Saj Pothiawala | The tao of Saj
May 21It comes to this. My last column printed on my final day as an undergraduate, and I would be lying if I said it was not difficult to write. Truthfully, I cried at least once. OK. Twice. Today we, the seniors, will cross that stage, and as our names (or mine at least) are horribly mispronounced, we are going to look out onto this hillside campus, turn our tassels, and finally break that four year spell this place has cast upon us, emerging from the chrysalis that is a University education. And yes, this time I know what chrysalis means. These years have been the most formative of our young adult lives for the sole reason that we became adults here at Tufts University. Three years and nine months ago we moved into Tilton or South or Houston Hall, little freshmen barely old enough to shave, drive or smoke, nervous and excited about meeting new people, leaving our parents, and living next door to members of the opposite sex. And hopefully today we stand as completed individuals, shaving every day or three, driving with the reckless abandon of invincible youth, and buying cigarettes, alcohol and pornography at our leisure. But in all seriousness, most of us are graduating as responsible members of society due to our experiences here in the Tufts bubble, because that is what higher education is in this country: a $40,000-a-year safe space, protected from the evils of the real world, but still exposed to them. Never in our lives will we again have access to the information and resources we had while we were here. A blessing in that it changed who we were. A curse in that it had to end sometime. An example: less than two weeks into our time at Tufts freshmen year, on Tuesday, Sept. 11., 2001 at 9:30 a.m., I watched the second of two airplanes fly into the World Trade Center on live television. It was definitely a surreal day for most people on this campus, especially those directly affected, yet from matriculation 13 days earlier we were already in our cocoon. That afternoon I remember going to see President Bacow, himself 13 days into his first year at Tufts (a fact which he will surely remind us of today), speak in front of Ballou Hall and offer us some words of comfort. I consider Sept. 11, 2001 the defining political event of the last four years, laying the foundation for America's two wars, polarizing public opinion of a president the majority of students and faculty on this campus believe should not be in office, and putting Arab Americans on this country's racial stereotyping map. But it was also the defining political event of our undergraduate careers, archetypal in the sense of community it inspired, especially on a campus as infested with international relations and political science majors as this one. Which brings me to what I found truly important about my time in the Tufts bubble: the community and friendships it fostered. They are what I personally will take with me with my diploma today, and what I will truly cherish. Final exams and problem sets came and went (and often went poorly, believe me). Projects and philosophy papers were hastily completed minutes before, if not hours after, they were due. All of those I leave here. But the commiserating conversations I had in the Eaton Hall computer lab at four in the morning as I worked on one of those projects or philosophy papers, the onset of delirium after spending hours in Tisch working on impossible problem sets with the least efficient of study groups, and the all-nighters during finals period half-spent studying and half-spent waiting for the dining hall to open for breakfast I will remember forever. I will remember when my friends Emilie and Ana thought it would be a great idea to bake cookies during the Super Bowl. They triggered the fire alarm in South Hall in the middle of the first half, prompting the evacuation of the building. If you were in South that night, then the mystery is now solved, and if you are still angry about it, I know where the girls live and have a comprehensive list of foods they are deathly allergic to. I will remember when our RA moved out on us and was replaced. But like belligerent stepchildren, we refused to open up to the new RA, mutilated a stuffed animal, and hung it from the ceiling of the common room with a name tag that said "Mary?" on it. Juvenile? Yes. Inappropriate? Yes. But we took it down before she saw it, and isn't that what really matters? I will remember when I lived off-campus and had to deal with the laziest landlord in the very long and involved history of lazy landlords. There was a gaping hole in the bathroom window which, to this day, I am confident has not been fixed. I will remember standing with my friends on the Brookline Avenue overpass, perched on a guardrail, just minutes after the Boston Red Sox won the World Series this past October. In the pictures we're so happy we look angry. And I will remember, also, writing this column every week; the single most rewarding experience I have had here. From it I have realized two things. One: I talk a lot. Even in print. Two: I really enjoy talking a lot. Even in print. Now to find a way to get paid for it. So I ask you seniors, as you sit and listen to the speakers today and as you accept your diploma, to please steal as many moments as you can to remember all the things you want to remember, as I just did above. Commencement literally means a beginning. A start. But don't take the jargon literally. It's an ending. A very bittersweet ending. Enjoy the day, Class of 2005, because it belongs to us.

