#or look at uni websites in foreign countries without applying to them

[girl-bateman]

Exchange semester in the Netherlands???? Hello ???? Fall of 2024 ???? I got accepted ???

[beautifullychaoticworld-blog]

Hello, I’d like to know how you got into marketing and PR, etc. What do universities look for and what do employers look for as well in someone looking to pursue that kind of degree? I’ve been looking into it for a while now but I’m not sure if I’d enjoy it or if I have the skill set to make it work. I’ve also heard things from others about how getting into business is all connections and hustle, etc. Asking someone experienced would really help me out :)

That is quite an interesting question, thanks!

Well, when I was finishing high school where I had more classes in foreign languages, literature and history mainly I thought I wanted to do journalism and I knew that I didn't want to study English Philology, however I heard it's a dying profession so then I looked into Media and Communications courses, but then learned that there aren't a lot of jobs for people doing just Media... and then I found this PR and Media course in Scotland which caught my interest (at the time studying there as an EU student was free so I could afford to go, just had living and travel expenses to pay, you could also work part time if you need to). I knew early on that I wanted to study abroad since I was learning languages at school and was good at it, also my parents were supportive of this. I was looking for a degree that didn't include any Maths since I am very bad at it but good at languages and writing... Also I am more on the creative artsy side.

The university I went to was Queen Margaret University in Edinburgh and I have heard that they are very good for PR courses and give you a short placement by the end of the course which later will make you more employable by the time you finish uni. I didn't particularly study any marketing modules at my bachelor's degree, but since PR and marketing are close to each other, I could easily get into marketing jobs too (btw the uni I went to had a course called "PR and Marketing" and I had classes with them but their degree focused more on the business and events management side of things whereas my degree with media was more creative and we could study more Film and TV modules, video production, web design and photography so sometimes I get asked to do promotional photography or videos at companies)... If I go back to do a masters someday I would definitely look into Marketing courses to be honest because it sounds interesting but I can already get into marketing jobs without having studied it mainly. At work you read a lot about marketing, what strategies to use and that way you learn from your job too...

The difference is that PR focuses on improving and maintaining the good image and reputation of the company and raising awareness of a social cause, whereas marketing is more about promoting and advertising a product and selling it, however some of the duties you would do at a marketing job are similar to what you would do at a PR job.

In terms of applying, I had to send by Ucas all of the documents that they were looking for. For example, since I'm not coming from an English speaking country I had to do a TOEFL exam, write a personal statement, a letter of recommendation from a teacher/lecturer, diploma with good grades, etc. However in order to get into a UK (or any other EU) university I also went to an educational consultant that gave me more information about the UK universities, what they were looking for in my application documents and helped to make the application process go more smoothly and surely (he also helped me secure a room in the student accommodation).

Employers are looking for experience so I did volunteering at charities in which I could plan and organize a fundraising event, write a press release and send it to the local media. The projects you do at uni are practical and would be similar to a project you could do at work so they help to develop your skills in PR and Marketing (writing articles, managing a website, making promo videos, social media management, making a PR/marketing campaign, writing a strategy plan, etc). I would suggest to look for courses that include a placement to help get the experience you need (where you will learn about email marketing, making a newsletter, digital and content writing, SEO, Google Analytics, etc).

In the beginning of the course I didn't feel like I had the skills and personality for a PR person either, didn't like studying it and I was more into the Media part of the course (didn't enjoy studying theories and writing difficult campaign project plans for client organisations haha). I thought PR was going to be one thing before I started studying it, then it turned out to be another. I even switched courses shortly but decided to finish it in the end because the academic years were passing fast and it was too late for me to start over. I also thought I'd have more secure career opportunities with this kind of degree since every company needs a PR person and it's a real job. I don't regret it because during and after uni I got some really nice office jobs that I enjoyed in marketing, advertising, as an editor, office clerk, etc. After getting work experience in the fields I knew that I liked working in marketing instead of PR haha (but it happened near the end of my studies). It also seems like there are more jobs for marketing so I needed to make this shift and transition from PR to marketing anyway...

Yes, I would say that having connections helps a bit when you are starting out but when you go to uni or start working you meet people, make friends and will build connections eventually. There are also times when they employed me because of my skills and experience or because I didn't have a lot of competition for the same job. You just need to answer the interview questions right and write a very good CV and cover letter. I believe that since I have a degree it makes it easier for me to get jobs in these fields.

[followingliz]

Our Apartment Search Pt.1

Priority number one when moving to a new country:  Find. An. Apartment.  Before any bureaucracy can be undertaken before you can fully unpack. So we set about it right away. 

There are several websites you can use to find an apartment in Italy:

idealista.it

immobiliare.it

affitti.it

mioaffitto.it

casa.it

subito.it

and about 8 more....

We used all of them.

Starting the search early is key but not so early that you're not in the country to see the apartment if you get a reply. We started about a week before we left- we didn't get any replies.

Having searched for a room in San Fransico I wasn't too deterred. Like applying for a job, these things take time- you'll send out a hundred applications and maybe only hear back from one person.

We optimistically only gave ourselves two weeks at our Airbnb to find a place... a rookie mistake. Our Airbnb had originally offered to give us a longer contract but accepting a place sight-unseen, without knowing the neighborhood seemed unwise. If only we had known the struggle ahead. 

We ended up getting a second Airbnb for another full month before finding an apartment. As I said, these things take time. And diligence. 

Every morning you wake up grab a tea and check the sites. After lunch ( which is around 3-4pm in Italy) you put your computer on the kitchen table, check the sites. Opening your computer to mess around on facebook or do literally anything else? Check. The. Sites. 

 Email any and all likely apartments that are in our price range, size range, and location with a brief explanation and our Italian phone number.....But we were unemployed, student foreigners whose Italian was questionable....it's unsurprising landlords didn't respond. 

Since Alex is going to university we asked the International Welcome Desk if they had any tips. Of course there were some issues:

we were in Italy much earlier than most students. 

We were looking for a full apartment with no roommates 

We aren’t your typical 'freshman students'. 

They sent us to a real estate agent who works with their students quite often. The estate agent was so nice, spoke excellent English and said he would look into it for us. We crossed our fingers and waited. 

(We tried to go to another estate agent and they flat out told us that none of their landlords would accept students, foreigners, with no work contract and turned us away. )

While it's all well and good to send out emails it seems that most Italians like to do things over the phone. We were growing desperate from the deafening silence. We finally asked our new friend, Gio, if he would call some of the numbers.

Having Italian friends who are willing to help you navigate the first months of chaos and details has been amazing. With Gio on the phone, we at least got our foot in the door.

You know the feeling when you're waiting and waiting and then suddenly everything is happening at once? It's like there's no hope in sight and suddenly five boats are around you to save you from drowning?

Thanks to this real estate agent, and Gio's smooth phone talking we suddenly were able to go see three apartments in a week!

The first one, from the uni real estate agent, was itself, lovely. Just what we were looking for. Unfortunately, there was literally one single neighborhood our friends told us not to live in. This one. It's a bit poorer, outside the city center and generally seen as less-safe at night. 

The next two places were actually by the same real estate company! They had probably received 100 of the exact same email from us about different apartments But a call from Gio, explaining our situation and vouching for us was what it took.

They were both attic apartments. The first, though spacious and full of light was also about 10000 degrees. An attic apartment, with all the windows closed, the aircon turned off and sunlight pouring through on a sweltering August afternoon? It felt like we walked into a brick oven as soon as he opened the door. 

Our inspection was quick in our desperation to get out of there. But the apartment was nice. It was spacious and had aircon so with proper management it never had to be this hot again.

The second place had a gorgeous inner courtyard filled with plants, a mini well and a place for bikes. The four-story walk-up wasn't terrible but the place was distinctly attic-y. The sloping roof was short and the windows were more half-windows. 

Naturally, we stopped at a 'bar' for an espresso with the estate agent after the showing and told him we preferred the first apartment if possible.

Now it was time to hurry up and...wait. Some more. If Italy is going to teach us anything it's p a t i e n c e. [to be continued]

[attractionjapan]

The Birth of Japan Game: Episode 2: The Backstory

The Birth of Japan Game is a chronicle in ten parts, recounting the early years of Dorian Gray’s journey along the path. The narrative begins some time in 2006 and concludes in early 2012. Names have been changed to protect the guilty and innocent alike. Previous episode here.

Let’s flash back to two years before I met Momoka, when I was a tall, lanky eighteen year old with a forgettable face and dreamy disposition. When I wasn’t working deadening rock bottom jobs such as cleaning hotel rooms, I had my head buried in a book. I’d had girlfriends before and the occasional one night stand – okay, “drunken hook-up” is more accurate; I don’t believe teenagers can actually have a “one night stand,” which sounds like something a heavily sweating, hard-driven lawyer might do with an aging beautician after meeting in a hotel bar – but I was prone to depression and easily became discouraged; my identity did not allow for the active, much less aggressive, pursuit of women.

I first encountered Japanese people while wandering the campus of my university in Australia as a first year student. I’d moved to the city from a small town and had few friends, so instead of sitting in my room all day I decided to walk about and see if anything interesting was happening. I was awkward and naive but desperate to live; my high school years had been burdened by my failure to connect with the right crowd and the girls I wanted most. Now it was time for a new beginning. I’d even started visiting bars and clubs in the city, though I was usually too nervous to do much but stand around like a spectator.

It was the start of the first semester. The weather was sunny and clear, and students filled every corner of the campus’s open lawn. There were food stalls from other countries – Singapore, Malaysia, India – and hundreds of girls, both domestic and foreign: bronzed Australians in mini shorts, tall African goddesses, severe-looking European blondes with high cheek bones, and all manner of Asians. While walking across the grass I noticed a small group of the latter sitting in a circle and enjoying chicken kebabs from one of the stalls. On impulse I sat down and introduced myself to a young man with a mop of shiny black hair. His English was halting at first, but he seemed eager to talk and introduced himself as Hayato, an exchange student from Kyoto. He’d arrived in Australia two months earlier. Soon we were deep in conversation, drawing amused stares from the other Japanese students. I confessed to an almost total ignorance of his culture, and he promised to explain it to me if I’d help him with his English.

The part about my ignorance wasn’t strictly true. Like many my age, I’d grown up on Nintendo, and I enjoyed the occasional anime or Japanese film – the works of Takashi Miike and Takeshi Kitano being particular favorites. But my image of Japan had been formed entirely by the motley assortment of cultural products that had made it through to the West; I saw it as a land of flashing lights and flying ninjas, a garish mixture of the rigidly traditional and surreally post-modern. It was a land of raw fish and flashing arcades, unreadable glyphs and gleaming perversions. I hadn’t given any thought to the everyday lives of the Japanese; hadn’t, in fact, seen them as people at all. There had been no Japanese or other Asians in my small hometown, so I’d never had to test my preconceptions against reality. On a whim I’d joined the campus Anime Club, but had found it full of social misfits with doubtful hygiene – not the best place to make friends. Most of the members were bitter cosplaying lesbians and obese shut-ins unable to make eye contact. I stopped going after the second meeting.

Later in the week Hayato invited me to a party at his flat with the other exchange students, and our friendship developed quickly. I helped him with his English, often completing entire assignments for him, while he introduced me to his culture – and more importantly, his psychology. Hayato (who is now the editor of a major Japanese newspaper) was a clever and sometimes cruel young man who enjoyed amusing himself with his wide-eyed Australian friend. He taught me all kinds of obscenities which he claimed were common greetings, and I dutifully repeated them to the female exchange students, earning some truly shocked and withering looks. But he was right about Japanese food, which I quickly came to love: the subtle flavors and tart simplicity, how I could eat as much as I wanted without feeling full. I learned the names of all different kinds of sushi – toro, maguro, ikura, uni, buri, engawa – fish whose names I barely knew in English.

But Hayato’s greatest gift, and one of the most decisive influences on my life, was his encouragement to learn Japanese. The first time he brought it up I smiled and nodded but dismissed him immediately: how could anyone really memorize thousands of kanji characters and the fiendish intricacies of that alien, arcane grammar? I’d picked up remedial French and Spanish in high school, but at least those used the Roman alphabet. Japanese was uncharted territory, and nothing I knew would be of any use.

“You’ll pick it up quickly,” Hayato assured me. “Don’t worry – we’ll all help you. Once you get a Japanese girlfriend it’ll be easy!”

I was just naive enough to believe him, and the next semester I enrolled in an introductory language class. My motivation was as much practical as idealistic; my Media Studies degree was looking increasingly useless, and I wanted a certifiable skill I could write on my resume. The prospect of a future translation job seemed incentive enough to continue. Speaking a bit of French and Spanish seemed trivial in comparison with reading a Japanese newspaper or watching a Kurosawa film without subtitles, and the fluent Australian students in the classes above me struck me as incredibly worldly and sophisticated. Many of them showed me pictures of their Japanese girlfriends, some of whom showed up to meet them after class. I was certain that at last I was on the right path.

Learning Japanese proved to be an adventure beyond the scope of this book – those interested are advised to consult the numerous websites on the theme. The language was demanding but curiously logical – more so, in fact, than English, with its numerous irregular verbs and irrational spellings. As expected, the kanji writing system was the biggest challenge, but even it yielded unexpected felicities. Once I cleared the initial hurdles, I discovered that a pictorial rather than phonetic writing system made sense in ways I hadn’t imagined. I gained a feel for the character combinations and learned to figure out the readings of unfamiliar words. The language, which had once been forbidding and inaccessible, became practical, even poetic.

More importantly, learning Japanese was my key to understanding Japanese culture. I was suddenly introduced to an unsuspected world of music and film, art and fashion. Why had I never heard of Ayumi Hamasaki and Shiina Ringo? Or read FRUiTS magazine, with its cavalcade of front-line Harajuku fashions? What about the Shibuya-kei music scene of the 1990s with its links to French pop and American indie? Japan was no longer a cliched planet of craziness, it was an entire world with its own codes and jokes, clothes and trends and thousands of years of history. I took another language class, and another, and then ones on culture and economics. Before I knew it I’d taken on a whole new major: Japanese Studies.

While all this was happening, I maintained my close association with Hayato and the other exchange students. Most of them were a few years older than me, and looking back I can see that they thought of me as a little brother, pardoning whatever ridiculous cultural faux pas I made and indulging my fumbling attempts at speaking their language. All of us lived in the university’s student housing, so it was always easy to meet up for drinks and study sessions. Sometimes they invited me over for massive fry-ups of Japanese dishes I’d never heard of, like okonomiyaki and takoyaki – or in other words, savory cabbage pancakes and deep-fried chunks of battered octopus. They’re both much better than they sound.

The student housing was filled with young people from countless different countries, and in addition to my Japanese friends, I picked up all kinds of knowledge from Ethiopians, Mongolians, Indians, Malaysians, and a variety of Europeans. And of course, there were other Australians. One of them, Daryl, was a slick character with a salesman’s smile and natural Aussie charm. He had no interest in Japanese language or culture but still hung around the exchange students, often showing up at parties and dinners. I was a bit suspicious of him at first, but he seemed harmless enough.

Before long my thoughts returned to what Hayato had said about getting a Japanese girlfriend. Obviously a personal language partner would be helpful, but I already had several competent teachers, and now I wanted a cool girl I could connect with. And so I considered the female exchange students. One of them, Tomomi, was more attractive than the rest. The others were short, squat and a bit chubby, and they didn’t seem to bother with makeup or suggestive clothing. Only Tomomi commanded attention. She was tall, with a curvy figure and a mischievous face that suggested a preference for partying rather than studying in her room. I decided that I had to make her mine, even though I had no idea how. She was in my social circle, if that term could be applied to the loose crowd cohering around the student flats, but it never occurred to me that I could simply knock on her door and invite her to dinner. My earlier overtures to girls had been either laughably grandiose – I once sent a girl an enormous, needlessly expensive bouquet of flowers, and wrote poems to others – or so subtle that they never registered at all. I was about as far from a natural as anyone could be. Still, I felt certain that if I remained in Tomomi’s orbit, the right chance would come for us to connect.

So I was taken aback, as you might imagine, when Daryl started fucking her.

His tactic had been everything mine wasn’t: casual but fearlessly direct. He’d gone around to her apartment with some drinks, and before long they’d started making out. Within a few days they were inseparable.

I’d been beaten to the punch, and I wasn’t happy. Predictably, I became depressed and moped around for days.

“Don’t feel so bad,” Hayato reassured me. “There are lots more like her.”

He wasn’t wrong, and the next year, when he returned to Japan, Hayato made good on his word. A new exchange student would be arriving from his university, he told me, and he wanted me to show her around campus and help her settle in. His meaning was clear: this girl was for me. Her name was Maya.

If the implication that Hayato could simply give her to me like a gift seems demeaning, it’s important to remember that these kinds of introductions are common in Japan, where women often meet their boyfriends through a mutual acquaintance. The hierarchical system of sempai (senior) and kouhai (junior) means that these acquaintances are usually older students at their high school or university, or a boss or manager at their company. The culture is gradually changing, but it’s still common and considered normal. Looked at this way, Maya and I were both Hayato’s kouhai, and as such it was natural that he should introduce us. Maya later told me that he had written her a long email praising my character and encouraging her to go on a date with me if she were so inclined. In other words, I was a gift for her as much as she was for me.

(Daryl, incidentally, tired of Tomomi within two months and moved on to seducing other foreign students. Even to this day I can’t think of him without feeling a twinge of jealousy, but now it’s leavened with amusement).

When I heard that Maya had arrived, I went around to her flat and left a message for her. We met up the next day in the university cafeteria. She was a tall girl, very thin, with an angular body, elfin features and slightly crooked teeth that actually enhanced her smile. Talking to her, I saw that she was a genuinely good-natured person without a trace of negativity. I showed her around campus and later took her around the city, all the while planning how to make my move. I eventually decided to invite her to Zero Hour, a bar on campus. It had a balcony and lots of dark recesses for private conversations, and the music, though loud, usually wasn’t deafening.

Maya accepted the invitation, and we met in front of the bar on the night I’d specified. Soon we were inside and sharing a pitcher of beer. True to my calculating nature, I’d gotten some Australian friends to “accidentally” wander by and talk me up, which they dutifully did. I’m sure a more cynical girl would have been suspicious, but Maya didn’t seem to suspect anything and acted duly impressed. An hour or two passed, the bar filled up and the music got louder. Both of us relaxed and moved onto the dance floor. I reached over and took her hand as Sly and the Family Stone’s “Everyday People” came on over the speakers. The ridiculous camp atmosphere perfectly matched my overblown emotions. With no destination in mind, I led Maya off the dance floor and out of the bar. It was a warm night and the stars were out; a crowd of students milled around the entrance. My heart was racing as I led her along the path leading back to the student flats. We eventually stopped in an out-of-the-way area between buildings, where we sat on a disused office table that was waiting to be placed in storage. We were both drunk enough that our trivial conversation seemed momentous, and before long we were making out. Then I pulled a kokuhaku, or confession, formally asking her to be my girlfriend. She accepted, and more kissing ensued. Not long after, a random drunk Australian wandered by on his way home.

“You guys are a good couple,” he said.

I could have led Maya back to my room right then – our flats were not far from each other’s, and she was clearly willing. In fact, she later asked me why I hadn’t immediately taken her back to my place. I honestly didn’t know. Perhaps I still had some nonsense idea of how a gentleman was supposed to behave or, more likely, I simply hadn’t thought of it.

The next day I went to her flat and an all-day sex session commenced. She was as eager as I was, and seemed surprised that I was interested in her.

“I wasn’t sure last night really happened,” she said. “I thought you’d wake up today and not want to see me again.”

I reassured her that she was all I wanted. Soon we were a serious couple, sleeping over at each other’s flats most nights and travelling around Australia together during our vacation time. Our groups of friends merged and I ended up staying with her for nearly two years, even after she returned to Japan, as I continued my education in her language and culture. I was hopeless at first, and we almost always spoke in English, with her encouraging my fledgling attempts at coherent Japanese sentences.

This was one of the happiest periods of my life, and for a while it seemed that all my dreams had come true. Maya had a sunny disposition and no sexual hang ups; in fact she was open to experimenting with costumes, role playing and other things which I’d been too shy to suggest to my previous girlfriends. I confessed all kinds of fantasies, and she embraced every one of them with naive enthusiasm. Our mutual foreignness made us bold with each other, and our erotic life quickly became colorful.

The year passed quickly in relative bliss. By now I’d set my sights on studying in Japan and perhaps even living there for good. At the time I imagined this as the next step in my relationship with Maya – or at least that’s what I told myself, and looking back, I think I believed it. But I was gradually changing, becoming more confident, looking ahead to new experiences. And somewhere in the back of my mind, the hunger for more girls was already growing.

The post The Birth of Japan Game: Episode 2: The Backstory appeared first on Attraction Japan.

from Attraction Japan http://attractionjapan.com/birth-japan-game-episode-2-backstory/