Student of the first generation of the Ivy League: I could not connect with rich classmates

Most of my peers were jetBut I was too excited to sleep.

My Columbia University The classmates of journalism schools and I made a 10 -day trip to Ireland for our class “covering religion”. We would soon meet and interview people of all confessions, spending time in churches, synagogues, mosques and a Buddhist retirement. We are talking to the Sikhs, the Protestants, the Catholics, the Krishnas Hare and even the then president of Ireland, Mary Mcalese.

While my upper middle class peers had Traveling in Europe And around the world, my trip to Emerald Island in March 2009 was my first time on a new continent and only the second foreign country I visited.

So when my classmates and I left the airport and jumped on a charter bus to start our trip, I couldn’t contain my excitement.

“I only went to Canada and a handful of states,” I said to my siege comrade, who was surprised never to have visited a single country.

At the time, I was a journalist in a newspaper, winning $ 34,000 a year before the taxes and living with my parents to reach both ends. However, it was still not enough to cover my displacement expenses and other bills. I could never measure with some of my Ivy League classmates.

I come from a family with not much money

Although my higher studies have been filled with people from all different backgrounds, I found that some of my Columbia classmates have taken a year off to frequent higher time studies. In the meantime, I had to continue working and Attend part -time school. I could not afford to take an entire year of leave and risk not getting jobs immediately after graduating – not to mention the treatment of loans and payments of interest.

Inasmuch as first generation A graduate student, I did not come from money. At the time, my mother was retired and lived in a modest pension.

During my first cycle years at Rutgers University in New Brunswick, New Jersey, there was more than a feeling of parity between my peers and me. Many people from my group of friends and I met in the summer of 2001 during a program session of the educational opportunities fund. The program provides financial assistance and support for children like me who come from economically disadvantaged backgrounds.

Several of my friends and I worked jobs on campus To help cover the costs of what EOF and other scholarships did not cover. Many of us stayed in the three states area during the summers and worked or took additional courses. I did both.

Many of my classmates also came from different parts of New Jersey with similar stories: we were either immigrant familiesThe first of our families to go to university, or both.

I had trouble integrating with my classmates Columbia

On the other hand, I experienced a culture shock when I signed up for the Graduate School of Journalism from Columbia University.

Although there are students like me, many others I met at the Higher School came from rich backgrounds. Some were even children of diplomats. For the first time, I had classmates from all over the country and the world.

It was not necessarily a bad thing. While at Rutgers, I would have theoretical discussions on journalism in certain European countries, in Columbia, I would have real talks with classmates from France, Germany and other places on what constitutes media objectivity.

But we had trouble connecting beyond our common interest in the media. Most of my classmates used the word “summer” as a verb. I generally avoided talking about an upcoming vacation that would call my socioeconomic status.

I now live the life that I have always dreamed of

I am 41 years old and more than a decade after winning my higher education diplomaI paid most of my debts.

I also allocate a large part of my displacement income for travel. Since then, I have visited the 50 states, 25 countries and counting.

I am happy to finally be financially able to travel to distant places, but a large part of me always has the impression that this girl in the working class is scratching.

Carmen Cusido is a Cuban-American writer based in the north of New Jersey.