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(Note to Readers: If you haven't read parts 1 and 2 yet, go and do so... or you might not understand what's going on here.)

Over the semester, I tried to get rid of this irrational fear of "Vamp", my philosophy teacher, by spending as much time with him as possible. The first step was sitting all the way in the front row at class, in the seat directly in front of him.

My attempts to de-sensitize myself went as follows:

August 7, 2006

I sat in my chair, watching him read his notes and fiddle with his pen. Since he was hunched over his papers, I couldn't see much of his face-- mostly just the top of his head. He had a packet of tissues in front of him, so I guessed he might have had a cold.

I told myself, "He's not scary. He's TOTALLY not scary. He's just an ordinary guy. A skinny, smart guy. Look at him-- he's not doing anything scary. He's just reading his notes. And he's got a cold. Poor teacher's got a cold. How could someone with a cold be scary?"

Time seemed to slow down to a crawl. He kept his eyes fixed on his notes, not glancing up at us or saying anything.

Then at the precise moment the clock struck 11:00, right on the exact second, he picked up the attendance notebook (the notebook that we students had to sign, to prove that we attended the class) and threw it. It landed on the table right in front of me.

"Write your name and pass it on," he said.

It all happened so fast, as if he'd just thrown a weapon. I did as he said, startled and shaken.

"He's not scary," I told myself. "He's not. He's not. He's not. ....... Oh, bloody heck, he IS."

August 14, 2006

I was feeling brave today. I tried to be my wise-alecky, sarcastic self in class. We read in our course material that Sir Thomas Beckett was assassinated by four knights serving under King Henry II. I said, "Why did it take FOUR knights to kill ONE unarmed priest?"

The class laughed. Vamp responded with a wise-alecky remark of his own: "To make sure that he was dead!" He smiled-- teeth bared, eyes glowing with cold fire.

We all laughed, but at the same time, I flinched and turned away. That smile was unbearable.

After class, I tried to regain my courage. I tagged along behind Vamp like a baby duck following its mother. Everyone else went in the other direction, so I wound up alone in an elevator with him. I asked him a couple of questions about the things we discussed in class. He answered them, and he was friendly and cheerful. He seemed different from the serious, stern man that I'd just been listening to in the classroom.

We said goodbye and went our separate ways. I thought, "He's okay. A bit jumpy sometimes, but I just have to get used to it."

August 21-22, 2006

crying "Why does Vamp keep forgetting my name?" I asked myself today. ... Actually, I noticed that he'd regularly forget EVERYONE'S name in class. We were just a small group, but every time he addressed one of us, he would say "Sorry, excuse me... what was your name again?"

Nothing memorable happened in philosophy class. But in art history class the next day, we had an interesting discussion.

We were studying the works of this American couple, who took photographs of old water towers. Most of us in the class didn't like these photos... we found them rather lifeless and dull. But our teacher seemed to like them. He said they had a nostalgic charm.

He then showed us the works of this other artist, who took pictures of plants. These were just ordinary garden plants, not the exotic ones you'd find in a jungle or rainforest. But we in the class loved these photos. We thought they were really pretty, just as our teacher thought the water tower photos were pretty.

I wondered: Could it be that the difference in our ages was influencing our perceptions of beauty? My classmates and I, who were all teenagers and young adults, preferred the plant photos; but our teacher, who was older than us, liked the old, crumbling water towers. Was there an inborn, biological reason for this? Or was it just a coincidence?

When I was a kid, if I had to ask a deep question like this, I'd immediately go to my favorite uncle (Dad's younger brother). He was extremely intelligent, a child prodigy who skipped two grades of school and grew up to be a walking encyclopedia, dictionary and thesaurus rolled into one. There was hardly a question he couldn't answer. The problem was, he was now living in the U.S., which was all the way on the other side of the world from me. Due to the time difference between Australia and the U.S., I rarely, if ever, managed to chat with him on instant messaging. I could have e-mailed him, but I preferred a good old-fashioned face-to-face discussion.

I decided to ask the nearest available brainy person: Vamp. He'd given his e-mail address to the class at the beginning of the semester, so I made a mental note to e-mail my question sometime, and set aside a time to chat.

August 28-29, 2006

Vamp still didn't remember people's names in class. I wondered if he was ever going to call any of us by name, instead of "Excuse me, you over there". But then, it was understandable because he taught a lot of other classes, not just us. I suppose it would have been hard to keep track of names when he had that many students.

Later that day, I e-mailed my question about age and perceptions of beauty. The next day, he replied, saying that there was no clear answer to my question. There were innate and environmental factors that influenced people's preferences, but it was hard to definitely tell whether someone was influenced by one or the other. He ended by saying that if I had any other questions, I could see him in his office.

I didn't feel like going up to see him, so I decided to do a bit of research and find the answers for myself.

September 4, 2006

I didn't sit in the front row today. We had a test; I was a bit nervous, and sitting with my friends in the middle row helped me feel a little better. (Nobody else ever wanted to sit in front. Every week, I would be the only person sitting there.)

The test took up all of the class time, so we didn't get any lectures or discussions from Vamp. During the week, I decided to check out the library, to see if it had any articles written by him. I thought they might help me to understand some of the deeper philosophical things that he brought up in class.

With a library computer, I managed to download two of his papers that were published in a well-known scientific journal. I noticed that one paper was co-authored with two other people, and one of them had the same last name as him. A relative, perhaps? Or just a colleague who coincidentally shared his last name? Either way, the important thing was the paper. It was difficult for me to understand, since my main area of study was art and not philosophy or cognitive science. But I found it really interesting.

September 11, 2006

Earlier in the semester, Vamp gave us a handout that he'd typed up. It was a guide on how to give a good analysis of a paper/article, and also had some tips on how to write a paper/article. It wasn't part of the course material; it was something he did himself, purely to help us.

I remembered that not one of us had thanked him for this kind gesture, so after class, I tailed him again like a baby duck and stammered a shy "thank you". He seemed to look confused, then he shrugged and said "It's no problem." I said goodbye and ran off to catch the bus.

September 14, 2006

I was excited. I'd found an internet article of a scientific study, which showed a possible link between people's ages and their preference of landscapes. I was still keen on finding out whether this preference for green, organic forms was mostly limited to young adults and teenagers, like myself and my classmates. So this article seemed to provide my answer.

According to the article, sometime in the 1980's, scientists in Vienna interviewed people of different age groups and asked what kind of landscape they would like to live in. The age groups were 8 years old, 11 years old, 15, 18, 35 and 70-and-over. From the interviews, the scientists learned that most people in the younger age groups preferred landscapes with mostly grass and plants. In contrast, people in the older age groups (post-puberty to older adult) had a higher preference for landscapes with mountains, tall trees or tall structures. So the scientists made this guess: Since early humans evolved in a grassy landscape, all young humans' aesthetic preferences lean more towards plant-like forms. But as they get older, and have more experience in the world that they live in, their preference shifts away from grasslands and towards mountains or other landscapes with tall structures.

I couldn't wait to discuss this with Vamp-- it would certainly make a lively conversation topic. And I knew that if I talked with him regularly enough, I'd stop being nervous around him. So I made my way to his office.

As I walked down the hall, I felt myself slowly being paralyzed with uneasiness. I repeatedly tried to convince myself not to be afraid, but it didn't work. One step away from his door, I literally froze. My blood ran cold and my feet refused to move any farther. Thoughts flashed in my head: "What if he's busy and tells me not to bother him? What if he gets snippy? What if he doesn't want to talk, because he's a philosophy teacher and I'm an art student? What if... what if... what if... ?"

I could hear classical music coming from inside his office. There was another person in there, and Vamp was telling him, "Oh! This is the most beautiful music I've ever listened to!" He sounded ecstatic, and when I peeked at him from around the wall, he certainly looked like it too.

I remained standing there for a full five minutes... maybe even more... before I finally summoned up the courage to stick my head around the open doorway and say "Hi!"

He looked startled. He replied "Hi," and I found myself suddenly unable to speak. I was in his domain now, and I felt like an invader, a trespasser, a stranger.

"Do you... remember a question I asked you a few weeks ago? About age and aesthetics?" I finally managed to say.

"Yes, I think I remember that e-mail," he said. "Come in."

I froze yet again. I couldn't bring myself to step through the doorway. Part of me wanted to, but the rest of me wouldn't obey, and I stayed rooted to the spot. I tried to tell him about the article I'd found, but before I could get another word in, he started giving a mini-lecture about how people's preferences were shaped by a combination of their environment, upbringing and genetics.

"You cannot say that a person's preferences are dependent only on genetics. For example, I have a brother-- a twin brother-- but I like this classical music more than he does," he said at one point.

"A twin brother?" My ears perked up. "Is that the person who wrote a paper with you? One of your papers was co-authored with someone with the same last name as you."

"Yes... yes, that is him."

Two thoughts immediately flashed through my head: "Wow, he's got a twin! Cool!" and "WHAT?! HOLY FRACK, THERE'S TWO OF HIM?!?"

I couldn't concentrate on the rest of the lecture, because I was getting all kinds of crazy thoughts about this twin, this Vamp-copy. Did he look like Vamp? Did he have the same creepy, tooth-bearing smile and unpredictable, jumpy manner? Did the twins live together and spend their days writing papers? I'd always been fascinated by twins-- I wanted to ask him about his brother, but I didn't have the heart to interrupt him. I was spellbound. And fascinated. Here I was, peeking around the corner of his door, and here he was, relaxing in his office, and he was giving a lecture as confidently and articulately as if he was standing in the classroom. Again, there was that blaze of fervor in his eyes, as if he was almost arguing. But by then, I was too absorbed to let it scare me.

He suddenly glanced at his watch. "We have to go," he told the man seated at the desk next to him. "We have to watch a presentation." So we bid each other goodbye, and I made my way out of the building, to catch a bus to the train station.

I left in a daze, still entranced by Vamp's charisma and bold, confident manner. A twinge of nostalgia pricked at my heart, and I suddenly realized what was happening. I wasn't just idolizing Vamp; I was latching on to him as a substitute for my dear uncle, now thousands of miles away, of whom I used to ask endless questions and listen in awe as he spun lectures on the spot. How I missed that uncle of mine. I told myself to be careful, to avoid getting too attached to Vamp. He was a respected, highly intelligent man, and certainly very busy. I had no business bothering him with my questions. But I didn't care. Listening to this guy was becoming addictive, like a drug. I started scheming to make more questions to ask him.

"I'll be back next week," I said to myself.

-end of part 3-