Level 13 Academic Warrior

November 14, 2011

Lately, a large portion of my collected fan mail has been flooded with requests for me to describe how different schooling is in Melbourne in comparison to Richmond. So, I figured that now, during the exam period, is a perfect a time to fill you in.

First off, the University of Melbourne is held in pretty high regard. It’s prestigious in Australia, and I think about 40,000 students attend school here. That’s about ten times what I’m used to at the University of Richmond. Classes are divided into lectures, which equal one professor teaching an auditorium full of 200+ students — for a little more than an hour if you’re lucky, and for two hours if you’re not. Unlike Richmond, the lectures are so big there’s no way they can actually take attendance. That would probably take about the entire lecture to complete. So, of course, if a few students don’t show up, a lecturer won’t notice. On the other hand, like in my Human Rights in East Asia class, if only 24 students show up to a lecture of 100, the professor has a pretty good idea that some people aren’t showing up. Also, classes are called subjects here, and subjects are called courses (Note: be on the lookout for an upcoming Australian to American English lingo translation guide).

Anyway, university here taught me a few very important lessons.

Number one: there is no actual cap or regulation on the amount of red ink that can be used while grading a paper.

Number two: the grading system starts a lot lower here than it does back in America, so the category for failing is consequently a lot lower.

Number three: in a panic attack induced from receiving a very low grade, refer to number two.

Number four: even though classes here are pass or fail, grades still made a difference to me. I’m not sure if it’s some sort of self-instilled personal high standard, or simply a way of judging my own abilities, but I still wanted to do well. At the same time, it taught me to do something because I wanted to, not because I had to. After skipping a few lectures, I realized that I would only have one opportunity to see education from this non-American point of view. This would be my only chance to see, in a completely unbiased manner, how other countries see the United States. As soon as I started listening, I realized how incredible of an experience that was. There was now this new category of an “American perspective,” and it drove me to learn everything I could. It really is an experience I can’t quite put into words, but if I tried, I’d say it’s one that’s worth it.

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I’m Getting Too Old For This

October 31, 2011

Flashback:

Before I went to Richmond, back in the good old days of my prime, I used to do Taekwondo. And this wasn’t just your normal, calming, finding your center, peaceful and beautiful Taekwondo. This was training for hours a day, grab some shin guards and a mouthpiece, jump in a ring and have six minutes to go all-out karate-kid on the person in front of you Taekwondo.

In high school, this was my sport and my passion. We were a team that traveled across the country together, trained together, won together, lost together and cheered for each other every chance we could. Unfortunately, when I left that summer in August for Richmond, I knew that I would be saying goodbye to a huge part of my life and some very important people. I knew Richmond didn’t have a Taekwondo club, and though I was ambitious to start one, I never quite found the time. But when I came to Melbourne to study abroad, I heard of a Taekwondo club here.

Believe me, I was skeptical at first. I knew it would be nothing like my own Taekwondo dojang back home. Actually, some part of me was reluctant to go at all. I think that somewhere inside, I wanted to preserve the pure memories I had from high school and avoid the risk of contamination that would occur if this new club failed to meet my expectations. But, through a series of unfortunate events that left me without a laptop, extracurricular activities and a social life, I decided I would check this Taekwondo club out.

I showed up on that Tuesday, and found it to be the calming, finding your center, peaceful and beautiful Taekwondo I wasn’t looking for. Five minutes after going to that first class and introducing myself to all these people who were eager to meet me, I knew I wouldn’t be going back. However, some good did come out of it. I had discovered that there was a more competitive advanced club that met on Wednesdays and Fridays. It sounded more like what I was looking for, but I couldn’t be sure. Still, it couldn’t get any worse than this– or at least that’s what I told myself.

I went to that Wednesday training, and to my amazement, it was so nostalgic. The stretches were the same, the drills were the same, and even the atmosphere was similar. Despite the fact that my legs were so sore the next day that I couldn’t walk… in fact, because my legs were so sore the next day that I couldn’t walk, I knew that I would be going back twice a week, every week. In the first five minutes of that class, I knew I had found exactly what I was looking for, and that, even though the semester was halfway over, I would make friends that would change my study abroad experience.

Flash Forward:

Gold Coast, as much as it was an opportunity for a break from schoolwork, was also an opportunity to compete in the Australian University Games. I had been training for the last two months to compete, and maintaining a lower weight than normal in order to compete in a weight class more suited to my strengths. It was just like old times. So, while I went to places like Pancake Paradise with my friends and they chowed down pancakes piled high with whipped cream and maple syrup… I nibbled on a slice of pineapple, half a tomato, toast, and the green leafy decoration stuff it came with. Still, I was happy.

I got to the tournament with the Taekwondo team who came later that week, and I could not wait for my first match. I was fighting in the same black belt division I used to, and I heard there was some very good competition. I even heard there was an Olympic-level fighter whom everyone was talking about. When I was finally called to fight, I discovered that, out of all the fighters, the Olympic-level fighter was my first match…and that he was about six inches taller than me. Even so, I was confident. I used to fight guys like these all the time. It was no big deal. I walked into the ring for the first of three two-minute rounds.

Now, in my last blog entry, I told you that Gold Coast was loaded with extraordinary adventures filled with panic and crisis. And, because I am a man of my word, here it is. After the first minute of that round, I was already tired. After the first minute and thirty seconds, I was exhausted and just trying to catch my breath. Cutting weight had cut my stamina, and this guy looked like he was still warming up. I had been training for the past two months, but this guy had been training consistently for years. I trained twice a week. The days that he hadn’t trained in the past year probably didn’t even add up to two weeks.

It was at this point in my life, at the ripened age of twenty, that I finally understood what a “midlife crisis” was. I couldn’t just get up and try to fight these youthful people out of nowhere. This guy was not only in better shape than me, but he was also on a higher level. This is the point in my tale where I would like to introduce the panic and crisis. If any of you were, in fact, wondering where it was, no need to fear…I did that enough for all of us. But my pride, the thing that was the source of this “midlife crisis”, told me that I couldn’t just quit. No matter how tired, how defeated, I had to finish that match and do it in one piece.

Long story short, I finished the match. I lost pretty badly, but I walked off that mat with my own two feet and my head held high. I think, in retrospect, that match taught me a lot. As much as Taekwondo had always been about the competition for me, it was equally about those important people who I trained with. As I walked off that mat, I had a team of people to pat me on the back and praise my hard work. I had people to laugh with the next day as I watched the recorded video. I had teammates to cheer on to victory, even if I couldn’t reach it myself. Maybe, just maybe, when I get back to Richmond, I’ll find some time to start that Taekwondo club. You know what they say… better late than never.

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The Traveler’s Guide to Hitchhiking the Gold Coast

October 24, 2011

It was finally that time– the time that students worldwide wait for in anticipation. Well, it was the time that students worldwide wait for in anticipation, if you don’t include summer break. Okay, not including summer break and not including winter break, it is by far the most highly anticipated vacation of the academic year. And because things work quite differently in the southern hemisphere, it had come much earlier than expected. It was spring break.

I had made plans to go to the Gold Coast of Australia with two of our very own Spiders also studying abroad in Melbourne. We were staying at a place called Backpackers in Paradise, located in a neighborhood called Surfer’s Paradise, which happened to be walking distance from the beach. Sounds perfect, doesn’t it?  If a picture’s worth 1000 words, and this was picture perfect, how many words was Backpackers in Paradise worth? If you answered anything other than zero, unfortunately, you are incorrect.

Contrary to popular belief, modern forms of currency do not include payment in the forms of words or letters. After drifting away from the gold standard in the post World War II era, currency took the form of bills, commonly referred to as notes, and coins. Additionally, if expressions were measured in words, then speechless would equal zero. And speechless is what we were when we realized we would be living and sharing a bathroom with eleven other people, not including the three of us.

If you have never seen fourteen people share a bathroom together, it is nothing less than amazing. It requires both timing that is unheard of and an adjusting of sleep schedules that would equal forcing Dracula, a seven-year-old child, and a caterpillar in a cocoon to sleep at the same time. Surprisingly enough, we managed to rarely, if ever, have problems with the bathroom. Regrettably, we were not as fortunate in consolidating sleep schedules.

Regardless, the Gold Coast managed to live up to its name. The weather was incredible, people were at the beach everyday, and club promoters and their bargain deals had to be subdued with a two meter pole (preferably wooden, to mitigate permanent damage) with all the discounts and free coupons they offered. Additionally, the hostel we stayed at seemed to get new people every day. Students participating in the University Games (which I will explain in a later blog) came in dozens. How could this dream-like paradise possibly go wrong?

The second day at the beach, when we were well-rested enough to properly understand the grave mistake we had just made, we understood the grave mistake we had just made. We looked at one another in horror as we realized that no one had a football. The core of all beach-like activity was not present. We would be deprived of the pure foundation of waterside entertainment, American football. We quickly checked our backup, plan-B option. No Frisbee. We were doomed.

Then, as if it were a gift sent from above, we saw it. There, before us, was an American football in Australia. Long story short, we not only got to use the football, but we also made some new friends. Our day was a success, and those to come would be filled with panic and crisis. But, more on that next time.

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Football vs. Soccer vs. King Leonidas

October 5, 2011

Take the most intense scene you can imagine. Okay, we’ll go with the movie “300”, because as I’m sure you are aware, Spartan soldiers are forever epically intense, hence why they are still making movies about them and their glory. Now, take away any protective equipment they might have (and yes, I’m aware they preferred to block weapons and attacks with their abdominal muscles over shields, but again, just for argument’s sake). Then divide them into groups of 22 (with 14 spectators), take two of those groups, and put their top 18 on an oval-shaped field that’s 1.5 times longer and three times wider than an American football field. Finally, give one of them a leather ball and tell him his team has a limited amount of time to kick it through some goal posts as many times as they can and anything goes. It will be brutal, painful, and war-like in all aspects. That, my friends, is Australian Rules Football.

Remember when I said the other 14 warriors could be spectators? That wasn’t just coincidence or the results of a poorly planned math equation. This is a sport where the fans might as well be playing on the field for all of their intensity and moxie. Take the mandated endurance of a soccer game, add in the full impact of an American football game, subtract the shoulder pads, and add the dribbling of basketball and you have a sport of most epic proportions (if you’re a die hard baseball fan and you feel that this sport is incomplete, they tend to fall on the ground and slide a lot, in addition to jumping to catch balls, so if you must, you can add baseball in the list of sports it encompasses and dominates) And that’s not even the most praiseworthy or glorious part. Positions stand, for the most part, as markers for where you start off. Everyone runs the same, kicks just as hard, and is required to dribble a triangle-shaped ball at one point or another.

So now that you understand just how much of a warrior you must actually be to play this game, I’ll further sever your ties to reality and continue to make you doubt what “humanly possible” actually means. Essentially, you have to kick the ball through two gigantic metal goalposts for six points, or between one large one and one smaller on the sides for one point. You run for your life carrying the ball, but after 15 meters (about 50 feet) you’re forced to bounce it on the ground and catch it in order to continue running. And in case you were wondering, no, the other team does not stop their assault and wait for you to figure out how to bounce that triangle shaped ball without having it go sideways. You have to dribble while running full speed. Or, as an alternative, you can pass it to a teammate. But, you can’t pass it like an American football. You have to punch it upwards into the hands of your teammate. So picture serving a volleyball underhand at top-speed, but you use an uppercut instead of your wrist, and try to get that to your teammate.  Or, (yes, there’s another alternative) you can just punt the ball with the strength of a Spartan warrior down the field and hope your teammate catches it. If they do catch such a pass, they are then rewarded by the defenders backing off and staring in awe at their great display of athleticism as they wait for the catcher to resume play by either kicking or running the ball. Also, to catch, it is not only permitted, but also encouraged that you leap into the air and use the opposing team as a springboard to launch yourself up and catch the ball. I’ve placed a link at the end to show just what I mean.

A bunch of international students, including myself, got to go visit a team and learn the rules first-hand. We met some of the players, watched an incredibly inspiring movie, and learned just how incapable and unimpressive our athleticism was in comparison. That’s why my favorite team is now the North Melbourne Kangaroos.

Here’s that link. (Hall of fame catch and I was lucky enough to see it live!… It doesn’t matter that I was rooting for the other team.)

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Friday Night Surprise

September 7, 2011

This past Friday, I had one of those experiences that you never really expect to have when you go abroad to another country. I really hadn’t heard anything about it, and looking back, I wonder if things would have gone differently if I had. But either way, I walked right into it without ever seeing it coming.

One Friday, I came home to my house after a long day of classes. And at that point, as usual, I could only think about food. So, I crept upstairs to get a sneak peek at dinner before I sat down to solidify the plans I had made with some friends that night. When I walked in, my jaw dropped. What I saw in that kitchen, I had never seen the likes before. I knew that this would change everything, change the rules of laws I’d never questioned. And my plans, my plans would lie there in their impermanence, never to be solidified. Now, you’re probably really curious as to what’s going on. And the really clever ones probably think they even have it figured out. But let me assure you, there is no type of preparation for what I’m about to share.

So like I was saying, my jaw dropped. But that’s slightly inaccurate. My jaw dropped last. My nose registered everything first. I was hit with a wave of different aromas all at once. Sweet, spicy, tangy, bitter, good, great, amazing; I had no idea my nose could register so many different scents. Then my eyes noticed it. There, before me, was a feast. There were cheeses: chive, sweet chili, blue, white cheddar, others. There were crackers: salted. Smoked salmon lay sliced into thin strips in its preparation to lie perfectly on a cracker. There was garlic bread, Dim Sim (a Chinese inspired meat dumpling style food very popular in Australia) and capers. And these were just the appetizers. I could go on and on about the food, and needless to say, I quite enjoyed it. But that was just one of many surprises.

Today would be the day I remembered as my host mom’s birthday party. Later that night, the house was flooded with guests I had never seen before (about eight) and conversations about life, culture and “glory days” that I could not have prepared for. Yet surprisingly, I found I didn’t really have to. I really enjoyed it.  They seemed to be as interested in my life as I was in theirs. I mean, granted, they were lawyers and computer specialists. They were painters and musicians. They had jobs and careers. And yet, they found some interest in my college-level decision making ability and indecisiveness in life plans. Maybe there was something reassuring, some type of preserved innocence in being undecided about the future. We traded college stories and experiences as they encouraged me to take my time in deciding my future. We finished with a grand finale: a music piece played by Brian, a family friend and talented musician, joined not only by one of his friends, but also my housemate and friend from Richmond, Shohsei, who had been dying to play guitar and was finally able to find one to play in Australia. Our host family knew he played guitar, but was shocked to see how incredible he actually was. And as everyone sang happy birthday and applauded, I realized how glad I was that I stayed in that night.

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Cowabungaustralia

August 23, 2011

My toes were tingling. My feet were numb. The further outwards I drifted, the colder it got. But I couldn’t stop now. I laid my body flat along the board, stomach and toes pointing down, and swam forward as the grumble behind me got louder and louder. Instantly I was thrown forwards. I no longer swam at this point, now I was fighting to just stay afloat. I cupped the sides of the board and positioned myself to do a push-up, and threw my legs forward to kneel on one knee. The board rocked under the shifting of my weight and my speed hadn’t decreased at all. Still, I made the unexpected decision not to panic. That was, of course, step one and I had done it much better than I expected. As I warred and clashed against the unrelenting crystal sea and the mountain of frothy white foam that led its attack, I retaliated with my board as my weapon, and balance as my gambit. It was time. I slowly rose from my kneeling position to a very low squat. I rose, slowly. I could feel the stress on my quadriceps, calves, hamstrings and the tiny fibers they were made of. I clenched and tightened them with the movement of the waves; the sea had not given up yet. Now was not the time to panic. I rose, slower still, from my low crouch. Suddenly, my lead foot slid forward from under me. This was not part of the plan, nor conducive to my gambit of balance. My pulse quickened. I had erred and there was little time to fix it. I quickly edged my lead foot back, but I could already see the ocean water climbing to the surface of my board. The nose of the board had dipped under and cracked the glistening, seemingly crystal surface of the sea. With a single, final, assailment of anger at my mistake the sea thrust both me and my board through the crack of the ocean surface, instantly submerging us. We were railroaded by a combination of undersea currents and breaking waves on the surface. As I was tossed and flung about by the ocean currents and waves, salty ocean water seeped into my mouth through my pursed lips. Water rushed through my nose. My closed eyes were wrenched open. Suddenly, the assault stopped. I found footing on the bed of sand beneath me. I stood up slowly. The ocean waves had recessed in victory. I could see my surfboard floating as far away as the rope bound to my foot would let it go. I looked up and smiled. Then I laughed. That was my first wave. I swam out to do it all over again. This past weekend I went on a surf trip with some other students from university. It was an event hosted by a club for international and exchange students. Needless to say, it was an incredible adventure. I wish I had pictures to post but, of course, I opted to not get the waterproof camera. Instead I’ll put up a few pictures of other events that I forgot to visually represent…sporadically throughout the week because my laptop is currently out of commission due to an exhausted cooling fan that has decided to go on strike.

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Lack of Communication

August 9, 2011

So finally, I was in Australia. After making it through customs and only almost losing my passport once, I was ready to hitch a ride and go to the house I would be staying at. I was even planning on staying with my friend from Richmond who was also studying abroad in Melbourne. Now I just had to meet him, his flight from Japan would be landing within the half hour and he had already made free airport pickup reservations…for himself and I was going to try to mooch off of him. I looked up at the digitized schedule board which, fun fact, are apparently known as Solari boards (named after the display manufacturer) for an incoming flight from Japan. And of course, with my luck, out of over 20 options I couldn’t see one flight from Japan. I sat down and waited for the options to roll over, it was still early. That lasted about five minutes. I then made a much better decision to go ask where I could find an incoming flight from Japan. I walked up to the information booth patting myself on the back for my sure stroke of…rationality.

Me: “Hello? Hey, I was just wondering when the next flight from Japan was”
Information Assistant: “Oh of course, one second please”
Computer: “Beep-beep. Beep”
Information Assistant: “there aren’t any”

What was I going to do? We hadn’t exchanged flight information, nor did we have phones to call one another on. I couldn’t live in the airport! The food is overpriced and any purchase would just be economically unsound. I immediately ceased my back-patting, feeling my back no longer deserved the reward of a job well done. I was doomed.

Information Assistant: “Is it possible that it’s a domestic flight?”
Polite-Me: “No, I don’t think so. He’s flying from Japan.
Information Assistant: “To Melbourne?”
Just-Had-An-Epiphany Me: “No I’m pretty sure he’s flying to Sydney first and then to… oh…wow”
Smiling Information Assistant: “Domestic is just that way.”
Determined Me: “Thank you!”
Information Assistant: “No-”

I was already gone. It was at this point that I finally understood what people did before technology. Panicked and Ran. I quickly made my way to domestic arrivals and looked at the arrivals screen for flights from Sydney. There were about five. I decided to casually pace back and forth between the luggage conveyor belts and just smile at people, all while waiting for the next flight to arrive 20 minutes later. In hindsight, if there was ever a man who looked as if he was going to be reported for suspicious activity in an airport, this would definitely be that guy. Time was passing with no signs of my friend. Then I saw her, the woman with the highlighter yellow and lime green sign around her neck that said overseas students. I ran to her…and stood awkwardly next to her until she said something.

Driver: “Hello! Are you an international student?
Me: “YES!”
Driver: “are you attending the University of Melbourne?”
Me: “YES!”
Driver: “Ok great! What’s your name?”
Me: “…”

Ok so I hadn’t really thought this completely through. I looked at her checklist out of the side of my eye and knew I wasn’t on there. On the other hand, I knew someone who was. Still, I couldn’t just take his reservation and strand him. Plus, there was no way she’d believe that both my passport and driver’s license conveniently had typos and they just got my name wrong.

Driver: “…”
Me: “…Uh…Shohsei…Oda?”
Driver: “…Ok great! Grab your things and come with me”

Or maybe she’d just take my word for it. But I couldn’t, with good conscience, leave my friend (and housemate) without a ride. Especially since he booked it himself and I was taking it.

Me: “Wait, he’s my friend. I’m just meeting him here. We’re going to the same place so I was hoping I could just get a ride as well?”

Long story short, honesty is the best policy. We found Shohsei who had missed his Sydney to Melbourne flight because of customs and I was able to get a ride with the shuttle service. Unfortunately, the shuttle service was only free around the city, which our home was 30 minutes away from, and we both had to end up paying. Still, it wasn’t as much as a taxi and we were finally at this place that we would soon learn to call home…and people we would soon call by their first names because calling them mom and dad would just be awkward. Oh right, did I mention we were doing a home stay?

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There’s a first for everything

July 28, 2011

If you’ve made it this far, I’d like to personally congratulate you for finding a very positive, educational and constructive way to spend your time and/or for being a good friend who I’ve asked to come read my blogging while away. With that said, in the wise words of Jay-Z, allow me to re-introduce myself. My name is Mike (MI to the K-E of course) and I am a rising junior at the University of Richmond. I’m majoring in international studies and am spending this next semester in Australia. Because this is technically the spring semester for students, I am already here. If you can believe it, I’ve actually left summer to come to an Australian winter.  But as you’ll hopefully come to understand by getting small insights into my life while in Australia, I’m banking on the hope that it will be completely worth it. Now, I’d like to take you to day one of my trip to Australia and am confident that you will stay for, and enjoy, the whole journey.

Day 1:

The entire way to the airport I’ve been secretly doing the three-part check: Wallet, keys and phone. I don’t like to panic publicly, especially in front of my family; they freak out three times more than I do and it’s always been a faux pas of mine. But this time I came up short on keys, only to remember that I won’t need house or car keys… And then I realize that I must have come up short every other time I’ve done the three part check. I soon realize that it’s not keys I should be checking for, but my passport. Finally, I come to the consensus that a mental checklist is just way too inefficient for these types of situations. I needed something visual, something concrete. Why hadn’t I thought of this before? And as I thrust my hand in my pockets in a silent fit of panic, stress and newly acquired worry-hunger, I could feel the edged corner of a folded piece of paper that was, of course, a concrete, visual checklist I had written earlier. I opened it to find housing details, contact information and even a student visa number. Responsible mike had taken care of everything for panicked, stressed and hungry mike. I liked responsible mike. I made a mental note to invite him to all of my big events in the future like finals week and job interviews. With a sigh of relief, I had avoided a recipe for a heart attack. The only problem was I consistently chose the optional “repeat if necessary” option, just to be safe and all, and went all the way back to “step 1: three-part check your pockets” every hour afterwards. Yet, after a last minute rush of panic and drawn out heart-felt see-you-laters (I like see-you-laters over goodbyes) on the security checkpoint line at the airport, I was finally on the plane, ready to relax and fall asleep to in-flight episodes of Modern Family. Australia, here I come.

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