{"sf1_id":785140,"sf2_id":null,"title":"90 Days in Tokyo - Prologue","author":"TheJaguar","words":2592,"posted_at":"2014-11-20T06:10:00.000Z","tags":["Character Development","Fox","No-Yiff","Ontario","Story Series","Toronto","canada","japan","prologue","slice of life","student","tokyo","university"],"url":"https://fse.anthro.fr/stories/785140-90-days-in-tokyo-prologue","original_url":"https://sofurry.com/view/785140","image_url":"https://www.sofurryfiles.com/std/thumb?page=785140\u0026ext=.jpg","description":"","content":"PROLOGUEUniversity of Toronto - St.\nGeorge CampusToronto, OntarioOctober 2009                 The sun was\nshining through the open windows in Room 213 where I was sitting in one of the\nindustry standard university desk-chair combinations in the middle of one of\nthe many University of Toronto classrooms. I had my laptop open on the middle\nof my desk and, though I should have probably been paying attention to the\nlecture, was too busy scanning the University of Toronto Centre for\nInternational Experience website while the professor droned on and on about\nsome sort of moderately useful archaeological observation he had made in ye\nolde days of 1984.                I'd pay to be\nanywhere but here right now. I'd spent my entire life in Toronto with very few\nescapes from the city, save to visit relatives in various other parts of Canada\nand the four generation family vacation cottage out in the mountains of Quebec.\nI went to Montreal once with my high school class, but that was it. It was\nrather simple, really. With the cost of living in Toronto as high as it is, there\njust hasn't been a lot of money to go around for extravagant vacations. Though we're\nnot poor by any means, there's just not a lot of money past daily living and\nschooling. While that's fine and dandy for my parents, I'm studying\nanthropology because I want to get out there and see the world.                Which brings\nme to the Study Abroad Program. I'm hoping to be able to apply to one of the programs\nU of T offers. Trouble is, I don't know which one to choose. There are a few\noptions for anthropology, but not too many of them make me want to jump at the\nopportunity. This might be my only chance to study outside of Canada while in\nuniversity. I want to make it count, and while it sounds interesting, I'm not\nparticularly fond of the idea of spending my summer among the dung beetles in\nthe Kalahari or sweating my balls off in Amazonian Colombia--not even taking\ninto account the American stereotypes of the latter.                Maybe\nAustralia? It was the first result I could look at before the clock hit 1:50pm.\nWith that, the professor ended his reverie and dismissed class. Grumbling\ninternally that I didn't know what to do, I closed my laptop and slid it into\nmy backpack, making sure to be gentle with it. It'd take a good month to bring\nin enough money to buy a replacement. Shouldering the orange bag, I made my way\nout of the classroom, then out of the building. Next stop: home.                I had no\nsooner gotten to the intersection of Russell and St. George Streets than was my\nattention grabbed by a familiar voice calling out my name. Turning around, I\nsmiled when I saw a dhole hurrying over to me waving a piece of paper in her\nhand. \"Hey Angela, what's up?\" I called to her.                \"The\nstudy abroad office finalized my paperwork! I'm going to France this Spring!\"\nAngela squealed in delight, looking just barely able to contain herself from\njumping onto me.                \"That's\ngreat! Congrats!\" I offered with a genuine smile. We had met in a freshman\nanthropology class, which is when she'd told me that she dreamed of visiting\nParis at some point in her life. \"Excited?\"                \"What\ndo you think?\" Angela rebuffed with a playful roll of her eyes. \"What about\nyou? Aren't you going to study abroad?\"                \"I'm still\nthinking about it. I want to, but the anthropology offerings seem slim.\"                \"You\nshould stop by the study abroad office. They might be able to work out a\nspecial program for you like they did for me.\"                \"Worth\na try, I guess.\"                \"Never\nknow, eh?\" Angela said. Stealing a glance at her wrist watch, she offered me a\nsmile. \"I gotta run to class. Good luck!\" Without waiting for a response, the\ndhole quickly slipped around me and darted off to class, leaving me to figure\nout if I wanted to stop by the office now or later.                Screw\nit. What's an extra ten minutes?***                The\nCentre for International Experience was a small office located within\nCumberland House on the U of T campus. Lucky for me, it was on the way to the\nQueen's Park TTC station, so I didn't have to go out of my way. Pushing open\nthe wooden door, I was greeted with all sorts of educational travel posters, many\nof which reminded me of ones in the travel agency that I passed every day on\nRoncesvalles.  The posters advertised a\ndiverse set of opportunities, but there was one that caught my eye almost\nimmediately: a poster tucked away in the corner advertising a program at Waseda\nUniversity in Tokyo, Japan. Immediately, I was reminded of my lifelong\ncuriosity of Asian cultures and, more recently, experiences I'd had during\nvarious Japanese cultural celebrations throughout Toronto. I'd even taken some\nJapanese language classes through the Toronto Library. But while books and\nfestivals might give you a glimpse of another culture, nothing--and I mean nothing--replaces experiencing a culture\nfirst-hand. \"Excuse me,\" I said, walking up to the desk receptionist situated\noff to the side of the entrance. \"Can you tell me anything about the Japan\nprogram?\"                \"Sure!\"\nThe receptionist, a bubbly rabbit, replied excitedly, opening a drawer and digging\nout a folder. Holding it out to me, she began to explain while I began to go\nthrough the folder. \"The University of Toronto and Waseda University are trying\na pilot study abroad program. Basically, you'd spend the summer in Tokyo taking\nthree courses at Waseda. Other than that, you're pretty free to explore Japan.\"                \"That\nsounds awesome!\" I exclaimed excitedly, flipping quickly through the few sheets\nof paper until I found the program cost. Scanning the fees, I quickly added up\nthe numbers. Apparently my disappointment was visible when I realized that the\nprogram would cost about the same as a typical semester at U of T.                 \"Is\nsomething the matter?\"                \"Are\nthere any financial aid programs or scholarships to help defray the costs?\"                \"Of\ncourse! Since you'll be taking three courses, you'd qualify for U of T's\nfinancial aid program. And there's also a scholarship for students who\ndemonstrate a need and strong desire to take maximum advantage of an\nopportunity abroad.\"                \"Okay.\nAnd how would I go about applying to all that?\"                \"There\nshould be a yellow sheet in that folder with information on how to apply to the\nprogram and... I think a green sheet with the financial aid information.\"                Seeing\nthe sheets, I nodded, thanked the receptionist, and left with a spring in my\nstep. Another ten minutes and I was finally on College Street with a copy of a\nJapan travel guide from the university bookstore. The only thing running\nthrough my mind was that I was going to Japan this summer, one way or another.\nCutting through an unpaved path, I put in a pair of earbuds to listen to my\niPod. Turning up the volume, I descended the stairs into the Queen's Park TTC\nstation.[Music: \"Under the Gun\" by The Killers]Toronto is a nice city. With a little over\ntwo-point-five million people, it's the most populated city in Canada.  Guess that says a lot about our country, huh?\nOur biggest city can't hold a candle to New York or L.A. or those bigger cities\ndown in the States, but we kind of like it that way. And what we don't have in\npopulation, we certainly make up for in diversity.  In fact, that's the Toronto motto: \"Diversity\nOur Strength.\"  I can't think of many\nother cities where you can have lunch at an authentic Greek restaurant--and I\nmean fully authentic, like run by a small Greek family authentic--on the\nDanforth, a Portuguese snack downtown, and dinner at an authentic dim sum\nrestaurant in Chinatown? We also have really weird street names like Bloor and\nSpadina and Dundas. Let's see, what else... David Miller's our mayor, but\naccording to the elections, he's going to be replaced by Rob Ford in December.\nYep, that's all I got.Riding on the\nTTC can be an experience. The subway platforms have a lot of grey and odd muted\ncolors, which would make the train cars vibrant if there wasn't so much red.  You think I'm kidding. The outside of the\ntrain may look shiny and metal, but once you get inside, every goddamn thing is\nred. The seats are red, the doors are red, the plastic dividers are red, hell\nsome cars even have a red stripe down the aisles. Apparently the entire train\ncars used to be red back in the 60s. They should have kept it. Really, they\nshould have. I don't think it could get any redder than that.The car I was in\nwas something right out of Toronto.  I\nwas sitting near the door, next to two elderly Asian women talking quietly\namongst themselves. A few seats in front of me, past the centre doors, was\nan Indian couple and their two young, energetic children. Behind me were a few\nhigh school students of various ethnicities who had either cut school or been\nreleased early. Now that I think about it, my train car was rather empty. Then\nagain it was only 2:30 in the afternoon. \"Now arriving at\nDundas West. Dundas West Station,\" The rote female recording announced as the\ntrain began to slow down. Grabbing my backpack off of the seat next to me, I\nswung it onto my back and walked to the door, stepping through when the doors\nslid open. Emerging onto the surface, I looked down Dundas Street West towards\nwhere it turned into Roncesvalles Avenue. I could take the streetcar down Roncesvalles\nto get to my house on Garden Avenue, but given that it was sweater weather in\nthe middle of October, I opted to hoof it so that I could enjoy one of the last\nwarm days of Toronto Autumn. Pulling my backpack strap to keep the bag close to\nmy back, I began my trek, passing the retail shops, beauty salons, and\nrestaurants lining Roncy.[Music fades]                About\nfifteen minutes later, I was at the front door of a traditional Toronto two-story\nhouse sitting on the North side of Garden Avenue. My mother's garden was still\nvibrant with color in the front yard, the various flowers and vegetables\nripening for one last harvest before the winter cold froze everything over.\nPeering through the glass panes of the small window at the top of the front\ndoor, I saw a shadow moving about in the kitchen. My mother must have just\ngotten home from the diner where she worked as a waitress, which meant my\nfather was still at the garage, making sure everything was in order before\ncoming home for the night. See what I mean?\nNothing luxurious, just. Comfortable. This was the\nhouse where my father grew up and once his brother and sister went their own\nways--Uncle Mark to Vancouver, and Aunt Shelly to Edmonton--it was just my father\nand his aging parents. While most parents probably would want their kids out of\nthe house, Gramps and Gran were getting close to retirement by the time Dad got\nmarried, so we ultimately all ended up living together in the small three\nbedroom space. Sure it could be a bit cramped at times, but I had my own room\nand what we lacked in space, we made up for in love. To this day we all still\nlive together, except for Gramps, who died a few years ago.                You\nmay barf at the love bit if you want.                \"Mom?\nGran?\" I called out when I made it inside and closed the door behind me.                \"In the\nkitchen!\" I heard my grandmother's voice. Kicking off my shoes, I snuck down\nthe small hallway leading to the kitchen, a smile crossing my face when I\nsmelled the scent of cooking meat. Setting my backpack down on the kitchen\ntable, I took a seat across from where my grandmother, a gray-furred fox, was\nsipping from a mug of tea. My mother, meanwhile, was off to the side, her ears\ntwitching intermittently as she went about cooking dinner from scratch,\nmuttering a bit to herself as she measured things out in true Italian style\n(who needs measuring cups anyway?). \"So how was school, Cory?\" Gran asked.\nWelp, now's a good time as any. Unzipping my backpack, I reached in and pulled\nout the study abroad folder.                \"Great!\nI stopped by the Centre for International Experience today,\" I began, trying to\nmake the study abroad office sound as important as U of T did.                 \"Oh?\nWhat's that?\"                \"It's\nbasically a study abroad office.\"                \"So\nwhere do you want to study?\" My grandmother's curiosity was piqued, and my\nmother's likely as well, though she didn't slow down making dinner. She rarely\nworked the morning shifts at the diner, so when she got the chance, she went\nall out with whatever we had to cook.                 \"Japan.\"\nI said simply.                \"Japan?\"\nCame my mother's curious voice, the vixen setting down a mixing bowl, wiping\nher paws on her apron, and turning around. \"That sounds expensive, Cory...\"                \"I\nknow, I know,\" I borderline whined. The only reason I refrained from actually\nwhining was because I heard the caution in my mother's voice. I could tell she\nwanted to say yes, but her concerns about expense were valid. The money issue\nwas going to be hard for me, too. I had scanned the information on the train\nand it looked like an absolute last ditch could be to take out a student loan.                \"But\nyour father and I really wished you'd be able to do whatever you want with your\nlife, so I wouldn't rule it out. You're in charge of your education, remember?\"                \"Well,\nwith me out of the house in the summer, it's one less person you have to feed.\"                \"That's\ntrue. How much is it?\"                \"It\ncosts about a thousand more than a semester U of T, but it includes housing and\na meal plan. And there are need-based grants and a scholarship!\" I could feel\nmyself talking faster as I got more excited. Digging my laptop out of my\nbackpack, I powered it up and pulled up the Waseda University website, turning\nthe computer so my grandmother and mother could see it. \"This is where I'd\nstudy. Waseda University in Tokyo....\"                The\nconversation took about an hour, with Mom eventually migrating back to the\nkitchen to finish dinner. Both women were impressed with the program, blown\naway by the photos of Tokyo that I found, and agreed that the experience would\nbe invaluable. By the time my father arrived home, the three of us had come up\nwith the perfect pitch to try and sell the program to what we expected would be\nits harshest critic. Turns out, we didn't even need to go into half the detail\nI expected. My father approved based on the program description alone. Turns\nout that while my Dad is very money conscious, he's also quick to concede that\nif there's a way to affordably enroll in the program, I'd be insane to turn it\nup. I submitted my application that night. A month-and-a-half later I received\na decision, a financial aid package, and an alumni scholarship. The only thing\nthat wouldn't be covered would be my personal expenses.                Holy\nshit. I'm going to Tokyo."}