Even though I’ve written plenty of opinion articles critiquing Bucknell, I’ve actually always been genuinely thankful to go here. As a high school student from a first-generation, low-income background, I never imagined I’d end up at a prestigious liberal arts college like Bucknell, surrounded by so many wealthy, intelligent and/or talented individuals. People whose lives always felt worlds apart from mine.

I still remember one moment during my first semester. My classmate casually mentioned that his dad worked at Jersey Mike’s. I laughed and said, “That’s so cool, do you get free sandwiches?” He looked at me with confusion, only for me to realize he didn’t mean one of the little restaurant locations. He meant corporate— as in the headquarters. That interaction stuck with me.

It took me a long time to get acclimated. I didn’t have the traditional first-year experience. I commuted to Bucknell for financial reasons, despite it being a residential college. I always felt disconnected, spending most of my time going to class, studying or helping out at one of my family’s stores nearby. I wasn’t lounging on the quad or going out. I wasn’t involved.

Sophomore year, things shifted. I became an RA and finally had my housing covered, and I was so happy and excited to finally feel like a part of Bucknell’s campus. A lot happened that year, tons of drama and hardships, but I still remained grateful to be here. I found myself taking on so many roles. I got involved with the South Asian Student Association, Mock Trial, Bucknell’s SpeakUp club centered on sexual assault advocacy and peer support and even started working at the MakerSpace, eventually as a manager. I also took on leadership in this very newspaper. I could feel my confidence building. I was coming out of my shell, finally.

But this year? Everything changed. I went through so much that I’m still processing. I felt the brute of Bucknell, the dark, socially isolating effects of rumors, betrayal and pain. Something happened to me that was deeply cruel— and I was left trying to pick up the pieces while people I trusted turned away.

I also got myself wrapped up in a lot, things that aren’t widely publicized at Bucknell. As an RA, I witnessed and experienced things I have never been able to even talk about, whether to my friends or to my family. I felt myself pulling away from everyone. Coming from a Muslim household, I felt ashamed talking to my parents about what I’d gone through. They are the most hardworking people I know, and I didn’t want to disappoint them by sharing the things I had to carry as a brown girl experiencing college for the first time. Even my closest friends only know fragments. It wasn’t just me. I’ve watched my own friends go through some of the deepest, most tragic things I’ve ever witnessed.

Eventually, I resigned from my RA position. I withdrew from a course. I quit my other campus job. I joked about entering my broke/flop era but honestly, I felt so burnt out and exhausted and detached from everything around me. Part of it was the trauma I was carrying, but another part was just frustration, feeling like I couldn’t handle the social atmosphere anymore. The way people can turn on you overnight. The rudeness. The way students and even faculty at times act like kindness is conditional. My patience was gone, and I felt like I was unraveling in a not-so-positive way. I started developing a temper and snapping at those around me.

Even in my advocacy work, I felt disheartened. I’ve put myself out there, pushed for change, taken on leadership, only to be met with backhanded comments and subtle dismissiveness. People smile and tell me I’m doing great, but in the moment, it often felt like I was being picked apart. I’ve felt like I was seen as the loud brown girl who always had something to say. Like I was too much. Too vocal. And all I really wanted was for myself and students like me to feel heard and understood. To feel like I mattered and help others feel like they mattered, too.

My sophomore year took everything in me to rebuild my self-image and confidence. And this year tore so much of that down. I haven’t experienced body dysmorphia or low self-esteem this deeply since middle school. I had grown to love how I looked, how I spoke, how I existed. But this year, the rumors, the whispers and the coldness shook that foundation. I’ve been trying to pick myself back up. I’ve been working out, eating better, showing up for myself in small ways. But I still feel so deeply impacted by what I’ve experienced.

If you’ve read this far, here are some things I’ve learned:

1. You are not as alone as you think. I know it’s cliche, but I mean it. There are thousands of students here, and billions of people in the world. You haven’t met them all yet. There are still so many kind, good people out there. You’ll find them, even if it takes time. Even if some people leave, others will come.
2. Don’t be a bully. Don’t feed into rumors. Even if your whole friend group is being unkind, it doesn’t mean you have to be. Think about the weight of your words. The things you say about someone could change their life, and not for the better. I know because I experienced it first-hand. I was already hurting, and the rumors just made it worse.
3. It’s okay to step away from something. It doesn’t make you weak. It doesn’t mean you gave up. I’m proud of myself for walking away from some things this year. I feel lighter. I feel more like myself. And even after everything, I already have a job lined up for next year and I’m still on track to graduate as a double major with a minor. Life moves forward. And so will you. You are allowed to make mistakes. You are allowed to heal. You are human.

I’m still thankful to be a Bucknell student. I still value my education here. But I think I feel that way because I used to be the anxious, uptight, doubting brown girl who never thought a place like this was even possible for someone like me. I held onto that mindset for so long, that just being here was enough to be grateful for, no matter what.

But once you let go of that lens, you start to see the cracks. You start to see how naive hope can turn into heartbreak. You start to realize that institutions like Bucknell can take everything from you, your time, your energy, your voice and still make you feel like you’re not enough. That even when you give your all, people can twist the story. People can turn on you and then make you out to be the villain. People can punish you for surviving. These are the parts of my Bucknell story I don’t know if I’ll ever forget.

Still, after everything, I know I’m not done. Rebuilding is hard, but I’m showing up for myself in small ways and letting healing take root, even when it’s slow. I’m learning how to feel like myself again, and that counts for something.

Goodbye, junior year.