Chude Uzoka-Anofienem, Staff Writer

When I first began writing for The La Salle Collegian, I didn’t know exactly what to expect. I thought I’d string some sentences together, maybe cover a few events, toss in a joke or two and call it a day. What I didn’t anticipate was how deeply this paper would weave itself into my week, my thoughts and, most unexpectedly, my sense of purpose.

Writing for a student newspaper isn’t glamorous. You’re not chasing Pulitzers or making headlines across the country. But The Collegian was never about that. It was about something much quieter—and in many ways, more important. It was about community. It was about giving voice to student concerns, celebrating achievements that might otherwise go unnoticed and capturing what it feels like to be part of La Salle University.

I remember my first article vividly. It was about Elon Musk purchasing Twitter and turning it into a complete hell site. I agonized over every word, double-checking facts, trying to strike the right tone, writing from my own perspective. When it finally went live, I refreshed the page more times than I care to admit, wondering if anyone would even read it. Someone did. A classmate stopped me after a lecture and said, “Hey, I read your Elon Musk article. That was cool.” That two-second exchange gave me more confidence than a dozen English classes in middle and high school ever could.

From there, I found my rhythm. I wrote about things that interested me, straying away from the typical school newspaper topics related to campus issues and towards more broader stories filtered through a La Salle lens. Some topics were fun and breezy—ranking the best and worst songs released in a given year. Others were more serious, like examining the WWE’s less than stellar reputation. Whatever the subject, I tried to write with empathy and curiosity. If there was one thing The Collegian taught me, it was how to listen—really listen—to people and their stories.

Of course, none of this happened in a vacuum. The editorial team was the engine behind the whole operation—smart, driven, slightly sleep-deprived people who made magic happen on deadline week after week. They held the bar high, but always with grace and humor. I owe every polished article to an editor who pushed me to my best.

Now, as I write this final piece, I feel the kind of bittersweet gratitude that comes with leaving something meaningful behind. I’m proud of the words I’ve written, but even more so, I’m thankful for the experience itself—for the friendships, the late-night brainstorming sessions, the thrill of seeing my byline and the hundreds of tiny moments that made The Collegian feel like home.

To everyone who read, responded or rolled their eyes at my work—thank you. You made me a better writer, and a more thoughtful person. And to future writers picking up where I leave off: write boldly, edit kindly and never underestimate the impact of your words.

Goodbye for now—but the story always continues.