Monday 12 August 2013

Rosy Burgess, BSc (Hons)... MSc...??

When I was 17, in my penultimate year of Higher Education, I was told I had to start applying for university.  There was no real discussion about what I wanted to do with my life, or where I wanted to go.  It had always just been assumed that I would go to university and get a degree which would get me a good job.

At 17, I had absolutely no idea.  I thought I might like to go travelling, to volunteer in Africa for a while, to explore the world.  But I was told that this wasn't an option.  That if I took a gap year, I'd be throwing away my education and would find it really hard to get back in later on.  And I accepted that.

I accepted being told that I had to go to a top twenty ranked university.  So of course I compared that list with a map, and pinpointed the six universities that were furthest away from home.  If I wasn't allowed to travel, I might as well get as far away as I could, even if it was within someone else's limitations.  Despite being told this was not a good reason for picking a university, I couldn't see any other reasons or way to decide, so this would have to do.

Long story short, I ended up getting the A and two B's in my A-levels, needed to accept a place at the University of Edinburgh (at the time ranking in the top 10; now ranking number 18).  So on 11th September 2005, I jumped in the car, my belongings in the boot, ready to head off on what people told me would be the biggest adventure of my life so far.  After getting out again to say goodbye to my family, I finally settled down for the five hour drive, with my dad, up to my new home.  Although I wasn't allowed to call it home.  Home was in Wales.  Edinburgh was just where I went to university.

Fast forward four years to June 2009.  I had survived first year - depression, anorexia, only just scraped through exams, didn't really know anyone I felt comfortable with; Second year - got promoted to Bar Supervisor, met some people I'm still friends with, just about scraped through exams; Third year - moved in with an awesome flat-mate, got promoted again, felt more comfortable around people, met the boy who is still my boyfriend, did slightly better in exams; Fourth year - moved house again, realised I hated being outside (a problem for someone doing an Ecology degree, which I was), messed up my dissertation and final exams (apparently slating the subject you are studying in your final exam is generally frowned upon), graduated with a 2.2, knew I never wanted to see trees or grass ever again. 

Basically, looking back, I'm about 98% certain my undergraduate degree was a complete waste of time. 

So when I decided in August 2011 that I was going to take on an MSc, I was determined this time to do better.  I'm not stupid, I could totally get a distinction.  And this time it was on my terms.  None of this top-twenty rated nonsense.  I wanted to go somewhere where I felt like a real person, where tutors knew my name and I wasn't just a statistic.  I also wanted to go somewhere I knew had a good reputation for the course I wanted to study.  And this is how I ended up at Edinburgh Napier University (currently ranking at number 98 in the UK, if you really care).

Today, I have become a lot more realistic about my own abilities and my expectation of myself.  Ok, maybe I could have got a distinction.  If I hadn't been working full time, been to the UN HQ in New York to represent WAGGGS, been battling major depression and the resultant months of counselling...  So now I'm not expecting a distinction.  Infact, even if I only just scrape a pass it will be enough (as long as I get more than the 53% I got for my undergraduate dissertation).  Knowing that I made the decision to come back to studying, at a time in my life knowing it wouldn't be great, and that I stuck with it, that is enough.  Having a Masters degree is something I never thought four years ago that I would ever achieve.  So to have come through it so spectuacularly (I'm thinking a bit like a bull in a china shop) is a huge achievement.

And this time round, it doesn't matter that I know I don't want to work in the field relating to my degree.  That's almost not the point.  I survived, I don't feel guilty and I have a job.  And soon, hopefully, I will be able to call myself Rosy Burgess, BSc (Hons), MSc.  If I want to.  Which I don't.  

I do still want to go travelling though.


--
NB.  There's nothing wrong with the University of Edinburgh.  I am really proud to have studied there and to be part of the alumni.  I just prefer Napier. 

Tuesday 6 August 2013

Edinburgh Festival Fringe

You may or may not know that I live in Edinburgh. This beautiful peaceful city in stone-throwing distance from the sea and close enough to the country that I can see it from my bedroom window (living on the fourth floor does have its benefits!)

This is the magical city which, for most of the year, reminds me of an old bear that's consumed slightly too much caffeine - a bit slow but buzzing and not really sure what to do with itself.

And then August happens. The bear suddenly forgets its age, brushes off the cobwebs and replaces its lattes with jaegerbombs. And it brings all of its friends with it. The festival has started.

Edinburgh has about nine million festivals throughout the year, but none of them compare even remotely with the fringe. What started out as the younger brother of the festivals, bumbling along trying to be cool and artsy and a bit alternative, has become a massive event in its own right.

This year is the first year since moving to Edinburgh that I've been in the city and not been working in one of the main fringe venues. It's been a bit weird knowing that somewhere in my city there were posters, stages, even a big purple cow, but I've not been part of it.

I've missed the weeks of preparation, the mad panic to make sure there are enough people in the right places, to order and unpack thousands of crates of wine and kegs of beer. The long nights of setting up pop up bars and theatres, and the mass influx of thousands and thousands of people. This year it's all sort of snuck up on me.

I quite like it!

But I love the festival, and I’m really excited about being part of it as an 'outsider'.

And since I've started this blog, I figured I can share my experiences with you. So keep an eye open for my reviews and observations, and if you're in Edinburgh, share your stories - tell me what you think, what you've seen, and what you absolutely wouldn't see again!

Sunday 4 August 2013

Crisis - because I am a girl

So recently I have noticed that my attitude towards myself and the world around me has shifted. Years of working in pubs and clubs taught me that, maybe, to succeed in life I needed to act more masculine. To dress less like a woman and wear more suits. To be tough and hide my emotions. 

Clearly that wasn't working. So now, thanks to nearly a year's worth of counseling (not all because of working in pubs and clubs I might add) I have a new, different perspective on life. 

I have a new job, I've nearly finished a masters degree (which I have actually enjoyed, for the most part), I have friends who actually want to be my friend, and I seem to be doing ok at this life thing. I've even stopped wearing suits and started to feel human in a dress and heels. Not because that's what society expects of me as a woman but because it's what I want, as a woman. 

I've even found myself having opinions and thoughts of my own. Again, not because society tells me what I should think, but because it's actually what I think, as a woman. I've talked before about my views on feminism. I don't see myself as a feminist, but I'm not scared of the word any more. 

Which is probably good, because this week I've found myself in a number of situations where my inner female (yep, aware that sounds a bit odd) has screamed and shouted at me to do something. Let me tell you about them.

 --

"You go first; you're a girl"

Heckles rise.  Clench my fists.  Grit my teeth.  Slide past him.  Don't say anything.  He doesn't know me.  Maybe he's just trying to be polite.

"You're a girl, you must like this music"

Heckles rise.  Grit my teeth.  Ignore him.  Carry on.  Maybe I heard him wrong.  Pretend it didn't happen.

"Awrite love!  I'd have a bit of tha'!  Aw, you're the quiet type?  Well, I'll see ya later, yeah?"

Heckles rise.  Clench my fists.  Grit my teeth.  Walk faster.  Don't say anything.  Dive into the nearest shop.  Find somewhere safe.

--

Right.  None of this is cool.

The first, and probably most innocent comment rattled me. It's so hard to know whether the guy saying this was just trying to be polite, not knowing me and my ability to over analyse and to over react, or whether there was more to it. Either way, it made me feel uncomfortable because I don't want to be treated any differently to anyone else, be it because I am a girl or for any other reason. I'm still just a person. Don't label me then give me 'special treatment' (it doesn't feel special and will just make me angry). By all means let me go first, just not because of my gender.

The second comment just irritated me. Just because I have boobs and hips and a different chromosomal structure to you does not mean I automatically like different music to you. Actually yes, I do like the singer in question, but I also like AC/DC and Rammstein and Chase & Status. I grew up listening to Simon and Garfunkel and Joan Baez. Mumford and Sons are playing in my car. And when I'm stressed I like a bit of Handel or Vivaldi. So don't base my taste in music (or lack thereof) on the fact I am female. If you have to judge me at all, do it on the grounds that I have pretty cool parents who encouraged me (and my sister AND brother) to open our ears, to explore and to appreciate all forms of music. 

And the third comment. This is the most inexcusable of them all. I'm raging at myself for not telling this man how I felt. But I have learnt to pick my battles. Outside a pub in the middle of the afternoon when I am on my own, and he is not, is not a battle worth risking, even if I am raging.

I know a lot of my friends, mostly guys (not stereotyping, just saying), would happily dive in and introduce this man's face to their fist. I was pretty close. But that's not going to help. Guys, you'll probably just get hurt and I'll feel more useless that, as a girl, I needed a man to fight my battles for me. That's not cool.

This week, for the first time in a very long time, I have felt just a bit useless. I have all this anger that a handful (and it is just a few) men still have the attitude and the belief that its ok to treat women any differently, but I don't know what to do with it.

I don't want to go round complaining that 'all men are dicks', because they're not. Some men are dicks, as are some women, but I'm not going to change that by being angry and preaching at them. If anything I'll just make it worse.

So tell me, what do I do? Do I just sit here and just take it? Do I write about it and hope that the rage comes across strongly enough to make people just stop? Do I stop being feminine and start dressing in my “safe” jeans and hoodies again? Do I become a black belt in some complicated martial arts and beat their sorry asses?

I just don't know.  But I know I need to do something.