Chapter 47: Classes at Oxford

Chapter 47:Classes at Oxford

The first two months we were taught by a professor from PLU—Dr. Strum—who was delightful and knowledgeable and excited about his subject. He taught English philosophy and literature. He would arrive each day on a little foldable bike he brought from home. We began with some basic philosophy to lay a quick foundation of different philosophical methodologies.  Our first book was Virginia Woolf’s “A Room of One’s Own.” For each reading a different student wrote an essay, developing both their own question regarding the reading, and then writing the essay based on said question. The following day we would use that essay as a jumping off point for the discussion. When professor Strum returned our essays, they were littered with comments and insights and little pearls of wisdom. After getting the essay back, we were allowed to rewrite for the final grade and product. Allowing and incentivizing us to rewrite turned out to be an incredible teaching tool. This method of essay writing and editing was supposed to partially emulate the tutorships we would later have with Oxford professors, in which each week we wrote an essay, and the “class” would essentially be an hour+ meeting with this professor to discuss the essay. Sometimes, if the day were nice, we would walk around outside for the class with Dr. Strum. When it was my turn to write an essay, the reading was David Hume (Father of empiricism) and I made the awful decision to use him to write about the origin of consciousness (it did not go very well, but somehow Dr. Strum made something cohesive and comprehensible out of my attempt). By the time of discussion I believe I had gotten something meaningful out of my time with Hume.  

The last book we read during classes with Dr. Strum was a Henry James novel called “Princess Casamassima,” which we all referred to as “Princess Cassamassamassimassima” (and so on), in which the main character struggles with joining a revolt against the upper class while at the same time realizing that much of high art could not exist without the different classes. Ultimately the book asks the question, “is it worthwhile to abolish upper classes for equality if it means destroying or stopping production of art and high-society?” We never had an objective answer. No solid answers. It was something I liked about Strum’s classes.

On the last day of class, Dr. Strum prepared a walking tour of London, where we would visit all the spots found in the Henry James novel. We split into teams and each team got vague directions that referred to moments in the book to find each spot. I was teamed up with Rainy (who seemed to remember the book much better than I). It was a fun puzzle or scavenger hunt. We walked through many older and poorer, and now industrialized parts of London and learned from our guide (Strum had written a blurb to be read as we reached each location) how the London Fog and pollution and gentrification affected the areas for years. We did observe a piece or two of high society such as the ballet house. We all met at the same area for the end of the hunt for a quick debrief with Dr. Strum, and then go to High Tea (basically a fancy afternoon tea with various baked small bites and sandwiches). High Tea was delightful but bittersweet as it marked the end of our time with Dr. Strum—one of the most delightful professors any of us had ever encountered.

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That following weekend was a long run with the cross-country club. The standard run was about 16 miles and meandered through the rolling hills and various farms outlying Oxford. Apparently, there was an agreement with local farmers that it was OK to run through their properties so long as you closed the gates after passing through. It was a beautiful but muddy and difficult run with several hills—more difficult than the long runs I would do back at PLU (which were relatively flat and paved). Around mile 13 a group of runners announced that they were going the marathon route and that anyone was welcome to follow. As much as I wanted to go on the route, I was already tired and wasn’t sure if I could even make it to 20 miles. I wasn’t used to running in the mud. It was good practice, and the English countryside was beautiful, but I nevertheless opted for the shorter route.

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We next start our classes with Greg. He too would try to replicate the tutor experience and so every week we received a reading list and an essay topic. He also announced that he would have “casual” office hours in a local pub where we could talk one-on-one. The classes started out disastrous. They were disorganized and unfocused, and Greg would frequently move the discussion toward pornography or other unrelated taboo subjects with often no relation to the philosophical text. Allegedly the following study away class would ban Greg from the classes, and they ended up teaching themselves. His comments on our essays seemed unenlightened, nitpicky, and largely unjustified. By the first few weeks we realized at a group that he chose grades at random based on how much he liked the student. I remember going to one of his office hours to discuss an essay with a worse grade, in which he told me that he took off points because it didn’t feel “internally consistent,” (my paraphrase) mostly because of sections where he circled words that he didn’t understand and that “needed to be defined better.” Overall, he was a petty, vengeful man who often walked around the streets puffing on cigar and drinking whiskey with the air of someone who was searching for attention. That all being said he did do one good thing. Greg arranged for Henry Shue to come into a class. Professor Shue is a Human Rights philosopher. We read some work written by Shue and then had the opportunity to discuss fundamental human rights (which he defined as the rights needed to enjoy all other human rights). The only solution seemed to be that one needed to accept the deprivation of some others’ rights to protect those of others. Because the criminal, through their actions, would deprive others of their fundamental rights. It felt like a utilitarian argument, which I generally avoided and thought ethically bankrupt. It still seemed that we could protect other citizens rights without completely depriving a criminal of theirs. For instance, while restricting movement could be continued easily while continuing to allow free communication with the outside world, access to education materials, and freedom from consensual manual labor. It’s a difficult question.

A couple weeks in Laura and Ariel would join a local Choir and invited me to join as well. Which I did. The language to discuss music in Britain was different from the US. A “minim” was a half note, “Crochet” a quarter note, and “quaver” an eighth note with the following being semiquaver and demisemiquaver and so on. Fun to say, but more difficult to understand than the American lexicon.  

We continue classes with Greg. I wonder if I’ve learned anything; I’m drawing blanks. I’m annoyed with the lack of any real education during this time, especially being at Oxford. I begin to study Japanese every day in the mornings and sometimes afternoons and evenings. I ignore nearly all the class material and bullshit my way through the essays. Somehow my grades on papers get better with this. But at least I finally feel like I’m learning something. It does become a bit of an obsession, as I am wont to do. I start spending less time with the rest of the study away group and more time at a Bubble Tea shop called “Formosan” studying Japanese. The people who work there are Japanese. After several weeks to months, one of the employees is leaving and they invite me to a hotpot going away party. Everyone there speaks Japanese. I am excited to be invited because it feels like great practice.

Back home, Marc brings up a concern that maybe I’m getting too disconnected from the group and really haven’t joined in any of the social outings. Micah echoes this as well. Knowing my propensity for isolation, I figure they are both right.

We decide to have a “Guy’s Night” the following evening at a lovely pub. Inside and in a dark corner there are three seats around a small table next to the Hearth. It’s winter, but cozy and warm next to the fire. It becomes one of our favorite cozy pubs. We get our beers and get to talking. Marc talks to us about his relationship with his dad and his motivations and inspirations to enter medicine, as well as what it’s like to have a family divided between the US and France. And Micah talked to us about his relationship at the time with a girlfriend. He was torn about having her visit because there were many elements of the relationship that he felt were bringing out a worse side of himself. Luckily, he would later find someone (Kelsey) who brings out the best of him and is delightful. She brightens our days when we visit, and endlessly uplifts and supports our great friend. I will put the wedding speech I wrote for them in an appendix at the end.

Like most friends (especially those who are guys) they began to ask me about my dating history. They were mostly curious if the person I had earlier met in Choir, Yuki, was a romantic interest. No but she would become a tremendous friend and we would help each other frequently in our language studies. Then they asked about my past. In high school I dated someone who was 19—I was 16 at the time. Like any male in high school, I was just excited to have joined the “has a girlfriend” club. If that wasn’t enough of a red flag, early on she started refusing to see her friends because she wanted to spend all her time with me. Then she told me not to see my other friends and chastised me if I did. Once I realized the danger signs, I moved to end the relationship; however, she repeated over and over that she would kill herself if I ever left. I didn’t know what to do, I felt traumatized and trapped and responsible for the life of this person who I didn’t want to see and who had hurt me socially and emotionally over the past few months (there was of course a “grace period” of a few months before things got bad). While some abusive partners use physical force to trap others, this was more like emotional violence. One day, while we were in the middle of Seattle, I just walked away and said I couldn’t do it anymore. She knew for at least a month before that I wanted to leave. I thought it best to do in a public space where help was more available and not near her home where she might go back in alone and follow through. It terrified me and for days to weeks afterwards I would check in with her online presence, worried that maybe I had really killed her.

I told Marc and Micah how that experience had made it incredibly difficult to build up the trust to start a relationship from then on—something which followed me through at least medical school. They appreciated my honesty. Marc assured me that now I had great friends like him and Micah, and they would never let something like that happen again, and that if I started dating and it looked in anyway bad, they would tell me up front and advise me not to continue. I appreciated that night. I felt as though I had gained a safety net. Later, Marc and I would become med school applicant buddies. Giving each other tips on topics and essays and interview questions, etc. Being one year ahead, I would go to med school first and then him right afterwards. I was so happy and proud after learning Marc got into medical school. He’s smart and cares about people and will do a fantastic job.

Through the choir I was able to meet Yuki, a Japanese exchange student there for English study. Yuki would later help me tremendously in my language studies after I decided to go to Japan for spring break.  Yuki would become a phenomenal friend, who I would see a couple times over a few trips to Japan. She has an amazing way of thinking about language and the way it affects understanding and communication of self, as well as choices and preferences. Yuki would frequently talk about Japanese Yuki versus English Yuki, and the things she preferred or would feel comfortable with when using each language. She told me that English felt more open and that she was able to express her feelings mor easily in English, and that she generally felt like a more open person in English. As I learned Japanese, I would find that my “Japanese personality.” When I was in public and using Japanese, I approached people more often and freely, like the employees at the bubble tea shop I frequented to study, called Formosan. I would even get invited to one of the employee’s going away parties. All this to say that in Japanese I became more outgoing, open to new ideas and activities, and much less afraid of failure. It felt as though I gained another mind. When I came to difficult decisions or social topics, I found that I could think through it as two people by writing in English, and then Japanese, which made it much easier to make what felt like a good decision. It was like a superpower—incredible, but I wonder if this would have been the case if I learned early on. I think it has something to do with learning late after many of my implicit biases were established. By request one Friday night I brought Yuki as a guest to one of the Formal Dinners. Of course, the other members of the study away group thought this was much more than it was, but Yuki had come to learn and experience English, and with it’s “high table” and promenade, was a characteristically English dinning experience she would otherwise never see.

Perhaps my language study was infectious in the house as Micah began trying to learn French. He had the help of Marc and Ariel and went to the language center for additional lessons. Micah already speaks fluent Spanish, which I believed helped him learn French rapidly.

During this time, I continued to play for the Baptist church every week. It felt great to contribute to something and feel like an asset in the community; like I belonged for more reasons than being a student. Cross country practice continued. The weather got wetter and wetter. While I was improving with this group, I could never quite catch up to the skill level of many of the other oxford runners. We transitioned many practices to intervals and tempo runs about 2 months before the Hyde Park relays to prepare. Near the end of training, we had a 5K race to determine teams. I was placed in the third team with many of the people I had run with during earlier practices. Micah and Marc also continued to play Soccer with Peter and Jack and some others. They invited me to play once, and I went. It was fun but the quick turns split both of my running shoes in half and so I went to buy some more.

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A couple days later we have group diner scheduled at the other house. Laura, Molly, Mollie, and Audrey greeted us excitedly and told us about a game they concocted. The “Pub Run”: Pick a teammate and drink at all the pubs and be the first back to the Victoria pub near our houses. They then showed us a list of the pub requirements. Rather than names, it was a list of qualities: fireplace inside, body part in the name, on the other side of the canal, etc. I teamed up with Laura (a sure win; if I know anyone who hates losing, it’s Laura) Laura and I were previously banned from teaming up with in board games because of how vicious and competitive we both became. The others were rightfully frightened. Laura and I spend the evening scouring a map and creating and memorizing a short but complex route between pubs that met all the requirements. I feel confident. At the “GO!” we sprint off, but disaster strikes. I accidently trip Laura on the sidewalk. Desperate to win I turn around and start repeating “You’re OK,” as I try to pull her up from the sidewalk. We start running along our route and quickly move to half-pints at later pubs to avoid being too drunk. The final pub to visit is the Victoria, near our houses, and Laura and I are delighted to be the first one’s there. We were winners, just like always. We get a victory picture and slowly the others trickle in. Even though I did not have a tremendous amount of beer, somehow the combination with running has made me very drunk—perfect for photos. This pub run was one of the most fun experiences at Oxford.

              Near the end of classes with Greg I decide to go on a run before a group meeting for an essay. Along the run I get lost after passing beautiful fields of yellow flowers. It begins to rain, and I start running aimlessly in what I think is the correct cardinal direction. I have no phone with me and no way to contact people at the house and tell them I’ll be late. Eventually I pass a pub with several cars outside and a large garden area. I walk in and quickly realize that this is a wedding, but that does not stop me from asking everyone I see if they know how to get back to my home area. I get some brief, vague directions and go back out and start running again in the rain. Eventually I find my way back. I was dreadfully wet and cold and so happy to have returned. Unsurprisingly when I got inside my group members were at the table and annoyed. All I could tell them was that I got lost.

              We thankfully finish classes with Greg, relieved that we will see him minimally thereon. Between the end of classes and starting tutorials Regent’s Park put on its fancy dance, which required a ticket. Eventually we all get tickets. At the bar is a drink entitled the “Mind Eraser.” I would say it’s aptly named. I remember finding friends barfing in the bathroom, Micah talking to someone in Spanish while they responded in Portuguese. Micah would later tell us that Portuguese sounded like drunk Spanish…. I’m sure it was the language difference and not the mind erasers. I also remember looking for the Turtle outside, and then coming back in for the last few songs. I would not recommend drinking a Mind Eraser.

              Our American group also felt a by getting the whole college accomplished by getting our British friends to watch American Football. They quickly became Seahawks fans and came eagerly to watch the Super Bowl while we brought beers and chips and guacamole. We were proud of our British friends as they yelled loudly at the TV throughout the game and blamed the refs for bad calls—they were becoming like true Americans. Apparently after we left Oxford, Jack and Peter would start a football watching club and many of them continued to watch the Seahawks after we left.