Is it tough to think up a new topic every week?
The question is often genuine and the questioner sincere. But
for the columnist, it is perhaps the most unpleasant insult of them
all.
To him, the simple sound of those words is unsettling because it
calls into doubt the author’s most prized value ““ his
creativity.
Of course, for the columnist who is indeed a writer, the answer
is no. The true writer is never dry of ideas or words. Writing is a
passion that consumes him and drives his page and mind into deep,
uncharted territories of space and time.
This is my 50th and final column for the Daily Bruin, and on
this narrow plot of paper, I am expected to tell you of my
experiences, feelings and knowledge that I’ve gained.
When I took this job in October 2003, I was told that it would
be good practice for me. I would learn to write on a consistent
basis and churn out words when they remained decidedly hidden. I
was told also that my grammar would improve and, if I were blessed
with a severe editor, my writing style too.
What is most dear to me, however, is something I’ve
learned beyond these predictions. I have learned to talk to
you.
It is only typical for the reader to construct a relationship
with a regular columnist. On the same day every week, he can open
the newspaper and find a familiar picture and be comforted by a
familiar voice.
But the sentiment usually remains unreciprocated. The author,
negligent of or overwhelmed by his faceless audience, speaks not to
them but to the heavens or some mysterious scribe of history.
I would like to think that as my greatest achievement, I have
learned to talk to you. And as my greatest reward, I’ve
always felt that you were talking back.
When last April I commemorated the Armenian genocide, I bowed my
head with yours.
When I smelled suspicion at a convention of the California
College Republicans, you inspired me to follow it through.
When I bought my fake ID, you were there bargaining with me.
And when I changed my race to black, I heard your indignant
sigh.
At times, I mocked and annoyed you. At other times, I tried to
be your friend.
I do not know if I have succeeded, but at least I’ve
tried. Other writers turn to literary critics and editorial boards
and the best-seller list to gauge their success.
To me, the relevant ruling is yours.
These are sentimental words coming from a writer often without
perceptible sentiment. But I can get away with it as my
now-suffering pride will no longer be exposed in these pages.
I hope you do not view my departure with the same contempt as I
do. It’s not for lack of ideas or respect for the job.
I have had a good run. And, quite simply, it is time to move
forward. It is time to let a fresh voice entertain and attempt to
convince you.
It isn’t healthy to view the world always from the same
window. Sometimes, you have to withdraw from the crowd and observe
its habits and idiosyncrasies. And sometimes, you have to join the
crowd and live with it. We all need a change of scenery and
perspective from time to time.
It is my time. I want to come down the steps of Kerckhoff
now.
As I do, I remember the congratulations and praise ““ the
spitballs and death threats. As I descend one last time, I find new
energies and optimism.
And my final hope is that as a columnist, I have contributed in
some small way to a new era of discourse at UCLA ““ a
discourse of new issues, in different passions, with bigger stakes,
but all under a higher Bruin standard.
I’ll see you on the other side.
Until then, tread on this.
Hovannisian is a second-year history and philosophy student.
E-mail him at [email protected]. Send general comments to
[email protected].