I’m going to be candid.
Once I comprehended what I was getting into by taking Writing for Publication, I was immediately sure that I had found my place. I began to understand why the school surveys kept asking me if I felt a “sense of belonging.” Because I did, and I do, and I’m grateful.
I stalked old stories and staff profiles and dove head-first into calendars and non-interview stories perfectly formatting every story in the back end of the site. The letter “T” and then “enter” is all it takes to get to the site, and it’s been that way for so long.
Then, as I gained my footing, I learned what it was like to want something. To really want something.
I wanted to be a good writer. Just that, I wouldn’t dare to dream of greatness in fear of becoming greedy. And I still don’t know if I’m there, but I will admit, and I hope I don’t sound too proud: I believe I’m better.
I would be ashamed if, 100 stories later, I wasn’t even a little more sure of myself.
I’ve tried very hard to branch out and to avoid cliches—albeit I fail at that often—but I’m going to give myself a break because I am proud that I’ve written around 50,000 words and still have more to say.
More times on this site than you can count, you’ll find a sentimental author recalling the tale of their timid entrance into room 139—gone but never forgotten—on the first day of the school year. And that’s because it changes you. I found my future while sitting under those painted ceiling tiles, and I discovered my obsession with writing while lying atop tables next to Evelyn and Addie.
And then it was sophomore year, and we gained a spot in the circle of furniture: three identical chairs that I thought were perfect for the three of us. As melodramatic as most of my columns were, from the hours spent in the podcast studio to watching Notting Hill with Ellerie and Maylee, sophomore year was absolute.
Now, I’m early into junior year, but I love it. I’ve already cry-laughed more than once, left Starbucks to find a chill in the air as Evelyn declared it fall, and forgotten I had a math quiz until I walked into first hour. TCT now finds its home in room 216, which has a different ring to it, but even without the couch and chairs, we’ve found a way to create the same homely atmosphere. As much as I’m preoccupied with my newfound—is two years ago still new?—love for journalism, it’s the people in this class who make it what it is.
There you have it. My cliche “I love The Central Trend so much” column.
I hope the next 100 stories, the next 50,000 words, are just as full of love, hope, and memories as these were.
