Crashing through Chaos: My Kaospilots Nightmare (and Why Jobhunting Advice Rankles Me So Much)

First Impressions

The Kaospilots are a set of schools in Scandinavia that promise to teach young adults in social enterprise, creativity, and business. They have received accolades for their experiential, highly-designed curriculum, their networks with contemporary industry leaders, and their innovative cosmopolitan approach to business and education.

Make money in creative ways while doing good! As an artistic person working on alternative education activism at the time and being deeply interested in social enterprise, the Kaospilots seemed like my dream school. When one of their students came to speak at Visible Ink in Brisbane in 2007, I became even more determined to join. I was in the middle of my Bachelors degree in Brisbane and was willing to drop out early for this opportunity.

Unlike my usual multipotentialite self, I put everything else on hold to focus on the Kaospilots. I turned down opportunities that would have clashed with my potential entry. I went on a massive mission to research the school, make connections with the people there, and find any way to prepare myself for my eventual entry into the school.

I contacted everyone on their Board of Directors asking about their involvement with the school — one of them happened to be local to me, and I became briefly involved with his own social enterprise organisation. I contacted the founder to know more about what inspired him to start Kaospilots. I got in touch with the students and alumni, asking them for advice on admissions and practical matters. I started going to more meetups about entrepreneurship and business, promoting my mission, and building a small following. I even started a blog to document my progress.

I started to get a reputation amongst the people associated with the Kaospilots as someone especially passionate about the school. I even had a small following of social-enterprise people in Brisbane who were very interested in my mission and said they’ll support me all the way. Even the warnings from non-European Kaospilots about sacrificing class time to earn enough money to afford the school (with some eventually dropping out) did not deter me.

Nobody wanted to be in the Kaospilots more than I did.

Try 1: Malmo, Sweden

While Aarhus was their headquarters, the first school I applied to was their Malmo school, which had just opened up. The application process, the same for all Kaospilots schools, involved a rather extensive application form with an additional creative project; shortlisted candidates were called in for a weekend admissions workshop, where they would be tested on their teamwork and creative skills while being observed by the staff and other Kaospilots. Pass the workshop, and you’re in.

I received my acceptance letter for the Malmo workshop a week or so before it started. As I held a Bangladesh passport at the time, I needed a visa — and getting visas for anywhere on that passport was hellish. I wasn’t sure if I could get a Schengen visa in such short notice, but I needed to try.

As soon as that acceptance email came in that morning, I raced to the Swedish consulate in town and explained my situation. The officer there called Canberra and then told me that if I could get my paperwork and my flights sorted before noon, they’ll accept my application. I almost-literally ran from the consulate, to the travel agency, to my school and my bank (for official letters), and back to the consulate just before the noon deadline. When I got home I coordinated faxes between Kaospilots Malmo and the consulate so they can get their sponsor letters in.

I had some money saved up — just enough to afford a little over a thousand dollars of airfare from Australia to Sweden and back. I knew my parents would not be impressed, and would probably say No if I asked — so I decided not to tell them anything until I was sure I had my visa.

When the visa came in I was told that I had set a new record for fastest visa approved. When I told my parents about my trip they didn’t know whether to laugh or to cry.

The departure date was the day final assignments for the semester were due; I spent all of the day before in school finishing my assignments so I could submit them early. I had been nominated for awards in Malaysia and Australia, which were going to be given out while I was in Europe; I designated my parents and my partner at the time to collect them on my behalf. Borrowed winter coat and broken sneakers in tow, I headed to Malmo — housed at a charming red boat-turned-hostel, staving off both the snow and jetlag by reading about Muhammad Yunus and the Clinton Global Initiative.

When I showed up for the Malmo workshops it became very obvious that I was going to face a tough battle to succeed. Myself and one other person — ironically another Bangladeshi, who had flown in from New York — were the only people there who didn’t speak Swedish, Danish, or Norwegian. While the Kaospilots usually operate in English, most of this workshop was run in Swedish; thankfully myself and the New York guy were put in the same group, full of friendly people who were more than willing to help translate and make us feel comfortable.

The workshop weekend itself was a mix of teambuilding games, problem-solving, and working on a project related to solving a problem faced by our host city. We were sworn to secrecy, and to be honest I barely remember what we did anyway, but I did find the whole process enjoyable. These were nice people doing work that I was interested in and good at; if I got accepted, I could have a pretty good time.

While I was up in Scandinavia I decided to drop by to Denmark, specifically to visit the Aarhus school. The school itself was reminiscent of those San Francisco startups that promise beer kegs and free food as perks (though it would be many years before I got to see the Bay Area for myself) — very modern, semi-minimalist design, Apple tech everywhere. There was only one person at the school when I came to visit, and he was very gracious in giving me a tour of the space somewhat unannounced.

Aarhus seemed pretty, seemed bright, seemed like a good place to be. As I rested in the park on a sunny day, new shoes and a better coat on, hearing the chatter of Americans on their spring break, I felt like I had a future here.

The return flight to Brisbane was tedious; to avoid visa issues and get the cheapest fare, I had to go from Stockholm to Amsterdam to Narita, wait 12 hours, go to Sydney, wait about 12 hours again then fly to Brisbane. While I waited out my Narita layover in the free cybercafe (not being able to leave since I didn’t have a Japanese visa), I got an email from the Malmo team.

I was rejected. No reason given.

Oh well, that shouldn’t matter, right? There’s still Aarhus.

(If only I could be home now.)

Try 2: Aarhus, Denmark

I ramped up my efforts to prepare for the Aarhus intake. I started taking Danish lessons — I knew this school was going to be run in English, since they had a more diverse cohort, but after my experience in Malmo I wanted to be more prepared. Heeding the warnings of non-European Kaospilots, I contacted every related Danish Government agency asking about funding; for some reason, most of my emails went to the same poor hapless person who had to send me multiple identical letters saying that they had no money for me. I organised a fundraiser — a burlesque-themed clothes swap — to help pay for my travel expenses and tuition. I bought their book, highly expensive since it was heavy and out of print. As I was of the witchy woo persuasion and surrounded by new-ager types, I looked into spiritual support: spellcraft, positive thinking, healing sessions. Anything.

If you want it bad enough, the universe will conspire in your favour to grant you your wish, they said.

When the apps came in — this time requesting a video — I collated everything as quick as I can and sent my massive package (they wanted multiple copies of the same long forms) registered express, to ensure that it arrived there safely.

Nobody, nobody wanted to be in the Kaospilots more than I did.

The day before my fundraiser, I got an email from the Aarhus school.

I was rejected. No reason given.

My partner had to write my blog update for me. My fundraiser helped a friend raising money for cancer research. I gave away that book and quit my Danish lessons. Someone said that I should just show up at the admissions workshop weekend anyway, but I didn’t have the money to do yet another thousand-dollar trip — and I was pretty sure I wouldn’t get another Schengen visa, especially not without a sponsor letter.

I was about to give up entirely when I heard that the Rotterdam school was recruiting for its second cohort. I was exhausted, but I figured I would give it a go anyway.

I got accepted to the admissions workshop, though the invite letter seemed to sound like they admitted me out of pity. By this time, my parents understood how badly I wanted to be part of this school, so they helped pay for my travel expenses. I was on term break in Malaysia at the time, so I flew from KL to Amsterdam; pretty straightforward.

That weekend turned out to be a nightmare.

Try 3: Rotterdam, The Netherlands

The first warning sign really should have been when the folks from the first cohort tried to mail me a package but had taped my address on one of the packages instead of writing it — so half the package went missing in the post.

But my first real warning sign was when I arrived at the Rotterdam train station with all the other potential Kaospilots and Cohort 1 showed up with cycles because we were going to cycle our way to the hostel.

I do not know how to cycle. Nobody asked me beforehand if I knew how — or even if I was able-bodied enough to ride a bike. If it weren’t for the fact that someone else showed up with a car I would have been completely screwed.

The workshop was pretty similar to the Malmo workshop in setup: the same exercises, the same tasks, the same tests. There were a few other non-Europeans there so pretty much everyone communicated in English.

And I got stuck with a terrible team.

Dominating the team were two men who were the archetypal mansplainers (if only I knew that word at the time!) — refusing to listen to me only to come up with similar ideas afterwards, speaking over me, trying to shut me down. My team overall wanted to do something flashy for the City task; when I suggested we listen to what the people of the city actually need, they shut me down. When the observers watched us, my team criticized me and argued with me; when the observers were away suddenly they were praising me and acknowledging my efforts & ideas.

There was one exercise where you draw arrows to the person that most helped you that weekend, and the person that most hindered you. When I was in Malmo, all of us got a mix of Helpful arrows, and it was utterly difficult to pick anyone for a Hindered arrow. In Rotterdam I got no Helpful arrows, but pretty much all the Hindered arrows.

There was one person in my team who cared about me; an Icelandic guy whose best friend was part of Cohort 1. He saw how much I was struggling, he knew how unjustly I was treated, and promised that if we both made it to Kaospilots Rotterdam that he and his friend will protect me. He and his friend were my only light in that horrible weekend.

During the wrapup circle, I knew in my heart that I was going to be rejected. And that I was not going to try again. I was done.

I flew home; my only reprieve was that due to a systems delay at Schipol Airport, Malaysia Airlines gave me a free upgrade to Business Class. I spent most of the flight crying or coughing, noticing the concern and worry of the flights attendants.

A couple of weeks later, I got an email from Rotterdam.

I was rejected. No reason given.

(One of the mansplainers claimed this was because I talked too much.)

Suddenly I got an email from the Icelandic guy’s best friend, who was in Cohort 1 and was an observer. She told me that she wasn’t supposed to contact me, but given how hard I tried to get into the Kaospilots, she thought I deserved to know what happened.

She told me that their team spent a long time talking about me. They thought I would be an amazing asset to the cohort: I would be a catalyst for real change, I would be inspiring and really make a difference. I would really rock my time at the Kaospilots.

But they thought this would come at the expense of my social life. They felt that the other students would not be able to deal with what I brought in, even when it was necessary. I would be an unappreciated loner. Apparently they lost someone in their cohort for very similar reasons. They were rejecting me out of mercy.

So basically, I was their ideal student, but the school couldn’t handle me.

So much for innovation. So much for making a difference. So much for that.

Try 4 — yeah no, I’m done.

I burnt out hard on social enterprise and doing good after crashing out at the Kaospilots. I would go to conferences and events for young changemakers and feel disconnected. I had big plans for my alternative education project, but now felt no motivation to act on any of them.

Meanwhile, most of the people who claimed to be my biggest supporters early on in the process abandoned me. Some won’t even talk to me to this day. I was no longer interesting to them, no longer this bright young spark worthy of support.

It felt like a horrible breakup. It felt like a significant death. I walked in a depressive zombie state for weeks, maybe months, barely noticing my final university semester. I lost faith, I lost hope, I lost any reason for being.

Eventually I asked a Pagan friend to help set up a death & rebirth ritual for me because I didn’t know what else to do. That evening in the park, in late 2008, helped some — I could process my grief, leave it behind, let it go.

I never wanted anything to do with the Kaospilots ever again.

(When the Malmo school shut down and the Rotterdam school immediately became its own entity, I delighted in schadenfreude. )