Bi-Coastal Perspectives

My freshman year of college consisted of fraternity parties, Saturday afternoons spent shopping at Neiman Marcus, weekday trips to the beach, and 75-degree weather in the middle of February. I should probably also mention that my freshman year of college was spent at UCLA.

I have more than several times been asked (by none other than Harvard students themselves) why in the name of all that is sane I chose to transfer to Harvard. While I now have a fully memorized speech ready at all times (I’m even thinking of making a handout), the actual answer to that question is complex and probably uninteresting to you. But what might interest you is the rather unique perspective on Harvard life that my transfer experience has given me. While my love/hate relationship with Harvard is similar to many students on campus, I often find that the objects of my praise and criticism are not.

Strolling through the yard to my philosophy class, I think back on my first year as a Harvard undergrad. One might say that it is a far cry from my freshman year at UCLA. This is most prevalent when I notice that it is five below outside, and I remember that I had to ask my roommate for help because I did not know what a winter wardrobe consisted of up until about 15 months ago. Undeniably, there were ups and downs of my first year. It was often difficult to know that I had no blocking group because my freshman-year friends lived on the other side of the country. It was difficult to leave a quarter system and enter into one of not only semesters, but also of shopping and reading periods that I honestly confused as Harvard-funded entertainment activities for the first week before classes. It was difficult to learn the numerous quirks about life as a Harvard student, from the many and varied acronyms (think FOP, FUP, SCAS) to living in a world where brands like Rugby and J. Crew are as prevalent as plaid shorts and a bright orange Polo shirt.

Sure, there are times I miss the frat parties, friends whose fashion I understand, and of course the sun. But in general, I am happy with my decision to transfer to Harvard. It is suprising, then, how often I hear students griping about the many horrid aspects of their undergraduate experience. Advising and the social scene are two of the most common areas of discontent.

They complain, for instance, that there is no assistance in picking courses and that the advisors are bad. Seeing as I transferred from a school with 16,000 undergraduates, was often closed out of classes required for my major three times in a row, and the term advisor wasn’t really a part of the UCLA vocabulary, I am quite happy with a concentration advisor and an Allston Burr Senior Tutor— not to mention the 15 other tutors in the House there to offer help. A friend of mine once complained that picking classes himself was too difficult and that there should be someone there to tell him what to do. After almost choking to death from laughter, I thought to myself that someone who can’t pick classes probably shouldn’t be going to Harvard.

I have also heard people complain that Harvard is not a party school. I find this comment to be oddly amusing seeing as when we all applied to Harvard I am quite certain it was not because of the party scene. Coming from a school where large frat parties on Thursday nights is the norm, I can tell you that drunken debauchery at one school is just about the same as drunken debauchery at the next—except at UCLA people can actually dance and you have a little better shot of finding someone attractive when you have drunk goggles on to deceive you. Try not to be too disappointed with the Harvard party scene, because frankly, if you had wanted to party all day you would have gone to the University of Miami rather than one of the most prestigious academic institutions in the world.

I am surely not saying that Harvard is perfect—it is far from that. What I am saying is that Harvard should be appreciated as a place to laugh at and love for its idiosyncrasies. Harvard is like a slightly amnesiac grandmother who still thinks she’s living in 1939, but has lots of fun and interesting stories to tell you when she visits—a little peculiar and distinct from the rest of the world, but much wisdom and experience to impart nonetheless. In the past year, I have taken a course by one of the world’s leading Yiddish scholar, met 19-year-olds who have written books or started their own companies, traveled to Yale to play a match of club tennis, taken the oldest public transportation system in the United States to see a symphony and shop on Newbury street, and partied at million dollar mansions that masquerade as clubs for 20-year-olds. Harvard may have shattered your dreams of attending colleges like those in Animal House, Old School, and Girls Gone Wild, but in reality, our time here might not be as bad as we all sometimes make it seem.

Jillian N. London ’07 is a philosophy concentrator in Adams House. Her column appears on alternate Wednesdays.