My first year at Brandeis, Marta Kaufman '78, one of the co-creators of the television show Friends, came to speak at Brandeis. I was reporting on the presentation for one of my first Justice articles, hanging on eagerly to any potentially revelatory quotation I could come by."Brandeis," Kaufman told the audience, "is where I learned to be a human being."

I scribbled the words into my notebook, thinking that if humanity meant finding the inspiration to produce a hit sitcom and returning to your alma mater to talk about it, I'd like to be a human being, too.

Recently, though, I've been thinking more about those words, and about what she might have meant.

When I came to Brandeis, I was 17 years old. The first time I saw campus was Admitted Students Day, April 15, 2006. It was hailing, and I was crying because I was cold, because the campus was ugly and because I wished more than anything that I wouldn't have to go here.

While I generally avoid attributing events to fate, I like to think ending up at Brandeis was the best thing that ever happened to me. More than anything else I can say about the past four years, I have been incredibly happy.

There's something unique about Brandeis that I can't quite articulate.

I realize that whenever I leave Brandeis and go someplace where not everyone is genuinely glad to see each other. Maybe it's that everyone here feels appreciated in a way they might not elsewhere. I was never afraid to be myself at Brandeis, even when I wasn't sure who exactly I was. The friendships I made here instilled in me confidence, and the willingness to change.

I'm going to miss Brandeis. I'm going to miss the overlapping echoes of voices in the Shapiro Campus Center Atrium and the feeling of breathless relief upon the top of Rabb steps. I'll miss the posters that line the path between upper and lower campus because someone is protesting something.

Once I leave, I worry that I won't be a person anymore, that I'll try to greet fellow pedestrians on the street and no one will wave back. That I'll forget that points don't exist in the real world and spend all my money on gum.

For a while there was this sign outside the Usdan Student Center that read, in big capital letters, "Meet Someone New Today."

I used to pass this sign every day on my way back to North or East Quad, and I'd always stop to think about whether I really had met somebody new. Even after I graduate, I think part of this command will stay with me, keeping me from limiting myself to what is familiar or convenient. My experiences here have made me curious to learn what I don't know, to see the places I haven't seen.

For about the past year I've been having this surreal experience: I walk into Usdan, or Shapiro, or the library and barely recognize a single face. Then, in a moment of extreme egoism, I begin to find images of myself in every group of younger students I see. I remember walking to parties in a pack of first-year girls and sitting in Usdan until hours after it closed. Sometimes I'm jealous that I'm leaving and they're not, but usually I have the impulse to tell them how meaningful these experiences will be when they one day become memories.

Of all my 21 years, these past four have been the most valuable. I'm not entirely sure that I wasn't a human being when I arrived at Brandeis. But I have a feeling that four years later, I am much, much closer.