There is a circular element to studying at LSE. In a way, the student experience starts, and ends, in the Peacock Theatre on Portugal Street. Never have Shakespeare’s careful words, “All the world’s a stage,” been more true.

When I first set foot on LSE’s campus it was for the various orientation events in the fall of 2013. One of which was a general event for all master’s students at the Peacock Theatre. In a way, it was the first hurrah. There, eager-eyed and ready to embrace the challenge ahead, hundreds of students shuffled in.

Memory is an odd thing. There are two main things I remember of this event. I remember one of the speakers saying that the finale of Breaking Bad has left them “emotionally drained”. I admit, the link was tenuous, then again I forgot the speaker’s main point. The second thing I remember, is a speech by a second speaker. The speaker equated studying at LSE with a song. On cue, one of the theme songs from Slumdog Millionaire erupted from the speakers. The song’s tempo continually accelerated. It accelerated until it became what you would expect a heart attack to sound like from the tail end of a stethoscope. “This,” the speaker said with much gravity, “is what studying at LSE is like: an ever-accelerating tempo. Then, it stops, and, in an odd way, you are left wanting more.”

I can attest from personal experience, from the graduate student’s perspective at least, that the second speaker was right. The LSE experience is an ever accelerating tempo. Writing my dissertation I came very close, on a couple of occasions, to emitting the kind of noise you would expect a heart attack to sound like from the tail end of a stethoscope. Then, it stops. And yes, in an odd way, I was left wanting more.

This is where the graduation ceremony comes in. It is a short display of pomp and circumstance where the student experience comes to a fitting close. It provides closure through celebration. In short, it is the last hurrah.

———-

The last hurrah began, like the first, in the Peacock Theatre. It was great to be surrounded by comrades who had become friends through a shared experience. At LSE the degree certificate and graduation ceremony are separate. So I was actually in the position of having already having collected my degree certificate before I graduated. It was safe and sound while I was mentally preparing for the ceremony, and much like during my time as flag-bearer before the Queen (see post), repeating to myself “don’t trip…don’t trip”.

Much like my first encounter with the Peacock Theatre there were two speakers, including the Director of LSE Professor Craig Calhoun. The difference this time is that I would get to walk on the stage. During a glorious fifteen seconds I crossed the stage and was all smiles as my name echoed through the room and I shook the Director’s hand.  Then, almost as soon as it began, I would be back in my seat and encouraging fellow graduands as they got their own fifteen seconds of fame.

It must have been quite the physical task for Professor Calhoun to shake all those hands. Yet he did it throughout the ceremony with much grace and while keeping a smile. During the few lulls in the ceremony I could see him exercising his fingers to avoid a cramp. I imagined him after the ceremony rinsing it through a pool of hand sanitizer, and hoping that, after a week of intense hand-shaking, his hand did not develop a life of its own.

Soon, we were all declared graduates. I remember the second speaker’s address to be inspiring. However, I remember it for the wrong reasons. In her introduction she told the assembled graduates to use “TLC” as guiding principle, but that in this case “TLC does not stand for tender loving care”. So, of course, I forgot what she wanted us to remember TLC for, and instead remember that in this case “TLC does not stand for tender loving care”. I must have been too excited to concentrate. When I went to get my picture taken in full academic dress a couple of hours before, the photographer actually told me to “smile less”. Until then I did not realise that it was possible to smile too much. I suppose it is a testament to my genuine excitement. I must have looked like the Cheshire Cat. And so, having officially been declared a graduate from the London School of Economics I exited the Peacock Theatre with my friends to celebrate at a wonderful reception offered at the New Academic Building.

———

This was the last hurrah. This was the moment when I realised that all those months of hard work paid off handsomely. In that tremendous moment of accomplishment, all was well with the world. In that tremendous moment of accomplishment, all the world was a stage; and one man in his time played many parts. Now, with a master’s in hand and twelve posts (and 10,522 words – yes I counted them) on Students@LSE behind me, it is time to find out what part lies ahead.

P.S. If there is one thing I want you to remember me for as a blogger at Students@LSE, it is this: whatever you do, don’t trip!