No answer.

        “I said open up!”

        Nothing.

        I put the key in the door. We threw it open.

        Splash!

“Grenade! Grenade!”

Tank had filled up three water cups. As we entered, he emptied their contents in our direction. Thankfully, the shield blocked most of it.

We worked our way inside, our shuffled feet pattering on the flooded floor. We came in firing (watering?). It all happened in a blur. But we made it in.

After we had some screams and some fun, a stalemate was drawn. We threw in the towel. And, subsequently, threw some towels on the floor to clean up the mess.

***

At Visitas, we talk about how Harvard is different from other schools. Those differences are supposed to distinguish us. They’re supposed to give us an advantage.

But the message of difference can hurt us. It makes Harvard seem like a cold, distant, and alien institution that, while impressive, is strange. It’s uncomfortable. And it doesn’t feel like home.

The relity is that for every Harvard student, once a little time goes by, the “world-class” professors become teachers. The prestigious red-bricks become libraries. And the impressive peers become familiar friends.

Sure, the students, professors, and history are impressive. But the majority of the student experience isn’t about the impressiveness. It’s about the long nights laughing with friends in the dorm rooms. It’s about the thoughtful bike ride on the Charles on a lazy afternoon. It’s about the fun meet-ups, the joking put-downs, the scandalous hook-ups, and the raging throw-downs. And, most importantly, it’s about spontaneous water gun fights with your roommates to kick off the weekend on a spring day.

And once you add those more familiar experiences to the list of things on the Visitas brochure…

Well, I don’t know why you’d go anywhere else.

Dashiell F. Young-Saver ’16, a Crimson editorial writer, is an English concentrator in Winthrop House. His column appears on alternate Mondays.