Giuliana Savini
Editor-in-Chief
In eighth grade, I constructed the Pantheon out of gingerbread. The Latin inscription was piped in icing, and the Roman gingerbread men surrounding the building were reading their scrolls made from the paper of a Fruit by the Foot. And recently I have realized that that act, four long years ago, still matters.
It matters because that December, when I drew the blueprint and baked the gingerbread pieces to scale, I was passionate in the purest sense of the word. And as my mind straddles the gulf between the rich potential of the future and the essential experiences of my past, the only thing that I can find to bridge it is passion.
Being a second semester senior has rudely forced decisions into my face that I don’t feel prepared to answer. What major should I choose? What opportunities should I seize? And most importantly, what the hell am I going to do with my life seeing as I have spent the majority of my existence in a random purposeless frenzy?! I don’t expect to answer any of these questions any time soon. I lack both wisdom and necessary insight. But amidst my anxiety, remembrance of my gingerbread Pantheon provides comfort.
The naturalness of my passion for that ancient age is the only thing I’m sure of. Yes yes yes, I recognize that the prosperous life I desire will probably not be a product of studying Latin and Roman antiquity. But, the ability to allow my enthusiasm to spill and my heart to be contented is not one that I should undermine. It is one that cannot be fabricated or forced.
My future is not so tormenting when I remember what I did that December day. That day was filled with the certainty. It was filled with purity. And it was filled with passionate convictions–something that will transcend into my future.
