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. 

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!

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. 

Centenary... 100 word challenge for grown ups

For the one hundredth 100 word challenge for grown ups, this week's prompt is "the Big C".  The challenge - to begin each line with the letter C.  To make it even more challenging (ha!) for myself, I decided to start each sentence with the letter C. 

Centenary

 

“Careful. Careful my dear. Come along. Come along my dear. Come along with me. Come along and see. Celebrate. Celebrate my dear. Celebrate with me.”

Carrying the cake, I stumbled through the garden as my grandmother encouraged, mumbling in her way. Chuckling to herself, her mind taken by the disease of age.

“Count the candles on the cake. Celebrate. Carefully my dear.”

Crying out, I tripped, catching my foot on the edge of my grandmother's walking stick. 

Cake flew everywhere, decorating the garden in a sea of pink frosting. 

Candles, one hundred, counting her centenary, burning the grass.

Hymns and Arias... 100 word challenge for grown ups

I really enjoyed the prompt  for this week's 100 word challenge for grown ups - it reminds me of a time when I sang in choirs and the rush of adrenalin I'd get standing on stage preparing to sing.  

 ... the air was expectant...

Hymns and Arias

 

The air was expectant, filled with anticipation. Standing alone, she looked out into the darkness in front of her, bright lights shining in her eyes. She caught the eye of someone in the dark and felt their excitement rushing into her, like a river through the valley.

As the music started, she took a deep breath, feeling the air rushing into her lungs. The tempo intensified, the sound taking over her body, becoming part of her.

Opening her mouth, she felt the sound flow out of her, filling the air with an aria she had heard a thousand times before.

A letter to my ten-year-old self

Girlguiding recently ran a campaign to "tell Sophie" - encouraging us to think about advice we would like to give our ten year old selves.  I've been thinking about this for a while, and have decided that one thing isn't enough.  Here is what I'd like to tell my ten-year-old self.

Me, aged ten

Dear Rosy

Are you Rosy yet, or are you still Rosemary?  I can't remember.  At some point soon, if you haven't already, you will finally settle on the name by which you will be known for the rest of your life.  You will go through a range of spellings, but you will finally decide that you want to be called "Rosy" - spelt with a y, not ie, because it's unusual and you don't have "ie" in your name. 

You are ten years old, so you must be in Year 5, still in primary school.  You feel grown up - in September, you will be moving into Year 6, and after that you will move up to high school.  Enjoy feeling grown up - high school will be fun, but overwhelming. 

You are starting to realise that maybe you don't fit in any more - you are the tallest person in Year 5, and you started your period last year.  Adults told you it was perfectly normal, but it didn't feel normal when you realised that you were the first, and everyone knew it.  You don't enjoy it now but believe me, you will grow to appreciate it in time.  And enjoy feeling tall.  Next year, you will stop growing and you will suddenly become the shortest person in the class. 

You don't like the way you look.  You think you are fat and too tall, and you wear a bra even though none of your friends do.  You are not fat.  But you won't realise that for a long time.  You will try dieting, and one day you will realise that something isn't right.  Realising it will be the first step in dealing with it.  People will try to help you, although it might not feel like help at the time.  One day you will understand that they are doing it because they love you and want to make you feel better.  They are not trying to rule your life.  Only you can do that.

But now, you already feel like you spend your whole life feeling like the odd-one-out.  Sometimes you will hate it, and you will think everyone else thinks that way too.  On those days, don't take it out on yourself too hard.  You will grow to realise that everyone is just a bit weird.  Some people are just a bit weirder than others.  That doesn't make them any less allowed to enjoy being themselves.  You are allowed to just be you.

You have already started to be aware of boys, although you think they're just a bit rubbish (you won't grow out of that for a while)!  You have already met the boy you will share your first "grown up" kiss with.  I'm not going to tell you who he is, but he was lovely (and still is), and even though you will lose contact for a while, you will get back in touch when you are older, and you will be friends.  Don't rush to grow up too quickly.  Being a grown up is scary, and the older you get, the less qualified you will feel to be one.

You have crazy hair.  I know it well - although your hair will be every length, style and colour you can imagine over the next few years, you will end up giving up and accepting that it is curly.  There's a girl in your class whose hair goes all the way down her back and she can sit on it.  You are jealous.  Don't be.  Your hair is yours.  You can do what you want with it (although one day, I promise, you will have hair that you can sit on.  It will be crazy hair and you will spend ages trying to get rid of the frizzy bits at the front.  It will drive you insane, and you will wish you could just cut it off.  But you quite like having long hair.  You can't have it both ways!)

See that picture?  That is you, aged ten, on the day you took your promise as a Guide.  You will struggle in Guides, but you will stick at it because you are determined to prove you are as good as, if not better, than the girls who laugh at you and call you names.  Stay determined.  It will get you into trouble sometimes, but stick to your guns - it will save you one day. 

Even if you don't enjoy Guides, you will make it.  One day, you will be asked to go to the United Nations, in New York (that's in America!), to represent ten million Girl Guides and Girl Scouts at a conference all about women and girls.  You won't believe it now.  I still don't believe it.  But it will change your life in so many ways that you can't even imagine now.  Don't try to imagine, just know that whenever life is tough (and it will be), things will get better.

Girlguiding (as it is called now) will be your lifeline.  You will make so many friends in so many countries all over the world - some in countries that you don't even know exist yet (has Dad started trying to teach you all the capital cities yet?  If not, that's something for you to look forward to!)   Keep in touch with them - you never know when you might see them again.  But you will. 

Oh, you decided last year that you wanted to be vegetarian.  Well done for keeping it up!  Mum is probably still trying to make you eat nuts and weird food like tofu (you'll learn to eat it.  Eventually).  No-one thought you'd make it this far, did they?  Well you will surprise them all!

You live in Wales, in a village in the middle of nowhere.  You find that tough sometimes - all your friends live miles away and you don't get to see them as much as you'd like.  One day, you will live even further away (I'm not going to tell you - it'll be a lovely surprise), and you will see even less of your friends from school, but you will keep in touch and when you do see them, it will be like you'd never been away.  But you're not even friends with those people yet, so I'm not going to tell you who they are.  They are wonderful though.  Don't lose them.

I wonder how much of this you think about.  You are happy as a ten year old.  You have wonderful friends and family (they are still wonderful) and you like school.  You have just started to learn to play the violin and the clarinet - they will take you to exciting places. 

Enjoy being ten.  I'm glad that you don't know any of the things I have written about - at ten, you aren't thinking about the future.  You don't need to.  What will happen to you is going to happen anyway.  Just go with it.  Sometimes you will hate it, and sometimes you will love it.  That's life.  It's normal.  As normal as "normal" is, anyway.

One day, a few years from now (a whole lifetime away), you will sit down and think about being ten.  That day is today.  See you then!

Keep smiling.

Lots of love,

Me
x

Science... 100 Word Challenge for Grown Ups

 So, three and a half weeks until D-day, but my brain may have melted in this heat.  Writing 100 words is a lovely way to take a break from the 15,000 words of my dissertation (6,000 still to go) though.

This week's prompt for the 100 word challenge for grown ups is a fun one:

 

 Science

Pulling into the driveway she spotted two figures hunched, poking at something on the doorstep.

Looking up, the smaller figure jumped up excitedly.

'Mummy! I wanted eggs but Daddy said I could only have them if I found out how to make eggs and he let me use Google and it told me loads of boring recipes and then I found this one and its great because you don't need to do any washing up Mummy, except your spatula, but Daddy said not to tell you... oops'

As the child paused for breath, she cursed the day she married a scientist.