It was in Vancouver, Canada, that the Dr Jekyll and Mr Hyde sides of a coin first stared me in the face.

Fresh out of a 20-something sheltered existence in Dubai, I landed in the world's most liveable city as a graduate student. Forced to run my own mini household — never mind that I didn't know the difference between a budget and a bucket or that I had the fiscal literacy of a moose — I discovered the hard way that appreciating the value of money and understanding how to make it last until the end of the month were two very different things.

Not that I was a spendthrift, mind you. I was raised with a healthy respect for money and the hard work it takes to earn it. Speaking to several friends from Dubai who also studied abroad, I found that I was not alone: fiscal illiteracy seemed to be rampant in a generation of students who lived at home, dependent on their parents, and did not have to sort through the bills.

So it was like a child on the first day of school that, accompanied by my father, I opened my first bank account at a worldwide bank branch.

Walking out of the bank on that sunny August day, with my own cash in my pocket, I felt empowered, responsible, and independent. That wad of green-coloured C$20 bills was my ticket to explore the wonderful new city I lived in: an enlightening educational experience, art galleries, museums, the sophisticated restaurants, new university books, outings with new friends, and peace of mind.

I looked at these unfamiliar coins and smiling up at me was Dr Jekyll, the kind face of human nature, the good side of my financial forays.

It was only when the bills started piling up, some with angry-red final notices, that I realised my gross money mismanagement. Here was the terrible Mr Hyde grimacing at me from that gleaming coin and I was confronted with the evil side of money: There were international bills in hundreds of dollars that spoke of my homesickness.

Then there were the expensive dental bills barely covered by my student insurance. Ignorant of the proper preparations to equip me for Vancouver's long winter I invested in expensive clothes that I could have obtained far cheaper elsewhere had I known better. Credit card bills popped out unexpectedly as I tried to figure out the difference between the date of purchase and the date of payment.

I developed a habit of ignoring these financial duties hoping they would eventually go away. So I drowned my troubles in stacks of chocolate chip cookies. While most people carry their burdens on their back or shoulders, I carried my financial woes on my hips (and as Shakira will tell you, those don't lie either).

But as the final notices came in — persistent in their white-cruel envelopes — I realised that panicking and getting heart palpitations would get me nowhere.

The key was organisation and self-discipline. Make a budget; stick with it. Call ahead and find out the due bill payments and dates to avoid unpleasant surprises. Set aside money for that and don't be tempted to dip in.

Use the resources available to international students: Universities offer scholarships and other financial aid that you can apply for early. Make sure you know what the student medical insurance covers. Try your hand at campus part-time jobs. It is possible you could earn enough to pay for your living expenses.

International student centres have advisers that can discuss finance with you. Talk to other international students who lived in the country for a year and learn from their experiences.

Look up the "cost of living" guideline on your university website — it comes in handy when you go grocery shopping and realise your bill is the equivalent of a fortune in dirhams.

Indulge occasionally, but within your means.

In retrospect my misadventures with the aptly named loony, the Canadian dollar with the Dr Jekyll-Mr Hyde personality, paid my way to financial maturity.