“I’m Thomas, and I’m from Thessaloniki, Greece.”

These were the first words I heard from Thomas Papavramidis ’28. He uttered them assertedly in a slight, husky Mediterranean accent as we all went around our FroCo Group in the Trumbrary, sharing our name and hometown. I never paid him much attention during our FroCo meetings, simply trying my best to stay focused during awkward, cricket-silent conversations on practicing safe sex and harassment. I think back to those days, remembering when I received my first insight into Thomas.

It happened the day of the fancy-ish first year dinner we had with our FroCo Groups. I remember our FroCos lined us up like soldiers in front of Bingham and marched us off to Trumbull, where we then proceeded to awkwardly mill around until they opened the dining hall doors. I heard some people in my FroCo Group start chatting about classes they’d registered for the night before and couldn’t help but eavesdrop a little.

“I’m taking this class called First-Order Logic.” I immediately perked up. I recognized the speaker as that guy with the Mediterranean accent. What was his name again? I faintly recalled that he was into STEM and possibly entrepreneurship, so the fact that he was taking a philosophy course both surprised and intrigued me.

“Did you say logic?” I asked, turning around. He nodded.

“I’m also in that class!” I said excitedly and proceeded to go on a mini tangent on how I thought no one else would take it because it seemed super niche and esoteric. From that moment on, I resolved to learn more about this mysterious Mediterranean man.

Even when we were both in those small 50-person logic lectures together, he remained an enigma. I never spoke to him. He always entered class either right on time or a couple minutes before, black backpack casually slung over one shoulder, sometimes with a soccer ball and other soccer equipment poking out, always sitting in the back.

I reached out to him on Instagram one day early on in the start of the semester: “Hi, it’s Siena from phil 115 and our FroCo group! by any chance have u looked at the p-set yet?” Eventually I suggested study sessions and we made it a somewhat regular thing. As we sunk into the Trumbull common room chairs and trudged through p-sets, our conversations occasionally wandered far from logic.

One time, we settled into a good philosophical discussion on determinism. I wasn’t so sure about his slightly-but-not-quite-deterministic outlook on life, but I was curious to learn more.

“You believe that everything we do is predetermined?” I asked, a little skeptical.

“Not exactly,” he said, brow furrowing. His pensive eyes, colored like the Aegean Sea, were deep in concentration. “I believe that every action is like a domino, affecting the next decisions you’ll make. Because of that initial choice, every other possible decision you can make will somehow be connected to that previous one.”

“Okay,” I said, slowly nodding and waiting to see where he would go next.

“You like beach volleyball, right?”

“Yeah, I love it.”

“Well, I believe that you were always going to love beach volleyball. It was destined to happen. Your preferences, likes and dislikes are things you’ve always had, even if you haven’t necessarily known it all your life.”

“But what about free will?” I asked. “I chose to like beach volleyball. It’s possible I could’ve chosen to like another sport.” I wasn’t quite convinced.

“I still think free will exists, but you liking beach volleyball was something that was always going to happen. Like I said before, choices are like different sets of dominoes lined up in a row. You can’t change the dominos themselves, but you can choose what set of dominoes you want to see fall. Once the first domino in the chain is knocked over, then the rest are bound to fall, resulting in who you are based on that original choice.”

It was a fascinating conversation I would love to continue some other time. We promptly moved on from there, diving headfirst into yet another interesting chapter of his life. We briefly scrolled through old photos on our phones like sifting for gold.

“Do you take a lot of photos?” I asked.

“No, not really. I prefer living in the moment.”

“Huh, I get that.” We combed through our albums, showing each other photos of friends from back home and us when we were younger. His album was sparse yet vibrant, capturing just what was needed to dwell on a past memory. I learned Thomas was really into selfies during middle school and, now, his album was populated with screenshots of YouTube piano tutorials.

I remember him piecing together the beginning of the Harry Potter theme song by ear on the Trumbull common room piano one night, his fingers tentative but determined, like an artist sketching the first lines of a masterpiece. During Christmastime, he would never hesitate to shamelessly sing along to some holiday jingles. And today, he showed me parts of “Someone You Loved” and “Love in the Dark,” singing the lyrics softly under his breath. One day, I’m sure he’ll own a Yamaha piano, filling his home with music like warm, balmy sunlight through a window.

Today, I also made an effort to learn more about that soccer ball I used to see strapped to his backpack in logic lectures. I knew he played club soccer, but that was about the extent of my knowledge. He said he played quite a few sports in the past, almost trying each one out like fast fashion.

“Really?” I asked. “What about. . . hm. Oh, I got one! Have you done polo?”

“Well, no.” I proceeded to name some of the most outlandish sports, all in good fun. To be fair, he was very athletic.

“What made soccer stick with you?” I asked.

“It was the most fun for me. It requires skill, endurance, and teamwork, all the best things about a sport.”

“Can you do a trick?”

“I can do one right now if you want.”

“Really?” There wasn’t a soccer ball in sight in the Trumbull Common Room.

He grabbed his phone. I couldn’t believe it. He precariously balanced it on the tip of his left foot. It took him two times, but the third time he kicked the phone into the air and had it land on his back without interfering with his hands.

“Oh my gosh, you’re crazy,” I said, laughing.

“You know where I want to go one day?” he asked, sinking back into the chair and setting his phone back down on the table.

“Where?”

“Brazil. I just love their culture.”

That made a lot of sense. I can totally see Thomas in-cognito there, dancing to Brazilian funk in a club. Plus, Brazilians have an almost religious respect and zeal for fútbol.

“You’d blend in like a local,” I teased him.

“You think so?” he said, laughing.

Sitting in those oversized plush chairs, I realized how much I admired his bold outlook on life. During the Trumbull Formal at Barcelona in October and later that night at Luther, I watched him command the space around him — dancing, laughing and smiling with a carefree joy that’s rare and magnetic.

His Instagram bio sums him up perfectly: Veni, Vidi, Vici — I came, I saw, I conquered. Thomas sees life as a gift to be unwrapped, an adventure to be lived fully, not to dwell on the past but look forward to the future. He leaves me inspired to be just a little braver, a little more open and a little more adventurous.