I’ve written quite a few columns over the past couple of years, and I’ve thoroughly enjoyed writing and editing most of them. There have been ones that have been done weeks ahead of our press deadline, and some that barely squeaked into the paper. For the most part, I’ve kept my writing light. I’ve written about superheroes and implored people to respect the sitting ovation. Some have meant more to me than others, but for the most part I’ve kept out of the more impassioned and personal realm of opinion writing. Print never seemed a particularly good forum for yelling; I’d much rather do that in person. I guess I just always felt more comfortable observing these interactions from the sidelines than getting in the fray myself.

This column is supposed to be different though, more reflective of my personal experience at this school and more impassioned than my past work, I guess. I just don’t feel that passion right now, I’ve been indulging in the languidness of post-AP senior year and have started to accept that my Harvard-Westlake life is almost over, but still I feel like I’ve pretty much said what I need to say in my time here; there’s not that much I want to write. But this is the culmination – at least in print – of my high school nostalgia, my complicated feelings towards this school, my relationships here and all of the hours spent working on this publication. Maybe I do want to write something. As always, it will be massively oversized and I’ll have to cut it, but why not? I’d prefer to be able to write efficiently, but that’s just not me. I love being fat.

Okay, so I think I’m going to write a senior column, but I don’t want it to be schmaltzy, with meta references to time spent in Weiler Hall and broad comedic moments where an em dash could roughly translate to “hold for laugh.” I hate reading those kinds of columns every year, and that’s just not right for me. I’m going to make mine different. It’ll actually be better this way.

Maybe I should make my column about the friends who I’ll miss next year, riddling it with inside jokes and memories of days gone by and nights lost in a wonderfully diverse array of ways. Then again, references that only about 2 percent of my audience will get probably aren’t the way to go. I love My Friends, but I can’t just focus on them.

Maybe the truth is that there isn’t much left to say, or at least that much that ought to be said in this format. To be honest, I don’t know what I want this column to be about, but I guess I want to write one. I think it’s nice to have a little sendoff, no matter what the actual content is. I’ve truly deeply loved Harvard-Westlake, and there is no place I would’ve rather been for the past six years, and no people I would’ve rather gone through this experience with than the friends I’ve had. I’m sentimental about leaving, but I’m leaving happy, and I think that’s important to say. I don’t know what the future holds, but Life is Goodo.