I don’t know if I should have gone to Texas A&M. In fact, I’m pretty sure I shouldn’t have.

I remember sitting next to my mom, watching as a handful of himbos in white janitor getups paced back and forth across the stage at my New Student Conference. From that moment, I knew I would never get on board with the traditions at this school — perhaps the worst mentality to have as a student at a school that is basically its own religion.

I’ve never posed with a Gig ‘em in a picture, I never purchased an Aggie Ring, and swaying back and forth interlocked with a gaggle of sweaty supporters sounds like an activity tailor-made to punish me. 

I don’t say this all to sound different or holier-than-thou; I actually wish I had embraced the culture. But I didn’t, and that made everything harder.

I spent many an evening my freshman year walking all over campus in a malaise, lonely and jealous of seeing other people enjoying the typical college experience. 

It wasn’t until I trekked down into the unending, windowless beige of the newsroom that I finally met the people I will carry with me forever. Inside that asbestos-filled basement, I had some of the hardest conversations of my life but was also forced to confront so much about myself and grow up fast.

The Battalion gave me a vessel to pour myself into. It gave me a reason to obsess and agonize over every word, every edit. It’s taken me across the country and given me opportunities that I am unbelievably privileged to have had. But traveling to football meccas or California conferences still felt secondary to the ordinary nights in the newsroom, when nothing important was happening, but everything felt meaningful in a way I didn’t fully understand at the time.

Thank you, Luke, my first editor at The Batt. You had no reason to take a chance on a guy without writing experience and even less of a reason to put me on football coverage so early, but I’ll forever be grateful to you for being the first person to believe I had something to offer in this space. 

Matthew, from your overalls at my first editor training to your snarky press box comments and even the Chinese hotel, I’ll remember every moment you’ve made me laugh. Noah, you’re one of the most genuine people I’ve ever met and immediately made the San Antonio Grim Reaper critical to this group’s culture.

Isa, every conversation we’ve had has made me smarter, and I’m grateful every time you share one of your thoughts — they only ever show how deeply you care. Julia, your enthusiasm was a saving grace during the many monotonous moments, and your presence truly energizes every room you enter.

Ian, I couldn’t appreciate you more for taking a chance on me as an editor, welcoming me into a group of truly unique voices and being someone I could always count on beyond work. Kynlee, a simple thank you doesn’t come close to doing you justice — not only for being a great partner in leadership this semester, but for being the perfect friend — however I’m trying to keep your tears to a minimum as you edit this.

Thank you, Nico, Julia, David, J.M., Tenny, Hilani, Fallon, Avery, Sophia, Charis, Josh, Maeva, Kaleb, Ava, Braxton, Zoe, Pranay, Caleb, Julius, Sophie, Theresa, Steve, Rocio, Adriano, Chris, Ashely, Hannah, Roman, DJ and Chen, for each sharing a little part of yourself to make this place special.

We’ve done so much together, but what I’ll remember most is doing nothing. I’ll remember the worst impressions that somehow always got a laugh, I’ll remember throwing the deflated football around the room dangerously close to the heads of anybody in range, and I’ll remember the random conversations we had in the newsroom when we should have been working.

I’ll remember every single person who stumbled through the doldrums of the MSC to find this corner of controlled chaos. I’ll remember every laugh, every quote up on that wall and every second of hanging out with friends that made every moment worth it.

Perhaps I got it wrong. I spent so much time believing I had to love this school in the way that everybody else did without ever realizing that I loved it in the only way that mattered to me. Not through Howdys or hand signs, but through smudged ink, late nights and the memories that felt small at the time but will forever loom large.

I’ll never know if Texas A&M was the right school for me — I’ll always have my doubts. But I never, for a second, questioned whether The Battalion was where I wanted to be.