Home is where one starts out
I applied to Harvard in one of those frequent bee-in-my-bonnet dreamer’s phases to which I’m prone. I took the SATs and obsessed over the application, but never really connected that process with any outcome. And then the real world asserted itself: final school exams, an Australian summer. I started college locally at the end of February. Receiving a congratulatory email from the Harvard Admissions Office on April Fools’ Day felt quite wonderful, but also rather perplexing. I had never left Australia before, I am legally blind, and, quite apart from anything else, Harvard was still more a Platonic idea than an actual institution. I grew up on the campus of the Melbourne College of Divinity, where several professors have Harvard connections and were more than forthcoming with their advice. One, concealing any sign of levity as only a scholar of the Reformation can, said, “Marina, it’s like ‘The Godfather.’ Harvard makes you an...