About six months before leaving for Brussels, I had moved to Ottawa from Toronto for work. In Ottawa, I quickly developed a great network of friends, worked on the most well-run professional team of my life and found a completely enjoyable niche for my life in a city that doesn’t exactly overflow with energy or activity. All that being said, I didn’t quite have enough time to settle in Ottawa, that project was still ongoing as my departure date for Brussels approached. The last few weeks in particular were a whirlwind. Changing apartments, having my car die on the highway, finalizing paperwork to study overseas, securing a bank loan to pay for the studies and negotiating to ensure I still had a job when I came back. My head was truly spinning in my final week or two.
It was probably with about 4 days left in Ottawa that I had a full body realization of the change that I was about to experience. That in one week, I’d be waking up in Brussels, a city I had only spent one night in previously. I was sublimely satisfied imagining cute European streets and cafes, the political hustle and bustle of the capital of the EU and the fulfillment of my dream to pursue a Master’s degree in migration studies. In the last few days, my bank loan came through and my boss fandangled the Canadian government into holding a job for me, even though they didn’t exactly see why they should. I packed up my Ottawa life after work on Friday, returned to Toronto for the weekend, and landed in Brussels on Monday.
Fast forward nine months and last week I found myself in an odd reversed but parallel version of that experience. After submitting my last graduate school term papers (one on Japanese citizenship for immigrants, another on contemporary Quebecois identity, and the last a refugee law case study, if anyone’s interested, which they surely aren’t) and with the stifling stress of deadlines temporarily lifted, I felt in my bones the finality of my days in Brussels. The streets and sights and people, kebab shops, local bars, neighbourhood parks, Sunday markets, weekday cafes which had become part of the norms and routines of daily life would soon start becoming hazy and romantic memories from my year of grad school in Europe. And it made me a touch sad.
Even though I’m unshakably committed to forward progress and a bit of an addict for change, the end of an arc of an adventure, if it was worth anything, shakes up your spirit somewhat. Maybe it’s because you can envision a life that continues here. Where Paris is always down the road, my French keeps improving and maybe I become a migration wonk based in Brussels. I get out into the countryside more, go snowboarding in the Alps next winter and become a regular at an underpatronized local jazz club. Learn more about life in Belgium and less about being an English speaking graduate student in Brussels, keep developing bonds with my European family and friends and get to the bottom of what I owe to my Polish passport, and what might it owe me? Unfortunately, just as in Ottawa, I won’t have too much time to entertain these alternative realities. I had to pack up my apartment, begin organizing interviews for my thesis research and ensure I have a paycheque available as soon as possible after returning home to Canada.
With all that being said, I’m on a train now, will be on a beach in southern France this weekend, and in Poland for two weeks after that, so there is thankfully some time to write and reflect, and ultimately make some sense of this last year. Since I’ve become convinced that part of the only fun of writing essays is that you can be mildly creative with titles, I’ll stay true to form.
On Life in Europe: Cobblestones, Closed Pharmacies and 50cents for the Washroom/Bathroom/Restroom/Toilet/Loo
Perhaps the main impression from my time living in Europe is how different it is from life in North America in a way that I can’t quite identify or express or fully understand. When you live in Asia or Africa or the Middle East or Latin America, everything is so inescapably different that it almost becomes impossible to compare. People look, think and speak differently; the food and music are different; societal norms are different; historical and religious references; economic realities; politics and sports; life ambitions and limitations. Between Europe and North America, many of these things are far less different. And yet the gap between life here and there is still not insignificant.
Firstly, I don’t think the average North American or European know very much about each other. North Americans tend to think Europeans are mostly like us, and Europeans would counter that North Americans are nothing like us. And somehow both are kinda right. North Americans imagine Europe as something like living in a beautiful painting or postcard, where life is worthwhile because it’s picturesque and more relaxed. Europeans imagine North American life as devoid of any culture and replete with comfort and SUVs and big houses that you never come out of, unless it’s to work. North Americans fantasize about visiting, staying or living in Europe. Europeans may take a trip to North America sometime and would probably go for work but may never fully embrace having to stay. Of course I’m generalizing widely and may actually be wrong, but this is what I’ve seen. In an attempt to bridge the gap, I’ll offer a few of my observations, joys and struggles, of the past 9 months living here.
The cobblestones are real. They’re everywhere and they’re charming, and unless you’re in high heels or pulling a suitcase, they make life worth living. There aren’t, in my opinion, many ugly places to be or visit in Europe. Europeans may differ in opinion, and have favourites or just tell you ,“ya, another city full of old buildings and streets, so what?” But for me, the alleys and ancient restaurants and cobbled streets always brighten my mood. Luxembourg, Prague, Paris, Bruges, Orvieto, Dresden are postcards that you can potentially live in.
When you actually live there though, the setting loses allure, inevitably. Then you hope to have a job and not be too different from the French, Germans, Italians, Spaniards, Swedes, Walloons or Flemish who live there, because you’ll probably always feel as different and quite possibly even more so. Hopefully you never need to do any shopping after 6pm or on a Sunday. Any shopping – food shopping, clothing shopping, pharmacy, furniture, books, all closed. Maybe everyone in Europe is in bars and restaurants in the evening because it’s the only choice. Also, always remember to have change in case you need to relieve yourself, because free public toilets aren’t a thing in Europe, sometimes even in places that you’ve already paid to get into (here’s looking at you Madame Moustache). Take that in for a moment, North American friends, paying every time you use a public restroom.
In the beautiful and civilized setting of Europe, things just feel behind or stuck a lot of the time. Like not much has moved forward in the last 30 years. Asking for wifi in a restaurant or café can feel like a sin, my washing machine is surely from the 1960s and expecting anything that might be understood as ‘customer service’ by a North American will leave you wild eyed. In 9 months, I’m pretty sure I haven’t yet been confirmed as having medical insurance; received a residence card 6 months after first visiting the local government office for foreigners on my second day here; and won’t find out how much I owe for gas and electricity until well after I’m gone.
Europe feels like it’s self-sufficient, but mostly because it’s been around so long. In fairness, I don’t work here so my perspective is narrow. I don’t know if 47% flat income tax drives you nuts when government services still aren’t like the Swiss, whether workplaces squeeze every ounce of juice and humanity out of people like they often do at home, or whether creativity and innovation are prioritized over not being a squeaky wheel. In some ways, Europeans seem more miserable, and stubborn, and contentious, and know-it-all-y than others. Although North Americans have arguably just become well-trained to keep these emotions in – perhaps the one remaining Anglo tendency – and take the cake at the peculiar combination of being somehow both arrogant and uninformed.
I suppose history explains a lot. The US sees itself as the liberator of the world with an incredibly heroic history and there’s no one around to really challenge that. In Europe, nationalism (what might be called patriotism in the US) is alive and well and usually long held and also challenged on almost a daily basis by one of the dozens of countries nearby that’s doing better than you, or embarrassing to you, or used to be part of you before they invaded. National exceptionalism seems to only be a proper phenomenon in the US, China and Germany, all the other countries seem to leave their people regularly anxious about one thing or another. Europe is a mosaic of mostly beautiful sensibilities that lack much coherence when it comes to the bigger picture.
All in all, life in Europe is fine. It’s an easier transition than to a lot of other places, although less exotic and nothing quite as cinematic as one imagines. Luckily, Canada has the province of Quebec which has managed to maintain many European joys, like coffee for coffee’s sake and not out of a bucket to somehow get you through the morning; outdoor patios where you sit because they’re outside and it’s the natural thing to do, and not what you should really do more of when you have time next summer; and a being of yourself that is realer, and less made for display, even if perhaps grumpier and more dramatic.
As much as I’ve been in Brussels, I’ve been considerably more focused on my studies than being a European bon-vivant, so a few words on that.
On Grad School: No Easy Way to Invent 5000 Forgettable Words, Even at this Price
There is no easy way through grad school. Not that I was looking for an easy way, but good thing, because there isn’t one. Serious sacrifices need to be made to get through, and almost impossible ones if you want to excel. Even if you’re a genius, (which I’m not). (And I also didn’t excel, I don’t seem capable of making life-depleting sacrifice anymore).
At the graduate level, you get to taste the most profound and contemporary insights on a number of aspects of your chosen subject, or more probably, sub-sub-sub-subject. In my case, it’s migration.
Of course no one knows you can get a Master’s degree in studying human migration, but after thinking about it for a few seconds, they conclude that it makes perfect sense to study such a thing. From my count, there are fewer than about 10 places in the world where one can get an MA in International Migration Studies, and if you discount Canada, the US and the UK, maybe the only one taught in English is at the University of Kent’s Brussels School of International Studies. I’ve been considering attending for about 7 years but thought it would never actually happen. Because of the cost, because of work, because of life. But lo and behold the stars aligned for me this year, and I’ll always be thankful they did (and almost always still be paying too).
In any case, grad school is not easy. You can’t go around it, you can’t go over it, you’ve got to go right through it. Read unbelievable amounts of both interesting and dense articles; try not to embarrass yourself, your family and your country every time you open your mouth; and whenever they ask you to, produce two or five or ten or fifteen thousand words about something you may never have thought about or heard of before and make it relevant and insightful, or at least readable and not awful.
Somehow you manage. Although, again, it’s not easy. You lose weight or gain; sleep less or later; and inevitably, at least during intense periods (i.e. 20 – 40% of the time), cut out almost everything else not directly related to your sub-sub-sub-subject. Work-life balance is difficult to find and maintain, but achievable. Grad school-life balance is laughable and only exists in theory (that has since been critiqued and reformulated and recritiqued and then discounted and then rediscovered and then rechristened ‘post-grad school-life theory’ - notice strategic use of single quote). In my case, I gave up jiu jitsu and thai boxing and exercise in general and took up kebabs; gave up dating and took up falling asleep to Netflix movies at night; gave up communicating with people at home and took up reading at cafes. I don’t see how it could have been any other way, and I still feel internally guilty for not having done all my readings in the second term. Because no matter how tedious, every article teaches you something and is worth reading, and it seems like the only way we’ll ever do that is by paying a lot and having a professor tell you you should.
I am excited to get back to work because after years of trying, I finally embraced the routine, the perpetual exhaustion and the rare time off. And also realized the joys of making money, having enough time for hobbies and being truly free in the evening and on weekends (sorry parents).
I stand by my choice of having pursued a graduate degree, ten years after my undergrad finished. I believe I made the right choice for my career, for my grey matter and for my soul. And even though I occasionally think I should have applied to Oxford because it’s more prestigious or stayed in Canada because it would have been cheaper, overall, I’m convinced I made the right choice going where I did. I wouldn’t have changed a single one of my courses, or being in Brussels, the French-speaking capital of the European Union, or choosing a program that was within my capabilities as a mature student who can’t quite put in the hours he used to.
In summary, this section has argued for the necessary and sufficient difficulty of the graduate school experience. The essay will now cover migration-related topics in more depth before concluding with a brief overview of what comes next.
On Migration: People Move for Work, Obviously, When They Can, I Guess
Even though I work in Canadian immigration and intend to spend my career there, I chose to study migration in Europe for a number of reasons. One, sitting around a classroom with a bunch of Canadians talking about Canadian immigration didn’t seem like the most interesting or worthwhile choice. I figured the breadth of perspectives would be too narrow and we’d all be trying to one up each other by either overly praising Canadian immigration or unfairly criticizing it. Second, Canada is a bit of an ideal case for immigration, similar to Australia. Difficult to get to, relatively open and quite precise in its admission and border control strategy and capability. What works in Canada doesn’t always translate that well elsewhere.
In Brussels, I got to discuss migration with Americans, Swedes, Germans, Spaniards, Brits, Italians, Mexicans, Ugandans, Dutch and Turkish classmates, amongst others. I was usually the lone Canadian voice, myself an immigrant from Poland. And so, I got a taste of the variety of perspectives and problems of contemporary global migration – although non-Western insights were unfortunately quite rare. Europe struggles with migration in a way that Canada doesn’t, although it’s similar to the US, or even Australia’s recent and somewhat surprising, ultra-hard line on access for the non-select. The challenges of both migration flows into ‘Fortress Europe’ and ongoing integration issues across Europe stump even the most committed mind. How to balance what’s moral vs. what’s politically popular? What responsibility is there to share and be good global citizens when one’s own life is a struggle, or at least a perceived struggle? Is migration becoming just another expression of global economic inequality with the well-educated and highly skilled choosing between destinations while others go wherever they can, however they can, and often face a lifetime of discrimination, exploitation and marginalization?
We are all migrants. Between jobs, neighbourhoods, cities and rarely, between countries, if we desire, are admitted and actually follow through. The vast majority of people choose not to leave their home country for any length of time, the global proportion is about 3% at any given time. Those who do, do so for a countless number of reasons, rarely is the choice easy and never does the decision not have wide repercussions on individuals, families, friends and communities, often for multiple generations. Migration is neither just a New Yorker taking a contract in London or a Syrian boarding a boat in Libya for Malta, nor a Filipino domestic worker moving to Dubai or a Brazilian student studying in New Zealand, but it is all these things and a million more. There exists a unique experience, motivation and challenge for every single migrant that moves, every time they do. It took me a long time to figure out how to spend the productive portion of my life, but I feel as though my patience has paid off. Migration is my jam!
And, we as Canadians should be very proud of our country’s strong legacy of openness and innovation regarding immigration and integration. It truly is one of our greatest global exports and reputation-makers. In recent decades, Canada has shrunk from the global stage in many ways, but as a safe, welcoming, diverse and non-discriminating country for immigrants, it remains a global leader.
On What’s Next: Whatever’s Next
As my final day in Brussels approached, people increasingly asked about how I felt about leaving and would I be back? I realized how different my reaction was this time from previous experiences of living abroad. In my 20s, I was desperate to keep adventures going and really struggled emotionally when they approached their end. Life didn’t appear to be happening in the pauses between travel. This has changed. I can compare my life now to something more like the current of a long river, always pulling forward, working gently and invisibly under the surface to get to where it’s going. Five or ten years ago, I was riding waves, the bigger and further the better. But it always took time to recover from the crash and get my bearings before setting back out in the water to swim out again, looking for the next ride.
It took me almost five years to get a job in the Canadian government, and I’ve been there almost four years in four different positions (returning from here to a fifth). Everything has become a bit methodical with a clear goal in mind. Hopefully this Master’s helps me compete for a position as a Canadian Foreign Service Immigration Officer. I will never stop applying for that job. Otherwise, maybe I can do policy or else continue my studies and find myself in one of the bigger international migration organizations. I’m not particularly worried about it, momentum seems to be at my back.
Will I ever be back in Brussels? Yes. Will I ever live in Europe again? I’m pretty sure. How long do I foresee staying in Ottawa? No more than two years. Opening an unnecessary gelato shop near the Vatican strikes me as vastly more appealing than dealing with more than two soul-destroying Ottawa winters.
As it happens, I’ve met a girl here too. And she’s from Toronto. And seems to be on a river not too different than mine. Adventures keep continuing when you live your life with passion and seize opportunities that are available. In Europe, I studied hard and seriously; made efforts to actively socialize; and travelled to Paris three times, Amsterdam twice, Cologne, Berlin, Dresden, Poland, Prague, Bruges, Luxembourg, Geneva, Rome, Antwerp and the south of France. There is very little I would change about my time here. And hopefully that perspective and reality carries forward with me. Continuously making new homes in the places and with the people I encounter, always.
