Last Thursday at 10.30am, I completed my first year at university. While it carried with it a sense of relief, The End docked with much less triumph than I imagined it would. It felt indefinite, unsure if this was the destination, if we’d even boarded the right ship. For weeks now, people have been filtering out of the halls. I’ve fought with final days, with wind, rain and Descartes theories condensed on an A4 piece of paper. And despite how it couldn’t have come sooner, the end of first year has given rise to an oddly unattached emotion. I imagine retiring will…