The waiter came by and served our dishes, his accent clear and pronounced as he repeated our orders back to us, wiping his hands on his navy apron. The rest of the lunch was tense―or maybe I was. As we walked out of the restaurant, I passed by him and whispered “Lo siento.” Our eyes locked, and his head nodded knowingly. I wish I spoke louder, but instead I went away―back to my campus, my dorm, my new world, and he back to work.

How different it felt to be on the other side of the counter.

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Harvard is many things - it is a world of opportunity, the pearl in the preeminent oyster, the flower in the proverbial spring - but it is not a world of color. It breeds elitism, a sense of entitlement that creeps into everyday language and almost tangibly takes hold of it. Here, I have come to learn and to grow, to hopefully become a better person in the end; however, this does not separate me from where I began. I cannot knowingly assimilate into this shade of crimson―this hue of hollow superiority and false grandeur―after I’ve seen the beauty of the spring.

Blue is the color of a clear sunny day, of warmth and promise of new beginnings; yet it is also the color of melancholy and cold, blisteringly unremorseful to those it leaves ravaged in its wake. I never really understood the power of blue until I truly understood what the color crimson was.

I am the same cashier that gave you the wrong change. I am the same manager that, upon sharing where I will be attending school, was met with disbelief: “Sure you did―now have a nice day at work.” I am no better or worse than my past.

All the world tends to fall into a dichotomy according to Plato―and my experiences in retail tend to agree with this philosophy. The separation was tangible; retail workers and blue collar on one side, customers and white collar on the other. Before coming to Harvard, I saw this chasm between the two as a byproduct of society―yet I know now that this is accepting defeat.

I will not halve myself. I am the blue collar of my retail days and the white collar of my future. I may never be the idealized crimson mold, but I am slowly finding comfort in that reality.

Jessenia Class ’20, is an Crimson Editorial Writer living in Canaday Hall.