Illustration by Josh Hagler

It's been three semesters now that I've been a perspectives columnist at the Arizona Daily Wildcat, and it's been a wild ride. As my last column will appear next Monday, I'm reflecting on what the last three semesters have been like, in a behind-the-scenes sort of way. For the most part it was an awesome opportunity to put a voice out there: in opposition, in support or just to bring light to a story that had fallen through the cracks. On a couple occasions, it was I, staring at my monitor with an hour 'til deadline on a hot Sunday afternoon with absolutely nothing coming to mind. A deadline is a deadline in the world of the newspaper. I learned this the hard way once or twice.

Two types of letters came in to my editor after most of my Monday columns. The first would be letters from faculty, students, long-lost friends or just someone passing through campus thanking me for putting my voice, and their opinions, in print. Those letters were the pats on the back - not the kinds of letters that ever go into print.

Which letters made it into the letters to the editor section? The second kind. You've seen them. Some of the letters were constructive criticism, and I'm eternally thankful to those people. Folks like Gordon Zaft, a regular write-in, showed me where my columns could have been more powerful and where I was lacking in research or foundation. But most of the letters were of the sensational type. "Commie, Bolshevik, bleeding heart liberal, you should move to China, you should ask for a brain for Christmas," and, the most recent, "What must it be like to be Laura Winsky and feel the wind blow through her ears?" Ah, the rewards were limitless.

I have regrets. My column about the recent scandals in the Catholic Church printed with the title, "Oughta Be Ashamed." I think most people would have been more receptive to the column had it been titled differently. I received letters calling into question my loyalty to my Catholicism. All year my patriotism had been questioned, but I was touchy about people questioning me about my loyalties to the Church. The Arizona Daily Star, two days later, asked for the bishop to resign. That took some heat off me. I regret that I harped too often on minority rights, perhaps sounding like a broken record at times. As applications become available for next semester's editorialists, I strongly encourage a more diverse pool of applicants. The Wildcat would be stronger with more than just Mariam Durrani's minority perspective.

There were also interesting moments. After almost two years of research, I finally wrote a column on reparations for the African-American community. The day the column ran, the first in a series of law suits was filed against companies like Aetna, charging that they continue to profit from the seedlings they planted at the expense of slaves. It was a needed affirmation because only one writer, Rachel Wilson, out of nearly 20 letters, supported my column.

After my column on jazz in the fall, my editor received two marriage proposals for me: one from a bass player and one from a trombonist. Lastly, I struck up a neat friendship with Shane Dale. We only have one thing in common: a respect for Sen. John McCain. But while I disagree with nearly everything he writes, I admire his style.

I was hired by Sheila Bapat and learned that a woman's voice is important, and it's fun to end a column like a bumper sticker. I was re-hired by Cory Spiller, and learned that you have to have guts to write what no one else will. And I was re-hired again by Jessica Lee who is one of the most supportive people I've ever met. After writing about constantly saving the humans, I've learned from both Lee and Kendrick Wilson that without the environment, it's hard to go about saving the humans.

My last column's subject matter is yet to be determined, but I've promised myself to go out with a loud bang to spark a little controversy. It's better to give the readers the final word. Mr. Charles Peterson, Ms. Pam Simpson, I'll see you next week in the letters to the editor.