As a prefrosh, I thought I knew Harvard. Privy to its pompous reputation, I quickly decided that I didn’t need to visit. Besides, I’d already heard that the social life paled in comparison to the raging parties at state schools; that students sacrificed Saturday nights to do homework; and that after a lifetime of success and accolades, overachievers often became dismayed to find themselves the little fish in a big pond. I wanted college to be fun, social and, of course, the best four years of my life. Plainly put, I didn’t think Harvard could fulfill my expectations. But, begrudgingly, I set off last spring to verify my assumptions.

I tentatively set foot in Cambridge, scouring the campus for signs of students devoted unhealthily to their studies. I was searching for those fabled souls who forgot to enjoy life, while drowning in schoolwork. From interrogating the staff at Mental Health services to approaching students in Widener, obnoxiously inquiring about their state of happiness, I attempted to gather evidence to support my claims. I found nothing. Nothing, beyond the concerns common to all colleges—“I can’t find a boyfriend,” “I hate my concentration,” “My roommate smells bad.”

Upon returning from my botched mission, I was graciously greeted by my host and her bathing suit-clad posse, who invited me to Harvard’s first-ever foam party: Mather Lather. It was then that I reluctantly discarded my preformed opinion of Harvard’s social life and opened my eyes to reality. There were hordes, (and anyone around last year knows I mean literal hordes), of students roaming the streets looking for a good time.

But as much fun as the short-lived Lather was, the parties aren’t what ultimately made me decide to come here. It was the people—the other prefrosh, my potential classmates. Brilliant, funny, diverse and amazingly passionate about their interests and values, these were the types of people with whom I wanted to spend the best four years of my life.

I’m not saying that Harvard doesn’t have its problems. Like any other college, it does. I’m simply pointing out that these problems aren’t a pervasive part of life here—the majority of students are happy and healthy.

Of course, coming to Harvard won’t guarantee your happiness. In fact, prefrosh should be strongly advised against coming here if it’s simply for the “Harvard” name.

Rather, we should tell them: Come here because you want to take advantage of excellent academic opportunities, you clicked with the other guys on the football team or you found people who share your goal of raising AIDS awareness. One of Harvard’s strengths is that it attracts an incredible array of individuals who are passionate about something—be it playing the violin or writing humor—and it provides them with the resources to thrive and excel in these interests.

To my relief, I found that these same, incredibly talented people know when it’s time to put down the violin or exit the Lampoon. They then turn on the X-box, or gather to watch the latest episode of “Sex and the City” or “The Simpsons.” Some may hop on the T to catch dinner in the North End or watch a musical in Boston. Perhaps the wilder ones wander to the Quad to drink and dance the night away. But, to the impressionable prefrosh, I would just like to say: Remember that whatever it is you choose to do, there will be many others here who want to share in the fun with you.

—Loui Itoh ’07, a Crimson editorial editor, lives in Apley Court.