In September of 2008, I fell in love. I can remember the way the early autumn air smelled, the position of the afternoon sun, even the exact moment our tour group crossed over a section of old sidewalk situated in some foliage and I read the slogans of the 1960s beneath my feet. At that moment, Brandeis became a symbol to me of everything I wanted out of my future-success, freedom, diversity-and I was in love. My love, however, was mere months away from facing a very serious challenge.In the hazy, enamored weeks that followed, I almost entirely neglected the other schools I had considered. What can I say? Brandeis offered me not only a window out of my life here in Arlington, Texas but also a path into a future marked by progress and understanding. So I applied for early-decision round one without a single doubt or regret and waited eagerly for word.

In early December I turned 18, finished my last fall semester of public education and was accepted to Brandeis' Class of 2013. I was ecstatic. Christmas brought Brandeis bumper stickers, sweatshirts, T-shirts and tote bags. My brother loaded me up on necessary reading: plenty of Mitch Albom, Abbie Hoffman and even a beginner's manual to understanding Hebrew and Jewish traditions. In the weeks that followed, I read obsessively and waited expectantly, counting down the days until August.

Perhaps it was unfair to maintain the expectations I did-that Brandeis would be entirely unaffected by the ailing economy and that things would be just as I had left them in September. Still, even if I had allowed some room for the slump, I couldn't have foreseen the death of the Rose Art Museum. Having read the reactions of Brandeis alumni and current students on the Justice Web site, I am sincerely shocked to find that the overwhelming response has been angry. Perhaps my distance has prevented me from forming the relationship with the Rose that others clearly have, but still, the Rose's wilting has not inspired me to rage but rather to fear and grieve.

Seeing the museum go is certainly a shame, especially in the context of Brandeis' own modern and expressive spirit. However, my concern is less for the fate of art at Brandeis and more for what the Rose's passing could mean for the University's future. Watching Brandeis sell its collection is devastating. I cannot imagine the heartache this has caused for art students and professors, but I know that their despair casts a much larger shadow. My concerns for the school multiply daily. The explanations of Brandeis' financial problems have been vague. I realize that the school faces a possible $10 million shortfall, and I fear that the circumstances that created this deficit could continue to exacerbate themselves.

Far beyond losing the Rose and possibly gaining a mandatory summer session, another nightmare has figured itself into the equation: If Brandeis' situation continues to deteriorate, will I even have a school to go to come August? If Brandeis were forced to close its doors, what would become of the Class of 2013? And what of the legacy of Brandeis and all it stands for?

These times are increasingly uncertain. I hesitate to predict the future of Brandeis and all those who have placed their own fates in its hands. The only promise that I can make with confidence is that as long as Brandeis has a single class to offer, I'll be there. If it only has one building and no artwork to its name, I'll be there. If tuition is increased and a summer session enforced, I will find a way to be there. I'm not giving up on Brandeis, though I cannot be sure exactly what that commitment entails.

The writer is a member of the incoming Class of 2013.