Dear Reader,
We hate to say it’s so, but the four seniors of Cipher write this lettitor with heavy hearts full of thanks and see ya laters. The Miss You Issue is indeed our swan song; and now, the final out-of-tune symphony of all of our pieced-together stories together has its grand finale, finding its way to you!
In our last month and a bit here, it feels like we’re inundated with lasts. This is our last issue, we just had our last pub weekend, our last moments spread out across desktop computers in our tiny red publication house that smells of whatever Thai place we’ve ordered lunch from. Beyond Cipher, we are also trudging through our final blocks, turning in our theses, going to our last parties, and trying to imagine a world in which we don’t live with or see our friends every day. No one really tells you how to prepare for this kind of goodbye. It’s a goodbye to comfort and routine and support. The things we love are turning into the things we miss, and that is indescribably difficult to process.
Many writers in this issue attempt to process the goodbyes and the longings that no one prepared them for. Tasha Finkelstein writes about the loss of a best-friendship, and the confusing heartbreak that comes with that. Katie Kamio reflects on her loss of family, memory, and connection with her Japanese heritage during her time spent in the Bay Area. Logan Smith delves into the panic that comes alongside graduating college and entering the “real world” while still feeling like a child.
The class of 2022 is off to find new stories, but rest assured, this is not “the end” by any means. It’s a promise to ourselves and our readers to keep and care for our most treasured tales in time and places to come. We are so proud of this issue and of our writers for being so vulnerable and brave. We’re proud of our editors for all their care and work, and proud of our readers for their endless support. Thanks to them, our promise lives on in a little red publishing house on 1028 North Weber Street.
Working for Cipher has been an incredibly special part of our time at CC. We spend weeks learning about strangers and creating mutual relationships of trust. We learn about everything under the sun—from the overpopulation of Australian cats, to Colorado Springs’ Concrete Couch, to guerilla potato-planting CC students. (Be sure to check out one of Logan’s favorite archived articles from the Excessive Issue: “On Potatoes and Higher Education” by Ella Hartshorn). And it’s like magic when we see how different a writer’s final piece is from what they initially brought our editors. When writers trust us with their intimate stories, we feel closer to this campus, and to the people who make it what it is. We found a home in this little publication, and we’ll carry it with us wherever we go.
We miss you already,
Maya, Logan, Joe, and Clay