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A love letter to my year abroad 

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A year is a long time: enough to call a place home, enough to strip away the bright facade of newness. I’ve spent my year abroad at this university, unstuck in time. My friends at home have lived a thousand different lives in the interim, and I suppose so have I. But this place is different. It’s somewhere that’s nearly impossible to explain. My friends ask me about how it compares to Brown University, and I find myself at a loss. The differences are manifold; they’re cosmically different, worlds apart. How can I express how I feel about Oxford? How can I capture this rapturous feeling? I cannot hope to explain my world here. And yet, I must try. I love this place, I hate this place, I can’t bear to leave it behind. I don’t think it will ever truly leave me.

I write to tell you all what this place means to me. To tell you what it has been to take a year abroad. 

Michaelmas

Oxford still seemed romantic, a sort of richly brocaded city of dreaming; it was all twisting spires and ancient promises. The city was new, freshly minted in my mind. Things felt heavier: the air, the weight of age, the frantic, feverish rhythm of life. That was particularly significant, the speed at which everything seemed to go. Two months is not a long time. The rate of coursework, essays, and even social activities seemed breakneck. I found myself settling into my modules, grinding out two essays every single week. I would go to the Radcliffe Camera and bask under the elegant arches and soft incandescent light. Work felt special when it was beneath the watchful eye of some marble statue. I rowed in the mornings, and swam on Saturdays. Days were spent dutifully working, nights were consumed by revelry. 

There was something on every single evening. Whether it was formals (such an alien concept, even to students in the UK, I’m sure), college BOPs, club nights, socials, or debate nights, I was meeting new people at a rate which rivalled my own first year of university. Formal dinners were particularly dazzling – dressing up for a three-course meal in a vaulted hall evoked some sort of Public school fantasy – and it’s no surprise I went to as many as I could afford. I involved myself in societies which seemed novel and interesting. I made friends in student politics, and watched with mild amusement as intrigues unfolded on a scale unlike any I’d seen before. It felt very…Oxford. It was somewhat alluring, the draw of the glitz and glamour of an entirely different social world. 

But my disillusionment with student politics came early into the term. One night, sequestered in a college common room, beneath dim lights, I found myself at a hushed afters. The group was discussing one of my friends, saying terrible things. I knew then what I know now: I wanted no part of that world. I resolved to extricate myself. 

Like any new thing, Michaelmas was bright, exciting, and romantic. Underneath the shine, I found that some truths were better left buried. The journey out of darkness was not easy or linear, but it was worth it.

Hilary

Hilary began as it ended, with a sort of incorrigible grey. There was a lightness to it, at some point in the middle, when things fell into place. When the rhythms of life here began to feel as normal as breathing. I wrote so much that term: articles for a student paper, modules on Mesopotamia and Ethnobotany, and pages and pages in my journal. I also took up ice skating. There was something freeing about gliding across that glittering rink. It smiled at me, kissed my cheeks with cool breath, and pushed my feet across frozen ground. I found peace in my solo skates, joy in skating with others. Collapsing into bed, face flushed from the cold, I could not have been happier.

By this point, the glamour of student politics had thoroughly worn off. It seemed more like a tired old thing, full of fatigued people. Yet still, friends found themselves deeper entrenched in the machinery of it. I pulled further and further away as they ran elections and relayed intrigues. 

Working on the student paper was my saving grace, with the Schwarzman becoming an unlikely refuge. We spent long hours below that sun-soaked ceiling, passing the day in leisurely conversation. We discussed the paper, pitched articles, and wrote silly headlines that could never be published. Little work was done, even when dusk came and went. The watchful oculus considered us carefully, as we raced about on rolling chairs under the moonlight. We would stay into the early morning hours, dancing, singing, running around that hollowed-out space. The darkness was warm.

Nights at the Schwarzman melted into afters at one room or another. Twilight spent in fervent conversation, marked by tea or cheese and crackers. I felt so full in these liminal moments. Pink parties, game cafes, and homemade DnD campaigns made my time at college all the brighter. Although the end of Hilary was marked by a particularly nasty bout of pneumonia, I felt satisfied with all I’d done in my grey little term. 

Sometimes, in that mid-year lull, the only thing to do is to keep pressing forward. There is a light at the end of the tunnel. The articles and essays I wrote that term are still some of my favourites.

Trinity

May night was long and dark, a treacherous road twisting round the riverbend. We walked in cold twilight. Moonbeams glanced across my cheek – a quiet beacon in the near black. The neon glow of varsity faded into dawn, slowly. When the sun finally turned Magdalen Tower blushing red, the choir heralded the start of spring. May morning shone just a bit too brightly, full of clamorous noise and clatter. Dancing and merry bells followed me all the way into my belated slumber. 

Oxford was beginning to shimmer beneath the brilliant sunshine. It made everything feel just a bit more hopeful. I was determined to spend the term trying an entirely new set of activities. I shed the politics which made Hilary drag endlessly, and leaned into my renewed joy for writing. I  joined two magazines and a different student paper. These turned out to be such sources of light: full of incredible, creative people, and even more incredible work. Writing articles, performing pieces, editing work, it was all so fulfilling. I looked forward every week to our lay-ins, or planning meetings for events. 

Trinity was a time of great celebration. I attended countless birthdays, including my own. My friends made me such thoughtful cakes; I was laughing long into the night. It was so nice to be with the people who made Oxford special. I turned 21 under the multicoloured lights at the Brasenose Ball. It felt magical, to be able to mark the occasion in such a fairytale manner. I will always remember the purple glow and the soft music in the background as I checked my watch, and hugged my friend tight when the hour hand slid to midnight. 

Ultimately, it was the small moments that made Trinity particularly special: whether it was simply studying with finalists, or watching Eurovision for the first time on my friend’s bed (we ate too many of her snacks and took our bets entirely too seriously). 

I must have done absolutely no revision the second the sun came out. Maybe it was the warmth of the afternoon light on my face at Port Meadow, or the cool depths of Hinksey Lake, but those days passed in such a calm haze. The picture of idyllic summertime. 

Sometimes, letting go is just a chance for a new beginning. 

__

Oxford has been so many things. I’ve sought out every hidden place and tried every new activity that I could reasonably fit around my coursework. I’ve met so many important people who have impacted my life in countless ways. It took time to find my place here. There was a significant period of trial and error, but I’ve somehow made it to where I am happiest. I do not regret the experiences I tried which were not quite right for me. I learned from them, they were meaningful, and made for fantastic stories. 

When I return to Brown in the autumn, I will carry all of these experiences with me. I will hold them close to my heart, and I will try, and fail, and try again to explain how much they mean to me. If you are embarking on a year abroad, whether for your third year of Modern Languages, or to Oxford just like me, prepare to try everything. Prepare to change, to experience as many new things as you possibly can. You will return different, but you will be better for it. 

A year is a long time to be away from home. 



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Student Life

Twelve Oxford Scientists receive prestigious Royal Society Fellowship

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Twelve University of Oxford researchers have been elected as fellows to the Royal Society, the UK’s national academy of sciences. They join a cohort of 90 scientific researchers elected this year from around the world who specialise in fields ranging from “astronomy and cancer research to mathematics and biotechnology”.

The election is considered “one of the highest honours in the scientific world, awarded to individuals who have made impactful contributions to knowledge”. 

Sir Paul Nurse, who is the President of the Royal Society, said in an article on the organisation’s website: “I am delighted to welcome this newest group of exceptional scientists to the Fellowship …. Their contributions reflect the highest standards of scientific endeavour. Whether advancing our understanding of vaccines or exploring the transformative potential of mathematics and computation, their work exemplifies the enduring value of curiosity, creativity and rigorous inquiry.” 

Tim Coulson, Professorial Fellow in Zoology and Environmental Sustainability Fellow in Jesus College, was among the Oxford researchers elected to the Royal Society. Coulson told Cherwell that his initial reaction to his election was a combination of joy and shock. He added: “I could never have got this without all the remarkable students and postdocs I have collaborated [with] … Being awarded [this honour] for doing something I enjoy seems almost unbelievable.”

Paul Riley, a Professor of Regenerative Medicine at the British Heart Foundation and Professorial Fellow in Medicine at Jesus College, echoed Coulson’s sentiment of disbelief. Riley told Cherwell that he was “initially surprised and somewhat shocked” by his election, “having gone through the application process for several rounds”. He also told Cherwell that “becoming a fellow of The Royal Society is a huge personal honour, but importantly one that recognises the quality and impact of my group’s science over the years … One agency described becoming a member of the Fellowship as the scientific equivalent of a lifetime achievement Oscar; so it feels like the culmination of a career in research for which I feel very humble but with a huge sense of pride and satisfaction”. 

Stuart West, a Professor of Evolutionary Biology and Nicholas Kurti Senior Research Fellow at Brasenose College who researches genetic adaptation and social behaviours across various species, highlighted the significance of his team in his election. He told Cherwell: “My election reflects on the team that I have been lucky enough to work with over the years … Obviously, I cannot have all the skills needed to carry out this diversity of work, and so our progress often relies on the expertise of my group members or our collaborators.” He added that the “Department of Biology provides an exceptionally supportive and interactive environment.”

Professor of Genetics in the Department of Biochemistry at Keble College, Rob Klose, also told Cherwell that “the fellowship is a wonderful recognition of the dedication, creativity, and ingenuity of the members of my lab, who consistently amaze me with their discoveries.” Professor of Neurology and Cognitive Neuroscience Masud Husain added that “it’s a wonderful recognition for 30 years of research dedicated to understanding the mechanisms that underpin human attention, memory and motivation and how it can go wrong in people with brain disorders”.



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The ‘Obsession’ Obsession – Cherwell

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Something unprecedented is happening in the world of cinema this year. In less than a month, a horror film made by a relatively unknown director in his twenties, on a budget of less than $1 million, has grossed over $224 million at the time of writing. It achieved the rare feat of earning more in its second week and third weeks than its first – the first film to do so since E.T. in 1982. It’s the film on everybody’s lips: Obsession.

Without spoiling too much, Obsession follows a music store employee, played by Michael Johnston, who buys a mysterious ‘One-Wish Willow’, which he uses for a seemingly innocuous end: he wants his crush, played by the incredible Inde Navarrette, to love him “more than anyone in the f*cking world”. This wish, however, results in unexpected and horrifying consequences. What follows is an incredibly effective horror film, with plenty of uncomfortable moments and scares – it’s a film I strongly and wholeheartedly recommend everybody reading to see (but maybe not on a first date). 

What makes Obsession so effective is that its supernatural premise is only a slight exaggeration of something that is recognisably human. The wish begins as a familiar romantic fantasy: to be wanted completely, unquestioningly, and above everyone else. Obsession twists this into something claustrophobic, and makes you question the ethics of what is being done. Johnston is especially good at making Bear both sympathetic and uncomfortable: he never plays him as a monster, which makes his choices more disturbing. Navarrette, the breakout star of the film, has the hard task of playing Nikki as charming, frightening, and pitiable all at once, which she does masterfully.

The film was directed by Curry Barker, a 26-year-old known for his sketch comedy on YouTube and TikTok. He made his feature-length directorial debut in Milk and Serial in 2024, an extremely underrated horror film, available to watch for free on YouTube. That it was made with a budget of only $800 is remarkable. Considering Barker’s comedy background and relative lack of experience in the director’s chair, Obsession is a surprisingly well-made horror movie, with great acting, great pacing, great cinematography, and great writing. Most mainstream horror films tend to be lacking in at least one of these departments, but Obsession succeeds at what it sets out to do – it made me uneasy, and it lingered in my head long after I watched it. So many details only made sense to me after the film had finished, and I found myself continually recognising just how clever this film was days after I had watched it. Soon, I found my Instagram Reels had been taken over by Obsession content – interviews, memes, clips, theories – and I completely fell down the rabbit hole.

I don’t seem to be the only one taken over by Obsession obsession. The film’s continual growth in popularity can be largely attributed, it seems, to word of mouth, since there was a very limited amount of promotion done for it. Everyone I’ve spoken to about it has either seen it and loved it, or heard about it and wanted to see it. It didn’t try to get a Super Bowl ad, or a brand tie-in, but instead relied on its quality to gain the interest of potential viewers. This was one of my favourite qualities about it: it is a film which inherently creates discussion, without being designed for virality. This is done through the ambiguity of some of its themes, which have left people on the internet divided. For those about to see it, I have some questions for you to consider: Is Bear a good person? What really happened to the cat? What would you wish for?

Its success also speaks to a wider hunger for original filmmaking. Obsession does not have a pre-sold cinematic universe behind it, nor any big names. It has spread because people want to talk about it. Its premise is clean, but its moral questions are not, and its ending leaves enough unresolved to send viewers back through the film for clues. That is exactly the kind of engagement Hollywood often tries to manufacture through marketing. Here, it has happened organically. 

What I hope Hollywood learns from this unexpected smash hit is to take more risks on young, passionate filmmakers. Audiences have been missing original stories and fresh voices, and Obsession provides both. We do not need another $100-million-budget Star Wars or Avengers spin-off. We do not need another remake, sequel, or nostalgic cash-grab. We need creative risks, and the hope that it is possible for creative young people to break into this industry without needing to use a One-Wish Willow themselves. 

Obsession is a taste of what the next generation of filmmakers looks like. Not only is it a great movie, but it is evidence that it is possible for Hollywood to change.



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‘Physics is a zero-bullshit zone’: Jessica James on Commerzbank, Christ Church, and the joy of shifting from STEM to finance

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Sporting knee-length hair tied into a bun with a colourful scarf and married to a flame juggler, Jessica James isn’t your typical quant trader. A Christ Church PhD Physics alum and now Managing Director at Commerzbank, James speaks with levity and self-assuredness, a rare duality in the finance sector. 

While many from my cohort are making the jump from physics to finance, it was more than unconventional for James in ‘94: “It was absolutely weird of me to do so. I was trying to write up my thesis and thinking I was unemployable, and my supervisor, Patrick Sanders, came into the office.” He had received this “funny letter”, anticipating James’ potential interest. It was from the First National Bank of Chicago, who were moving into the area of financial derivatives and looking for PhD Maths or Physics students. She was called onto the trading floor to explain her research to various traders and salespeople, before being flown to Chicago for another interview. “Business class!”, she whispers in mock awe. 

Physics and finance may share certain mathematical foundations, but there are clear differences between the two worlds. “Physics is about studying the foundations of the universe. Finance is about studying a man-made system that doesn’t always behave how you think it will. I’ve always enjoyed it. It’s fun. It’s fast-moving.”

Ambiguity in jargon is another key difference. When somebody in science uses the term force, its meaning is generally agreed upon. When someone talks about yield or convexity in finance, they could be defined in very different ways, depending on the context and the speaker. “The big change is the lack of precision of the vocabulary. It’s easy to think you understand something in finance, but when terms are ill-defined, you might not. Physics is mostly a zero-bullshit zone”, she says.

“Finance tends to focus on the future and the now, and data is, fundamentally, historical. Yet it’s a gold mine – especially today, when sophisticated analysis is increasingly used to uncover trends and behaviours – however, it’s often deleted, forgotten, or ignored.”  It’s always a red flag when someone says “but this time it’s different”, be it an ex-partner or a teetotal friend, James explains that this is particularly true in finance. “It’s like the climate”, she tells me. “The climate can fluctuate in unexpected ways, and so can the market, right? Just because there hasn’t been an ice age recently doesn’t mean they won’t return in their time.”

While at school, James was the only one doing Physics and Chemistry: “15 years in a convent school put me off God forever. But I understand why science and religion are often so conflated”, she says, explaining that she views both as trying to better understand the rules of the universe. As the sole woman in many rooms, including a weekend away as the Managing Director at Citibank, James has never minded being the odd one out: “I don’t care if they think I’m different. I was smarter than most of them.” I fully believe her. “It is tricky being a woman in finance. How many technical disciplines are there where you could say that women are equal? And, you shouldn’t have to be tough and immune to remarks that shouldn’t be made. But, it never really bothered me.”

While traditional routes into banking are competitive, James stresses the importance of getting into the right place and avoiding a mundane job. Her advice? Get in early via the internship-turned-graduate-scheme pathway. “Oxford and Physics give you the ability to think critically and believe in your own opinion and your own knowledge”, she says. “This helped me to thoughtfully reflect on challenges and gave me the courage to recognise that if something felt off, it probably was – and it didn’t mean I lacked ability.” This mindset has been the cornerstone of James’ career.

“But, the one thing that is the hardest, but the most important, is to understand where you fit into the organisation.” She tells me that when fixing code, processing data, or completing spreadsheets, we should be asking: why? Where is your organisation making money, and why does your job exist? It’s important to not be stuck in a bubble, James stresses, not just in finance but in any job. This understanding will push you to find originality in the way that you work, and perhaps do it better than other organisations: “Knowledge is power, and often the knowledge that is the most powerful in an organisation is who does what and why.” She believes in keeping a foot in more than one world, and, thereby, tapping into more opportunities.

“I had never seen five o’clock from the front before, only from behind.” The crazy hours in finance aren’t a recent development, although James prioritised her hours off work just as much as those she spent on the trading floor. Her secret was to not break stride and make no eye contact with anybody as she got off work. She quickly realised that “you’ve got to set boundaries, you’ve got to set limits”.

James has been a pioneer in finding probability-weighted foreign exchange market trading strategies. She has launched products based on trading signals, which she explained as buying the trading rules that came from looking at historical data. Amidst the global turmoil of the 2008 financial crisis, these instruments performed better than many others. 

She also coined the term rollercoaster bonds: long-term bonds that become highly sensitive to changes in interest rates, similar to the way rollercoasters must consider forces other than velocity and acceleration. Here, rising interest rates can significantly impact the value of century (100-year) bonds, like some sold by Oxford University. While century bonds sound reliable and safe, she showed they would lose much of their value if interest rates rose out of the near-zero range of the pre-COVID world – and they did.

Penning several financial maths texts is yet another achievement of James’ career. She is quick to warn, however, against getting her confused with an author of the same name who writes, apparently, racy novels as opposed to those about the stock market. 

Talking to James, it is clear that she enjoys devoting her time to finance and academia. After all, she is a pension trustee at Citibank and Commerzbank, on the Institute of Physics council and a Visiting Professor at Oxford and University College London. However, reflecting on her time as an Oxford undergraduate, she reminisces on her fun side. She recalls her first encounter with Professor Kurti: a pioneer in the art of gastronomy. He was about to give a lecture at Manchester University titled The Joy of Cooking, but was startled to realise as he entered the lecture theatre that someone had amended the title on the chalk board to The Joy of Sex. James bumped into him years later in the Clarendon laboratory and confessed, luckily being met with laughter. 

She notes the same Brasenose dinner between exams and results as one of her favourite memories of Oxford, where “everything was possible. Nobody’s wave function had collapsed”. Her message to students? Love every minute of Oxford for how fantastic it is. But also: “Take pride in yourself. Take pride in your accomplishments. You got here, you stuck it [out]. Not many people can do that.” 



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