CHAPTER 10 — BOOK III
A Different Method
(Curtin Sydney, 2008 — First Semester)
In the middle of 2008, he changed direction.
Curtin Sydney.
This time, he didn’t aim for speed. He aimed for stability.
Fewer subjects.
Longer road.
No more failures.
The building did not try to impress him. It didn’t need to. It sat in the city like an office that had learned to be a campus—glass, concrete, corridors designed for movement rather than ceremony.
He liked that.
He liked that nothing pretended to be more than it was.
At CQU, even the lift had required proof.
Every morning had begun with a card held out, a pause, a nod. Security at the desk. Sometimes again at the turnstile. If he forgot his student ID, the head of security—a Pakistani man with patient authority—would explain carefully why it mattered.
One morning, when Embong admitted he would need half an hour to go home and retrieve it, the man studied him.
“Next time,” he said, and waved him through.
The routine wasn’t hostile.
Just procedural.
Still, some mornings Embong watched the line inch forward and thought that even movement required permission.
At Curtin, it didn’t.
He walked in.
He went up.
He sat down.
He showed his card when it mattered—library, exams—but not simply to begin the day.
The day began with momentum instead of permission.
It was a small difference.
But it changed the shape of his mornings.
Enrolment
Enrolment was not dramatic.
It was structured.
Subjects mapped.
Prerequisites checked.
Previous failures acknowledged without commentary.
An adviser reviewed his transcript.
“Three subjects this term,” she said. “Four only when required. Keep it controlled.”
He nodded.
Not because it felt generous.
Because it felt sustainable.
He signed the forms.
He kept copies.
He wrote down deadlines.
The system did not promise him success.
It removed excuses.
Law — Foundations
Geoffrey was in every class Embong took that semester.
Not by design.
Just timetable alignment that became routine.
Law began without theatrics.
“Daniel Cohen,” the lecturer said on the first day. “Trained in New York. Practising in Australia. Different systems. Same principles.”
His accent shifted depending on emphasis—American in cadence, Australian in terminology.
“This isn’t television,” Professor Cohen added. “It’s architecture.”
He drew three columns on the board.
Legislature.
Executive.
Judiciary.
“Parliament makes the law.
The Executive administers it.
The Judiciary interprets it.”
He stepped back.
“They are separate for a reason.”
Geoffrey leaned back, observing before writing.
Embong wrote immediately.
Statute law.
Common law.
Precedent.
High Court at the top. Binding downward.
“In the United States,” Professor Cohen said lightly, “we argue loudly about interpretation. In Australia, you argue politely. The structure still wins.”
The class laughed.
“Law moves through systems,” he continued. “Not emotion.”
For the first time, the country Embong lived in felt mapped.
The Immigration Role Play
One week, Professor Cohen divided the class into groups.
“Today,” he said, “you will argue policy. Not morality.”
The topic was immigration.
Pros and cons.
Embong’s group was assigned the “concerns” position.
Not anti-immigration.
Concerns.
“You are not allowed to sound xenophobic,” Professor Cohen said evenly. “If your argument depends on fear of people rather than analysis of policy, you have failed.”
There was a murmur.
“If you say ‘too many foreigners,’” he continued, “you’ve already lost. Replace it.”
Silence.
Then he supplied the correction:
“Numerical intake relative to urban planning capacity.”
The “concerns” were framed institutionally:
Infrastructure Capacity
Housing supply strain.
Public transport congestion.
Hospital and school capacity.
Framed as:
“Rate of intake must align with infrastructure expansion.”
Wage Pressure
Short-term downward pressure in certain sectors.
Labour market displacement in low-skilled roles.
Framed as:
“Labour market absorption thresholds.”
Integration Policy
Language acquisition.
Civic education.
Settlement services funding.
Framed as:
“Integration success metrics.”
Security & Vetting Procedures
Background checks.
Administrative burden.
Visa processing integrity.
Framed as:
“Administrative due diligence.”
Social Cohesion
Not fear.
But pace.
Demographic transition speed.
Community adjustment periods.
Policy communication gaps.
Framed as:
“Managed transition versus rapid intake.”
One student attempted, “They don’t integrate.”
Professor Cohen stopped him.
“Settlement outcomes vary based on policy investment.”
Precision.
Always precision.
The “for” group presented:
Economic contribution.
Tax base expansion.
Ageing population support.
Human capital mobility.
Geoffrey spoke once.
“Capacity isn’t prejudice,” he said. “It’s logistics.”
Professor Cohen nodded.
“That,” he said, “is policy language.”
Afterwards, he summarised:
“Law does not reward outrage. It rewards defensible reasoning.”
Embong wrote that down.
Position was not prejudice.
Argument was not hostility.
Structure forced clarity.
And clarity removed heat.
He thought briefly of airports.
Of glances that lingered too long.
Of rest stops where recalculation happened quietly.
Process did not erase tension.
But it contained it.
Business Communications
Business Communications sounded lighter.
It wasn’t.
“You are not speaking,” the lecturer said. “You are positioning.”
For their major presentation, Embong joined a Bangladeshi boy, a Bangladeshi girl, and Geoffrey.
The grouping wasn’t strategic. Just proximity.
They debated topics.
Corporate apologies.
Workplace hierarchy.
Social media branding.
Nothing held.
Then Geoffrey said, casually:
“What about Valentine’s Day?”
They paused.
It was commercial.
It was cultural.
It meant different things in different communities.
The Bangladeshi girl laughed.
“In Dhaka, it depends who your parents are.”
The Bangladeshi boy added, “And whether the police are bored that day.”
They chose it.
Embong handled global spending data—hospitality spikes, retail cycles.
The Bangladeshi girl discussed brand adaptation in South Asian markets.
The Bangladeshi boy addressed periodic backlash.
Geoffrey analysed emotional marketing—how intimacy becomes transaction.
One slide read:
Is Valentine’s Day about love — or leverage?
The room laughed lightly.
But they were listening.
During rehearsal, the Bangladeshi boy hesitated.
“We shouldn’t sound like we’re attacking culture.”
“We’re analysing systems,” Geoffrey said evenly.
Not people.
On presentation day, they controlled tone and pacing.
Afterwards, the lecturer nodded.
“You understood your audience.”
Communication, Embong realised, was structure without enforcement.
Maria Vasques
He saw her name before he saw her face.
Dr Maria Vasques.
The same economics lecturer from CQU.
“You survived,” she said.
“Mostly.”
She wrote on the board:
There is no such thing as a free lunch.
He remembered.
Every choice costs something.
Even the ones that pretend not to.
He wrote it down again.
Accounting — First Principles
The accounting lecturer did not smile.
He wrote:
Assets = Liabilities + Equity
“This is balance.”
“Everything the business owns must come from somewhere.”
“There is no such thing as value that appears from nowhere.”
“If you borrow, you owe.
If you invest, you claim.
If you spend without recording it—
—you are lying to yourself.”
“Profit is not cash.”
“No,” he said calmly when someone groaned. “This is accountability.”
What you have.
What you owe.
What remains.
Embong didn’t love accounting.
But structure felt protective.
The Computer Lab
One afternoon, bored, he said it again.
“I kissed a girl and I liked it,” he muttered.
Two girls turned.
“Old reflex,” he said.
They didn’t look convinced.
“Uh-huh.”
Embong returned to his screen.
He wasn’t reckless anymore.
Just occasionally bored.
The Shift
He took three subjects when he could.
Four only when required.
It stretched the degree.
But he stopped failing.
He drafted earlier.
He checked assumptions.
He asked questions before consequences hardened.
Method was not ambition.
It was alignment.
He paid with time.
He paid with patience.
He stopped paying with panic.
Looking back, the semester was not dramatic.
It was structural.
And structure, he was beginning to understand, was what kept things standing long after emotion left the room.
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