The University Student: Melina’s Diary

By Nadia Maran

It’s September and the university halls are buzzing with fresh faces and excitement for the year ahead. Not for Melina Xydakis, new to Scotland, new to the university, and new to the situation of being a child of divorce. For the past three years in Greece, Melina has had to watch her parents struggle to save their marriage. Now she’s here for a fresh start, though the prospect of dealing with the unfamiliar university environment and finding new friends fills her with dread. She decides to focus her nerves in a diary, filling the pages with her experiences. An extrovert she is not. 

Not like Miranda, the beautiful and lively girl she meets in the same residence hall, or Liz, her next-door neighbour who is wild and outspoken. Nor too like Sean. For Melina, there is nobody like Sean, whom she notices in the first few days of term. And although Sean and Miranda get together, Melina’s romantic heart yearns for him to notice her, even when Miranda warns her his light surface hides dark depths. As those closest to her play out their own dramas, except for Kevin, a new friend, who remains steadfast through it all, Melina is consumed with finding out Sean’s secret. But will it ruin everything? 

• Language: English
• Publisher: Troubador Publishing Ltd
• Release date: Oct 28, 2020
• ISBN: 9781838598280

Nadia Maran

Nadia Maran has worked in higher education for more than thirty years. She has taught and authored several academic books and papers in English and her native language (Greek). This is her debut.

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Copyright © 2020 Nadia Maran

The moral right of the author has been asserted.

Apart from any fair dealing for the purposes of research or private study, or criticism or review, as permitted under the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988, this publication may only be reproduced, stored or transmitted, in any form or by any means, with the prior permission in writing of the publishers, or in the case of reprographic reproduction in accordance with the terms of licences issued by the Copyright Licensing Agency. Enquiries concerning reproduction outside those terms should be sent to the publishers.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

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To my father

Contents

PART 1

PART 2

PART 3

PART 1

DAY 1 (Saturday, third Saturday of September)

This is not how I imagined my first day at university. I always thought of university life as endless fun, apart from the few hours spent studying or in the classroom. But, judging from the first day, endless fun it is not. I did what was required of me in the morning: attended orientation, filled the forms, picked up my keys and even bought a few supplies for my first class next week. Now I find myself in a room (as plain as they get) and the only form of communication I want to engage in is this writing. I hear the noise outside, people laughing, screaming (some of them seem to have known each other forever), keys turning, doors opening and closing. Do I want to be part of this? I read in this article that 20% of university students fail to make any friends during their studies. I remember thinking that my picture could have been a nice visual for that article, a prospective isolate in the university cosmos of joyful extroverts.

It is perhaps the last three years of my life, spent in Greece with my family, that have contributed to this distance I feel from people and places in Scotland. It is a feeling I have had ever since I came back home with my mum and my brother. I think I am old enough to cope with the separation factor, I have known for a long time that things were not great between my parents and that the move to Greece was the last attempt at keeping us together. I love my dad, even though as I grew older I increasingly became critical of him, at least more so than of my mum. He always seemed to be unhappy with things as they were (his job in Scotland, life in Scotland, later his job in Greece, life in Greece) and had no suggestions on how to improve things apart from a vision of radical systemic and social change that everyone else knew was not about to happen in the not-so-distant future. I suspect my mum was equally unhappy about the same things, the difference being that she would not impose analyses of the present and visions of the future on anyone other than herself.

I think back to the time I left Edinburgh for Athens. I remember how upset I was at the time. I was almost fifteen and I had just managed to settle into a few relationships that I could call real friendships. And suddenly I had to give it all up for a project as impossible as they get, the prospect of my parents living happily ever after in Athens. I think the sun and the sea were expected to have such a hugely positive effect on the relationship that the move was justified in my parents’ minds. I blame my mum more for this: as a sociology professor she should have known better than investing in the sunshine.

Still, Greece was a good experience for everyone in the family other than my parents. I found that change can be good and that the sun and the sea can make you feel better. Many of my classmates at the English secondary school were non-native speakers of English, which made me very popular. This I enjoyed as it was the first time in my life where I did not have to work at becoming popular; my knowledge of a language made it happen.

Here things are different. Even though I have always felt more British than Greek despite my dad’s genes and my somewhat darker looks, this country seems cold and unwelcoming to one of its long-lost children.

DAY 2 (Sunday)

I had my first breakfast at the hall today, an intense and frightening experience. How is it possible not to know anyone here? I lived in this country for thirteen years! I suspect that my mum’s choice of Glasgow for my studies was based on simple geography despite her frequent references to the ‘quality’ factor. My knowledge of her personality suggests the following two decision-making criteria:

a.The exclusion of her university (Edinburgh) from my list. Being a liberal, she would never have it that her daughter studied at the same university she was teaching at. That would not give me sufficient independence and space to grow.

b.A distance between the two universities that could be covered in a short drive. Independence may be desirable but a few unexpected visits will ensure that I am ‘growing’ in the right direction.

Back to breakfast, painful though it may be. Breakfast at residence halls is never about the food. It is about belonging and today I did not belong. At this point I did not want to belong as I was trying to adjust to my surroundings before embarking on the dubious pleasure of meeting new people. I thus made sure I avoided eye contact with those around me while queuing for breakfast. This continued after I picked up my food tray. To make sure that I would avoid any conversation, I chose a seat that was as far away as possible from the crowds. (I would have liked a table to myself but, as this was not possible, I settled for a four-seat gap.) I proceeded to have the fastest breakfast recorded in the history of mankind and, despite still being hungry, I rushed back to my room, avoiding eye contact. At least I had the satisfaction of knowing that my avoidance strategy had worked for the day. The only thing that did not go as planned was the fact that I was asked to hand the salt to this distant neighbour at the table. (The four-seat gap was not sufficient to avert this.) As he was both good-looking and polite, I did not mind.

As if this were not bad enough, it is the first day of classes tomorrow. There are times I wish I were back in Greece, where life (even though I did not know it then) was certainly simpler.

DAY 3 (Monday)

It is now 9 p.m., a time that finds me alone in my room looking at today’s notes. This was actually a good day as I managed to do two things of which I am proud: first, I attended my first class and I found it extremely easy to follow. This should not have come as a surprise as I have always been a very good (some would say excellent) student. Still, one thinks of the university as a ‘higher’ place, where the things to be learned are no longer accessible to ordinary minds. I can now call this a misconception, hoping, of course, that other classes prove to be equally accessible. Second, I met a fellow student. (Unbelievable though it may seem, it did actually happen!) She was sitting next to me in class and, despite my eye-contact avoidance strategy of the last few days, I actually remembered her from the hall.

Emma appears to be a joyful and friendly person, which is perfect for me in that she can help me meet others, making her something of an indirect path to socialisation. She went to school very close to Glasgow and has many classmates who also attend our university. I always make up my mind about people the first time I meet them. There is something about people’s expressions and manners, not so much what they tell you but how they look at you and move around you. Emma seems to be the straightforward ‘let us all be happy’ type, a type that I have learned to value over the years as no member of my family has ever produced behaviour remotely similar to it. I also find her looks pleasantly average. (I have nothing against good-looking people, especially men, but I would not like all my female friends to be stunning, gorgeous creatures.)

Having met Emma in the morning, I managed to secure myself company for dinner. No more lonely dinners, I thought to myself as I sat at the table (not bad for Day 3). I met her friends Nathan and Miranda. Miranda is her next-door neighbour in the hall and Nathan went to school with her. Miranda is as stunning as they get, and yet remarkably down-to-earth for a blonde, blue-eyed goddess with a hint of a tan. Nathan is also in accounting and finance but I have not made up my mind about him as his attention and attempts at conversation were permanently focused on Miranda.

DAY 4 (Tuesday)

My dad called this morning. He is still thinking about going ahead with his dream of starting his own marketing research company. This was the main reason we moved to Greece four years ago as my dad and a partner (a Greek friend from his days at university) had decided to start their own company. After studying mathematics and statistics in Edinburgh, my dad worked in marketing research for more than twenty years. My mum reluctantly agreed to the move as she would have to give up her university post to take up a lower-pay, lower-status job at a private college in Greece, with no official university status. After moving, we discovered, much to our horror, that my dad’s partner-to-be was beginning to have second thoughts about the partnership. My dad had managed to persuade (or should I say silence?) my mum with one main argument: his friend’s personal wealth and enthusiasm for the project. But no one is immune to the crisis in Greece and my dad’s friend was no exception. When it all changed, I knew that my parents’ marriage was doomed: my dad could not go ahead on his own and going back to his UK job was not an option at this stage. It was also late for my mum to look for another university post in Scotland. Both had to settle for temporary jobs in Greece, until they could plan for the future. We thus spent three years in the country in the midst of the financial crisis, with my parents constantly at odds with each other. To my mum’s credit, I never heard her directly blame my dad for the situation we were in. However, there was discontent in her every word, even in the way she smiled and showed affection (not a common occurrence those days).

My brother, being five years younger, did not seem to bother. He was consumed by his interest in electronic games, which at the time knew no boundaries. I was aware of what was going on but I had decided to detach myself from it all as I gradually came to realise that Greece, despite my initial disappointment at the move, had a lot to offer. After all, I was half Greek, and this was the first time I could immerse myself in the realities of this relatively small European country. My Greek improved to the point of fluency, I acquired an interest in modern Greek literature, I met people from different countries and I had my first relationship (if you could call it that). Antonis, my boyfriend, was Greek and looked it (dark features and a Greek nose, the type you find in ancient Greek statues). Was it love? I don’t know. My mum insisted that I should not get too close to anyone as we were certain to move back to Scotland for my studies. Sensing that she was right and that I was too young for real commitments, I kept a distance. I think Antonis saw this as lack of interest on my part and adjusted to the ‘temporary’ character of the relationship. Still, when it was time to go, we both became very emotional and decided to keep in touch. We have kept in touch with e-mails and text messages (sometimes every day) but we seldom talk.

Other than my dad’s call, this was an ordinary day. I went to more lectures, which were also easy to follow. I don’t like it when professors call my name: Melina is easy enough but Xydakis (my last name) is giving them some trouble. At least they are not aware of the vinegar connection (‘xydi’ in Greek means vinegar), which always served as a source of comments in Greece. I spent more time with Emma; I am beginning to really like her.

DAY 5 (Wednesday)

Today I have to tackle the inevitable question: why am I keeping this diary? One reason may be genetic. As far as I can remember, the women in my family have kept diaries (or something of the sort), even though they never admitted to doing it. My mum’s mum said that she was working on a recipe book, which she intended to publish one day. (Needless to say, we never witnessed the publishing of the book, nor did we witness any meals based on these secret recipes.)

As an academic, my mum always writes ‘papers’. Papers have always been very important to us as our livelihood depends on them. I remember being told the following at a very young age: university teachers need to write papers to be published in academic journals. If they do not, they will not be promoted, and may even be fired, which means that their family will immediately cease to afford any new dolls and will soon starve to death. These journals are run by editors and their friends. In all but a few cases, the editor-and-friends group consists of mean and selfish individuals, who will not recognise brilliance when they come across it and will discard any work produced by outstanding authors like my mum. If one is ever to trick them into accepting her work, one must be allowed the space and time to devise the right strategy, using words and phrases that would appeal to these mean people. This account of things was so deeply ingrained in my mind that I even recall dreams of the editor-and-friends group doing the following: coming to our house and seizing our property; chasing me down a steep hill; and spoiling a barbecue in our garden by jumping around and throwing the skewers on the grass. There must have been more evil action by the group but this is all I can recall at present. What never made sense to me is that on several occasions my mum actually brought a couple of editors to our house, putting us all in danger. Surprisingly, no damage was recorded in their presence, nor did they seem to particularly dislike my mum. In fact, one of them, Dr Grant, seemed to be ready to publish anything my mum produced.

Let me not be unfair to my mum, though. She did write several papers, which is why she is now a senior lecturer at Edinburgh. However, this was not all the writing she did. She wrote her academic papers on her PC but spent a significant amount of time writing things in her own handwriting in different types of notebooks. This type of writing was different: there was no reference material around, my mum being deeply engrossed in her thoughts while engaging in it.

I do not know the reasons other women in my family have kept diaries or notes. For myself, there is a simple explanation: I enjoy it. I become a different person when I write, no longer shy or introverted. When I write, I have control of my life. I can choose people and events and portray them in the way that I want, in the light that I choose. I feel like an artist, a creator, an initiator. Writing helps me keep in touch with who I am at different points in my life. Even though my writing is not to be read by others, it helps me keep in touch with other people. In what I write, through my references to others, I re-establish my connection to the world.

DAY 6 (Thursday)

I wish others shared my view of writing as a means for communication. Having read my first academic assignment, it is clear to me that some do not. People often write to impress and not to communicate. They start from themselves and end in themselves when they should start and finish with the other. If I were ever to become a writer, I would write simply, making it possible for people to know my thoughts without having to decipher complex and elaborate riddles.

I often think of my English literature teacher in Greece, Mr Evangelakis, who wanted me to study creative writing at university. It was certainly a topic I would have enjoyed more than accounting and finance and my mum agreed with him. My dad, and to be fair I, disagreed. We felt that I should be more instrumental in my choice of a degree subject to enhance my employability. My mum’s successful academic career has not been economically rewarding, at least not to the extent desired or deserved. My dad always made more, even though he was always more frustrated.

I do not know whether I chose the right subject. I suspect that my mum’s genes will ultimately prevail, resulting in my employment by a non-profit organisation (or, worse, in my unemployment). I talked to her today and arranged to go to Edinburgh on Saturday. I was told that my brother misses me. In an odd and entirely unexpected way, I miss him too. George always served as a source of irritation but I now realise that he is for me something of a window to the outside world. He forces me to be vocal about my feelings, which can have therapeutic aspects to it. (I think some fighting is good for a relationship: it releases negative energy that should not be kept inside for very long.)

Tomorrow is party day at the hall. Emma is very excited and, despite my lack of enthusiasm, I have no option but to go with her.

DAY 7 (Friday)

It is now technically Saturday as it is 1 a.m. I have just returned from my first university party. It was great, reminding me of the ‘endless fun’ prospect of university life. I went reluctantly with Emma and Nathan after unsuccessfully trying to boycott the plan in favour of the local pub. (I am not a pub lover as alcohol does not seem to agree with me but I could not have suggested the TV room with any chance of success.) I think that both Emma and Nathan took my proposal as a joke, dragging me to the party instead.

I kept thinking about my clothes. (Were they suitable? Jeans are OK: everyone wears them, but my tops bought in Greece are too light for this weather, people may think that I want to draw attention to my tan, even though not much of it remains.) I should not have worried. I did not notice any heads turning as I walked into the room, a situation that was about to change dramatically with Miranda’s entrance ten minutes later. She looked like a model on the catwalk. In fact, this is how she looks on an everyday basis but tonight she wore high heels and make-up, which made her even more stunning. I knew that we were about to lose Nathan at that point as he made a strategic move towards a small group of psychology students, knowing that Miranda, a psychology student herself, was likely to spend some time with them sooner or later.

I had started thinking of Antonis when Emma interrupted my thoughts.

‘Isn’t he good-looking?’ she said. ‘The guy in the red T-shirt.’

I looked for red and, when I found it, I fixed my eyes on Emma’s choice for good looks. He was good-looking. It was the same guy who had asked me for the salt at my first breakfast. It seems that Emma and I had similar views on male beauty, even though I suspect that this is more of an objective standards case. He was tall, very fit, his straight brown hair framing his beautiful features. He was a Greek god (and I have seen a few) but what impressed me the most was this clean, child-like quality about him that was instantly noticeable and seemed to come from inside.

‘Yeah, sure is…’ I answered, amazed at how open I was about it.

‘He is in sociology. His name is Sean. Nathan knows him… they met on our first day here.’

A sociologist, just like my mum! I bet knowing that my mum is a sociology professor would make him notice me (if not fall in love with me). The books, the papers, the exam questions I could get him, so many opportunities, so much potential! I chose not to continue the conversation with Emma as I feared Sean would soon notice us staring and return the look (which would amount to disgrace and to me not being able to cast him another glance in the future).

Nathan’s instincts were right. Miranda soon joined the group of psychologists, which allowed him to exchange a few words with her. As I looked at it, he did not stand a chance, even though nothing is to be ruled out in love. What Nathan had not counted on is that Sean would also join the group. Miranda gave him a warm smile, which he reciprocated. To Nathan’s horror, they started talking, no doubt aware of the fact that they were the best-looking people in the room, meant to be together forever in order to produce equally good-looking offspring, the equivalent of the Hollywood couple in Glasgow. Nathan made a few failed attempts to enter the conversation and then proceeded to plan B, which meant that one of the two would have to be moved to a different location. At this stage, we were close enough to hear the conversation. (Even though Emma and I stopped looking at Sean, we had slowly drifted to his location.)

‘Sean, have you met Emma and Melina?’ Nathan said excitedly.

There was an expression of ‘WHO?’ on Sean’s face, at which point I looked as far away from him as I could. Emma, instead, thought that this justified another stare. The introduction followed soon afterwards and amazingly, despite Sean’s initial disappointment at being removed from Miranda’s side, there was a good twenty-minute chat between the four of us. I mentioned my mum’s job, which, as predicted, resulted in great enthusiasm on his part.

‘I may need your help in the future,’ he laughed.

I wanted to mention the long-forgotten assignment papers in my mum’s desk to secure his future interest but, unable to do this, I simply offered to put him in touch with my mum if he ever needed advice on sociology. (At this point thoughts of him and me travelling to Edinburgh together entered my mind.) Eventually, Miranda joined our group and to my surprise spent considerable time talking to me rather than the two guys. I was beginning to feel flattered by the fact that the British equivalents of Apollo and Aphrodite thought me worthy of their attention. To my disappointment, my impression of Miranda remains that of a very likeable individual who is bound to attract the attention of the likes of Sean. Still, she would have to compete with my depth of character!

I spent the rest of the evening with Nathan, Emma and Miranda. Sean was looking from a distance, our eyes meeting on at least two occasions. (Was he thinking of the papers?)

Now, in my formerly plain and now cosy room, I feel for the first time that university life is to be enjoyed as it defines your life through people and events previously unknown and unexpected. Here things can happen without a plan, and life has many possibilities.

DAY 8 (Saturday)

I am now at my new ‘home’, a small three-bedroom house in the outskirts of Edinburgh. I spent three utterly boring weeks here before moving to the residence hall and boredom can be expected to apply to future visits. Some things have changed though since my last visit, the most important of which is the purchase of a much-needed sofa for the living room. More importantly, George greeted me with a smile. This is a truly remarkable event as George is known to smile on only two occasions: when given money and when promised money. He has never been seen smiling around me. His friend, Paul, attributes this to George’s belief that my very existence is a threat to the safety of his electronic equipment. (I did cause the breakdown of his computer once but that was years ago.) Today, he smiled, a clear, warm smile that made me think of the bond that I never thought existed in our family as everyone seemed to inhabit their own universe, merely acknowledging the presence of others when necessary.

My mum was also more affectionate than usual, buying