Law and legal studies

In the first tutorial I genuinely thought I had made an administrative mistake and entered a class for people who already had law degrees. Everybody seemed to have an argument ready. They could refer to the text without looking for the page. I had read everything, but the moment somebody asked what I thought, my brain offered absolutely nothing. For a few weeks I treated every confident answer as proof that I was behind. Then I started noticing the pauses, the tabs open under the table, and the way people repeated each other with slightly different wording. Some people really were very prepared. Some were simply more comfortable speaking before their thoughts were finished. I am still learning how to do that. What helped was preparing one question rather than trying to predict the whole discussion. A question gives me somewhere to enter. Once I have spoken once, the second time is easier. I wish somebody had told us that PBL is not only learning the material. It is also learning how to be visibly uncertain in front of other people.

At first the programme chat was useful because everyone had the same practical questions. Then it slowly became a social room with its own jokes, regular voices, and unwritten rules about who belonged there. I do not think anyone deliberately decided to exclude people. Still, there were moments when somebody asked a normal course question and the response was basically: why are you here, who added you, prove you are really in the programme. Maybe there were reasons to keep the group relevant. The tone made it feel like access to basic peer information depended on being socially recognised. Large chats always develop a centre and an edge. The people in the centre forget the edge is reading. I would like us to remember that the quiet account asking about a book or a deadline may be a real classmate who is already nervous about entering an established room.

When I tell people what I study, the next question is usually what kind of lawyer I want to become. The honest answer is that I am not even sure whether I want to become a lawyer. That answer seems to disappoint people. A law degree sounds like a straight road from the outside: study law, become lawyer, wear serious clothes, argue professionally. The more I learn, the less straight it looks. Different countries have different qualification routes. Language matters. National law matters. Some jobs need additional study, some do not, and half the interesting possibilities have titles nobody outside the field recognises. I chose an international programme because I liked the idea of studying systems across borders. I also chose it because I was good at writing, cared about politics, and had no single profession calling my name. That felt like a decent reason when I applied. In rooms full of people who have wanted a specific legal career since childhood, it can feel unserious. There is also a practical fear underneath it. My family hears “law” and hears security. I hear a large number of possible routes, several languages I do not fully command, internships I may need to finance, and the possibility that I will graduate still unable to answer the question. At the same time, I do not regret choosing it. I like learning why systems are built the way they are and who gets protected by them. I like that a tutorial can move from a technical rule to a moral argument in ten minutes. I like hearing how the same issue looks completely different to people who grew up elsewhere. Maybe the problem is not that I lack a plan. Maybe I am expecting a degree I have barely started to provide a finished identity. So my current answer is: I do not know what kind of lawyer I want to be, or whether lawyer is the destination. I am trying to learn enough to ask a better question.

I would like an answer to this question that is neither a recruitment sentence nor a warning from someone’s uncle. When people hear international law, they imagine international courts, diplomacy, human rights, or a person travelling between important buildings. When I search for practical career routes, the picture becomes complicated very quickly. Qualification rules are national. Language requirements matter. A bachelor’s can be academically broad without being a direct professional licence. The words lawyer, solicitor, advocate, jurist, legal adviser, and attorney do not transfer neatly between countries. I knew some of this when I applied. I did not understand how personal it would feel. My classmates are already comparing master’s programmes and qualification routes. Some have a home country where they clearly intend to return. Some speak the local legal language in several countries. Some have family members who can explain the profession. I have curiosity and a search history. The course itself makes me more interested, not less. I enjoy comparing systems and seeing how legal ideas move across borders. PBL discussions show why an international classroom matters: everybody arrives with a different assumption about what law is supposed to do. But interest does not automatically become employment. I worry about spending years becoming intellectually flexible and professionally vague. I worry that I will need extra degrees I cannot easily finance. I worry that the most prestigious international work will depend on unpaid experience, personal networks, or languages I began learning too late. I also know anxiety can make us demand certainty that no degree can provide. A national law degree does not guarantee a satisfying legal career. A direct qualification route can still lead somewhere a person dislikes. The fact that our route branches earlier does not mean every branch is bad. What I want from older students is detail. Not “you can do anything,” because that is not useful. What did you study next? Which languages became necessary? Which jobs turned out to be open without a professional qualification? What would you have done earlier, and what fear turned out to be exaggerated? I would also like current students to admit how many of us chose this programme because the subject sounded interesting and international life sounded possible. We do not need to rewrite that curiosity into a childhood career plan. Maybe I will qualify in one country. Maybe I will work in policy, research, compliance, government, an organisation, or something with a title I have not encountered yet. I am comfortable with several possibilities. I just want enough honest information to tell the difference between possibility and marketing.

During my first weeks, I thought everyone else understood how tutorials were supposed to work. They spoke quickly, referred to readings I had barely processed, and seemed comfortable disagreeing. I stayed quiet because I did not want to expose how lost I felt. It became easier when I realised several people were performing confidence too. Preparing one useful question helped more than trying to prepare the perfect answer. I still find the system demanding, but it no longer feels like a test everyone else secretly studied for.