I’ve started saying my goodbyes to Homewood Campus.
As I conclude my last year of college and my third year in Baltimore, I think back to the places where I passed my time. The dorms, the library, the stuffy classrooms. It is easier to grieve brick and mortar than the people I may never see again.
I will miss the study carrel on C-level where I cranked out papers until the early hours of the morning. I would occasionally stand to see the heads of hair and empty Celsius cans behind other desks just to remind myself I wasn’t going through it alone. I will miss the Gilman Hall basement, where Writing Seminars professors gave me life advice I know I’ll return to for years to come. I will miss the maroon, upholstered furniture of Homewood Apartments. On those scratchy chairs and couches, virtual strangers quickly became my best friends.
Yet, I don’t know how to start saying goodbye to the Gatehouse. With its ancient sage brick and sagging roof. Its shoddy foundation and sinkless bathroom. I consider “It was nice knowing you” or even a “Thanks for everything.” But what can that convey?
Certainly not the scream when I first found a wasp nest in the window of the chiefs’ office. Not the countless slices of cold Domino’s I ate on print nights. Not the giggling with fellow editors at the old quotes scrawled on workroom walls. Not the early-dawn hours when I wanted to curl into a ball on the squashy, blue sofa.
Back in 2020, I started college, and it felt like nothing had changed. I was still studying in my childhood bedroom and walking the same suburban streets. My first year passed by in a blur of Zoom lectures. I was desperate for the next few to be different. I felt pressure to cram transformative experiences into the rest of my time at Hopkins. I wanted to explore Baltimore and come to see the city as my second home. I wanted to take classes and have conversations that would change how I saw the world.
As commencement creeps closer, I think I have accomplished those things. Old Bay Seasoning and crab cakes now have a special place in my heart. I have loved learning about Charm City from the fourth-grade students in Writers in Baltimore Schools. I have been surprised by class discussions on everything from DNA sequencing to Raymond Carver.
However, my most meaningful experience at Hopkins is the one that reflects how little I’ve changed. I have always been obsessed with the work of documentation and storytelling, as evidenced by the stack of filled journals in my childhood bedroom. I adored being an editor for my high school’s paper. Joining The News-Letter was a natural continuation of those passions.
While my time on staff hasn’t unveiled a new me, it has brought me new challenges and a new community.
Being co-Editor-in-Chief during one of the most divisive times on campus in recent history has often filled me with worry and self-doubt. I have wondered whether we are doing enough to highlight student voices and experiences. I have stressed about the backlash in our inbox and Instagram comments. But, mostly, I have been in awe at The News-Letter staff — a group of students equally committed to providing the Hopkins community with fair, factual reporting.
I have laughed until I was in tears while delivering papers around campus or brainstorming headlines for the week’s editorial. I have looked forward to editing album reviews and sports recaps by our talented writers. I have been overwhelmingly grateful for the support I’ve found in my partner in crime, Yana Mulani. I have been proud of the work we’ve done, and that’s a feeling like no other.
When I left the Gatehouse after my last print night, I wanted to say goodbye. It was a cinematic moment: the incoming and outgoing chiefs turning toward North Charles Street in the early-morning darkness, birds chirping in the trees above us. It would’ve been the perfect time to say something profound. But I couldn’t find the words then, and I still can’t. I have spent countless hours in that cobweb-filled cottage stressing over ledes and captions, and now, when it matters most, I can’t even offer a platitude.
But maybe a college experience that started strangely should end that way, too. So here it is: my last piece for The News-Letter. Not much of a goodbye, but an attempt, nonetheless.
Abigail Tuschman is from Fort Lauderdale, Fla. and is graduating with a Bachelor of Arts in Writing Seminars and Natural Sciences and a minor in Spanish for the Professions. She is a former Editor-in-Chief, Opinions Editor and Voices Editor for The News-Letter.
