Maybe this is unclear. I'll try a metaphor.

An underclass student asked me for some advice the day before he left to write a Pulitzer Prize-winning bestseller. Clearly, he did not read the surgeon general's warning permanently branded to my head that reads: "Listening to this guy is extraordinarily dumb. He's a little nuts."

But the young lad insisted, and I gave him these words, slightly edited, with which I will end this exposition.

Harvard is a castle. Really. It's big. Old. Made of stone. And has a large swamp thing-infested moat surrounding it. There are towers (Mather/Leverett) and dungeons (Ad Board) and a lot of old things lying about (professors).

Our goal upon entry is to make it to the other side of the castle, like a video game. Early on we are aware of the main hall. It represents the tried and true, quick method of making it. But what happens in most cases is that people check out side rooms where they have some experiences, meet others and maybe even "learn" something. There are oracles and guides placed throughout to help us to the other side.

Some of them are very helpful. Others tell us to browse through the career binders. These would be the bad advisors.

Soon we discover tunnels that connect the rooms, and thus our experiences, to one another, and we depend less on the main hall.

Then we get more ambitious. "Let's build a room of our own," we say. And the more literary among us hold a rally insisting that it have a view.

Next we connect our created rooms with new tunnels we've dug ourselves. We bypass the main hall altogether. In time, each of us has taken our own unique path through the castle, contributing a part of ourselves to its structure.

We have changed and so has the castle. We are at the end, and we see that this castle exists within an even larger castle. Our hope should be to move through this new castle with the same boldness and creativity as we have done here. Let's build rooms and tunnels of our own. Maybe even build our own castles.

If there's one crazy thing I've ever written that you should remember, it is to question everyone and challenge everything (except your parents, who made this whole gig possible--thanks mom).

It's been a great four years. Thanks to everyone, and for those who owe me money, the interest rates only go up between now and the fifth reunion. Baratunde R. Thurston '99, a philosophy concentrator in Lowell House, was chair of online technology at The Crimson in 1998. He can be reached forever at baratunde@baratunde.com.