Saarvi Deshwal || EXECUTIVE EDITOR

Dear ANDOVERVIEW,

There are definitely easier ways to spend every Monday evening than sitting in room 224 typing 700 words and fighting with Adobe InDesign. But that was the life I chose, for four years straight. And I’d choose it again in a heartbeat.

I adored your rhythm. People slowly filing into the room after school, pushing desks together into pods. Conversation topics drifted from actual newspaper to whatever was served for lunch, and there was usually someone frantically typing up a draft they forgot was due. You were always a place where I could put my overdue homework behind me and find sanctuary among the laughter and aggressive typing. 

I loved the chaos, too. The group chat between Isabella, Tommy, and me that inevitably blew up before each issue went to press. Staying up late nights, texting each other with questions about why our InDesign hates us, and stressing together about people not submitting things on time was unexpectedly fun (after it ended). There was sometimes a moment when I thought an issue would never see the light of day. But, of course, it would come together wonderfully in the end. The chaos was never limited to text chains, unfortunately. There were many H-Blocks spent chasing down sources that apparently didn’t know the password to their Outlooks. Or trying to catch up on the news before our weekly news quiz only to get crushed by whatever team the sophomores were on.

I loved stories that demanded more from me. I spent a week harassing the Cambridge Police Department to get a quote for an article about missing exchange students. I wasn’t sure it would amount to anything, but it turned out to be one of the pieces I’m most proud of. Newspaper taught me a lot about trying your hardest even when you’re not sure it’ll work out.

I’ll never forget the moments outside of room 224, too. The NESPA conference at Boston University, where a fellow staff writer (will not be name dropping) managed to spill take-out from our lunch everywhere in her bag. Everywhere, on everything. The presenter was giving a lecture on being more eco-conscious, while we shoved rolls of paper towels into her bag in a futile attempt to mask the smell of chicken soup. I’ll never forget the looks we got.

I have always admired Mr. Aubrey. He has always made me feel like I’m capable of more than I think I am, which meant a lot to the nervous freshman who walked into Andover High School four years ago. I’ll miss his underrated humor and ability to make each story I write feel impactful.

And I especially loved each and every staff writer I have had the privilege of meeting. The ones who always managed to brighten up the room, even on a cold Monday evening in January. The ones who never hesitated to lend a helping hand, and the ones who always had a story idea in mind. Getting to know all of you, even just a little, was one of the best gifts I got from ANDOVERVIEW.

Looking back, all of my favorite moments were the ones that were never published. Years from now, I probably won’t remember every article I wrote. What I will remember is the soup, the late-night texts. The ridiculous drawings on the whiteboards, the conversations we had sprawled on the bean bag chairs when we were supposed to be editing. 

The most important thing you’ve taught me, in the end, is true beyond newspaper, beyond room 224, and beyond high school. We spend so much of our time chasing the finished version of things, the final draft, the polished print exactly how we imagined it. But the best parts have always been the moments in between. So whatever room you find yourself in next, pay attention to those moments. They go faster than you think, and they matter so much more than they look like they do.

Thank you for four incredible years. Thank you for the chaos, the people, the stories, and the memories. I’ll miss you all. 

With love,

Saarvi