It's easy to say I love good writing. It makes me feel the right emotions and reinvents cliches applicable to my life. But what I love more are good writers. Those who have hundreds of unfinished drafts on their computer because an idea requires post-mathematical precision in time and space. Those who are willing to share a part of their soul because maybe someone needed to hear them to live one more day. Those who can understand that wordiness is not necessarily elaborate artistry, because sometimes all it takes is one word or one line to cause someone’s heart muscles to momentarily contract.
Writing exists everywhere. But good writers are rare. They are more often names than they are people. But they are more real than me and you. Being part of the Opinion section at the Wheel, I've had the chance to meet so many of them.
To me, writers embody the chaotic. In my time at the Wheel, I'm honored to be surrounded by these humble writers. The same people who have made the magic of written expression omnipresent for me. Arguably, the best piece I’ve ever written was based on a single line that came to me while I was driving to Publix; I started this piece, in fact, on my walk to Clairmont.
I'm thankful for people who have read my writing at 3 a.m., who have pushed me to write the writing they believe I'm capable of and who I have had the chance of loving deeply and unconditionally.
I love the unhinged: birthday shower thoughts, test tube meat, U.S. cheese schemes and endless TKTKs. The emotional: closed door conversations people keep barging in on, drunk speeches at parties where we say how much we love each other and the little remarks that get snuck into recruitment pitches about how much we’ve impacted each other. And lest we forget the ugly too: taking disciplinary action against peers, seemingly endless rounds of gossip and anonymous vitriol lodged at us through the internet and word of mouth. Admittedly, the Wheel was not all perfect. In many ways, it has tested my ability to work with others, to resolve conflict, to stand up for myself and to give myself a seat at the table when it felt like nothing I did would be enough. In the most painful moments, I reread the unsent resignation letter in a folder on my desktop every day.
The TKTKs I use in daily jargon are a secret code embedded in everyday speech, an emblem I want to keep so I can call myself a Wheel editor a little longer. Having sent the fourth-greatest number of Slack messages of all time should probably be embarrassing, but perhaps it could also be statistical proof of my continuance and dedication toward this organization.
Working with people who have stood by me even when there were so many reasons not to has taught me resilience, love and compassion. But above it all, I believe our section can be described with one word: loyal. I've gone through my share of rapid turnover – but what has always remained the same is my love for everyone I’ve met through our little, yet mighty Opinion section.
Choosing to leave the Wheel before graduation was never in my anticipated four-year plan. In the grand scheme of things, three years is not a long time. But passage of time is all relative, and given that most people only spend four years in college, dedicating my life, my time and all my work to an organization for three years and abruptly leaving feels like a huge shock. I’ve avoided sharing this information until the last moment.
I will never forget the look of surprise – shock, even – on the faces of our assistant editors and our Editorial Board members when I announced the big news. Having ruminated about this decision since late October and early November, I thought explaining my thought process would only get easier. But when I was physically faced with the new Board I worked to train and people who I consider close friends, leaving felt like a betrayal. I will still wonder if I’ve made the right decision and hope I don’t leave a mess to be cleaned up in my wake.
I came into the Wheel just wanting to write; back then, writing was just a healing process. I still remember being told jokingly to “keep my questions to myself” and to stop using rhetorical questions and em-dashes (definitely did not learn from this one). I leave now having passed down my knowledge from my managing editors to my section editors and their assistants; having impacted freshmen who will come up to me and say they use my articles to inform their dining choices around Atlanta; having rebuilt a section on the brink of falling apart and having built a new one – Multilingual – in hopes of my parents actually reading my work; having written enough articles with my ever-annoying presence that people text me and say they cannot imagine a Wheel without me in it. If not for starting out in Opinion with the people I’ve met, I do not think I could have come this far.
Everyone at the Wheel has made their own unique invaluable mark. I picked up on those moments ages ago, when – despite all the interpersonal issues we’ve dealt with – people are still able to raise their glasses at our end-of-year party and tell a senior a story about a moment that could have changed their life. I could tell those same stories about the editors and editors-in-chiefs that came before me, those who I’ve had the honor to work alongside as a member of the Board of Editors and the Executive Board and the writers whose articles I have edited. Whether we realize it or not, the little compliments in our comments and our willingness to meet with writers to explore their voice is what sticks.
The Wheel was the first community I felt like I belonged in. It’s both given and taken many parts of my life, but I leave with no resentment and will continue to love this organization for what it means to me.
Opinion has always been an underdog. We don’t cover a specific region of topics like arts, sports or student life – we carve our prints into this paper by asserting over and over again who we are, what we think and ultimately, how we defend not just our passions but our opinions against the public.This is what drew me to Opinion in the first place. I remember first receiving hate comments on articles saying “yawn, racism” and getting told racism was overrated; I wondered if I could still write for Opinion when everything I say would get scrutinized under a microscope. But I realized it was no different from real life. To those who have asked me how I’ve gotten past this, I say the same thing that was passed on to me, by a mentor, an influential force in my life: “If people are reacting strongly to what you’re saying, it means you’re saying something important.”
I carry these words with me to shield myself from getting hurt, but also as a reminder that there is value in what we have to say and we should keep pushing ourselves to say it all.
To my people in Opinion – you know who you are – I am beyond proud. I am in awe of all you have all accomplished as students, journalists and friends, but more honored to have been a part of your college experience at one point or the other. For the few that stay at the Wheel, who overcome the sometimes harsh and toxic environment, it takes someone special to persevere – we have accomplished a huge feat that should not be diminished.
I’ve grown attached to who we are as a section and each connection has made it exponentially harder to say goodbye. The Wheel is generational; every print copy I own is a memory of shared experiences. Selfishly, I will miss seeing my name on the masthead. But I cannot wait to watch my sections thrive. To my section editor: I can’t wait to watch you lead. You have made me so incredibly honored and given me memories and love I will share for the rest of my life. Opinion is your rightful place; do not let anyone take it away. To my new assistant editors and Editorial Board chair: new blood is always exciting; but getting to work with all of you in the last two months was invigorating. I have never been more proud. And to my former managing editor: there’s not much left to say between us, but it was through your love and respect that I’ve continued my writing journey thus far. Thank you.
Sincerely,
Sling
Sophia Ling (24C) is from Carmel, Indiana.
