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PROLOGUEUniversity of Toronto - St.

George CampusToronto, OntarioOctober 2009                 The sun was

shining through the open windows in Room 213 where I was sitting in one of the

industry standard university desk-chair combinations in the middle of one of

the many University of Toronto classrooms. I had my laptop open on the middle

of my desk and, though I should have probably been paying attention to the

lecture, was too busy scanning the University of Toronto Centre for

International Experience website while the professor droned on and on about

some sort of moderately useful archaeological observation he had made in ye

olde days of 1984.                I'd pay to be

anywhere but here right now. I'd spent my entire life in Toronto with very few

escapes from the city, save to visit relatives in various other parts of Canada

and the four generation family vacation cottage out in the mountains of Quebec.

I went to Montreal once with my high school class, but that was it. It was

rather simple, really. With the cost of living in Toronto as high as it is, there

just hasn't been a lot of money to go around for extravagant vacations. Though we're

not poor by any means, there's just not a lot of money past daily living and

schooling. While that's fine and dandy for my parents, I'm studying

anthropology because I want to get out there and see the world.                Which brings

me to the Study Abroad Program. I'm hoping to be able to apply to one of the programs

U of T offers. Trouble is, I don't know which one to choose. There are a few

options for anthropology, but not too many of them make me want to jump at the

opportunity. This might be my only chance to study outside of Canada while in

university. I want to make it count, and while it sounds interesting, I'm not

particularly fond of the idea of spending my summer among the dung beetles in

the Kalahari or sweating my balls off in Amazonian Colombia--not even taking

into account the American stereotypes of the latter.                Maybe

Australia? It was the first result I could look at before the clock hit 1:50pm.

With that, the professor ended his reverie and dismissed class. Grumbling

internally that I didn't know what to do, I closed my laptop and slid it into

my backpack, making sure to be gentle with it. It'd take a good month to bring

in enough money to buy a replacement. Shouldering the orange bag, I made my way

out of the classroom, then out of the building. Next stop: home.                I had no

sooner gotten to the intersection of Russell and St. George Streets than was my

attention grabbed by a familiar voice calling out my name. Turning around, I

smiled when I saw a dhole hurrying over to me waving a piece of paper in her

hand. "Hey Angela, what's up?" I called to her.                "The

study abroad office finalized my paperwork! I'm going to France this Spring!"

Angela squealed in delight, looking just barely able to contain herself from

jumping onto me.                "That's

great! Congrats!" I offered with a genuine smile. We had met in a freshman

anthropology class, which is when she'd told me that she dreamed of visiting

Paris at some point in her life. "Excited?"                "What

do you think?" Angela rebuffed with a playful roll of her eyes. "What about

you? Aren't you going to study abroad?"                "I'm still

thinking about it. I want to, but the anthropology offerings seem slim."                "You

should stop by the study abroad office. They might be able to work out a

special program for you like they did for me."                "Worth

a try, I guess."                "Never

know, eh?" Angela said. Stealing a glance at her wrist watch, she offered me a

smile. "I gotta run to class. Good luck!" Without waiting for a response, the

dhole quickly slipped around me and darted off to class, leaving me to figure

out if I wanted to stop by the office now or later.                Screw

it. What's an extra ten minutes?***                The

Centre for International Experience was a small office located within

Cumberland House on the U of T campus. Lucky for me, it was on the way to the

Queen's Park TTC station, so I didn't have to go out of my way. Pushing open

the wooden door, I was greeted with all sorts of educational travel posters, many

of which reminded me of ones in the travel agency that I passed every day on

Roncesvalles.  The posters advertised a

diverse set of opportunities, but there was one that caught my eye almost

immediately: a poster tucked away in the corner advertising a program at Waseda

University in Tokyo, Japan. Immediately, I was reminded of my lifelong

curiosity of Asian cultures and, more recently, experiences I'd had during

various Japanese cultural celebrations throughout Toronto. I'd even taken some

Japanese language classes through the Toronto Library. But while books and

festivals might give you a glimpse of another culture, nothing--and I mean nothing--replaces experiencing a culture

first-hand. "Excuse me," I said, walking up to the desk receptionist situated

off to the side of the entrance. "Can you tell me anything about the Japan

program?"                "Sure!"

The receptionist, a bubbly rabbit, replied excitedly, opening a drawer and digging

out a folder. Holding it out to me, she began to explain while I began to go

through the folder. "The University of Toronto and Waseda University are trying

a pilot study abroad program. Basically, you'd spend the summer in Tokyo taking

three courses at Waseda. Other than that, you're pretty free to explore Japan."                "That

sounds awesome!" I exclaimed excitedly, flipping quickly through the few sheets

of paper until I found the program cost. Scanning the fees, I quickly added up

the numbers. Apparently my disappointment was visible when I realized that the

program would cost about the same as a typical semester at U of T.                 "Is

something the matter?"                "Are

there any financial aid programs or scholarships to help defray the costs?"                "Of

course! Since you'll be taking three courses, you'd qualify for U of T's

financial aid program. And there's also a scholarship for students who

demonstrate a need and strong desire to take maximum advantage of an

opportunity abroad."                "Okay.

And how would I go about applying to all that?"                "There

should be a yellow sheet in that folder with information on how to apply to the

program and... I think a green sheet with the financial aid information."                Seeing

the sheets, I nodded, thanked the receptionist, and left with a spring in my

step. Another ten minutes and I was finally on College Street with a copy of a

Japan travel guide from the university bookstore. The only thing running

through my mind was that I was going to Japan this summer, one way or another.

Cutting through an unpaved path, I put in a pair of earbuds to listen to my

iPod. Turning up the volume, I descended the stairs into the Queen's Park TTC

station.[Music: "Under the Gun" by The Killers]Toronto is a nice city. With a little over

two-point-five million people, it's the most populated city in Canada.  Guess that says a lot about our country, huh?

Our biggest city can't hold a candle to New York or L.A. or those bigger cities

down in the States, but we kind of like it that way. And what we don't have in

population, we certainly make up for in diversity.  In fact, that's the Toronto motto: "Diversity

Our Strength."  I can't think of many

other cities where you can have lunch at an authentic Greek restaurant--and I

mean fully authentic, like run by a small Greek family authentic--on the

Danforth, a Portuguese snack downtown, and dinner at an authentic dim sum

restaurant in Chinatown? We also have really weird street names like Bloor and

Spadina and Dundas. Let's see, what else... David Miller's our mayor, but

according to the elections, he's going to be replaced by Rob Ford in December.

Yep, that's all I got.Riding on the

TTC can be an experience. The subway platforms have a lot of grey and odd muted

colors, which would make the train cars vibrant if there wasn't so much red.  You think I'm kidding. The outside of the

train may look shiny and metal, but once you get inside, every goddamn thing is

red. The seats are red, the doors are red, the plastic dividers are red, hell

some cars even have a red stripe down the aisles. Apparently the entire train

cars used to be red back in the 60s. They should have kept it. Really, they

should have. I don't think it could get any redder than that.The car I was in

was something right out of Toronto.  I

was sitting near the door, next to two elderly Asian women talking quietly

amongst themselves. A few seats in front of me, past the centre doors, was

an Indian couple and their two young, energetic children. Behind me were a few

high school students of various ethnicities who had either cut school or been

released early. Now that I think about it, my train car was rather empty. Then

again it was only 2:30 in the afternoon. "Now arriving at

Dundas West. Dundas West Station," The rote female recording announced as the

train began to slow down. Grabbing my backpack off of the seat next to me, I

swung it onto my back and walked to the door, stepping through when the doors

slid open. Emerging onto the surface, I looked down Dundas Street West towards

where it turned into Roncesvalles Avenue. I could take the streetcar down Roncesvalles

to get to my house on Garden Avenue, but given that it was sweater weather in

the middle of October, I opted to hoof it so that I could enjoy one of the last

warm days of Toronto Autumn. Pulling my backpack strap to keep the bag close to

my back, I began my trek, passing the retail shops, beauty salons, and

restaurants lining Roncy.[Music fades]                About

fifteen minutes later, I was at the front door of a traditional Toronto two-story

house sitting on the North side of Garden Avenue. My mother's garden was still

vibrant with color in the front yard, the various flowers and vegetables

ripening for one last harvest before the winter cold froze everything over.

Peering through the glass panes of the small window at the top of the front

door, I saw a shadow moving about in the kitchen. My mother must have just

gotten home from the diner where she worked as a waitress, which meant my

father was still at the garage, making sure everything was in order before

coming home for the night. See what I mean?

Nothing luxurious, just. Comfortable. This was the

house where my father grew up and once his brother and sister went their own

ways--Uncle Mark to Vancouver, and Aunt Shelly to Edmonton--it was just my father

and his aging parents. While most parents probably would want their kids out of

the house, Gramps and Gran were getting close to retirement by the time Dad got

married, so we ultimately all ended up living together in the small three

bedroom space. Sure it could be a bit cramped at times, but I had my own room

and what we lacked in space, we made up for in love. To this day we all still

live together, except for Gramps, who died a few years ago.                You

may barf at the love bit if you want.                "Mom?

Gran?" I called out when I made it inside and closed the door behind me.                "In the

kitchen!" I heard my grandmother's voice. Kicking off my shoes, I snuck down

the small hallway leading to the kitchen, a smile crossing my face when I

smelled the scent of cooking meat. Setting my backpack down on the kitchen

table, I took a seat across from where my grandmother, a gray-furred fox, was

sipping from a mug of tea. My mother, meanwhile, was off to the side, her ears

twitching intermittently as she went about cooking dinner from scratch,

muttering a bit to herself as she measured things out in true Italian style

(who needs measuring cups anyway?). "So how was school, Cory?" Gran asked.

Welp, now's a good time as any. Unzipping my backpack, I reached in and pulled

out the study abroad folder.                "Great!

I stopped by the Centre for International Experience today," I began, trying to

make the study abroad office sound as important as U of T did.                 "Oh?

What's that?"                "It's

basically a study abroad office."                "So

where do you want to study?" My grandmother's curiosity was piqued, and my

mother's likely as well, though she didn't slow down making dinner. She rarely

worked the morning shifts at the diner, so when she got the chance, she went

all out with whatever we had to cook.                 "Japan."

I said simply.                "Japan?"

Came my mother's curious voice, the vixen setting down a mixing bowl, wiping

her paws on her apron, and turning around. "That sounds expensive, Cory..."                "I

know, I know," I borderline whined. The only reason I refrained from actually

whining was because I heard the caution in my mother's voice. I could tell she

wanted to say yes, but her concerns about expense were valid. The money issue

was going to be hard for me, too. I had scanned the information on the train

and it looked like an absolute last ditch could be to take out a student loan.                "But

your father and I really wished you'd be able to do whatever you want with your

life, so I wouldn't rule it out. You're in charge of your education, remember?"                "Well,

with me out of the house in the summer, it's one less person you have to feed."                "That's

true. How much is it?"                "It

costs about a thousand more than a semester U of T, but it includes housing and

a meal plan. And there are need-based grants and a scholarship!" I could feel

myself talking faster as I got more excited. Digging my laptop out of my

backpack, I powered it up and pulled up the Waseda University website, turning

the computer so my grandmother and mother could see it. "This is where I'd

study. Waseda University in Tokyo...."                The

conversation took about an hour, with Mom eventually migrating back to the

kitchen to finish dinner. Both women were impressed with the program, blown

away by the photos of Tokyo that I found, and agreed that the experience would

be invaluable. By the time my father arrived home, the three of us had come up

with the perfect pitch to try and sell the program to what we expected would be

its harshest critic. Turns out, we didn't even need to go into half the detail

I expected. My father approved based on the program description alone. Turns

out that while my Dad is very money conscious, he's also quick to concede that

if there's a way to affordably enroll in the program, I'd be insane to turn it

up. I submitted my application that night. A month-and-a-half later I received

a decision, a financial aid package, and an alumni scholarship. The only thing

that wouldn't be covered would be my personal expenses.                Holy

shit. I'm going to Tokyo.