By Aisha Marilyn Abdulbary-Knotts | Staff Writer
The Critograph Staff at The Water Dog for End of the Year Dinner | Ghislaine Lewis
As I write my final article for The Critograph, I am filled with gratitude and disbelief. Graduation has a way of arriving all at once, after years of deadlines, long nights, and lessons I never expected to learn. This goodbye is not easy, but it matters.
When I first stepped onto the University of Lynchburg campus, I arrived as a transfer student with very low expectations. I was not searching for community or transformation. I simply wanted to keep my head down, finish my degree and move on. I came from a place where I had learned that staying quiet was often easier than being heard.
What I did not expect was how quickly that mindset would change.
Joining The Critograph became one of the most important parts of my journey here. The newsroom was more than a place to write stories. It was where I learned to ask difficult questions, not just in interviews but about myself. It pushed me to look at my habits, my assumptions and my voice. Journalism demands curiosity, honesty and persistence. Over time, those qualities became part of me.
It also gave me something I did not know I needed. It gave me my passion for writing back.
Some of my favorite memories are the ones that never made it to print. The late nights spent with Ellie, working through drafts that never seemed finished, laughing and complaining about the polished, PR trained responses we would sometimes receive as quotes. Those moments taught me how to look deeper, how to find the story beneath what was handed to us.
There were also hours spent talking and laughing with Dr. Lewis, conversations that went far beyond deadlines. Those moments reminded me that journalism is not just about producing content. It is about thinking, questioning, and understanding the world with care.
Then there were the nights when everything came together at once. The rush of working as a team to publish a story, like the one we wrote about the dining hall and what students liked or disliked about it. We debated, edited and rewrote together, trying to make sure we were representing people honestly. It was chaotic, exhausting and deeply rewarding.
Along the way, I built connections across campus that went far beyond the stories I wrote. I had conversations with faculty who challenged me, staff who supported me and students whose experiences changed how I see the world. Each interaction added something lasting.
More than anything, the newsroom staff became my family.
We laughed together, sometimes at the worst possible moments, we cried and we even fought like siblings over edits, ideas, and decisions. Through it all, there was always an understanding that we would be there for each other, and our goal was to publish the best possible issue of the paper.
I always knew that the Crit staff had my back, whether I needed encouragement, honesty or simply someone to sit with during a long night. That kind of support is rare, and I will forever cherish it.
The newsroom also gave me the confidence to write what I truly believed. I wrote articles that were not always easy or widely agreed with, especially when it came to politics. My most talked about piece was an opinion article about Charlie Kirk, which sparked conversation and disagreement. But at no point did I feel discouraged from writing it.
No matter the topic, I felt seen. I felt safe. I felt supported.
That is what made the difference.
I transferred here expecting to stay in the background. Instead, I found a place that encouraged me to step forward. A place where I became more confident, more certain of my voice and more willing to use it.
While it is hard to say goodbye. It is also important for me to reflect and see how much this experience has given me. The Critograph did more than teach me how to write. It stretched me in ways I did not anticipate, teaching me to listen more carefully, connect more intentionally, and show up more fully than I ever had before.
As I move on, I do so with gratitude for the stories, the lessons and the people who made our little corner of Schewel feel like home.
This is not just a goodbye. It is a thank you.
