I have a recurring nightmare.

I have had it for about two years now, maybe a little longer. In it, I sit by myself in a white room. There aren’t any doors or windows or any other features besides four close walls. In front of me is a white table and on that table are stacks of papers, all of which say: “$100,000.”

It’s the price tag of the education that I have been so privileged to receive.

I am very aware of that price tag. I woke up from that first nightmare and I thought: I’m selling my future, dollar by dollar, to be in this place at this moment.

It was a thought that haunted everything I did, and I was miserable because of it. Last Christmas break, I very sincerely thought about not coming back, about just giving up and going somewhere else, somewhere that could be better for me. But no matter how angry I was, I couldn’t bring myself to do it. And I wondered: why?

Loyola thought I stayed for certain reasons: its small student-teacher ratio or its Jesuit ideals or its location in the heart of New Orleans. Maybe I stayed for experiential learning or service or its history. Loyola cites all of these reasons as being worth the price tag. They are listed in all of the university’s glossy brochures, its annual reports.

But I’m not graduating from Loyola because of any of that.

I stayed at Loyola for the people.

The best asset Loyola could possibly have — and the one you won’t find in that list up there — is the people who spend their time making this campus a worthwhile place.

If there was a different staff running those programs, or different students in my small-sized classes, it may not have been worth it. It says something, the fact that Loyola was able to attract people who are so downright incredible that I faced my nightmares — literally — to be with them.

That’s worth selling my future for.

To my professors, to my fellow students, to the incredible staff who keep the school going: thank you. It would have been a very different — and a much shorter — experience without you. I wouldn’t have learned how to face challenges, how to succeed in spite of obstacles or how to take a hit and keep on going.

As I pack up my dorm room for the last time, I have to take breaks to keep myself from tears. I am moving away from a home I didn’t expect to have. It’s not one I’ll be able to come back to completely. Sure, campus is still here. But campus was never my home. My home will stay with all of you.

I could not have done this alone; I wasn’t strong enough to do this without you. You kept me coming back here until the end. You made a family for me here, and I loved that family more than I feared the cost.

I owe you everything for that.