Morning (8.00 - 12.30): The mad dash
- 8.00 – the zero-hour alarm. You wake up later than usual because you can’t afford to go to sleep early. You sigh, grab your toothbrush, and get ready to go to campus.
- 8.45 – rush-hour madness. You stumble into the library, quietly cursing everyone around for having the same idea as you, and try to find somewhere quiet to study.
- 9.00 – settle. Even during the ungodly hours of student mornings, the Vrijhof is full. You’re left wishing that you had booked a room in advance, and you finally trudge towards the public spaces, where all the other students are sitting, and take out your laptop.
- 10.30 – the uphill battle. By this point, your desk has become a fortress. Laptops are skewed around, textbooks cracked open, and noise-cancelling headphones are blaring music.
- 12.30 – the summit. Surprisingly, the first three hours of your study session are extremely productive. The low buzz of the library sets a serious tone for reviewing your material, and seeing everyone else studying as though their lives depended on it gives you motivation. Satisfied, you decide to take a break, and go down to the grocery store to get yourself a bite of food for lunchtime.
Afternoon (13.45 - 16.00): The hump
- 13.45 – the peak hours. The library reaches maximum capacity. The tension in the air is palpable, and you’re suddenly feeling extremely groggy after food. The loud silence is punctuated by frantic typing and whispered answers.
- 15.00 – the coffee break. As the average student, then it’s safe to assume that you’re probably going to be having coffee to refuel yourself. Other students have the same idea, relying on heavy doses of coffee, energy drinks, and quick snacks. You amble down to the Spar supermarket for a cup and see a line forming.
- 16.00 – the slump. After a day of studying, focus inevitably dips. You find yourself taking more and more breaks, getting more easily distracted. You look out the window and see other students enjoying the fresh air and the grass. You decide to do the same.
Evening (17.00 - 20.00): The dread
- 17.00 – doubt. After your break, you come back inside and wonder if you should go home. Unfortunately, you packed dinner as well, so you really have no choice but to stay and grind out another exam.
- 19.00 – regret. Two hours later, you’re really regretting your choice to stay in the library. Yes, you’ve studied a lot, and yes, you’ve taken many breaks to keep yourself from burning out, but you’re so darn tired. And yet – it doesn’t seem as though the people around you are leaving any time soon, so you grit your teeth and push through for a bit more.
- 20.00 – fatigue. At this point, the words on your screen have started to blur together. You’ve read the same paragraph four times and retained absolutely nothing. Your laptop is warm, your back hurts, and your water bottle has somehow become both empty and too far away to refill. Around you, the library has changed shape. Some students have disappeared, presumably to go home and become functioning human beings again. Others remain planted in their seats, hunched over their notes like medieval scholars translating ancient texts.
Late night (20.30 - 22.00): The push
- 20.30 – the bargaining stage. You start making deals with yourself. One more chapter, and then you can go home. One more practice question, and then you can watch an episode of something. One more summary, and then you can finally stop pretending that your brain is still absorbing information. Of course, the problem with bargaining is that it only works if both parties are reasonable, and unfortunately, your brain has already resigned from its position.
- 21.00 – the final push. Still, there is something strangely heroic about studying at this hour. The campus is quieter now, the lights feel harsher, and every student left in the Vrijhof seems united by the same silent understanding: none of us wants to be here, but all of us are too stubborn to leave. You put your headphones back on, open one last document, and try to squeeze a little more knowledge out of the evening.
- 21.45 – surrender. Eventually, you accept that enough is enough. There is a point where studying stops being productive and starts becoming performative. You pack your things with the slow, dramatic movements of someone who has just survived a minor historical event. Your laptop goes in the bag, your notes are shoved in after it, and you take one last look at the table that had, for one long day, become your academic battlefield.
- 22.00 – the walk home. Outside, the air feels colder than you expected. Campus is calm again, almost peaceful, as if it hadn’t just hosted thousands of panicked students trying to memorise half a module in one day. You bike or walk home with that strange exam-week feeling: exhausted, slightly proud, and still somehow convinced that you have not done enough.
And tomorrow, of course, you will do it all over again.
Because that is the rhythm of exam week at UT. For a few days, the campus transforms. The library becomes a war room, the Spar supermarket becomes a refuelling station, and every empty chair becomes precious real estate. People who have not seen the inside of a lecture hall in weeks suddenly appear with colour-coded notes and a terrifying sense of purpose. Everyone is tired, everyone is stressed, and everyone is trying to convince themselves that the next hour of studying will be the one that saves them.
But there is also something comforting about it. Exam week is awful, yes, but it is awful together. You see it in the crowded tables, the shared coffee runs, the whispered explanations, and the silent nods between students who are clearly going through the same thing. For all the pressure and panic, there is a strange sense of community in knowing that everyone around you is also just trying their best.
So, to the average UT student dragging themselves through exam week: good luck. Book your room early, drink your coffee responsibly, take your breaks, and remember that the Vrijhof may be full, but at least you are not suffering alone.
