This whole thing could just turn out to be one giant mistake.

Ever since I matriculated at Cornell, or Cornell matriculated me or, well, someone got matriculated and they liked it a little too much … ever since then, I’ve had my eyes on having a column in The Cornell Daily Sun. Unfortunately, I had no idea what it would take to convince The Sun of my worthiness.

First, I was put through a gamut of questions regarding my Middle-Eastern background and my laboratory for uranium enrichment. Fittingly, I was forced to weave several Persian Rugs for Cornell President David Skorton’s office, make 38 pounds of baklava blindfolded and interrogated in a darkroom with a pillowcase over my head and clothespins attached to my ears, nipples, elbows and ankles while being forced to write out the Cornell Alma Mater in hieroglyphics. Backwards. All this made Guantanamo seem like candy, at least from what my relatives have told me.

Finally, I was sent to the head honcho himself, my editor, Señor Carlos Maycotte. Carlos was probably easiest on me; all he wanted me to do was have a Mexican flag tattooed on the small of my back; a couple of tequila shots and a friendly tickle-fight later, it has been done. If you don’t believe me, check it out; the tattoo will probably be most visible on days I’m wearing belly shirts.

So, back to my initial point: why could this entire thing be one potentially huge mistake? Well, in part, because I suck. First of all, this whole thing could be way outside my league. I certainly don’t know my own limitations and weaknesses; I once tried to kill two stones with one bird. It may be encouraging to hear that I did have a column at my undergraduate school’s newspaper (Elizabethtown College), but they only have about 1,700 students, and I probably had a loyal readership of about 3 (my roommates, because I posted the articles on the fridge, next to the toilet, ironed them on to their pillowcases, etc). Doesn’t Cornell have, like, 20,000 students? I guess I should see this as a great opportunity to share my thoughts and ideas; In fact, I predict my readership will almost double (I plan on sending articles to my parents now as well).

Well, let’s just get this out of the way: I am a first generation Iranian-American. I bet you’re wondering who I’ll be rooting for if America attacks Iran. I’ve given this much thought, and to be fair, I think that I would like to fight for the Iranian side from Monday through Wednesday, and for the American side from Thursday through Saturday. And, if it is okay with both sides, I’d like to take Sundays off to catch up on sleep, run errands, do laundry, etc.

I’ll probably use this column partially to write about my interesting life. I would say that my good fortune began when I was an infant and I pooped green. Not just any green, I’m talking a new shade, a hybrid (better gas mileage). In a press release, one Crayola representative described it as “Glorious! Somewhere between Kelly Green, Mountain Meadow and Green Yellow … More powerful than Pine Green … [yet] less subtle. We shall call it ‘Olive Ordure’.”

And there you have it, folks. A new Crayola color named after my infantile poo. Olive Ordure replaced Spring Green in the infamous 64-pack with built-in sharpener (those were so cool).

What else? In early adolescence, I fought off a horde of man-eating ants from a Cambodian village picnic using a thimble, some Bubble Yum and a Wet Nap. A week later, it was reported that a similar stint was executed using a bottle cap, some Mentos and a Moist Towelette by MacGyver. Or should I say, MacKnock-off.

I’ll probably write a few pieces on politics, social justice and the meaning of life (I think some people are lost on that last one especially). I want to make it clear that I plan not to present my opinions on the basis of any merit or as any expert of any kind on anything (because certainly the only thing I’m an expert on is being mediocre), but rather, as a peer who is deeply concerned about the injustices and harsh realities of our world. Did that sound genuine? Good, because it was.

At some point, I’ll probably chronicle my array of relations with women, most of which have ended in letdowns, rejections and public humiliation. These stories may be beneficial to two parties: a) for guys, this will provide a comprehensive backdrop on how not to interact with ladies, and b) for girls, this will provide a range of established approaches to turn away, deny and evade yours truly.

I hope to use this bi-weekly newsletter of my thoughts, hopes and dreams as an agent for the greater good, or at least for a laugh. Just knowing that you might be reading this right now gives me a chill that warms the cockles of my heart and tears through the chasms of my spine down to my coccyx. It’s refreshing.

I certainly hope to do The Sun justice and I hope Carlos wasn’t wrong in giving me this opportunity. Either way, I’m stuck with this tattoo and I think he’ll have the last laugh; although I’m sure the Mexican flag on my back will be a great conversation starter on days when I wear belly shirts.

Behzad Varamini is a graduate student in Nutritional Sciences. He can be reached at bv29@cornell.edu. Gain Through Loss appears alternate Wednesdays.