So Long, Farewell, Auf Wiedersehen
Journalists are known to constantly have something to say. As people who write for a living, we never seem to run out of words; something I never thought I’d experience, at least not at 22.
I’ve been at The Caravan for two- and-a-half years, starting out as a reporter who was too timid to write about anything other than campus news and features. A few months later, I found my voice in feminist op-eds.
Throughout this time, The Caravan has provided me with a space I will forever be grateful for – a space where I could freely talk about whatever my heart desired, whether that’s art, politics or gender and women. For the most part, I always had something to say, after all, I am a journalist and writer in training.
Today, the tables have turned. The day I was asked to write my farewell op-ed, I’ve become a journalist who has nothing to say; a writer who has forgotten every word there possibly is out there – proving to me if there’s anything I can’t write, other than really good business stories, it’s a farewell letter to this place.
I knew I was going to have to work on farewell piece months ago, but I somehow continued to sideline that responsibility. About a week ago, I was reminded of the deadline I’d have to meet soon, but I kept delaying it, convincing myself I have enough time to think of something that’ll ensure I go out with a bang.
However, my deadline has come and I continue to be rendered speechless.
Suddenly, it feels like no words, no leads, no nut graphs can ever convey what I’m feeling as I write this.
As someone who only graduated three months ago and was forced to set foot in the ‘real world,’ I realized that, ever since, my writing is constantly being restricted in every aspect, something The Caravan never did to me.
While this paper is simply a student newspaper to many, to me, it’s a safe space where I could write about whatever I wanted, which is every writer’s safe haven; one that doesn’t exist outside our university walls.
Since February, every place I’ve been to has imposed some degrees of restriction on my writing. Politics is a big no and discussing problems in society is usually frowned upon. “How about we stick to business?” is what I’ve become used to hearing.
The space I’ve come to use to freely write about the terrible patriarchy has become nothing but thoughts floating aggressively in my mind, yet to be written in a journal I don’t have or an anonymous blog I am yet to create.
A couple of weeks ago, my best friend told me I need to stop comparing every job I come across to the experience I’ve had in The Caravan, a habit I quickly developed right around January.
“Please don’t. Leave it aside as it’s own thing because you’re not going to feel that way about anything else,” I remember her telling me.
Initially, I aimed for this to be the best op-ed I’ve written to date. But somehow the only thing I’ve managed to do is give this piece a headline that will constantly remind me of it every time I come across my favorite musical; going out with nothing short of emotions scattered on paper.
Deena Sabry
Managing English Editor
