Tokyo’s Muslim

After leaving Concordia and joining the McGill biology department, I was in a pinch. I didn’t know anyone, and had no time to meet anyone. After all, I had 66 credits to do in 2 years – not tough per se, but a task nonetheless. (On average, most people do 60 credits in 2 years). This time falls into somewhat of a “black hole” in my life. Few friendships were cultivated, nor was there much fun to be had.

My first year was horrid. I took 9 classes in the first two semesters, including a God-awful chemistry class that I later found out I did not have to take. I also took a basic Computer Science class which thaught me the basics of Java and computer science as a whole – a class whose knowledge I carry and use to this very day. The rest of my classes were the regular basic Biology classes, as I had to get 45 credits in Biology just to get out. That meant, in order to graduate, I would have to take 12 credits a term. (12 * 4 = 46. ). In my first year, I had to study Molecular Biology, Methodology in Biology of Organisms, Introduction to Ecology, Neurobiology & Behaviour, Cell and Molecular Laboratory, Developmental Biology, and Human Genetics Applied. I was an average student, only beating the average in my Computer science class.

It is a humbling realization, but despite my efforts, I couldn’t concentrate. I studied, but I would have preferred to mess around on the Internet. As a result of my parent’s insistance, I studied – only to lose out on the opportunity of a lifetime which took place during that era. The Dot Com boom was upon us, and I could have been a part of it. Instead, I was busy studying the intricacies of how different proteins interacted with each other, and how certain genetic material could produce certain proteins. In retrospect, I wasted my life – I should not have been in school at a time when so much opportunity was at my fingertips.

There were some classes which fundmentally altered my preceptions of reality. Neurobiology was an excellent course with 3 excellent professors. Professor Lefebvre, in particular, was a great man. A Jewish friend of mine once remarked that the professor once injected himself with a drug we normally used to immobilize animals, prior to studying them. He apparently was in incredible amounts of pain – and as a result, stopped using the drug. I regret that I could not have lived up to his expectations in me. Professor Nishioka was another great professor I had at the time, for Genetics. Developmental Biology was a horror of a course, in which I was the best student – except when exams came. I don’t know what went wrong. Even my TA was baffled. I suppose I just do not have the rote memorization skills needed for a course like that.

Still, if one good thing came out of that, it was that I made one good friend, who I will consider a friend until I die – my TA for the course, Milt. When McGill life was dragging me to depression, which it was apt to do, I could always go and talk to him about it. He was an American Orthodox, I was a Canadian Muslim – but we got along pretty well. (Not everyone was ethnically integrated so easily – for example, there was an Indian Hindu TA who was out to get me, but I don’t remember her name. Always a hassle when I had to work with her, one I didn’t have when working with Canadian born Indians). Milt and I shared a love of Pro Wrestling, and he would always chat to me about the latest stuff he had heard on lordsofpain.com. He even went with me to an Indy wrestling show when I was otherwise underemployed. Both of us shared somewhat of a, erm, mixed feeling towards our McGill fellows. Maybe it was the fact that we had both attended other Universities before, but he seemed to share my feeling that McGill was filled with cold, arrogant people. Come to think of it, it was filled with cold, arrogant people.

Between my occassional lab partner, Victoria, Phil Sanderson, an orthodox Jew, and a Serbian fellow whose name escapes me, I was literally a nobody at school. Just passing my time, waiting to die. After all, I didn’t drink and I couldn’t join in any parties that were organized. (“Don’t drink then,” some jackass is sure to say. Without alcohol, trust me when I say University parties are zero fun.) I didn’t want to be “initiated” into a fraternity. (Probably a good idea – McGill Hazing is a big story in the newspaper).

So I escaped, narrowly, into summer vacation. Depressed by all the academic problems I had (average performance = a problem to me), I should have taken it easy – but instead I wound up taking a 9 credit Japanese course. That, however, is a story for another day.