Because, as frustrated as I sometimes get with Harvard, as much as I want to run around with my boobs out, and barricade buildings, and draw mustaches on all the busts in Annenberg, and drape John Harvard with rainbow flags, I am still in love.

A thrill still swoops through my body when I walk through Harvard Yard, the same feeling I got when I was a child in the park and I swung so high that I touched the sky with my feet.

Because it’s Harvard where I made my closest friends. Harvard where I fell in love. Harvard where I lost my virginity after brunch on a Tuesday. Harvard where I drank Ciroc at parties wearing fur, with cigarettes dangling from my fingertips, grinding with half-known men. And it is Harvard where I have sat in the sunlight in front of Massachusetts Hall urging divestment from fossil fuels.

Harvard taught me to be angry at injustice. Harvard taught me to listen. Harvard taught me to talk back. Harvard taught me how to know when Harvard is wrong. And Harvard gave me the tools to change it.

 

Reina A.E. Gattuso ‘15 is a joint literature and studies of women, gender, and sexuality concentrator in Adams House. Her column appears on alternate Fridays.