Troll 1; Gemma 0

The Number 41 bus - crusher of dreams. Toddling off to Cramond Beach the other day (a lovely wee excursion which makes me yearn for the Ugie and Lido at home) I received a phone call from the bank about the meeting I was due to have yesterday. Questions were asked. Did I have my degree certificate, what about a permanent full time job offer? Erm, no. This loan is to fund my postgrad.

Oh.

Is that in Law or Medicine?

Nope.

Oh, in that case, I'm afraid we can't help you.

Yep, a loan isn't even an option now.

Am I disappointed? I was. Now I am furious.

(Disclaimer: I am really, really, REALLY mad right now, so this may be a bit disjointed and manic. That is the state of my mind right now. Also, apologies if this veers into the territory of 'painful lives' - surely the most horrific literary classification since 'chick lit' - I do realize that my life is a heck of a lot better than many other's.)

17 years. 17 years of ploughing all of my energies into learning, from learning which way the 'G' in my name should face at the age of 4 to 21 year old me considering how modern Muslim feminist literature utilises the methodology of Foucauldian inscription in order to re-appropriate female Muslims' ownership of their own bodies in comparison to Orientalist artwork and Muslim patriarchal assertions. The horrific jobs, memories of being elbow deep in horse mackerel (aka Tom Jones), the many hours spent trudging the rain splattered streets of Edinburgh with 80 Italian students in tow, always attempting to earn enough to get by. All of it was worth it to get to the point where I can study my proposed thesis - Muslim responses to sexual violence. A thesis so practical that it hurts me to see that it still isn't good enough to garner me any funding. I'm not the brightest, no, but surely a very good 2:1 (with a straight A final semester) from an excellent university, studying that topic should manage to fund their masters somehow. Even a student loan for goodness sake?

But no.

The government will espouse the importance of education, and particularly higher education until they are blue in the face. They will set ridiculous targets of 50% of young people in higher education, but they will not provide any infrastructure for postgraduate courses.

Education continues to be an elite institution. Oh, we can be fooled by the supposedly 'universal' further and higher education, and the sprinkling of scholarships allow one to be fooled that it is a meritocracy. But, fundamentally, lack of financial backing is a weight dragging every low-income student down. At undergraduate level, the necessity of taking up paid employment decreases the available studying time and often means that extracurricular activities are a dream that lies far from reach. Opportunities for travel are limited, meaning that knowledge of other cultures is at a premium - obviously not brilliant for a Religious Studies student. There is a desperate game of catch up where they need to learn so much in their own time to reach the level where their better educated fellow students. My first lecture at New College - peppered with 'deontology' and 'Kant's categorical imperative' left me feeling like someone had punched me in the face with a fuzzy, floral velveteen Ethicist with illusions of academic grandeur.

And then the postgraduate abyss where only law and medicine are seen as acceptable reasons to continue studying, where the disdain for arts and humanities, makes my sensitive wee soul cry.

Oh to want a normal job...

What do you do when you meet a Troll?

I've always thought of myself as a pretty straightforward kinda gal. Decisions come along, tap me on the shoulder and I consider all options before making my choice. Alas, it would seem that this quality has deserted me when most required.

About a year and a half ago, I had a niggle. Just under the surface something was brewing that would blow my plans out of the water. Instead of the sensible route of teaching, which suited me so well, I wanted MORE. Yup, I got a bit greedy and wanted to learn more, to teach at a higher lever; in short, I wanted to do a postgrad.

Dun dun DUN!

After months of suppressing these desires, I began to make progress in making my dream happen. I researched options, funding issues and consulted with staff. Applications happened. Offers were made. It was all going swimmingly and I'd made it to the bridge to postgrad land. Alas, under that bridge lived the Funding Troll(tm). Funding Troll(tm) is grumpy, greedy and (in my head anyway) green monster lurking to suck the momentum out of potential postgrads. For both courses I had one main source of funding, which would cover fees and living costs. Time ticked by and I found that I didn't receive either of these, so I was left with a rather unpalatable decision - continue with my plans and self fund through loans (aka selling one's soul to the bank) or find a job (which in the current climate is basically selling one's soul to a private corporation).

So I considered.

I thought.

I debated.

I asked for advice.

And what was I left with? A decision as hard as it was in the first place.

I am currently leaning towards the debt option, but that all lies in the hands of the bank advisor I'm off to see on Wednesday.

(EEK!)

Da Hood, Innit?

For your delight and delectation - the best photo of me I've found. Embrace the slightly bewildered smile, the awkward pose and the ridiculous manner in which I'm clutching the degree tube . What a tube I am.

(Also, be proud of me for managing to get this picture up!)

Graduand No More...

... for I am a GRADUATE!

I robed up, clumped up a ramp, was whacked on the head with a bunnet made from John Knox's britches and clapped for others. A lot.

I found the whole experience to be rather stressful actually. Minute directions throughout Edinburgh, a dash for robes, being made to sit through photos, skipping lunch, dealing with the partners of my parents, dashing up and down to New College for returning my robes... I didn't get a chance to properly reflect. All that was going through my head was - I can't be late - and a rather whingy little graduand-zilla protesting that it was MY day, and that my parent's partners shouldn't be getting in the way. I was annoyed at them hanging around, at them being places they had no places to be, at being an inconvenience meaning that I couldn't see my parents... How selfish of me.

I also felt rather alone after the rushing was over. Everyone else was celebrating with their parents and I was left to my own devices. Given my increasing sense of, well I suppose you could call it mourning, I was rather upset. The best four years of my life are over, numerous very good friends of mine are gone and I'm not certain about my future. Reconvening with friends for a few drinks afterwards kind of cleared away my maudlin mood - the future is full of opportunities to make new friends and may be even better.

But still, I had to have a wee cry when my supervisor e-mailed his dissertationists/'Islamicists' to congratulate us and tell us that "you're all good judges in your own hearts as to how much you've progressed and developed as researchers and thinkers."

Aww.