Whenever something ends, there’s an instinctual drive to seize any last opportunities and make whatever last minute proclamations you can before it’s fully over. As a fourth-year, the last four years for me represent a very chaotic time to say the least. In four years, I watched as an entire pandemic-induced quarantine came and went, I got 12 piercings and seven tattoos, broke my wrist in a mosh pit at a concert, drove to Nashville by myself on a whim, saw my parents move out of my childhood home, changed majors twice, lost two grandparents, learned Japanese (at least somewhat), and developed a moderate caffeine problem. I lost touch with a lot of people, and I’ve forgotten a lot of things that were–at one point in my life–the most important thing to remember. And now all that’s left is this innate desire to try and sum all of that up with a neat and tidy goodbye that is somehow supposed to be both wise and funny, reflective without making anyone cry–something that can erase the awkwardness and dull ache that accompany the act of pulling up roots that only just took hold.
Of course, I put these expectations on myself, so this is me choosing to shake that weight off. Last words, in reality, are not carefully constructed eloquent speeches, they are the ephemeral, coincidental utterances that we remember simply because they happened. I do not need to ascribe meaning to my last year as a college student in some sort of elegy. It was meaningful because it happened. And of course, fourth-years aren’t the only ones struggling with the end of a year either. For our last Iris issue until next year, we asked our writers to expand upon any lingering ideas or questions they had yet to fully explore. Their “last words” are simply made up of yet-to-be-uttered ideas and truths that hold their own meaning, as they should.
Miriella Jiffar had the same lingering question many UVA students do: “where the heck is all my tuition money going?” She recently had the opportunity to sit down with UVA’s CFO, Augie Maurelli, to talk about tuition at UVA, the endowment, and just exactly where all that money goes in “Myths and Misconceptions about Tuition at UVA.” Bailey Middleton similarly had some last questions for UVA faculty. After speaking with two black professors at UVA, Dr. Kevin Gaines and Dr. Rosalyn Berne, she seeks an explanation as to why “UVA Has a Diversity Problem, But It Might Not Be Their Fault.” Both here at UVA and globally, there is a considerable lack of Black professors, creating a very multilayered problem that requires equally complex solutions.
This last issue is also an opportunity to expel any residual creativity and humor in preparation for some much deserved relaxation. In true UVA fashion, there is nothing we (I) love more than poking a little fun at our eccentricities as an institution. Eryn Rhodes has generously gifted us with her “Limerick of UVA” in that same spirit. Interestingly “last words” can at times represent what’s left unsaid even more than what was. In that vein, Jasmine Wang delivers us “13 Lines from Unsent Love Letters,” a funny, witty, heartfelt list that delivers all of the emotions in a neat package. Last but most certainly not least, in the most literal interpretation of the “last words” theme, Kiki McLaughlin meditates on death, legacy, and everything in between in her poem “Good When We Die.”
I am so sincerely grateful for our seven writers, Hailey Robbins, Bailey Middleton, Miriella Jiffar, Jasmine Wang, Kiki McLaughlin, Eryn Rhodes and Cheyenne Butler for their kindness, devotion and generosity with their writing. It has been one of the great pleasures of my time at UVA to work with them and contemplate their work. Each of them individually has grown exponentially, and as a group they have never failed to surpass my wildest expectations. Special shout out to Jasmine Wang and Miriella Jiffar, who will each assume the role of Student Editor and Student Publisher at Iris next year, respectively. Let me be the one to tell you that you should anxiously await what they have in store for the new school year. I certainly will.
An even greater thanks to Leigh Ann Carver for all her help in realizing each issue, without whom I’m certain the final pieces would not be nearly as polished. Thanks to Addie Gilligan as well, for her endless commitment to Iris and her ambition to help us reach as many readers as humanly possible. To Mary Esselman, grateful doesn’t begin to describe how much I have enjoyed working alongside such a profound adviser and friend. Lastly, thank you to anyone and everyone who has ever clicked on an issue of Iris, your support has meant the world to me. This is Andi signing off, and in the last words of one Truman Burbank, “In case I don't see ya, good afternoon, good evening, and good night!”
