I first attended orientation as one of 15 people with my video on in a Zoom room of over 300. I was in my room on a chilly February evening, and I took notes. The last time I attended orientation, I was standing in front of an overflowing auditorium in the CMA presenting to our biggest staff ever. I had learned by then that notes were not necessary.

The Daily Texan isn’t something I thought I would be a part of when I entered college. Truthfully, I thought I would quit after in-person activities resumed. But even as late nights in the basement became a familiar experience, I kept looking forward to the next time I would be there. If you asked me why, I would tell you because of the people.

Sanika and Abhirupa, thank you for hiring me and keeping me hired for four-fifths of my Texan career. I have learned so much from you. 

Rachael, I am so thankful you are one of my best friends, and I could not ask for a better roommate. I came back to the Texan because of you, and I am so glad I did. Megan, I will miss seeing you in the basement, but I know we will continue to hang out and pretend to get work done even otherwise.

Fiza, I never expected 13 weeks is all it would take for us to become so close. I once again apologize for confusing Ed Sheeran and Japanese Breakfast (there’s context I promise), and thank you for being the best managing editor I could ask for. 

Thank you to the editorial boards from the past three semesters for teaching me and becoming some of my closest friends. A special shoutout to all of my ex-columnists. Thank you for learning alongside me. To the Daily Flexin’ team, you were the light of my Monday nights.

I have learned a lot from the Texan. How to write like a journalist, edit, communicate effectively and inclusively, build an ethical environment, and that Peyton Manning is indeed retired (thank you to Matthew and Mantra). 

I will miss being a part of the Texan. And frankly, I am not sure what to do with all of my free evenings next semester. 

However, I am not leaving empty-handed. After five semesters of not using an Oxford comma, countless friends, key mentors, two roommates, a (short) intramural dodgeball career, all of my Twitter followers, and too many cockroach sightings to feel truly at peace in the basement, I think it is safe to say I can never look at writing without criticizing it again.

Walking up the stairs for the last time will be bittersweet, but I leave knowing I will bring the lessons I learned and the people I shared them with long after my nights in the basement.