-week process of requesting contacts to help me out, I finally got on the flight and was able to travel back to India. But again, there were so many further complications while travelling, being quarantined at a hotel and getting tested once I was in India. It was a psychologically distressing time, awaiting the results of the virus tests and financially as well because of the high expense of being quarantined in a hygienic place. But I got through all of that and was able to go home safe, after a week of being quarantined. When I came back home, I was full of fear, regret, and a strong desire to change myself. Since then, every step I have taken, with the help of my parents, was towards a more confident me. I am still at home and still overthinking but for the first time in so long, I finally feel that maybe I can actually do it. I have to see the beauty and strength of what I already can do and develop in that. Now that I have some positivity blooming in my life when I am at the most comfortable place I can be, home, it feels like I needed this. This whole time was necessary for me to come out as a better person and fearlessly face the world. Pranavi Hiremath studies Astrophysics at the University of Edinburgh. The year took an unusual turn that left me alone in a country far from my own. Stuck in a room under unpredictable circumstances, as it felt that way during the initial emergence of the virus in the UK. The flights were cancelled as swiftly as the lockdown was announced. I had only two days if I wanted to catch a flight home, which meant packing everything I had and finding a place to keep them until I came back. But travelling wasn’t the best option for me because it meant exposing myself to the virus and its consequential uncertainty at the time. So, I decided to stay. The first week consisted of long calls with my parents - they were also trying to contact everyone they knew in the UK for advice. They were worried about what the future would hold and how long I would have to stay in a room since even India went into lockdown and organising repatriation flights was still in debate. My whole flat was empty. All my flatmates, fortunately, were able to get back home safely. They were kind enough to let me use any groceries they had bought. Which saved me from going to the store to stock up. The week was tough considering I was alone and was stuck in, what felt like unforeseeable circumstances. But it was only for that week since I was then invited to stay with a lovely family in Eyemouth. Mr and Mrs Pawley and their two dogs. They saved me from my four walls, and I was taken to a home. From a dreadful three months I would have had, then to be taken to the most beautiful town with a beach, a river, and a forest, living with the kindest and generous people. And the best part of it all, I have to say was the dogs! They saved me from my four walls, and I was taken to a home. It was three months of eating food I never had before: homemade scones, tarts, quiche, apple pie and so much more. Watching so many movies. Learning so many new things from them not only about the town, about the UK and their experience in India not only gave me an insight into a culture that wasn’t mine but also a deeper insight into the culture I grew up in. Learning about their lives and listening to their wonderful experiences and stories made me happy. During the times when we were allowed to go on walks, we took long walks in the forest, to the river, along the shore, up the hills to the most beautiful views. In three months they became family. I am so thankful to them for their care and for letting me be a part of their life. Also for tolerating me for all the times I woke up late (which was pretty much every day), me being messy and clumsy. I am so thankful to them for their care and for letting me be a part of their life...I consider myself extremely lucky. All-in-all despite the fear and unpredictability that the pandemic induced for me and considering how much worse others had to go through all over the world, I consider myself extremely lucky. I am filled with gratitude to have had an experience that I will carry with me for my entire life, which I wouldn’t have had if it weren’t for the pandemic. This piece was edited by Pranavi Hiremath and Tamara El-Halawani.

Ellie Wilson writes about Bolu Babalola's 'Love in Colour', a book which inspires 'pure joy'. It focuses on mythological tales with female protagonists and reminds us of our shared love and humanity. Image description: I painted it in lockdown when I was feeling inspired by the women in my life. It is currently being sold on Instagram as prints on @rachelastridart to raise money for Scottish Women’s Aid, and as postcards by @uoefemsoc as part of their beauty reconstructed fundraising campaign. As women stand together side by side in the illustration, Love in Colour places the distinct experiences of women of different backgrounds in the spotlight, celebrating female independence, love in all forms and human connections. Bolu Babalola’s Love in Colour anthology is pure joy. The female protagonists in each short story bring light to mythical tales inspired by global cultural tradition, pulled from their original contexts but remaining tethered at the heart. From Lagos to London, from a dystopian metropolis to the Maloti Valley, Babalola weaves each culture into the soul of the stories she tells. What makes the anthology so special, however, are Babalola’s retellings, where women stand boldly at the centre of the tales. This offers new colour to stories which have previously been filled with misogyny and limited by archaic, patriarchal narratives. Instead, the women in Love in Colour illuminate the worlds crafted for them, their experiences, and their love. From Siya, the archer, fighting over ancestral territory for her people; to Zhinu the rising popstar finding her voice; to Naleli, the schoolgirl navigating body image and bullies, each character is uniquely crafted to exhibit not just varied personalities and experiences, but diverse cultures and landscapes too, from the mystical to the ordinary. Through each of these narratives, despite the inherent external differences, the common thread of love binds each character across their journeys. This shows love in a variety of forms, colours and emotions while also exploring its universality. Through this, Love in Colour does not shy away from rom-com tropes or romanticism. The novel relishes in the formats of classic romance narratives. The familiarity of these commonly explored ideas is used to great effect, luring the reader in with meet-cutes involving coffee spillages, and romances forbidden by high school social hierarchy. Yet, the supposed safety of expectation in these narrative arcs is undercut by Babalola in favour of new takes and embellishments which serve the women in each story. Within this, the opportunity to delve deeper into the root of romantic tropes heightens these experiences and what they mean for connection. The women in this anthology truly shine, at the centre of their tale, firmly in the spotlight. The short story format certainly does not hinder the reader’s ability to connect with and immediately understand each protagonist; a true testament to the vibrancy of spirit which permeates Babalola’s exploration of the characters. This is achieved through the display of strength and weakness in the women who front each narrative, which enables the text to feel not just modern, but familiar. The bravery of Babalola’s female characters is not hindered by their softness, insecurity or uncertainty and certainly not by their propensity for love; strength is found in moments of doubt and fear, as weaknesses are nurtured into strengths. In ‘Zhinu’, we see a young woman silenced by an overbearing mother, who eventually finds not just her voice, but a fresh sense of autonomy from her romance with Niulang. Their partnership is not just about romance, as Zhinu is aided in her personal growth and independence; a theme in many of the retellings. In ‘Siya’, we meet a woman fighting for the freedom of her tribe who defies expectation and exists outside of conformity, but who, with the help of her lover Maadi, discovers it is okay to need saving too sometimes. These stories are based on Chinese and Ancient Soninke legends respectively, binding history and cultural meaning to create a new force altogether. In addition to the traditional tales and legends, Babalola includes three original short stories in the anthology: ‘Tiara’, ‘Orin’, and ‘Alagomeji’. They each remain indulgent in the magic of myth while also providing a new dynamic to a collection steeped in historical connotations. It is interesting to see how romance unfolds concerning female independence; the spirit of romance enriches the lives of the women, while not compromising their growth. Far removed from classic tropes of a damsel in distress, the sheer confidence, vivacity and sharpness of tongue which defines the women in Love in Colour is refreshing for the soul. Yet, the wonder associated with stories from ancient mythology is not lost, even when set within office blocks or the smoking area of a Brixton bar. The stakes are still high, the worlds are still artfully constructed, and love remains at the core. During a time when many of us are separated from loved ones, Love in Colour feels restorative, it feels hopeful. It is a reminder that despite our cultures, our differences, the physical distance between us, we are all connected by our humanity and our love. This piece was edited by Kirsten Provan (sourced) and Tamara El-Halawani, students at the University of Edinburgh.

Jade Rawling’s poem “The Ancient War” is inspired by the uproar of romanticised battle: “I wanted to remind people that death and war isn't something to be sugar-coated. It is friends watching friends die; mothers losing their sons and daughters. It’s slaughter. We are so desensitised to it that we forget how much it hurts and how real the danger is.” Description: This drawing came from a need for grounding and the reassuring solidity of earth in an unstable time. The drawing may recall a burial, an imagery recalled in the poem "The Ancient War", calling in mind the bodies of the voiceless victims of wars. THE ANCIENT WAR Is there solace in idol conviction? What brought us here to begin with? Among the ruins of a crippled empire, our fingers scramble at crumbs of redemption, hand bruised and bleeding, the blood under my nails will stain, and collect, we aren't heroes any longer, were we ever? Tragedies of firelight and flesh, hands like these, they shake, fingers twitch they remember what they've done, knuckles of spite, nails splintered, unholy sacraments of broken bodies, watch our fathers shake fickle fists at calloused deities, watch our mothers fold flags with their trembling fingers, what use do we have for feeble hymns of wasted faith? Our names written in sordid songs of feeble glory, but look at us, look at us. our hands ready the cannons, they clutch our dying brothers, our fingers pull the triggers, they bury our friends, these hands, these hands, they remember. This piece was sourced and edited by Maddie Noton, a student at the University of Edinburgh.

Kate Charlton and Antony Haslam explore the Fresher experience at Edinburgh University and the surrounding public rhetoric concerning students during the pandemic. “You clowns were to blame for the outbreak in university halls. Even after the outbreak you carried on partying. Pathetic.” COVID’s second wave, which tore through the country in the Autumn, has been marked by frustration and anxiety from the general public - not only at the state of escalation but also at the government for their ineffectual handling of the situation. This anger from the public has not only been projected onto appropriate authorities but has also found its way onto the heads of our student population, with media and online outlets pointing the finger at students returning to universities in September as causing the rise in cases. In a time that is just as uncertain for students as it has been the wider population, it is our view that students have found themselves on the receiving end of, particularly harsh and undue criticism. Seeing the backlash one Edinburgh University fresher received under an Edinburgh Live Facebook post, we thought it was necessary to look further into why students have been blamed, and more importantly, gain their direct perspective. We don’t deny that the movement of vast numbers of students across the country, into the close quarters of student accommodation, contributed to a rise in cases nationwide. However, it is the rhetoric surrounding who’s to blame for the wave, that we take issue with; the rhetoric that seems to scapegoat students, shirking blame from the universities and government who encouraged the movement of students to their university cities. We reached out to the first-year who received the harsh comments under the Edinburgh Live Facebook post after she posted a TikTok criticising the way freshers have been treated. She was branded as showcasing “absolutely disgraceful behaviour” with “only [herself] to blame”, making the general sentiment clear that students are the culprits, rather than victims, of the pandemic. When we asked Tizzie how she felt after reading those comments, she stated that she was “extremely disappointed” by them, that they played into the narrative of scapegoating students as it’s the “easy” thing to do. She was branded as showcasing “absolutely disgraceful behaviour” with “only [herself] to blame”, making the general sentiment clear that students are the culprits, rather than victims, of the pandemic. What’s interesting about the responses beneath the article, is the fact that students are often viewed as a voiceless demographic, they are expected to be seen and not heard. As soon as they speak up and dare to criticise authority, they are met with contempt and are not treated by the public as equals with the right to speak up (like @woodstevie’s Tweet, referring to the EL article: “For fuck’s sake you bunch of snowflakes, the reason we are in this mess is because people can't take 3 months out of their life to try and combat this virus... Selfish attitudes”). Students, as Tizzie argued, are often the ‘easy’ demographic to blame, a third-party option to avoid direct criticism of the government or university; “both [government and the university] are in the wrong, you can’t blame one or the other, so it’s easy to find a middle ground and blame the students, it was inevitable students were going to be blamed”. Tizzie came across as somewhat defeated, as though she and many students feel resigned to accept that this is how they’ll be treated and there’s nothing that can be done to change it. This encouraged us to gather a selection of first-year students from different Edinburgh University halls, who we asked the same questions, to gauge opinions on university social life, teaching and provision of mental health support. @woodstevie’s Tweet, referring to the EL article: “For fuck’s sake you bunch of snowflakes, the reason we are in this mess is because people can't take 3 months out of their life to try and combat this virus... Selfish attitudes” In what has undoubtedly been a challenging year for everyone’s mental health, students have perhaps been uniquely vulnerable to issues of isolation, anxiety and depression. This is true of all students who are confronting these issues away from home, regardless of their year of study. However, it’s freshers who are potentially experiencing this separation for the first time. This has, quite rightly, been documented in the mainstream media, but it feels to us that this discussion is likely too little, too late. This is tragically true for Finn Kitson, the 19-year-old first-year student at Manchester, who was found dead at his Fallowfield accommodation in October. His father, Micheal Kitson, was quick to point out on Twitter that “if you lockdown young people because of COVID-19 with little support, then you should expect that they suffer severe anxiety”. It is clear that Finn’s father is in no doubt about the role Fallowfield’s student lockdown played in his son’s death, yet this is just one tragic outcome of inadequate student support. “if you lockdown young people because of COVID-19 with little support, then you should expect that they suffer severe anxiety”. The freshers that we spoke to in Edinburgh were, across the board, highly critical of the University’s provision of support this semester. One student living in Pollock stated that “we’ve been left to do everything alone, there has been absolutely nothing [support wise] … you don’t see anyone [wardens, support staff etc]; it’s only security and police walking around”. This kind of intimidating presence of authority, in place of something welcoming, undeniably causes anxiety for students who are, potentially, living away from home for the first time. At a time when students are already isolated from help, seeing security and police patrolling their accommodation has left freshers feeling like prisoners, in what is supposed to be their term-time home. One comment under the EL article went so far as to suggest that students deserve to be treated like this, “they really should be locked there for years till they learn something 😁”. Student frustration at being treated like inmates in the accommodation they’re paying for was never more apparent than in the student protests that followed the fencing-off of parts of Fallowfield accommodation in Manchester, which saw students holding signs saying: “HMP Fallowfield: £9K To Enter”. “HMP Fallowfield: £9K To Enter”. Our discussions with freshers in Edinburgh, alongside the protests at Manchester, suggest that this sentiment is widespread; students feel trapped and isolated, having obvious effects on mental health. This becomes yet more of an issue when paired with up to a three-week wait to see a university counsellor in Edinburgh. One student pointed out that, “because we’ve had so little support from the uni, we’ve become better at supporting ourselves and looking out for each other”. A small consolation for freshers that have otherwise been left out to dry. We wanted to explore what led to this feeling, asking what the first-years thought more generally about the University’s handling of the movement of students into Edinburgh in September. One student pointed out that, “because we’ve had so little support from the uni, we’ve become better at supporting ourselves and looking out for each other”. When pushed on whether they thought the University had handled the movement of students to Edinburgh well (and what could have been done better), a theme started to emerge. The recurring answer argued that the University placed great emphasis on so-called ‘hybrid learning’. This was the case for many students, ourselves included, with the University suggesting that we would be expected to be present on campus for a ‘blend’ of in-person and online teaching. The students we spoke to collectively agreed that the University had encouraged them to travel to the city for studies, therefore paying rent on their accommodations. The cynic may argue that this was essentially tricking students into moving to Edinburgh, despite the inevitable second wave. One student commented that she felt like “the university pranked [them] with the promise of hybrid learning, but as soon as [they] got here everything was online.” and that they “feel used for money”. Another commented that “the university made such an effort to persuade us that we would get the full experience, that they had prepared everything for us, but in reality, they just wanted our rent money”. This supports our argument that the University is, in fact, more responsible than they would like to admit for Autumn’s rise in COVID cases. They encouraged the movement of students across the country, but when there came an inevitable rise in cases, their role was conveniently forgotten and students and their socialising shouldered the blame. One student commented that she felt like “the university pranked [them] with the promise of hybrid learning, but as soon as [they] got here everything was online.” Once students had arrived in Edinburgh, it wasn’t just the unexpected lack of face-to-face teaching that caused unease, but also the challenge of socialising. Moving to university and making new friends, at its best already a nerve-wracking and unfamiliar experience, was made extra challenging by the pandemic. The students we spoke to were asked to reflect on how their university social lives had been affected. Aside from the social distancing measures that have affected all our social lives, they outlined other difficulties faced in their particular situation as first-years, living in halls. A range of opinions was offered, with one student arguing that they’d had a lot of fun, but that it may have been because they were “lucky” with who, and how many, they had in their social bubbles. One response that repeatedly cropped up was that students who knew people before coming to university had a massive advantage in being able to socialise and that students tended to stick with who they already knew, as it wasn’t easy making friends outside of their flat. They commented, “the real advantage that those who came from huge boarding schools have is coming knowing loads of people, that’s the only real advantage … it certainly makes it easier.” The wide range in responses concerning the different experiences of freshers’ this year invited us to delve deeper into how, and why, such a variation occurred. There was a benefit for people who knew each other before university, and it’s undeniable that Pollock has been known to be cliquey amongst private school students, who were friendly before coming to Edinburgh. One interesting factor, which has been overlooked, is that the accommodation that students were allocated resulted in differing chances of socialising, due to the number of people in their flat. Salisbury Court, for example, consists of flats of between eight and ten students, which allows those living there to form social bubbles of up to eight, while still complying with Scottish guidelines. On the other hand, Robertson’s Close (a significantly cheaper accommodation) consists of flats of four. One student that we spoke to who lives there, told us how they aren’t allowed to form a bubble with another flat, even though that would give them an equal footing with other students in bigger flats in Salisbury and Pollock. When asked whether there was unfairness to how accommodations affected students, responses we got included; “100%, smaller flats in different accommodations [than Pollock] without larger social areas will have found it harder” from one student, and “I live in a three-person flat, so that has limited who I meet”, from another. In Pollock, the JMCC would usually be a social hub, but this year its arrangement saw students sitting alone, spaced apart at individual desks. Although, as one student points out, “at restaurants and bars you’re allowed tables of 6, yet in the JMCC it’s the whole exam hall set-up; we can’t even face each other”. Pollock’s strict meal-time regime seems far removed from the experience in self-catered flats, which aren’t subject to the same policing. One student admitted that the format of the JMCC makes him less likely to eat there; instead preferring to eat a ready-meal or order a takeaway, allowing him to be with his friends. There is a level of irony here in that the regulation of the JMCC, which is intended to stop social mixing, maybe promoting eating in groups in students’ rooms. The student went on to point out that he realises that this is not particularly healthy, nor economical, but that for other students who feel too nervous to eat alone, they may have little choice. A couple of students who we spoke to raised the point that coming from a wealthier background improved their opportunity to socialise. One student commented that, in her experience, “the fear of fines controls your social life. I have had to turn down a lot of social events just because I didn’t want to get fined and couldn’t afford it. People who can afford that, however, can attend and meet people.” Although we aren’t condoning going against the guidelines, it’s clear how unfair it is that some students have to sit back and watch their peers be able to break the rules and enjoy themselves without fear of repercussion, without being afforded that same option. One student commented that, in her experience, “the fear of fines controls your social life. I have had to turn down a lot of social events just because I didn’t want to get fined and couldn’t afford it. People who can afford that, however, can attend and meet people.” The restrictions on socialising and gathering in halls saw several students opting to rent Airbnbs in Edinburgh to avoid the worst periods of 'lockdown'. This was seen particularly in October, with entire houses in Pollock facing restrictions. Many of those who could afford the costly move, something far out of the reach of most students, were able to dodge the worst of the isolation and continue to socialise; “The renting of AirBnbs has allowed wealthier students to socialise and avoid the constraints of Uni accommodation. This meant less wealthy students were left alone, and even more isolated in student accommodation.” These students shouldn’t be blamed for wanting to get away from halls, given the nature of their experience in the first semester, and we aren’t criticising them for this. Rather, we are attempting to provide an alternate view on student behaviours in response to their treatment by the University. Instead of blaming these students for their choices and feeding into the rhetoric of scapegoating the entire student body, this needs to be viewed in its context. Their choices need to be considered against the backdrop of having been failed by the government, as well as let down by their University, resigning students to taking matters into their own hands. We hope that any first-years reading this article have found solace in the experiences that we have described. If you are a fresher who has at all felt isolated, or maybe felt as though you are alone in your experiences, then hopefully reading what other first-years have said has provided you with some comfort in knowing that you aren’t alone in any struggles you are facing. Finally, we want to emphasise that whatever emotions you feel towards the University or your situation, are completely valid; you have every right to be angry and disappointed at the unfair hand you’ve been dealt. These are the feelings that have fuelled the wave of student activism currently sweeping across the UK, breeding real changes for students: rent rebates, no-detriment policies and petitions to see fees cut. Further Resources: Mental Health 1. The University’s online counselling service (via Teams): https://www.ed.ac.uk/student-counselling 2. 24/7 online community support for student mental health: https://togetherall.com/en-gb/ Click on ‘register’ → ‘I’m from a university or college’ → enter uni name + submit 3. Feeling Good App: https://www.nhs.uk/apps-library/feeling-good-positive-mindset/ Provides students with a free programme aiming to alleviate stress and anxiety through a set of curated exercises My in-app login username = edinuni1. My in-app password = positive Student Coronavirus Guidance Scottish Government website: https://www.studentinformation.gov.scot/coronavirus Student Activism No-detriment policy petition for Edinburgh: https://www.change.org/p/university-of-edinburgh-reinstate-the-no-detriment-policy-for-final-year-students-at-the-university-of-edinburgh?redirect=false Kate Charlton and Antony Haslam are students at the University of Edinburgh. This article was written before the current lockdown restrictions.

A prose piece by Anne Anjali on being comfortable with yourself and embracing change. All of us admire and want the best version of something, like someone who mesmerises a person with curly hair or silky straight hair but not the person with the person in between. Similarly, people recognise only if you are a loser or a winner and not an average; little do they fail to realise that these are the people who might be happy with themselves. It’s an ego that tells us to be better or the best in the world. In life, we fail to recognise the true purpose, like happiness but in turn, look for something that the society expects from us. We are the puppets of the people around us and dance according to their tunes - why shall we not create our own story or tune and music to rejoice over? I confess I was also the one who wanted the world to know me and recognise me as great and unique. But why did I not know that uniqueness lies when realising what my happiness and purpose lie in? I want to say out loud to the world that I don’t want to be recognised by the whole world but I want just someone to recognise me in the way I am and love me so. Yes, of course, in my life these might be impermanent things that keep changing in every phase of my life. As the saying goes, “Nothing is permanent, except change” and I want to embrace the change that destiny decides and all that life offers me. Isn’t it just easy to say all this but tough to do this?…Yes. I also truly believe that you should say it only when you do it or intend to. My Mum keeps telling me that ‘Faith is the opposite of fear; let troubles rest upon you but never lose faith because it’s just another go at God making you tougher.’ Anne is a student at the Father Muller Medical College in Mangalore, India. This piece was edited by Tamara El-Halawani.

Zebib K.A. reviews the film Kajillionaire, perfectly encapsulating the actors performances, storyline and subtle meanings in the film perfectly. Kajillionaire arrives as a wondrously strange film to help end 2020—an unexpected queer love story, a whimsical tale of emotional trauma, and a mournful late-stage coming of age saga. We should expect nothing less of Miranda July, the imaginative multidimensional artist, writer, and director behind the film. July’s first full-length film, Me and You and Everyone We Know, followed a cast of characters who search for love and meaning; her second film, The Future, is an artful window into a couple unsatisfied with life. In Kajillionaire, we see Miranda July venture even further into whimsical, tragic, and surrealist explorations of the human condition. In all her films, July explores the wonder hidden in the mundane details of life. In Kajillionaire, we follow one dysfunctional and bizarre family unit. Old Dolio, played by Evan Rachel Wood, is the adult daughter of two withholding and selfish grifters, Robert and Theresa, played by veteran actors Richard Jenkins and Debra Winger. Their daily lives follow a comic, mundane beat; pilfering packages from the local post office, taking the bus, stealing checks, “renting” a rundown office space where they sleep on the floor and have to wipe leaking industrial soap off the walls twice a day. Old Dolio has never lived apart from her parents, and their codependent relationship has held her back from friends or any sense of normalcy. They are a comical and sad trio, awkward and stifled, unable to form real connections with others, and unable to express real love or care for each other, even as Old Dolio secretly longs for the warmth her parents deny her. Everything changes when the family meets Melanie, played by Gina Rodriguez, an optician’s assistant who offers to help them in a con. As Melanie and Old Dolio interact, we see the dynamic of the family change. Old Dolio is spurred to re-examine the toxic relationship she has with her parents and to form an emotional connection of her own. What distinguishes July’s work in this film is the longing, tragedy, and romance underneath the whimsical strangeness of her direction and writing. The shots can be stylized, the colours on screen an arrangement of saturated pastels, the movement of the characters like performance art (July is a performance artist herself). Bizarre, quirky stylistic choices hide a greater emotional depth. July disarms us. Scenes that start as ordinary explorations of a mark’s house become high art, music overtaking the background, little actions infused with meaning and loss. What begins as an odd and amusing scene of stealing an old man’s chequebook becomes the operatic last moments of his life. Being locked in a dark gas station bathroom becomes a revelatory flight through space. Even Old Dolio’s name is both ridiculous and sad. Her parents name her after an old man, in hopes of getting some inheritance from him, but he spends all his money on his cancer treatment before he dies. Therefore, Old Dolio’s very name is a con, a reflection of how her parents use her from birth. Jenkins and Winger play her parents as awkward, cold, stunted people, who might care for their daughter somewhere underneath their lifelong selfishness. The actors all do an amazing job of making off-putting characters layered and engaging. We also get to see the consequences of this emotional neglect in Old Dolio, brainwashed into following her parents’ way of life but longing for more. Evan Rachel Wood soars here, as a deep-voiced, stifled adult-child, a young woman full of suppressed hurt. Wood’s performance has a lot to do with the success of her character. She delivers a performance that is awkward and compelling. Her work in this film is wonderfully subtle. Old Dolio’s longings and anger come alive in her connection to Melanie, played with charm by Rodriguez. Ultimately, the film emerges, unexpectedly and slowly, as a story of an adult healing from childhood trauma, as well as being a surprising queer love story. The queerness in the film (even labelling it as such might be reductionist, and also a spoiler) was not clear from the advertising. It’s refreshing to see a film that doesn’t queerbait, that has a queer actor in the lead, and that lets an embrace of queer love be part of a character’s healing. This is a film that, if you are open to its strange twists and turns, will enchant you. This article was edited by Kirsten Provan (and sourced) and Tamara El-Halawani.