Ep. 0: A Prelude

Notes from the 4th-8th of January

Wednesday, the 4th of January (AEDT)

After what felt like an eternity, December 2022 came and went, and with the new year rose the date of departure. It must be said that this date was met with some relief, mostly because of how many things had to be gotten in order for a trip of this order. There was obviously all the documents I had to file with Purdue University and Monash to ensure proper enrolment, not just in courses but insurance plans as well. Then of course there was obtaining an American Visa, which was not the easiest thing in the world. And finally, the packing. But for all the moments when it felt like I wouldn't getting everything together, for the paranoia of my mum regarding the weight of my checked-in bags, we got out the door smoothly. I was going to go to an American college. Finally. And nothing could bring this train to a halt - except, perhaps, for a plane bound for LA that left some 90 minutes late...

On Farewells

Saying goodbye is something that I had never imagined I would find quite so difficult as it ended up being for this trip. However, I think the mindset I am adopting here with respect to these farewells is that in some way - and this "way" varies depending on the person in mind - being distant for even a period of 5 months or so is the best possible thing that could happen for that relationship. As I near the end of my undergraduate studies, I am approaching a junction of unpredictable flux: friends and family will begin to very chaotically move in and out of my life as the prospect of new jobs, travel and plans to settle down intrude and serve to rapidly explode the close proximity to those I care about that I have enjoyed up until this point.

In that vain, then, an exchange like this serves as a trial, a dry-run for what is inevitably coming up ahead. In the absence of repeated physical/direct interaction, it also divulges the true robustness of our ties. As a contrast dye unveils under a scan a more intrinsic view of our bodies, so too do these short hiatuses make abundantly clear the solidity of the grounds on which a relationship has been formed.

But most importantly, emotionally-charged farewells with (grand)parents, friends and siblings gives way to the possibility for the most beautiful of reunions. It is this that I held with me I think closest of all as I had to repeatedly turn my back on those most cherished in my life until my return.

It was also (sadly) farewell to my home in Paxton Street, the place where I had lived since the day I was born. Modulo the few trips and time spent in a rental whilst it was being renovated, to now be met with the unavoidable fact of never returning there (at least not as one of its inhabitants) is something that I feel has not properly set in yet, since I don't really have any context for how it should feel. What can be said though is that I am expecting a wave of emotion to hit me either when I return to Australia and to a brand new home, an unfamiliar one, or when I drive past Paxton Street again. Regrettably as well, though this is something I will just have to live with, in the freneticism of packing my bags and room up for departure, I never gave myself a day or two to just sit there and look around the house one last time. Oh, what I would give for that chance...

On Anticipation

One question put to me with high frequency, and understandably so, was whether I was excited for the upcoming trip that loomed ever larger ahead. Either that, or whether I was nervous about the prospect of travelling to the other side of the world and being lurched about by the tides of a foreign culture (albeit, as an Australian, a faintly recognisable one). The answer, to both charges, was (in fact, had to be) always no. It became very apparent to me that this was indeed not the answer most were looking for in such a question. But I genuinely believe there is a really important point to underscore here¹ about the way we interface with both the past and future in the current moment.

Let's start with the (hopefully) agreeable statement that you and I are working parallel to the vectors of happiness maximisation and suffering minimisation. The goal of any moment, and of the months and years more broadly, is to get the net sum of good days minus bad days as high as possible. Obviously, the notion of assigning a score to your life satisfaction is wrought with all kinds of troubles and inaccuracy (e.g. availability biases), but I suspect that each of us implicitly has some aptitude that informs us on how we are tracking with respect to this metric.

Now suppose that you were in some position to view the contents of your mind with each passing second. As every thought or emotion arises, you are able to filter out to some extent particular appearances in this spotlight of awareness. Think for a second along what axioms you would choose to operate here. Would you filter nothing? Would you filter everything? Most people have a good intuition for why the latter is not an optimal modus operandi, unless we want to be interacting with something adjacent to a T-8000 from Terminator. Interestingly, though, very few people seem to appreciate that the converse, the lack of any catchment for emotions, is just as damaging, just as much a source of suffering and malcontent.

Let's take the expression of excitement and/or nervousness that most people would expect to find in themselves when readying to step off the precipice into a semester exchange in a very foreign part of the world. I've known since the middle of October that this trip was resting in my future right below the horizon. This left me with about 60 days of growing anticipation, growing trepidation to soak in before I departed. And suppose, as I would imagine most of us doing, that I allowed myself to be swept up by the rising and falling tide of thoughts that these emotions procured.

The first claim is that such a position must immediately sabotage the possibility for legitimate equanimity being found in these 60 days, the type of balance that is synonymous with more deeper forms of contentment. Because excitement is fun, it feels good, but my belief is that these sensations run largely perpendicular to the goal of more substantive happiness. I'm painting with really broad brushstrokes here, but the enlightenment or nirvanic insight taught in many spiritual practices centres around a fundamental acceptance of the present moment, which means cutting the roots of attachment we feed daily with the past and future. And what is trepidation but becoming lost in contemplation of an unknown future? One may reject this premise on the grounds of being able to both be excited and maintain a sense of grounding in the present moment. But it should hopefully become obvious the oxymoronic nature of this preceding statement.

The ultimate punchline though is that even if you reject the above claim, even if you think that saturating oneself in anticipation for an event like this is worthwhile, it is difficult to reconcile the rewards of this against the happiness metric highlighted earlier. In exchange for 60 days of being rocked off course, being unable to adopt a calm state of mind, I get maybe a few seconds of payoff: the few steps as I finally turned my back on my parents one by one, - first in the driveway, then at the departure gate - the rush as the plane took off (and then, many hours later, landed).

Okay, that's the ranting over, for now.

Wednesday, the 4th of January (ET)

The 14 hours to Los Angeles went by more or less painlessly. In-flight entertainment on these long-haul transits is an absolute blessing, especially for someone like me who can vaguely remember similar flights in my childhood without such options. Of the three movies I watched, two I can recommend highly: 300 and The Northman, both offering thematically congruous inspections on mysticism of the warrior and masculinity more generally².

Due to the delayed flight leaving Melbourne, I was under serious time pressure to catch the connecting flight to Denver. I must have checked my watch several dozen times whilst standing in the Visa security checkpoint, watching as the line ever so slowly snaked its way around. The other sticking point is that for flights like this you have to pick up checked bags from the carousel and then re-check them in again for the domestic flights. For those who haven't been to LAX before, it is an airport of gargantuan size, and of course the international and domestic terminals were not at all close. So, with my two suitcases and backpack and onsetting fatigue it was a matter of hustling as fast I could to the United gate to check-in. There was a moment of panic when the self-service monitor errored on my entering my ticket information because I had missed the check-in window by some mere minutes. The prospect of hours spent sitting at the airport and the immense hassle of rescheduling my two later flights flickered jaggedly in my mind. Fortunately, a blessing descended from above in the form of a United rep who did a manual override to get me my tickets.

There is little to report on from the remainder of the day, save that I finally found myself at 10 PM in the Indianapolis Airport with all my possessions in hand. Due to the late hour, I had booked an overnight stay at a nearby hotel. Being able to finally lay my head down to rest was bliss.

Thursday, the 5th of January

Another really long day, but full again of novel moments. I caught an Uber out to Purdue in the early morning, having not thought to book early enough in advance a shuttle service from Indianapolis Airport to the university. Oh well. This error did have the unexpected benefit of me making my first friend in the state. The driver was a a guy in his early 30s I'd guess from Benin who had moved to America in search of a more stable life. He was doing some online certifications in IT and backend software development, so we chatted at length about how that was going. Most moving, though, was that his wife and daughter, the latter of whom he had never seen in his life, were still in Benin and coming over for the first time in a couple of months. His story very quickly allowed a feeling of gratefulness to wash over as we entered Lafayette, and its effect on the rest of my day was certainly worth the extra money I paid.

The first challenge after getting dropped off was finding my apartment building. The Purdue campus is enormous, seemingly infinite compared to that of Monash in Clayton, which is by no means a small place either. Having taken a few wrong turns, upon reaching my residency (Aspire Apartments), I was to bear witness to a comedy of repeated errors.

I couldn't check in at Aspire, instead having to check in at another residence hall a few streets away. Great.

To check in I needed a student ID card which I didn't have, and required a trip to the accounts hall (Hovde Hall) in the campus mall. Terrific.

Hovde Hall is of course no longer the place where the ID cards get done since it is under renovation, so I was redirected to yet another building. Remember, without a SIM card yet and not wanting to burn through international roaming, I was stuck navigating around on the anemic free campus Wi-Fi. Splendid.

Upon returning victoriously with my ID card I received my keys and went to open the entrance door...to find they weren't working. So I went to the admin office for Aspire right nearby for assistance, and naturally the manager was away for the day and couldn't assist.

Once I got into the building by tailing someone, the key to my room in the apartment didn't work, because it was the key for the room in the apartment I had originally (and incorrectly) been assigned to.

Dot, dot, dot I could go on. Point being it was a pain. But it was actually such a joy walking around the campus. It was a complete ghost town and there was a beautiful light snow falling. The kind that tickles a little on the skin. And despite the cold, the actualisation of a moment - finally getting to the Purdue campus - that I had ideated on for months had a tinge of euphoria to it. But perhaps relief more than anything.

Friday the 6th, and Saturday the 7th of January

Boiler Cold Rush

A program that has since well and truly paid back its costs (about $150 from memory) in allowing a really smooth transition into a new university. BCR is an orientation camp that they run every year before the Spring semester to acclimatise and introduce new students (exchange or otherwise) to the campus. I was assigned to a pod of about 8 or so with two group leaders, and beyond three meals a day, some free merch and other paraphernalia, I walked out of there on Saturday evening having met some really fascinating people who I have since been hanging out with extensively.

Each day ran from 8:30 AM to 9:00 PM and consisted of various different tours, seminars and game sessions. Easy highlights for me were the tours of some of the facilities, in particular the Co-rec center. This is the student gym and it is stupidly large.

Most impressive here is the fact that it is free for all students to use, and features the sorts of facilities that had me salivating when I was glancing through the building directory: 8 basketball courts, indoor running tracks, multi-level workout spaces, 4 belayed rock-climbing walls, bouldering walls and a partridge in a pear tree. Coming from Monash where access to the gym requires a hefty membership, and I can't even use an indoor basketball court without booking out the entire court at a steep fee, this is quite the refreshing change.

On The Difference Between Australian and US Universities

I also really enjoyed hearing from current students about the way in which they view their own university. Like many of these really old colleges, there is a very rich and very unique sense of tradition to be found. And it is to be found in the small details:

Walking under the main belltower is considered to be extremely bad luck and the curse is that you will not finish your (undergraduate) degree in four years.

There are a set of train tracks that maraud the campus³ and at a particular point, it is convention for freshman to jump across the tracks in one direction to signify the start of their studies, then to jump across the tracks in the other direction once they have graduated.

The clock on the belltower is not quite right.

The '4' on the clock, instead of being written (correctly) as IV instead reads IIII. The reason for this is because IV very closely resembles IU, as in Indiana University, the other major college in the state. And both schools hate each other.

This is what struck me as being perhaps a fundamental difference between the way Australian students interface with their university experience and the way American students do. For me, I am happy to go to Monash, I am excited by the accomplishments of other Monash students, but most of the time it is little more to me than serving as the background environment for the place where have I studied and met new friends. In contrast, and in large part because most students live on campus, your college is your home, your identity. "I am a Purdue alumnus" vs. "I went to Monash". I'm not sure yet whether this relationship to your university is for the better or worse. But it certainly is what enables a clockface to be redesigned specifically to antagonise another university.

Closing Thoughts

The thing I sense most as I am about to begin the first week of classes is a vast chasm of possibility opening up. There are just so many opportunities here that can only exist in the climate of an American college. And they are opportunities I think that are well-suited to me. In selecting somewhere to go on exchange, I really wanted something where the main focus was on the academic side of things. Despite there being plenty to do at night here at Purdue, because West Lafayette is an extremely quiet city and because Indiana as a state is fairly dead, all the activity is taking place on campus. In this way, then, I am optimistic about the potential to explore some really interesting areas of life here, not just in engineering but in a wide variety of fields.

Footnotes