When I close my eyes and try to picture my life without the Texan, I just find myself staring at the back of my eyelids like someone who can’t conjure an apple in their mind. Let the record show, I can perfectly picture a crisp red apple in my head. Yet when I try to picture myself without this place, I don’t know what that looks like.

I don’t know what college looks like without the Texan. I started here as a freshman in fall 2020, looking for a place to call home during a virtual semester. Since then, I’ve drifted from news to larts to D&I to management, learning about myself and our community in depth. As I embark on a life without this place (a life filled with many, many naps), I leave feeling content, knowing that the people I’ve met here and the community I’ve built won’t stay within the confines of our dim, yet bustling office.

Thank you to Emily Hernandez, Trinady Joslin and Aisling Ayers, the editors who took a chance on me and always believed in me. To Megan Menchaca, the ME who scared me shitless when I was a general reporter —  I couldn’t have even dreamed of being in the same position as you one day. Now, I view you as a mentor and friend.

To MT Thomas, the best associate and partner in crime. You leave a mark everywhere you go and the Texan is no different. You taught me the beauty of music journalism and the intricate art of crafting your voice. I still read all your bylines and I’ll always be your biggest fan.

Hairuo and Julius: I’m grateful to have grown beside you two since we were news general reporters. 

Hairuo, you’re my first college friend thanks to the Texan and someone I know I can always count on. Julius, my fellow GroupMe moderator, I’m always touched by your dedication and commitment to everything you do. I’m grateful to call you a friend. 

Both of you are talented sources of light in our dim little basement where you both seem to spend all your time. I will forever be touched by your humor, altruism and never-ending care for people. You two inspire me to be a better person every day. Both of you — please go take a nap.

To Hillary, Juleanna, Kevin, Angela, Shez, Michael and everyone in UT AAJA, you gave me a community I only dreamt of before college. I feel loved and understood in every minute I spend with y’all. What more could I ask for?

Sruti, you forever inspire me to be my authentic self. You are a fierce editor and an even better friend. I can’t wait to be your roommate and maybe even get a fish of our own. 

Mantra, thank you for your baked goods and endless funny weather contributions. You will make a wonderful managing editor. 

Mia, the unofficial fifth roommate and Baltimore baddie. You’re objectively the funniest person I know, and I will always try (and fail) to be as funny as you in my Substack. You are poised to accomplish so much. When you’re famous, I’ll point to this line and say I told you so. 

Lana banana, thanks for single-handedly keeping Sweetgreen in business. “Fast Slow Disco” will always remind me of you. Christina, your energy is unbeatable (similar to me in staff picks, which naturally I killed). We will forever be bound by Typewriter Monkey.

Firdous, it’s weird I’m supposed to be your mentor because everytime we talk, I feel like I learn more from you than I could ever teach you. You’re going to accomplish so much and I cannot wait to watch as your biggest fan.

Peter. Thank you for being the best listening ear and always looking out for us. I’d rate your listening skills “adequate” and your music taste “needs work.” 

I can’t believe I set the word count for 30s, but I’m still running out of space. There aren’t enough inches in the metric system for everyone who has changed me through the Texan.  Thank you to every editor who shaped me into who I am. Thank you to every writer I had the honor of editing as Life & Arts editor and managing editor  — each one of your writing, production and commitment taught me how to be a better writer, editor and friend.

With every inch I chip away at, I’m penning the conclusion to this chapter of my life. A chapter filled with fond memories and many mistakes, but the kind that teaches you what awakens your soul and where you reach, reach, reach but fall short.

That’s what the basement gives us — a messy canvas for us to splatter paint all over again and again and again until we learn what speaks to us. Maybe the people that come after me will paint over my messy strokes and create an even prettier picture. But I’m glad I got to share the canvas with you all. Even if it was just for a little while.

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