Learning how to say goodbye

By Riya Misra     3/25/25 10:00pm

For weeks, I’ve been staring at this blank document, unsure what to write. How do you say goodbye to the most formative job of your (young) life? For two years, I’ve spent my Mondays and Tuesdays — sometimes Wednesdays, often Thursdays, more Sundays than I’d like to admit — shuttered away in my obnoxiously warm, tiny newsroom. 

Like most things I’ve done in my tenure, I’m writing this letter on a Tuesday morning. In a few hours, we’ll be rushing to make our print deadline: arguing over Oxford commas, napping on the floor, frantically charging cameras, tearing out our hair over one comment request or another. 

How do you say goodbye to something that’s become your home? Our opinions page is full, so I have 600 words to try.

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I wrote my first article for the Thresher as a freshman. It was mostly a favor to my writer mother, who wanted me to write one (just one!) article. In her defense, I don’t think she anticipated just how much I’d fall in love with the work, or that I would graduate with over 80 bylines to my name. 

I am so proud of the work we’ve put together over the past few years. In his goodbye letter last year, my former co-editor said it’d been a “historic 10 months.” Little did we know. Since I took this job in 2023, Rice has grappled with federal attacks on diversity and research funding; student protests in response to the Israel-Gaza war; an underwear party gone awry; a changing athletics department; a campus tragedy; a national election. Last month I published an investigation, nine months in the making, about a music professor who resigned amid sexual misconduct allegations — but former students alleged that Rice had “known for 30 years,” and failed to act. 

Throughout our coverage, I remember one thing: We are not entitled to your stories. It is a privilege to tell them. It is a privilege to earn the trust of our sources and readers, a task that we don’t take lightly. 

There’s a difference between being liked and being trusted, we’ve learned (to quote my predecessor, Yasna Haghdoost: “Maybe you think I’m a crazy beyotch who gets off from critiquing the Student Association’s many, many, constitutional violations”). It’s a difficult line to tread — yes, the Thresher is the student body’s watchdog. But we’re also your peers, roommates, lab partners and friends. 

We are made by students, for students, and are constantly adapting to fit our readers’ needs. If you have criticisms, tell us (our office is right above Chaus).  We want to improve, and are constantly trying to better ourselves — as an outlet, as reporters, as writers, as people. 

As journalists, we learn to ask hard questions, then ask them again. To step on toes, take some shit, talk a lot, but also know when to stop. After two thrilling, stressful, fulfilling years, I happily know to stop.

Of course, my thank yous: to Prayag Gordy, my former co-editor — without you, I wouldn’t be a fraction of the journalist I am today. To Morgan Gage and Ben Baker-Katz, thank you for your friendship and your impossibly large shoes to fill. To Chris Evans and Katharine Shilcutt, the best mentors I could ask for, thank you for always keeping your offices open. 

To Alice Sun, my lovely design director, thank you for all the cutouts and random 16-pagers. To my partners in InDesign crime, Spring Chenjp and Maria Morkas, Tuesdays would have been impossible without you. To Sarah Knowlton and Kathleen Ortiz, I am so proud of your talent, and endlessly excited to see where you’ll take this paper.

Thank you to my wonderful friends, whose love makes me a better person. My parents, who forever cheer me on, worry so I don’t have to, who refresh the Thresher website every Wednesday. Thank you for carrying me on your shoulders.

I’m way over my word count, but I’m sure our copy editors will fix that later. To everyone who has picked up a copy of the Thresher: Thank you for reading.

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