After almost three years of cutting down sentences from article after article to fit the word count, I find it incredibly ironic that while I can now write without a given word count, I am at a loss for words. What kind of wise words should I leave behind as my final article for the Bull’s Eye? Should I reminisce about my favorite high school memories, list people I want to thank or reflect upon my greatest regrets?
I suppose I shouldn’t be too surprised at my fumble for words. Too many times have I stood in front of a class and stammered my way through a presentation.
But this time, it’s different. This speechlessness is good. It isn’t my shyness getting a hold of me, but rather, my awe at my past two years with the Bull’s Eye.
When I first stepped into room 563 (RIP) during my sophomore year for Journalism 1, it didn’t seem that I would belong. Though journalists were expected to be outgoing and knowledgeable about current events, I was the very opposite. I would sit in silence during the class and had no idea what left wing and right wing meant.
After two years with the Bull’s Eye, I somehow find myself as the Opinion Editor with my own column, GraceNotes, in which I’m required to put my thoughts into a concise, well-organized article every month. I slowly found my niche in the newsroom, somewhere that I thought I did not belong. With every dinner eaten at deadline night, the mild panic that settled in the newsroom during deadline week and the feeling of flipping through the printed version of our newspaper, I grew closer and closer with the people that I worked with.
There are so many memories I wish I could relive: making fun of Ted with Erin, laughing with my section as we tried to pronounce Pete Buttigieg’s name, singing a “Dear Evan Hansen” song with Reyna, walking through the giant journalism convention, making puns for headlines, cheering at the journalism write-offs, promising Reyna to buy boba once we finished layout, the satisfaction of closing the InDesign program every month, watching the sunsets on deadline nights… The list just goes on.
The newsroom, whether it be room 563 or 459, holds a special place in my heart as a symbol of my personal growth and figuring out what really was special to me. Though I retain some of my reticence, I’d like to think that I learned how to piece together words, phrases and sentences enough to be able to say hello to the friends I made and articulate what exactly about the Bull’s Eye blew me away.
And now, it’s time to figure out how to say goodbye. To the Bull’s Eye: thank you for the shining memories that I now leave with. And while I will cherish these moments, I anticipate many more genuine experiences that leave me just as speechless as my time with the Bull’s Eye did.