Hello to all my fans. Sorry about the subtitle (thx Tar). This post is a comprehensive review of every module I have taken in NTU. For each I briefly discuss the lecturer’s style, content, assessments, workload/difficulty, and personal tips if any. I categorise modules by semester, following the chronological order in which I took them. Ctrl-F is your friend here – enter either the year/semester (e.g. Y1S1), course code (e.g. HP1000), module name (e.g. Introduction to Psychology) to jump to the relevant section directly. I also indicate the type of module (Core/Major-PE/Ger-Core/Ger-PE/UE) and number of AUs.
Background: I’m majoring in Psychology with a 2nd Major in Sociology. This means I’m doing a normal workload for psychology + 35AUs in sociology courses substituted from my UEs. Trivia: if you do the math you will realise I took too many modules and exceeded my AU cap unnecessarily. This is called poor planning, and serves as the basis of my #protip: always plan your courses in the grand scheme of your 4-year journey here. (Though I’ll tell you now that I don’t regret it.)
Disclaimer: Module syllabus differs by year and is especially contingent on the lecturer so what you read here may not be what you get. This applies most to the general modules. Niche topics, however, tend to be dominated by the same professors (Prof Ringo’s shadow looms over my harrowed soul to this day). Also note that my module trajectory is neither the definitive standard nor a guideline. I just did whatever I wanted and look how that turned out for me (not great, thank you). Finally, all notes I make are tentative and you should always take them with a pinch of salt. It is your responsibility to do your due diligence.
If you find this list helpful, share it with your friends and hopeful juniors. And follow me on Instagram @gwynethtyt for more Tips N Tea – nothing but the best, served piping HOT. Feel free to DM me suggestions for improvement or if you’d like to contribute too. I do not sell notes or essays (except textbooks). Hit me up if you’re looking for any books. I am a textbook hoarder, and I treat all my books with care, love, and respect. I also annotate the books that I read, and you know what that means! Get my thoughts in the palm of your hand… for a marginal fee!
As of July 2020, this list is not complete and will continue to be updated as I finish my final year (AY20/21).All links open in new tabs.
Two weeks ago, I had my first classes at McGill University. It is a gorgeous, sprawling institution located in Montréal, a city in Canada’s province of Quebec. (Took me a while to get that sentence too – geography eludes me.)
Introductory day was spectacular, setting my existential crisis into motion. I walk into morning class to be greeted by a course syllabus with no exams and massive class participation. Anyone who knows me recognises my enthusiasm for group work. And a posterexhibition worth 40%. What? But the module is on the sociology of science! I’d be a fool to let that go for some adjustment issues.
Three hours later, I am late for a seminar because it is a 15-minute hill away from the second lecture, and also because of my abysmal time management. (There’s no way around either.) I awkwardly fumble for a seat at the makeshift discussion space, made up of four rectangular tables aligned such that sixteen people can stare daggers at each other simultaneously. Sixteen. The instructor is devastatingly charming, up to the point he casually mentions that everyone in class will inevitably and individually lead a class discussion. You could pull that phrase apart into single words and I’d be as horrified. Individually / lead / class / discussion.
I share my personal difficulties with being nervous in social situations with two friendly classmates, as they walk me to my fourth and final class out of goodwill. They are mildly sympathetic. Or not. Could I chalk it down to cultural differences or personal weakness? I have no answers, and it doesn’t matter.
I attempt to strike a conversation with an aloof, if cordial, student seated beside me in the lecture theatre. She doesn’t catch my accent half the time. It’s fine. I won’t be seeing her in the next lesson, or the next, or any of the following lectures really. We sit in silence, and I make a comment on how the theatre is packed.
She replies: “Ah, don’t worry about that. The numbers start falling off in a few weeks.”
Me, intrigued and dumb: “Why? Is it because they drop the class?”
Her, blandly: “No. They just stop coming.”
well, there’s that.
I leave the theatre confused by my professor’s rambling on development, colonialism, and what the definition of “betterment of society” really entails. I am emotionally and socially depleted, and I don’t have anyone to go home to. To mitigate my nagging loneliness, I go searching for John William’s Stonernear my place as an alternative to the morescandalous books I currently possess. It’d be easier to read in public. There, on level 2, an older man’s fingers dance across the piano at an adjoined café as mine run across pages and glossy covers. The book’s not available.
On my way home, I ruminate on why I’m so worried about my performance when I’m being graded on a pass/fail scale. I could even get away with missing class occasionally (obligatory disclaimer: not that I intend to). The answer, introspectively derived, is that it’s not only my performance that I’m worried about. I’m worried, and I always have been, about how others perceive me. And that is inextricably intertwined with my fear of failure, in the words of my lecturer on human motivation. To be precise, it would be inaccurate only to say that I want to do well; it’s more that I can’t accept not doing well.
I am positively sickened at the prospect of sitting in a group discussion feeling like I’m the only one who hasn’t done the reading. That happened on the second day of class, actually. I forgot to read one paper in advance, I admitted it to the four other girls I was grouped with, and the discussion promptly continued as if Thanos had snapped his finger and scattered my humiliated ashes to the wind. For all I know, half of them didn’t do the reading either, a suspicion that was highlighted when they went off-topic multiple times. But I still hated every moment of being in that situation. I don’t know how the exchange student in my group last semester back at NTU managed to pull it off (not reading any assigned articles), though I do know I did not hide my contempt for him.
I recall one class presentation where it was readily apparent to me that I was putting out inferior work. Relatively speaking, at least, because the bell curve dictates that one’s work is judged only against the performance of compeers in the same module. Standing under the watchful eye of the lecturer and classmates, I remember thinking, why are you guys paying attention now of all times!? I was wringing my hands desperately, looking anywhere but at the lecturer (and the other students too) in case they discovered my incompetence.
Throughout the ordeal, the irrepressible urge to simply up and bolt out of the classroom held me hostage – a classic flight response to a situation rapidly spiraling out of control. Thankfully, I was too petrified to budge. It was not a good day. Failing is an incredibly noxious sensation that I don’t have the resources to handle.
The problem, then: isn’t failing a necessity for growth?
I can’t bring myself to relax now, because I’ve never allowed myself to under equivalent conditions. I’m deeply terrified of mediocrity, and my talent is escaping from that inevitability.
Still, I’m learning. I missed one day’s worth of class earlier this week. (Obligatory disclaimer: whoops.) I’m telling myself it’s okay, even if I didn’t understand half of what the lecturer said in the class on development today. (At this point, I’m inclined to think it’s him and not me.) Even if I don’t have anyone to help me catch up on the content. I will get through it as I always have. There will be no caveats here, only a commitment to self-acceptance. After all, exchange promised to be a time for growth. I’m going to make the best out of it – even if it means pulling apart and rebuilding myself in the process.
Okay but the real question is: is it cheating if I count my mandated class readings towards fulfilling my annual Goodreads Reading Challenge? After all, reading is reading… (I’m ashamed to say I probably still wouldn’t meet my goal even with their inclusion, though.)