Farine

Crazy for Bread

Lumi’s Graduation Speech

“Thank you, Dr. Gersten. Good morning, President Megahed, Board of Trustees, Faculty, Family, Friends, and good morning to you, Class of 2008.”
“Do you remember your first day at Kendall? I do. My whites have never been whiter, I was carrying around a huge yellow tool box filled with mystery tools, and I didn’t know a soul. It was first grade, all over again.”
“Looking back on that first day, I realize that we students weren’t students. We were really ingredients. . .let’s say, flour, water, yeast and salt…and we all were going to be made into bread.”
“It didn’t matter whether we had come to Kendall to study Early Childhood Education, Business and Hospitality, Culinary or Baking and Pastry. We were about to be made into bread.
We had already been “scaled,” carefully selected from the large pool of applicants to Kendall. Now we were ready to be “mixed” into classes. Baking and Pastry students were lucky because theirs had wonderful sounding names like “Chocolate” and “Sugar,” “Artisan Bread” and “Breakfast Pastries.””
“In our classes, we began to “ferment.” We learned how to work together. Flour, salt, yeast and water are all wonderful ingredients but not one of them does much on its own. However, if you combine them, you can make all sorts of wonderful breads: sourdough rye, whole wheat bread or even a perfect baguette. “Ingredients” working together make the final product that much better.”
“And as we “fermented” in our classroom kitchens, we formed a strong “gluten network,”…oops, I mean, we formed strong ties with other students and instructors.”
“Sometimes, we made mistakes, left something out of the recipe, but we didn’t quit because we were determined to “rise.””
“And all along, our instructors “kneaded” us carefully. They made certain that the knowledge we learned in the classroom and kitchen was completely “developed.””
““Stretching” and “folding” came next—commonly called quizzes, tests, portfolios and projects. All of them were meant to prove us worthy of a degree from Kendall.”
“Our instructors pushed us hard—sometimes very hard—to be organized, efficient, and creative. They expected us to think outside the box and to try again and again and again until we truly understood what we were doing. Sometimes, members of the faculty, you believed in us more than we believed in ourselves, and we would like to thank you for that.”
“Then it was time for us to be “divided” and “pre-shaped” according to our interests: here a pastry chef, there a savory chef. And of course, more “kneading,” “stretching,” and “folding”—just can’t seem to get away from that “stretching” and “folding.””
“Oh, once in a while, on vacations, we were allowed to “bench rest.” But more often than not, we were busy gaining valuable work experience, whether on an internship or by taking part-time employment.”
“Internships allowed us to put into use what we had learned in the classroom. The reputation of Kendall is so high that many of us were able to intern in the best restaurants, hotels and schools Chicago has to offer. This experience helped us to decide where we wanted to go after graduation, and Kendall College made it possible.”
“Finally, at long last, we were “shaped” and ready! We were put in the “oven” for a final round of exams and came out as you see us now: beautiful, delicious, and crusty!”
“Today is a day to look back on how much we’ve learned. We are leaving here different from when we arrived as individual “ingredients.” We’ve gained knowledge and skills to put with our passion and energy, and in the process we have become a part of something bigger.”
“We will take with us memories of the many opportunities that the faculty and staff of Kendall College have given us: the opportunity to take chances, the opportunity to fall flat on our faces every once in awhile, but most importantly, the opportunity to succeed in the professions that we love.”
“Students of the Class of 2008, many of us could not have succeeded without the support of family and friends. We have all benefited from the excellent teaching of our instructors and the unfailing assistance of the staff at Kendall College. I’d like to take a moment for all of us to stand up and thank everyone who has helped us along the way.”
“Thank you, Kendall!
Good luck, everyone!”

The Bridge to A Dream, by Lumi Cirstea

“I’m so nervous. I can’t keep my balance. My heart is out of control. “Miss! Miss! You forgot something.” A small hand stops me. It belongs to the flight attendant from the airplane. I can’t understand what she is saying, but then she passes me my passport and smiles. I nod and realize how lucky I am. Without my passport, I am lost.”
“When I come out of the gate, there are hundreds of people running in many directions. It seems as if everyone knows where they are going. I watch for awhile. After a few minutes, I feel dizzy. Trying to get my bearings, I look up and can hardly see the ceiling. When I look down, the carpet is so green and clean that it doesn’t look real. There are a lot of security guards in clean, bright uniforms.”
“I stay to the side in a corner and wait, trying to decide what to do next. After what seems like hours, I grab hold of my courage and step out into the stream of people flowing by me. I feel like I’m still flying instead of walking. I have no idea where I’m going. All I can do is hold onto my bag tightly and move forward quickly. I look straight ahead. There is no going back.”
“Gradually, the river of people starts to slow down. Up ahead I see some officials directing us into different lines. Now I creep forward a few centimeters at a time, always looking ahead to see how close I am to the front of the line. Finally, it is my turn to leave the large red “X” taped on the floor and walk toward the counter I have been staring at for such a long time. When I don’t understand what the lady behind it says, she signals to another lady who comes over and gestures for me to follow her.” 
“I look around nervously. What does this mean? No one in front of me was led away like this. I don’t understand what is happening. The lady opens a big white door and I follow her through it. The crowd and its noise disappear. I am led down a hallway with many closed doors. My guide signals me to sit down on a bench and wait, and then she leaves with my passport and official papers. I feel so lost and confused. Have I done something wrong? What if the lady never comes back? What will I do? I try to tell myself that everything will be all right, but I’m so scared that I can’t hear a word that I’m saying.”
“Suddenly, I feel a tap on my shoulder. My lady has come back, and she wants me to follow her again. Now I am in a huge room that is divided into cubicles. Like a little homeless dog I follow my lady into one of them and see two police officers. I am terrified but when they start to talk, they seem very friendly. Unfortunately, I can’t understand a word of what they are saying. All I can do is shake my head and shrug my shoulders in apology. There is so much that I want to ask them, but I don’t know how.”
“Now the police officers lead me to a small room with strange looking machines. The one with the mustache and a name tag that says “John” takes my hand, rolls the tips of my fingers across an ink pad, and then presses them on several official looking documents including my passport.”
“My hands are sweating with nervousness and ink. I don’t understand why they are doing this. The one whose name tag says “Steve” points to a sink in the corner and indicates that I should wash my hands. Afterward, John gives me back my passport. With a smile on his face, he shakes my hand and says, “Welcome to America!” 
“I am taken back to where all the people are standing in lines but this time, I get to walk through the gates. I am in the corner of a huge room surrounded by hundreds of people. They look so different—so many colors, so many languages, so much noise. I listen as hard as I can, but I don’t hear any Romanian. I stand there, and I’m afraid.”
“Think, Lumi, think!” I tell myself fiercely. Then, for the first time since I got off the plane, my mind starts to work. I can speak Italian. There must be someone else in all these people who can speak Italian, too. I can find somebody to point me toward the baggage area. Behind the Alitalia desk I see a man who looks European. When I approach him, he is very polite. His blue uniform with an Italian flag pinned on the lapel makes me smile. Once he gives me directions, I feel better. I know where to go.”
“I spot my baggage right away. It is circling around and around, looking lost and alone on a giant silver machine. I struggle to lift off my suitcases. There are four of them, packed full, and I am so tired. Finally, I wrestle my bags to the floor beside me. Sitting on the edge of one of them, I try to think what to do next. I sit for a very long time with my pocket dictionary, looking up the words that I see on the signs around me. When I learn what “Exit” means, I know that it is time to go.”
“But I can’t go anywhere with four enormous suitcases. Quickly I whisper the words of a Romanian nursery rhyme and eliminate two of my bags. I take off their tags and leave them behind. Sliding my two remaining suitcases along beside me, I start for the faraway sign showing me the way out. It is May 13, 2001. Finally, I am about to walk among the tall, shiny buildings that I have seen from the tiny window of the airplane. Slowly at first and then more quickly, I finish crossing the bridge to my new world.”