I HAVE WRITTEN hundreds of articles, yet this piece proved to be the one I found the hardest to write. Truly, what is left to say in parting when a life has already been lived through thousands of words?

Perhaps this difficulty stems from my own inability to accept the inevitable. Fairy tales conclude when the characters live happily ever after. Tragedies end with the destruction of a protagonist. Much like these tropes, all things certain must come to an end eventually.

And so, here it is with this chapter of my own life.

I never would have imagined spending the last three years of my college education tucked away in a small, dusty office (no offense) like The Bedan‘s near the main gate. And while they say that school is a child’s second home, I found that place, specifically, to be mine. 

The Bedan was never part of my plan. It took a year—and the better half of my sophomore days—before I found my place as a research staffer. Here, I met the seniors who would soon walk me through endless deadlines and the unglamorous grunt work that came with the job description.

In my junior year, I took the biggest leap of faith by applying for Volume 82’s Editorial Board. By the grace of the Almighty, I was fortunate enough to be appointed as Associate Editor, which, at the time, was a position I never imagined I would have the privilege of holding.

Just when I thought things would finally die down, I found myself, for the last time, leading the publication as its 83rd Editor-in-Chief. It was an experience like no other—working alongside a talented bunch of student journalists to become a part of something far greater than ourselves.

So yes, that dusty office by the main gate was my home. Over the three measly years I spent there, it bore witness to my growth as a journalist, my failures, humbling reality checks from my peers, and the countless moments when I embarrassed myself doing the things I was supposed to do.

Through it all, my passion for journalism only blazed brighter. While The Bedan may remain immortal, its prestige and legacy are carried forward by those like-minded individuals who have embodied the principle of responsible journalism in service of the people.

And perhaps, goodbyes are painful precisely because they remind us of the moments we wished would never end. 

For me, it was all the late-night conversations, the sleepless nights, the silent victories of being seen and felt by the Bedan community, and the shared laughter that turned an idealistic (and sometimes prideful) bunch of students into a group of worthwhile friends.

Yet, as much as this chapter was defined by the places I called home, my college journey was ultimately shaped by the people who made sure that I never walked alone.

To my editors and editorial staff, former and current—Manssel, Sam, Mika, Gian, Maegan, Jake, Joaquin, Xialea, Ananda, Nate, Rcee, Paolo, Rizian, Roni, and all whom I have worked with in my stay—thank you for the patience, the memories, and most especially the disagreements that helped shape the journalist I am now.

To my friends—JC, Mark, Paul, Prince, Faisal, AJ, Rcee, JM, Paul, Mitziko, Dencio, Danilyn, Sean, and Jed—thank you for keeping my sanity in check and helping make my college life (outside the publication) meaningful. I will forever cherish the memories we have created in our stay here in San Beda.

To my girlfriend, Dhona, who has been a beacon of happiness since entering my life—thank you for being my constant source of warmth and comfort. I will always love you.

And to my family, especially my parents—Randy and Nonie—thank you for nurturing my education and being the reason why I am writing this opinion piece in the first place.

Despite how bittersweet goodbyes are, there is hope that the conclusion of one thing would pave the way for brighter, beautiful things to flourish. I leave this publication, this print, and this University with nothing but utmost gratitude—for the stories we told and the legacy that will forever endure.

From the bottom of my heart, thank you, The Bedan!