Senior Column – Lila Tulp

I rarely shut up — I’m a talker, it’s who I am.

But right now, as I try to eloquently yet gut-wrenchingly wrap up my last four years of high school in a 400-word bow, I seem to have everything and nothing to say all at the same time. 

First I tried to light-heartedly write about my reign as the nickname queen — how several strokes of my pure genius birthed Toes, Jackson and Cacks. And how I’ve used my power to flawlessly trick the underclassmen into being my friends and pick up my coffee on the way to deadline — thanks, little Ceils. I was even planning on flipping the script and ranking all of the nicknames given to me on a scale from Tulp to Wiwa. 

But the thing is, I couldn’t get any further than two paragraphs.

My second attempt was a whopping 13 words on my love of carpooling — not because I’m stingy with my gas, but because I can’t seem to go the seven-minute drive to Caroline’s without talking about the most dramatic season of “The Bachelor” yet or who was added to our #demoted list for this issue. It was going to be a roller coaster of emotions. Funny. Sad. Suspenseful.

But that draft got deleted once I started tearing up thinking about how my 1 a.m. post-deadline driveway heart-to-hearts with Popper turned into 3-hour off-topic Zoom calls in quarantine. As if I’d let you guys see me cry — especially not after last time.

My final resort was a series of thank you’s to the JRoom. To the third desktop to the left for being home to my most caffeinated breakdowns, a front-row seat to oogly sessions and daily lunchtimes with Cacks. To the suspiciously-stained blue couch that welcomed two other Tulps before me — we all know it loved me the most — and to my perfectly-crafted page sketch memes that lined the walls each issue.

But I quickly decided that all that sap would ruin the cold-hearted image I’ve worked so hard to maintain.

Truth is, no matter what I say, I’ll never be able to adequately sum up all that The Harbinger has given me or give thanks to the people who’ve managed to change me for the better in a mere 400 words.

So here’s me giving up. This is me not admitting that I’ll miss Lawder asking me out 30 times every day or Kimball always breaking “dark room, dark voices.” I’d rather sit through an infinite amount of Tate’s five minute spiels about the use of fonts than utter that I secretly live for Thursday design check-ins and Tuesday critiques. The chatter-box within me would never dare  get emotional about helping Carolyn whip out her last-minute page at 11 p.m. on our final deadline or brainstorming with an overly-excited Caroline for our 56th and final issue together.

So Harbinger, I guess this is it. It’s not you, it’s me. It’s time for me to say goodbye and leave you with the only words that come to mind:

I love you, every single one of you crazies — even you Moore.

P.S. Happy designing!