"Whoa! Watch where you're going!" I jump back in shock, narrowly avoiding a collision with the high-speed cyclist flying along Escondido Road. I had just walked out confidently from my dorm, glanced right and stepped directly into this unlucky student's path. Maybe living in the United States wasn't going to be exactly the same as living in Australia after all.
I've spent the last 12 years of my life in Melbourne. Prior to that, our family lived in Paris for five years, and I was born in Wellington, New Zealand. My mom, a Bay Area local, met my dad, a "true" New Zealander, when they were both at graduate school at Stanford.
As a result of my mom's American citizenship, I have always been an American citizen (and a New Zealand and Australian citizen), but I had never lived here. My first experience of life as an American resident has been as a member of the class of 2018, living in my dorm—Cedro, in Wilbur. Despite the outward familiarity—same McDonald's, same Levi's and The Big Bang Theory—the reality is far different from what I might have anticipated.
Though they may seem relatively minor, the differences are everywhere: driving on the right, the imperial system, the obsession with (and big business of) college sports, vocabulary (what on earth is a "charley horse"?), the sheer number of people, the date order, the health-care system, the culture of tipping and the frightening fascination with guns, to name just a few.
However, the disparity runs both ways. I've yet to find an American who doesn't laugh and look confused when I refer to "woop woop" (meaning the boonies or the middle of nowhere) or smirk when I put on my "thongs," the Aussie term for flip-flops. My personal favorite, for sheer bewilderment amongst my American friends, is when I ask for "hundreds and thousands" on my ice cream (sprinkles, for the uninitiated).
I think we all have, and will always have, an affection for the place we consider home, no matter how long we spend away. For me, that place is Melbourne. I do miss many of the truly Australian traditions and habits. Having a steaming meat pie at the footy (Australian-rules football), or spending a day (or several) watching one cricket match. Another perennial favorite is the craziness of Melbourne's Moomba Festival, which takes place around Easter and features the preposterous Birdman competition.
Despite its being so far from much of what I know and am comfortable with, Stanford has become a second home for me, almost from the first day of fall quarter. Maybe Stanford was embedded in my genes; it was certainly carved in my family history, from the day my dad proposed to my mom on the Quad, in front of MemChu. Because of this, I suppose I have always entertained the notion of coming across the Pacific. But the reality of the decision was still tough because of the sheer distance.
So many things about Stanford—the clear cloudless days, in contrast to Melbourne's rainy moodiness, the view from the Dish over Silicon Valley, the deep friendships—make it seem nothing like a school. I mean this in the very best way, because for me "school" has been a place to leave as quickly as possible once you've scraped the learning from your teacher's words. I couldn't have lasted a month so far from Australia at a "school." But at Stanford I have found a community, made up of such a cross-cultural and tightly knit group of friends as to baffle even a foreigner like me. My Spanish classes, for example, require a conversation with a native Spanish speaker as part of the assessment. Coming from Australia, I had never known a Spanish speaker, but when I expressed concern about this, three of my closest friends jumped forward and revealed that they are native Spanish speakers.
Of course, I hope that Stanford is a place where I give as well as take, contributing my own understanding of home. I have already taught my friends some very useful Australian information, such as that midday means noon, not the vague midafternoon it is used for in the U.S. I also guarantee four years won't go by without a group-watching session of Australian football or a campfire, over which we'll cook our best bush tucker (outdoorsy food). I also hope to have enlightened my dormmates regarding the geography of Australia and New Zealand. Actual statements I've heard from them have included "Australia doesn't really have states, right?" "Australia must be pretty small, because it's an island," and "New Zealand is in northern Europe—why would you move from New Zealand to Australia?"
By no means is this a criticism of Americans; I could never have imagined such a welcoming community. Having said that, one of my closest friends here summarized my Stanford experience beautifully with a shirt he gave me for Christmas. The shirt reads "Stanford Cricket" and has a picture of a large cricket (the insect) on it. The shirt represents for me what an Australian feels like coming here. Maybe people won't understand what I'm talking about all the time. But in the end, we'll find a way to understand each other, relate to our differences and find our place together.
Aussie Terms:
1. Lollies = Candy
2. Chockers = Very Full
3. Esky = Ice Cooler
4. Swag = Type of Tent
5. Arvo = Afternoon
6. Ute = Pickup Truck
7. Ta = Thank You
8. Barbie = Barbecue
9. Rubbish = Trash
Aidan Biggar, '18, is majoring in whichever way the wind blows (undecided) and plans to spend the summer (Australian winter) in Melbourne, working, surfing, and reacquainting with his dog and chickens.
