But that first semester had taught me to push. It made me introduce myself to big-name professors. ("Sir--excuse me--my name is Sugi--I have a disability letter that explains everything.") I learned to triple-check everything. Sleep gained new meaning. I became the anti-procrastinator. And now that I was finally unfettered by any injury, the immense resources of the University lay before me. I didn't know where to begin.
Standard Harvard New Year's resolution: "I resolve to make use of everything available here. "You can't. It's not humanly possible. In my first year here I saw, met or was involved in an educational experience with Seamus Heaney, Nelson Mandela, Kofi Annan, Alice Walker, Will Smith, Marisa Tomei, Ellen Goodman '63, Patricia O'Brien, Briggs-Copeland Lecturer on English and American Literature and Language Patricia Powell, Elizabeth McCracken, A. Kingsley Porter University Professor Helen Vendler, W.E.B. DuBois Professor of the Humanities Henry Louis "Skip" Gates Jr. '60, Alphonse Flethcer Jr. University Professor Cornel West '74, Professor of Afro-American Studies and of Philosophy K. Anthony Appiah, Henry B. and Anne M. Cabot Professor of English Literature and Professor of Afro-American Studies Werner Sollors and many others. And I didn't even begin to touch Harvard's vast resources.
Vast is really the most appropriate word. The only way I was able to start to comprehend the University was through my reporting for The Crimson. One of the smartest things I did first semester was cling for dear life to that Crimson comp. Not only did The Crimson enfold me in its 125-year tradition and tight-knit community, it taught me to break down the University's hugeness and address each part.
Before The Crimson, Harvard was a collection of stories floating around the dorm and among my friends. The newfound ease of getting summer jobs. Just mention the school--drop the "H-bomb," as some say. My roommate reported meeting a woman in the Square who "just collected the signatures of Harvard students. In case they became valuable later." Tourists took our pictures when we did our homework in the Yard. They videotaped the Yard squirrels. They rubbed John Harvard's foot. (Don't do that.) Domna the cafeteria checker had to forcibly usher them out of Annenberg. Ridiculous, we murmured among ourselves. Ridiculous, all of it. It's a College, after all. It's Harvard, people whispered in my ears. It's Harvard College, I retorted, feeling a bit like an animal at the zoo, biting the hands that feed me.
It's Harvard College. And The Crimson taught me that just like any other school, you have to learn how it works piece by piece. I started in the English department by declaring my concentration, and in Harvard race relations and ethnicity by becoming the Crimson beat reporter--both areas I'm looking forward to exploring more in the fall.
I'm going piece by piece from now on. Otherwise, it's like falling unexpectedly down a flight of Gray Hall stairs, hoping for a soft place to land.
--Vasugi V. Ganeshananthan '02 is a reporter and staff writer for The Crimson