Bye column,

The question, I believe, is not whether there is a torch to be passed, but rather: is there someone to receive the torch?

Hell week, the one that places itself near an endpoint – for me, this is high time to make drama. A little bit. Because for the past 14, 15 issues of this paper, I have been here, ogling at the ridiculous, mocking the reserved, floundering and making sort of love confessions, feigning political inclinations, and tacitly wondering: would I ever be replaced here? Next sem, when all Fitzgerald and a thesis proposal on indie films end, I would call myself a “graduating student.” And as early as now, I am not cringing. Else, I am most certain that the time has come to step out of this corner of your official student publication, and the only publication that has been the smartest, most honest, most pro-student offered to all of you. When I first approached the lanky guy that used to be an editor here two years ago, I was saying, “Hey, ahm, I think I write good enough to deserve a column here.” That was too confident, if not egotistic, but they were thinking about lightening the hefty politics the paper contains, enwrapped in articles about peace talks and the global crisis, so perhaps that made them accept my rather forward proposal; so that someone who is interestingly self-anointing and boastful would lament her woes, from academics, to infatuations, to Student councils that are only nominal, in their monthly paper.

This time is the time to move on. First, shut the fuck off the yabang. Second, concentrate on thesis and the remaining academic units. Third, go where others seem to be heading, joyously or otherwise. A guy seen by others as Jimmy Neutron outgrows this publication, this UP Baguio gradually after graduation. He is now busy looking first-hand at the plight of indigenous people constantly harassed by the military. The current External Associate Editor has shed off some modesty and begun putting some special hands in hers. The Internal Associate Editor has swallowed what was once a bitter idea: those who remain had to do things on their own. The former Internal Associate Editor has slightly put off her fairy tales in favor of Dostoevsky and Conrad. The former EIC is staying at his momentary postmodern haven. And the one that succeeded him, she has learned first to be more visible, then to preside during meetings where once she was mostly mum, then learned the trick of juggling readings and reports and publication and some fun lest she dreamt of being eaten alive by her circumstances.

Move on and leave that comfort zone, these seem to be telling me. For I would admit, in the vaguest of ways, these red letters have symbolized a comfort zone for me: a place where I am just a name, a 600-word composition, letters to a number of readers.

So while I’m still here, and while I still have this last piece, I’ll fire away the usual Kitty manner, not much drama, not much pretentiousness: to those who will replace me, I am praying you won’t be too nerved to emulate my eloquence and ahem, plain, cute brilliance.