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Maastricht is a beautiful city in Limburg, Southern Netherlands. It prides itself as an international student city, with an impressive array of university faculties spanning both sides of the Maas river, and – important for the students keen on realizing a romanticized pinterest-aesthetic uni life – study cafes sprinkled around every other cobble-stoned corner, where one can drink their daily espressos or lattes or matchas, served with a complimentary cookie (“het koekje”). 

So is this what attracts most students to Maastricht, the coffee shops? The answer is yes, ‘coffeeshops’, when we take on the Dutch definition of it, probably plays a factor in the Netherlands’ attracting power to some youth. Hopefully, this is second to the Netherlands’ reputability of its high-quality, world-ranked English-led university programs, not to mention their notable ranking in global happiness and quality-of-life indexes – after all, students need some sort of insurance to counter the stress and sufferance that are a promised package (or)deal to the ultimate student experience one pays thousands of euros to undergo. 

It is well-known in Auroville that Dutch universities, especially University College Maastricht (UCM), is a popular location for Future School alumni. However, as a non-European citizen who would have to pay preposterous fees, I applied to several scholarships from different Liberal Arts and Science programs (suitable for those who want to study but don’t know what to study) available in the country. Yes, I chose the university, but the university-scholarship also chose me.

From UCM, I received a full-ride need-and-merit-based scholarship (discontinued the year after my year graduated). The scholarship covered tuition, visa, healthcare, and provided housing and a monthly stipend of 500 euros. It was awarded only to 5 non-EU students a year, and I was one of them! Oh the glee, the immense gratitude to luck, and a sense of validation that I was perhaps, in some ways, extraordinary.

What was the secret to receiving the scholarship? On top of excellent grades, my motivation letter glamorized my unique childhood. Beyond my multicultural background (Korean mother, Israeli father, born in India, raised in the international, experimental township of Auroville), I emphasized the various disciplines I pursued: choir, piano, guitar, Odissi, tango, fire-spinning, gymnastics, swimming, horse-riding, and whatever else I had dabbled in for at least a significant number of years. I cherry-picked and framed a very particular image: a diverse, talented, over-achieving, autonomous individual, cultivating qualities of leadership, team-work, discipline, and creativity, thriving and productive in a variety of settings, eager to soak up and create knowledge and output.

Following my receipt of the scholarship were the glory months wherein I basked between the best of both worlds – Auroville’s stability, freedom, and safety of family and friends, the familiar environment where I had some forms of spotlights (teacher’s pet in high school, performer in fire spinning and Odissi, etc), and the euphoric expectations and imaginations of a life beyond my mold in Auroville – the nerdy, introverted, shy, not particularly popular or exciting girl. Oh, how I would re-invent myself in Maastricht with a mass of friends and a romanticized envied life!

There is a psychological theory that the relative difference between expectations and reality, rather than one’s absolute reality, has a far more significant effect on one’s happiness and well-being. I lived first-hand through the confirmation of this hypothesis. From being one of the best of my class doing average study work, I was average in my class doing my best. I was a soloist in Auroville’s choir, but my voice cracked on every note in the audition in Maastricht – and the re-audition I pleaded they grant me. From a built-in network of childhood friends and family, to a devastating loneliness with an unknown expiry date and a threat that it could stretch forever if I didn’t actively make an effort. And boy was I making an effort, but attempting small talk to fill in silences is a circular form of purgatory as one performs the same conversation with a rotating cast of people with no real interest in how many siblings they have, and whether they lived in France or Belgium or Germany (“Frankfurt? How fascinating! Tell me more!”) was just a dull, shallow soup of information. 

It would have been easier if at least one thing had been going well – academically, socially, emotionally, physically – something. But no, studying was not linear (i.e. the amount of time one studies and puts in work did not produce a proportional response in output and grades) and it was overbearing (one had several hundred academic pages to read a week for courses, plus assignments/essays/exams every 3-4 weeks); I was socially and emotionally lonely with no real skill or experience in making new friends and an insecurity that my introverted personality and undramatic life made me a boring person; and all the stress and sudden adjustment to this new, hostile environment and Europe’s looming winter caused me frequent ill, which only further reinforced the debilitation of my academic, social, and emotional life. 

Could I give up Maastricht and return to Auroville? It crossed my mind a number of times. There was just one caveat: it wouldn’t solve my problems. 

I craved a life in Auroville that belonged firmly to the past: I could not return to high school after I had graduated; most of my friends were dispersed across the country or the globe; I had a reputation of discipline, perseverance, success – how could I return a ‘failure’, giving up my lottery-like scholarship, because I was too weak to handle life abroad? If/when I return to Auroville, it is because I make a willing choice to, not because there is no other choice. I am not someone who will return to Auroville simply because it is the easy thing to do, because it is home, because it is a safety net. I have no interest in being an Aurovillian until I realize its title. 

Thus, I was stuck in Maastricht because there was no alternative. 

Thank the universe there was no alternative. 

I pushed through endless days of mental breakdowns and phone calls home, glued myself to potential friendships on a day-to-day basis fighting against them petering out; I familiarized myself with and normalized the academic workload, rubrics and expectations; I got accepted in the choir in the second semester. Once I survived the base levels of Maslow’s hierarchy of needs, Maastricht edition, I could promote myself to enjoying the city as it should be enjoyed. 

Maastricht is a fairytale charmed to life with pristine, postcard-perfect streets, five beautiful bridges, burbling rivers, and lush parks – verdant, floral, autumn palette or skeletal depending on the season. It is especially lovely that Maastricht is a pedestrian city; you haven’t lived there long enough if your bicycle hasn’t been stolen at least once. 

History harmonizes with today through the Roman, Renaissance, and contemporary architecture that composes Maastricht. Andre Rieu, King’s Day, and Food Truck Festival TREK are all notable annual hallmarks of time, but my favorite might be Carnaval, when everyone – and I mean everyone – is costumed in vibrant colors; the old become young, the dull become bright, and the beers bring out the Dutch in everyone.

I admit, winters are dark and chilling, (forcing yourself out of your duvet at 7.30am for a morning lecture/tutorial is a daily form of torture during the colder months, but hey, we’ll call it character-building) – but the strings of light bannering streets, the Christmas baubles floating in trees, windows lit up with buttery light, the Vrijthof Christmas market circulated with the scent of deep-fried Olliebollen – are a fair compensation.

So what next? Was life all rose-gold? Here are a few of my favorite challenges I encountered: I was under risk of being kicked out of university when a close friend plagiarised my paper and the university authorities didn’t know who copied who; I got my phone stolen (twice) and my laptop, keys, ID, and wallet (once); thesis was a nightmare amount of stress; and let’s not forget when our overstaying guest, Corona, paid us all a visit in her world trip. I think we are universally familiar with those years.

We’ll close Maastricht with a final memory of climbing Sint-Pietersberg Hill (look up its incredible height) to watch the rose-gold sunset spill on the skyline, invoking every last bit of Maastricht’s peace and beauty.