18/08/2026
๐ช๐ต๐ฒ๐ฟ๐ฒ ๐ฑ๐ผ ๐๐ต๐ฒ ๐๐ผ๐ฟ๐ฑ๐ ๐ด๐ผ ๐๐ต๐ฒ๐ป ๐ฒ๐๐ฒ๐ฟ๐๐ผ๐ป๐ฒ ๐น๐ฒ๐ฎ๐๐ฒ๐?
There are endings that arrive loudly.
They come with announcements, ceremonies, even with people taking photographs while saying, โthis is the last timeโ. These are the goodbyes that go with ease because you know when it has finally left, where it ended.
But then there are goodbyes that show up too subtle to even demand attentionโit just arrives as painfully as it softly landed. These are the kind of endings you do not recognize until you look back and realize that somewhere between a random Tuesday and the next, it has already been a memory.
Perhaps this is one of those endings.
I have always heard people toss around the phrase,โAll good things come to an endโ, as if it can soften the loss or make the ache much bearable. It was something I never put much thought into until I was finally at an end I never imagined would arrive. There was no grand moment when the realization hit that I was now writing for this publication for the last time. There was no sign, not even a notice that says remember this, because you will never write here againโthere was only another deadline, another piece of writing that needed to be finished, only it was far heavier than anything I have written before.
Because it was the last.
The College of Arts and Sciences has now reached its crossroads, and I stand there in the last page knowing that with it, The Gateway will also have to say goodbye. It will become something else with only nothing left but the traces of what it once wasโthe people behind it will find themselves in new places, and the spaces that once held our voices and aspirations will soon be fading in an echo.
The final irony of loss isnโt really the silence that awaits after things end, sometimes it is when leaving remains difficult even after knowing that the curtains have finally fallen. And maybe it is because the end meant leaving behind particles of us in the pages that are now closing itself. The same pages that weโve spent years writing with our words, thoughts, and hearts out.
And now, I wonder: where do the words go when everyone has finally left?
Maybe they remain as scribbles in the pages. Maybe they follow us. Or maybe they become a reminder of what we once stood for: Inquire, Acquire, and Transpire.
Whatever happens to these pages, I hope they remember us kindly.
All good things come to an end.
I feel the word sink as I am writing the last words to the last piece The Gateway will hold. It is heavy but laced with pride knowing that until the end we remain the harbingers of truth. We continue to inquire, acquire, and transpireโno matter where the roads of journalism take us.
Because maybe words do stay even when everyone else has gone. Perhaps they stay in the pages. In the people who wrote them. And perhaps, years from now, someone will open these pages and find a little piece of us still breathing within the lines.
But until then, and until the very end.
๐๐๐๐จ ๐๐จ ๐๐๐ ๐๐๐ฉ๐๐ฌ๐๐ฎ, ๐ฃ๐ค๐ฌ ๐จ๐๐๐ฃ๐๐ฃ๐ ๐ค๐๐.
