Getting Back With My Ex: Massey University
Words by Finn Williams (he/him)
I walk back onto the Manawatū campus concourse, and it’s the same – yet different. The sky is grey in that Te Papaioea way, where the clouds get stuck on the ranges, and the atmosphere is leaden with the constant threat of rain. Most days, the threat is acted upon – not today though. The quad is filled with fresh-faced freshmen engaging in O-Week activities.
Once upon a time, I was one of them. That feels like a lifetime ago now. 35 doesn’t feel much older than 29, but 25 feels a lot older than 19. It’s the difference between someone starting their adult life, and someone whose life hasn’t gone how they’d hoped.
That’s the difference between me and most of them.
The first time I walked up the not-yet-rainbow-steps, I was a freshman myself. I did all the things expected of a fresher: I joined a club, ran a show for the campus radio, and got drunk on the cheapest grog possible. I even published a couple pieces with Massive, which was the first-time I was paid for my writing.
Throughout it all, I had my dream. I was going to become a journalist – or at least someone who writes and talks for a living. I loved this dream, or loved that it would finally make me happy with myself. At the time, this felt like the same thing.
I neglected my social life as much as I neglected my mental health. Covid provided an Everest-sized speed bump. But I had to chase my dream, and eventually, I graduated without any ceremony, getting my diploma in the mail instead. That diploma got me a job in a local newsroom, and I thought happiness was just around the corner.
It didn’t take long for the dream to fall apart. My contract at work finished, and suddenly there were no jobs to go around. I was one of many newsroom staffers laid off in 2024 as the C-suites turned journalism into a profit-driven numbers game, at the expense of real people.
Eventually, the job interview nearly’s and not-what-we’re-looking-for's became too much. I knew if I wanted to continue with life, my dream and I would have to break up.
I don’t regret the years I spent chasing my dream. In hindsight, I wasn’t happy most of the time I was in the newsroom. Occasionally, I’d get the chance to tell an interesting story or help someone out of a jam. This made the job almost worth it. But most of the time, it felt like my job was to make numbers go up, rather than speak truth to power. I’m interested in words, not numbers — it’s why I dropped maths in high school, and why I shrivel at any email talking about ‘engagement metrics’.
Instead, I found that what I truly love is storytelling.
It’s a love I first found in primary school, and it has nurtured me throughout my life. I’m at university again, hopefully to turn that old love into a new life as an English kaiako.
I know you should never get back with your ex, but I already feel more at home here than I ever did in the newsroom. I don’t drink anymore, but I’m determined not to let my social life fall by the wayside like I did at 19. I won’t leave everything to the last minute anymore, and I’ve even been thinking of returning to the radio waves too.
When it comes down to brass tacks, all I really want this time is to be happy. Compared to the expectations I had of myself last time, being happy feels easy – I'm doing it right now, writing this piece.
I walk back onto the Manawatū campus concourse, and it’s the same – yet different. The sky is grey, but my mind is clear. In the first week, a new friend tells me, “This is where you’re meant to be.” I turn away from the O-Week festivities and go into the library to meet those new friends.
We have work to do.