Today I have a really good economics class. Yesterday I had Population, Resources and Politics of Development which was a great mix of anthropology (yippee!), history, economics and political science. Both these teachers I have are supposed to be the best in the school, and I can see it. They're really smart and anecdotal and I've walked out of the class feeling really stoked about the months to come. I'm in my first introductory term so my classes are these 2 plus an Academic skills, Development Theories and Strategies and I'm trying to get into a remedial Quantitative research skills course.
I have to admit, I've had moments of doubt, moments of sheer panic and cold sweat, nights when I laid awake ALL NIGHT and thought "Oh shit, I've made the biggest financial mistake of my life". Moments where I've thought I'm investing so much money into something that's going to leave me without any better options than I had before I came here. All I'm going to walk away with is a $25G debt.
But then I get this other feeling of excitement because I think this is one of those turning points, this is one of those parts of my life where from now on I will see my past in terms of before my MA and after my MA. I think about coming home and finding good meaningful work that pays well and keeps me interested and being able to buy a house and PAINT IT! any colour we want! And having HEALTH CARE!! and VACATION PAY! and the opportunity to take trips and not count every penny.
I think at this point the most difficult part of this experience is realizing how I stand among the other students. It seems so obvious now that I'm here, but I never really realized what to expect of the others before I arrived. Most of them are on scholarship from the Dutch Government and don't worry about money at all. Most of them come from upper class families to begin with, whether they come from Mali or Indonesia or Bolivia. They are the elite from their nations. And they spend. Oh how they spend. On clothes and booze and their nails and so many luxuries. I just buckled last week and bought a real towel after almost 3 weeks of using a hand towel I brought with me, in my attempts to keep my bags under the flight weight restriction.
Its funny, in Canada, even though I know I struggled to pay for my own schooling, I had this comfortable feeling being middle class. Suddenly I'm really understanding that I come from one of a few nations that even has a middle class. There's no middle class in Ethiopia, so you're either the farmer's kid who'll never have options, or the upper crust who has it all. Those who have it all are the ones you find here.
Middle class is great. You're almost anonymous. You're not at the top, not at the bottom; you're the comfortable unnoticed middle. There is a sort of protective comfort to being in the middle. You can be the wallflower that watches the struggle between the upper and the lower class, and feel safe in accepting responsibility for nothing.
Here,compared to the others, I'm at the rock bottom. On a global comparison, the middle class disappears and you're either at the top or at the bottom.
But the perception of others is that I'm Canadian; I come from affluence and privilege and opportunity. In a lot of ways I know I do, but also know I work damn hard to get it what I've got. But I can't argue that with them. They don't believe me. I've tried to explain the situation of my debt when they ask about it, but I can see them zoning out when I explain, like they don't even want to consider it or automatically assume I'm exaggerating. They think, "What do you mean you worry about money?? You come from Canada!"
The funny thing is that the only other people I've heard worry about money or about debt they've acquired to be here are the other Canadians. What does that say or mean? Is it just coincidence, or does it spell something about the system in Canada? Or the attitude of Canadians? Is it the culture of credit?
On my little trip to Belgium I was traveling with Bolivians and Columbians, representing two of the poorest nations in South America. When we arrived in Brugge it was late and all the hostels were full, so they suggested we just splurge and stay in a $100 Euro a night hotel. At that point I was already mentally preparing to sleep in the central park we'd passed earlier. And I had to laugh. Who would have thought I'd be the penny-pincher of the 7 of us? It was so ironic and farcical. (And no, I didn't need to sleep in the park. We found a youth hostel in the nick of time).