Nolite te bastardes carborundorum

I was a Foreigner, with a capital F, in London. 17-year-old me – bushy-eyed, cherubic, and, obviously, daunted by the prospects of interviewing at Oxford. That was the first time I ever set foot upon British soil – the land where the sun sets at 3:30pm sharp in the winter; also a land that was both ...

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