About Getting Lost Along the Way

Monday was my first day of my master’s degree in music therapy. Over the past few months, an enormous amount of chaos has unfolded because of this Master’s—or perhaps because of the idea I built around it. At first, I was moving to Wales to pursue the degree. I applied to a university in Wales because a Master’s in Scotland was prohibitively expensive. Even at a public university, even as a resident, even with government funding available to postgraduate students, even while working outside university hours; the numbers simply did not add up. In Wales, the circumstances were much more favourable — or simply possible. By then, everything had already become unsustainable. I had just experienced a family bereavement alongside the intense final examinations of my undergraduate degree. I needed several extensions to complete my degree, and I eventually developed severe depression over the final months. I reached a level of exhaustion that is difficult to describe. In the middle of all this, packing up a home and moving to another country felt like a dystopia. Getting out of bed and eating a proper meal was already a daily challenge; let alone starting a new life in another country. However, this was my greatest goal — the master’s degree — and I gave everything I had, and everything I didn't have, to make this transition happen, forgetting that so much of life lies beyond our control and beyond our limits.

Last Friday, an even greater chaos unfolded. I received an offer for a place on a master’s programme at a university in Edinburgh after being taken off the waiting list. Classes had already started, and I was given until noon to decide. At 11:30 a.m., the student finance department in Wales contacted me to say my application for student funding had been rejected. The reason was that, earlier this year, I had still been receiving student funding from Scotland for my undergraduate degree. I would have to wait until the new academic year before I could receive funding from another country within the UK. All of this happened between 11:30 a.m. and noon — the deadline I had been given to respond to the university in Edinburgh. With no time to think, I accepted Edinburgh's offer, fully aware that paying for university would be almost impossible.

On Friday evening, I started applying for evening jobs. I sent my CV mostly for office-cleaning positions, as the hours were shorter. Only one employer invited me for an interview. He had not seen my CV. When he did, he looked at me and said: "Look, I appreciate your interest, but I've received more than 40 CVs I need to hire someone who fits the profile for the position. That's not you."

On Tuesday, I began my first day of the Master’s. I woke up with my face covered in dermatitis, unable to open my eyes. When I arrived at the university lecture theatre where the class was being held, at least a hundred students were there. Three different courses had been brought together. My eyes were so swollen from the allergic reaction that I couldn't look at the screen. Before the break, the lecturer gave us an exercise and asked us to form groups of three. Afterwards, we were supposed to move between groups and share the exercise until we had spoken with everyone in the room. I didn't think twice. I left.

On Wednesday, I couldn't go to class. A million thoughts were running through my head. A million screams were echoing inside it. For a long time, I have felt as though I were inside a burning building. Running, screaming, trying to save myself. But where are the flames, after all? What am I trying to save myself from? Being at a university in the UK was my greatest dream. I feel as though I have been living a nightmare. For a long time. In a feverish attempt to reconcile the basic necessities of survival with the bare minimum conditions needed to sustain this so-called great dream. I still don't know what to do, or what to make of any of this. Right now, everything simply feels wrong enough. Heavy enough. I got lost somewhere along the way, in this frantic race towards a place in the sun that never emerges.