Are you surprised by my tears, Mr. Reader? Strong men also cry. Strong men also cry.

No, I’m not bawling because my Burt’s Bees Baby Bee Mango Peach Conditioner with Echinacea lecithin extract washed into my eyes. (I actually use the tear-free variety, thank you very much.) No, friends, I weep because soon I’m leaving on a jet plane, don’t know when I’ll be back again. (My return ticket says May 1, but that doesn’t fit into the lyric.) Where am I going, you ask? Namibia.

I first got the idea to go to southern Africa from reading the delightful series of Opinion pieces by Courtney Weaver entitled “Fish Out of Water.” Last quarter, Courtney had the gall to take a midterm in a random class, go on a blind date and attend a meeting of the Palo Alto Scrabble club, all in the name of writing some awesome ops pieces. Not one to be one-upped, I decided that I would gather fodder for my columns by going to Africa to build judicial capacity and fight for the rights of HIV/AIDS prisoners.

After this brief bout of inspiration, I hesitated. I always assumed that law school had to be a miserable, pointless and self-absorbed exercise in futility — in fact, I believe that is the subtitle of Stanford Law School’s admission brochure. Yet, somewhere inside me was the feeling that the efforts of a dedicated group of human beings might be able to accomplish something other than “helping companies explore extraordinary opportunities, manage and sustain growth and maximize revenue.”

Did you notice that I quoted McKinsey’s Web site? Mr./Miss McKinsey, I quote you because I love you. (P.S. I’ll be knocking on your doorstep when I get back from Windhoek — I have $200,000 in debt to pay off here.)

Now, I understand that I’m not the only one leaving the Stanford bubble; a sea of undergrads is on the verge of entering the real world. Of course, there will always be a handful who cling to the cloistered confines of academia via Ph.Ds in order to postpone weaning, but I’m confident that most of you will be suckling at new teats come this summer.

Back when I was in your shoes — right around the summer of ‘69 — I had plenty of ideas about how to make my last quarter of college memorable. First and foremost on my list was telling the really hot girl in my moral philosophy class — her name was Nayanatara if I recall correctly — that she was the yin to my yang. I remember it like it was only 14 years ago: She had long and viscous hair, smooth and creamy skin, substantial though not excessive junk in the trunk. Listening to her talk about supererogatory behaviors always made my palms Dewey and got me all Rawled up. So one day, with nothing to lose but my dignity, I decided to pony up and ask her out.

Oh, how she rejoiced upon hearing my words! Choirs sang, birds eloped with bees and the universe finally seemed to make sense. I’m a secular man through and through, but I must admit that for those last 10 weeks of school, I was thanking my former incarnations for what must have been some intense moral rectitude and pious sacrifice. And even though our prurient pleasures were initially painful because of our limited time together, I soon realized that each and every moment in her presence made my entire life worthwhile.

*Sigh* Who am I kidding? I was too much of a coward to ever talk to Nayanatara. As a result, she and I were never able to have the time together we (I) so longed for and deserved. But, what sense of hope or satisfaction could a reader derive from an ending like that? In this column, I wanted to give us what we lost out on in life. I’d like to think this isn’t weakness or evasion, but a final act of kindness.

Sound like a movie you’ve seen recently? Let Vishnu know at vishnus@stanford.edu so he can sue them for anticipating his ideas.