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Nikole Karissa Gaye

Missing in Action: An Apology from a Mature Student Who Clearly Overestimated Her Time Management

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Dear patient readers,

You may have noticed that my blog has been quieter than a library during a surprise inspection. This was not intentional. I did not abandon you. I simply made the classic mature student mistake of believing I could realistically manage my time.

I would like to take this moment to apologise for the unexpected blogging drought. I had every intention of posting regularly. Unfortunately, life, academia, and a deeply unreasonable number of glitter highlighters had other plans.

The Memoir Situation

Firstly, I have been writing my memoir. Yes, an actual memoir. Because apparently going back to university as a mature student wasn’t emotionally challenging enough on its own.

The memoir explores trauma, abuse, survival, and the long journey into advocacy. It is important work, meaningful work, and occasionally the literary equivalent of opening a drawer labelled “Things We Packed Away for Later and Definitely Should Have Left Shut Until After Coffee.”

Writing it involves a lot of reflection, some unexpected emotional ambushes, and a suspicious amount of tea. There have also been moments where I’ve written a paragraph, stared at it, and thought: Wow. That explains a lot.

Still, it matters. Stories matter. Advocacy matters. And if even one person reads it and thinks “oh, it wasn’t just me,” then it will have been worth every slightly terrifying sentence.

The Glitter Highlighter Crisis

While doing all this serious reflective writing, I have also been fighting a battle that nobody warned me about when I enrolled in higher education.

Stationery.

More specifically: glitter highlighters.

At some point I made the perfectly reasonable decision that ordinary highlighters were unacceptable. If I am going to highlight academic texts, those highlights should sparkle with purpose.

Unfortunately, glitter highlighters behave less like stationery and more like a rapidly expanding ecosystem. I started with three. I now appear to own approximately seventeen.

They are everywhere.

In pencil cases.
On my desk.
In bags I haven’t used since 2019.

I’m fairly certain they’re reproducing when the lights are off.

The Next Module: A Light Existential Crisis

Meanwhile, I am also attempting to choose my next module, which is a process best described as academic speed-dating with existential consequences.

Each module description follows the same emotional arc:

  1. Oh this looks fascinating.

  2. This could really deepen my understanding.

  3. Oh look, a reading list longer than my will to live.

As a mature student, you’d think wisdom and life experience would make these decisions easier.

Instead, it just means I overthink them with greater sophistication.

Where Have I Actually Been?

So in summary, my recent absence can be explained by the following completely reasonable schedule:

  • Writing a memoir about trauma, abuse, survival, and advocacy

  • Doing university work

  • Accidentally building a glitter stationery empire

  • Having mild academic identity crises while choosing modules

  • Drinking tea like it’s a research method

The Plan Going Forward

The blog will return to regular programming shortly.

Assuming, of course, I can clear enough space on my desk between the glitter highlighters and the emotional processing.

Thank you for your patience while I was temporarily missing in academic action.

Normal levels of slightly chaotic mature-student commentary will resume soon.

Sparkles optional.

(They are not optional.)

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Nikole Karissa Gaye

When Life Presses Snooze on Your Study Plan (and Then Sits on It)

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Studying this time around started beautifully.
You know the kind of start that makes you feel like this is it, this is the version of you who has it all figured out.

The schedule? Worked to a tee.
Pens? Lined up like soldiers.
Highlighters? Full, vibrant, obedient.
Clear sticky notes? Transparent optimism.
Work? Fine. Manageable. Even enjoyable.

I was that mature student. The one who thought, “Look at me, balancing life, learning, and colour-coded stationery.”

And then… life laughed.

Not a gentle chuckle. A full-bodied, theatrical cackle.

Because suddenly, everything happened at once.

There was the colleague—the snake-like variety. The kind who lies with a smile, manipulates with confidence, and shines themselves up by quietly trying to dull everyone else. The kind that makes you question your own competence while they sharpen their narrative.

Then the phone call no one is ready for: my father, in the hospital, massive heart attack, emergency surgery. The world tilts. Perspective snaps into place whether you’re ready or not.

As if that wasn’t enough, a visit to see the adoption files followed. The kind of visit that knocks you for six. The kind that makes you question everything you thought you knew about your own story, your own roots, your own truth. The emotional hangover from that doesn’t politely clear overnight.

Meanwhile, my 12-year-old—brilliant, sensitive, struggling—needed appointments. Severe panic attacks. Autism assessments. Forms, waiting lists, advocacy, fighting for the support he deserves so he can breathe a little easier in his own world.

Then came my own ill health. The quiet kind that creeps up until you’re forced to admit you need to stop. Time off work. Not optional. Necessary. To protect my mental health.

So naturally, I rested.

By which I mean…
I decorated the entire house. Top to bottom.

Because apparently I cannot sit still, even when ordered to by my own body.

Finally—finally—I sit down to study. I’m ready. Focused. Determined.

And that’s when my trusty pen gives up the ghost.
Three best highlighters? Dry. All of them.
TM03? Not my favourite topics.

Honestly, if life had a sense of timing, this was comedic perfection.

But here’s the thing they don’t tell you about being a mature student:
resilience doesn’t look tidy.

It doesn’t look like perfect schedules and uninterrupted study blocks.
It looks like showing up anyway.
It looks like reading through exhaustion.
It looks like submitting work while holding everyone else together.
It looks like continuing to care—deeply—about being the best version of yourself, even when chaos is shouting for your attention.

Because in the middle of all of this, I’m still focused.
Still resolved.
Still learning—not just academically, but emotionally.

I’m still committed to helping those around me succeed, especially the EHCP students I support every day. Still modelling perseverance. Still proving that progress doesn’t require perfection—just persistence.

So if you’re a mature student staring at a dead pen, an overwhelming module, and a life that refuses to slow down, know this:

You’re not failing.
You’re living.
And you’re still standing.

Even if your highlighters aren’t.

And tomorrow?
I’ll buy new pens.

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