Dear Michaelmas Term,
Let me tell you a secret. For years, I convinced myself I didn’t need an MBA. In a world where everything is just one click away, who needs another degree, right? But one evening, I conceded: 'Why not give it a shot and see what happens?' When crafting my list of schools, one stood out — not chosen from the head, but from the heart.
What began as a flicker of a dream became reality. The heart-pounding moments before the interview. The rush of opening the email that changed everything. The slow trudge of preparing finances, visas, and suitcases — propelling me into this uncharted chapter in the UK.
Before I knew it, I was stepping onto Oxford's ancient cobblestones, awestruck by the city’s undeniable romance. History felt alive in every building. Libraries were the most ornate I'd ever seen. The university’s halls and streets carried the weight of centuries of students, each leaving whispers of inspiration.
Then you showed up, greeting me like an old friend, meeting me where I was: hopeful, scared, and in disbelief at the incredible journey unfolding before us. You reassured me that I was ready.
You stood with us as we listened to church bells by day and basked in lamplight by night. You were there during Launch, as we navigated the sea of new faces. We met our tribe — the Saïd Business School staff, professors, and classmates.
But readiness didn’t mean it wasn’t hard. At first, I struggled to find balance — classes, career opportunities, and socials. I felt overwhelmed as if there weren’t enough hours in the day. My need to excel in everything added to the pressure, but I realized I couldn’t do it all. Slowly, I learned to let go, embrace progress over perfection, and set clear priorities.
Matriculation came, and for the first time, we donned our subfusc — crisp shirts, polished black shoes, and flowing robes. At the Sheldonian Theatre, we glimpsed what graduation might feel like. I promised myself: 'Cherish every second.'
You challenged us. To stand firm in our convictions, make decisions rooted in data, and question the frameworks shaping our choices. My mind stretched in ways I hadn’t anticipated, reshaping how I approach the world — and myself.
Yet, you reminded me that there’s more to life than the syllabus. Strangers became our Friday night comrades, fellow dreamers, and our support group who felt like home. We jogged through Christ Church Meadows, debated fiercely, and devoured sticky toffee pudding like it held the meaning of life. Because this is where the magic happens — in the crevices between lectures and deadlines, in the moments where we laugh loudly and dream boldly.
But your greatest gift was reflection. You inspired me to ask: 'How can I make this year as meaningful as possible for myself and others?' 'Who do I want to become?' 'How can I grow into the leader I aspire to be?'
As these 90 days have passed, we’ve grown. The whirlwind has calmed and so have we. We’re now a little wiser, a little steadier, and more intentional about how we want to spend our time. We stumbled. We fell. We found our footing. And we’ll stumble again — and rise again. You pushed us, shaped us, and gave us clarity to choose what truly matters.
Now, with renewed purpose, we’re ready for Hilary Term. Not just to face what’s next, but to embrace it, as the versions of ourselves we’re becoming.
Yours truly,
Margarita
