Why Teaching?- Part 3- Lancaster

"There are moments in life

when we need to trust blindly in intuition."

- Paulo Coelho in Zahir

The Lake District,
Lancashire, England

After being inspired by a great teacher- Professor Johnson, and being taught about myself through the teachings of Wordsworth and other writers, and seeing how powerful the influence of teachers could be, of course, the obvious career path for me to choose was to become a... well, ...an architect, right? An ARcHiTEcT, you ask? Yes, that's what I said. 

See, it was my third year of university when my thoughts started shifting because of all the new knowledge I was gaining from my English classes.  I was learning more about myself and what I wanted. But I was also starting to understand the importance of the balance between science and art.   I didn't want my science background to go to waste. There must have been some reason I spent so much time and effort on those courses, I thought. Yet, I also wanted to continue to pursue my new found love of literature. Moreoever, through studying the works of great writers, and forming an appreciation for their art, I started to realize how much I missed visual art.  In high school, I enjoyed painting and drawing but put it aside as soon as I started university. Now that I was "finding myself", so to speak, I wanted to bring back that artsy side of myself somehow.  So, I thought, what if I could choose a career which combined all of these interests so I wouldn't have to truly give up any of them? And architecture - with its focus on physics and math, but also on creativity, design, art and drawing- seemed to be a good fit.

I went to see a couple of successful local architects to find out how they ran their businesses, how they got to where they were.  And I officially switched faculties from science to arts, so I could have the leeway to start up some visual arts courses again and study art history.  Before I could even apply to get into an architecture program, I had to finish an undergraduate degree. So my bachelor of science became a bachelor of arts with a major in English Literature and a minor in Art History. I was really motivated to learn, and was so excited about the change I made. But the more I heard and read about the works of architects, painters and writers throughout the world, the more I wanted to step into that world, to see the monuments and paintings, and the countries in which they were created, in person.  I thought, how could I aspire to build spaces for people to live or work in if I hardly had a sense of what kinds of spaces and homes existed in the world? I barely even knew what kind of spaces and places appealed to me.

I was still living at home with my mom and brother, and though I had traveled a little in the U.S and Europe, they were short, family vacations. I wanted to go out and explore all that I hadn't seen yet, and learn more about myself and other people.  And so when I heard that UBC (the university I was attending) was offering a one year study abroad program to its students, I went straight to the registrar's office to find out more details. The part that made me the most nervous wasn't that I'd be going away to a whole other country on my own. That was exciting to me, and I felt that it really was time. 

I just didn't know how I would afford it.  I could barely pay for tuition in my own city, while living at home. Even just the parking alone at UBC was so costly.  It was hard enough with my brother and I having to take out loans every year to be able to attend university in Vancouver. How would I do it in another country? 

But the further I looked into it, the more I wanted it.  And I learned that one of the benefits of the study abroad program was that students who were accepted into it only had to pay the same local Canadian fees that we were paying in Vancouver. But, we would still be given the opportunity to attend an international school with other students from all over the globe.  Of course, there would be extra costs involved in just the travel alone. But I decided not to think about that part. Instead, I focused on just trying to get in.

In order to complete the application form in its entirety, I had to have an idea of which school or schools I wanted to attend. I didn't.  I mean, there were so many choices, so many different areas of the world.  I didn't even know where to begin.  But I felt this rush of freedom and happiness at the thought of just going, on my own, at all!  So, one afternoon, I went over to the education abroad center at UBC where a bunch of university catalogues were spread out on tables...

"In order to arrive you must follow the signs."

- Paulo Coelho in The Alchemist

I looked around the room. Somehow, I gravitated towards the group of books that were from UK schools.  At the time, I thought maybe it was because I had been to England when I was younger, or maybe it was because the idea of studying English Literature in England was appealing. But now I know it was so much more than that. 

I sat down, making myself comfortable, as I figured I would be there for awhile, reading, researching, and comparing schools, programs and locations.   Within a couple of minutes, I picked up this one university prospectus booklet.  I didn't look at the name of the university or where it was exactly. I just remember the cover was dark blue and I think it had a flag on it with smiling faces of students of different nationalities. As I flipped through it casually, the book kind of landed open on a page as if on its own.  And almost immediately, a line on that same page jumped out at me.  It read, "Lancaster University- near the home of William Wordsworth."

William Wordsworth

I didn't even have to think about it, though I'm sure the logical side of me was trying to convince myself to look through other books, and see what else was out there.  But something in me already knew that Lancaster was the place I needed to go. I hadn't even read anything yet about where it was or what kinds of programs it offered, or whether it was even suitable for my area of study. All I knew was that it was near the home of a writer whose works and ideas and philosophies had influenced me so much that I wanted to follow him, to where he had been and grown up.  And I think that's all I needed to know.

I spent a lot of time formulating a little piece about Wordsworth as part of my entrance letter to the program.  And I was so excited the moment I got accepted. I hadn't yet told anyone that I had even applied. I was a little afraid that though my mom would of course be proud of me, I'd also have to see the sadness and worry on her face as I told her I'd be far away from home for the first time, on my own, for a year.

So, I think my uncle was one of the first people I called up to tell him the good news. Amyn Uncle has always been so supportive and excited about my dreams, especially the ones that involve travel and art. And once again, his encouragement meant so much to me.  He told me he was happy for me, and that he loved me. And even just the enthusiasm in his voice made me smile and feel reassured that I had someone on my side.

Eventually, I started sharing the news with others.  But when they asked me why I chose that university, I kind of lied, though I would like to refer to it more as creative exaggeration. Haha!  But really, how could I say I was going to take off  for a year to a foreign place where I didn't know a soul, except for that of a dead romantic poet who had changed my life hundreds of years after his own?  I didn't think "I-saw-his-name-in-a-university-catologue,-and-took-it-as-a-sign-that-I-needed-to-be-there," would go over so well as a good reason for my choice with anyone in my circle of friends or family. I didn't even quite understand it myself, so how was I to explain it to someone else?  So. instead, I went on and on about how I had heard so much about the highly regarded professors at Lancaster, how it was a great university with excellent courses for me, and a beautiful campus.  The truth of the matter was that I still didn't really know much about it, and I had no idea what I would get out of going there. I just knew I needed to go.

Funny enough though, my little fabrications did actually become truths.  The English Literature and Art History courses offered at Lancaster University were some of the best I have ever taken.  Two of the most memorable ones that I took were Women Writers, and Italian Renaissance Art and Architecture.  I still have the notes from both of those classes, as they left a lasting impression on me.  And with the class sizes being considerably smaller than those at UBC, I was able to get such personable attention and feedback from each professor throughout the year. 

Lancaster, turned out to be much more beautiful than I 'lied' to everyone before I left.  The little northern England town, full of hills, and valleys, old buildings, and cobblestone roads, relaxed me, gave me a getaway where I could slow down and enjoy my surroundings.  The locals skirted around the little streets on bicycles- the kind with baskets in front of the handle bars. Everything was peaceful and simple.  I was far from the high rises, traffic and everyday stresses of living at home. And studying and education became a much more enjoyable thing for me.  The people in Lancaster knew how to strike up a healthy balance between work and play.  And even the teachers and atmosphere around the place was consistent with this balance. I felt like I was in another time period, in a place of old souls where the stories of the past were hidden in the walls and ceilings of the churches and hundred year old  buildings that surrounded me. But I could feel it. I could feel the energy of all the old, and it made me feel new in a way.  It gave me a much needed break from my usual life. And I tried to soak up as much of it as I could.

Every morning, when I got up, I didn't have to go and look for parking in a busy university lot or frantically try to make it to class on time.  Instead, I would open my fabric curtains and look out my window, to see the beautiful scene below: fresh green gardens and little cobblestone pathways leading to a rust colored church-like building across the way. This was the dining hall where students gathered together to eat.  I could walk out onto that greenery, and follow the pathways to my various classes, being greeted by people from all over the map.  And then we would spend the early part of the evening congregating in the old hall. 

Wordsworth's Dove Cottage
in the Lake District

There were other parts of Lancaster I wanted to explore, so, one day, when my cousin came to see me, together we finally ventured out to one of the most important places on my list- the Lake District - home of Wordsworth.  It was a cold and cloudy day, but we hopped on a train and made sure to reach Wordsworth's little cottage, which was set up for travelers to come and visit and walk through. Unfortunately, with the grey sky and rain, it was difficult to see the area clearly, and the inside of the cottage was not open for viewing. But we did catch a good glimpse of the outside of Wordsworth's humble home. Despite the weather, I still remember something so unique about the air:  it was refreshing and inspiring, tranquil but also alive.  It made me feel alive.  And I think that somehow, I carried that feeling with me long after I left.