I have sobbed every night this past week. The driver’s seat of my car, mile six of my 10-mile run, the rocking chair in my living room. Tears. Everywhere. I don’t even know how I still have tears in my body.
Laugh out loud.
My two roommates are graduating in less than a month, and one of them is moving to Spain. Our North apartment will be empty once again, and all the life lived in between the walls will turn into distant memories.
No more dinner nights with Anna dancing around in the kitchen, and no more early morning coffee chats with Josh. Geebs won’t show up unannounced to steal my Summer Friday’s lipgloss and eat all my Bluey fruit snacks. And Emily won’t come over to drink tea and talk about the Lord’s faithfulness.
My heart is breaking because flag football season is about to end. No more two-hour practices with my freshman teammates who have become my favorite girls within the span of three weeks. I won’t get to hear the new calls that Tave makes for the defense – Chartreuse 33, Papaya 15 – or fall to my knees, overcome by laughter as Elsie apologizes to an opposing player after pulling her flag.
But apart from football and growing up, my heart breaks for more serious reasons.
My heart breaks for the refugees in Thailand who live a life my middle-class Colorado upbringing will never allow me to understand. My heart breaks even more when I think of the K’nyaw students who will never get the opportunity to leave their home. And the K’nyaw students who were given a chance to show us their culture but now feel betrayed by a place they called home.
My heart breaks for the people in the margins. The ones who float through this university without making a sound. Or those who tried to speak out and were met by a wall of silence. Or the students who gave so much to this school only to feel like they got nothing in return.
I hope the stories in this issue bring you into a world you’ve never seen before. I hope you allow it to challenge you and your beliefs. It’s a world where refugees have to fight to be heard, girls play football, sports writers don’t actually write about sports and people wait hours in line for a raspberry flavored soda.
In a bubble where everyone feels like we know everything, we might as well try to tell the truth. Even if it breaks our heart.
