The night before freshman orientation, my mother took me to see "Last Tango in Paris", which was playing in an art house cinema in Boston. She thought it was an art film, but once she realized what was happening onscreen, she yanked me out before the really naughty bits. For a sheltered Korean diplomat's daughter, what little I saw was eye-opening. I laugh when I think about that evening, which in some way foreshadowed how Wellesley would open my eyes and my mind and my heart over the next four years -- not in a scandalous, erotic way, but Wellesley opened new worlds to me, intellectually and emotionally, and at graduation I was a different person -- wiser, smarter, more confident and infinitely more sophisticated than the shy girl who moved into Cazenove with one suitcase. The last line of the late, great film critic Robert Ebert's look back at the film reflects what Wellesley meant to me: "Watching Bernardo Bertolucci's "Last Tango in Paris" 23 years after it was first released is like revisiting the house where you used to live, and did wild things you don't do anymore. Wandering through the empty rooms, which are smaller than you remember them, you recall a time when you felt the whole world was right there in your reach, and all you had to do was take it."