It wasn't an inspiring essay, nor was it the fact that my parents went to graduate school here.

I got into Harvard because some other guy from Maine got a free ride to the state university and couldn't pass it up. I got into Harvard off the wait list.

Harvard admissions tells you that coming off the wait list doesn't mean anything. People from the wait list, my admissions officer said, many work extra hard because they don't take their acceptance for granted. But otherwise, I was told that all Harvard students were created equal.

It's not entirely true. There are certain differences. My picture, for example, is not in the facebook Instead my name is listed on the last page of the book with all of the other "late arrivals."

And I was denied a shot at those formative Harvard experiences--the First-year Outdoor Program and the urban program; by the time I was accepted the programs' deadlines had passed.

Coming off the wait list left me with a lingering feeling of inadequacy. For much of my first year I though of myself as Harvard's second choice. That meant I was reluctant to speak in section, and that I had a severe case of under-confidence my first year.

I was allowed to move into my Pennypacker Hall room a day early because I did dorm crew. I left my stuff in the common room and did not move in to the individual bedrooms, following some guidebook's instructions to politely wait until all your roommates arrived before setting up shop.

The next day, I returned to the suite after a morning of exploring the Square to find a kid with a Fila T-shirt madly swinging a tennis racket in our common room.

Meet Chaz "spelled with a 'z'" Lee.

I was not sure what to make of him. By the way he was swinging his racket I was convinced he was some tennis star, the next Michael Chang. That's what you were supposed to come across at Harvard, anyway.

Chaz immediately announced which bedroom he was going to move into--the big corner room with four windows, and not the small one with bunk beds and a tiny window.

I quietly said that we'd better wait until everyone arrived--just to be fair.

Chaz insisted that the only correct policy was first come, first serve. And he insisted that he must have the better room.

I held firm, and so he gave me an evening deadline. Luckily the rest of our rooming group arrived by dinner time.

I wanted to room with the guy from Florida. Dave Aronberg was his name, and despite the fact that he had already announced his candidacy for the Undergraduate Council, he appeared to share some of my interests. But Chaz's mother insisted that I room with her son; the other roommates were too loud and would disturb his studying, she worried.