I experienced my fifth cell phone death of my college career one week ago. Drowning in a sink is a tragic way to go, but I'm not that upset about it this time.

Maybe that's because I put my persuasive capabilities to the test and got a free replacement. But I'd like to think it's because I actually made it to a few classes without trying to balance a phone conversation, my week's schedule, my long-term life goals and walking. Those deceitfully high chain fences can be an abrupt awakening when absentmindedly weaving through campus -- and find yourself unsuccessfully attempting a hurdle.

I took this notion further by leaving my iPod at the bottom of my purse. I embraced the chance to soak up the last of Penn State as a student.

I realized how many times I likely had a near collision with a rogue biker. And after hearing a few of my fellow students' awkward conversations, I kicked myself for missing eavesdropping opportunities.

Beyond that, I looked at Penn State, this community that has done so much good and so much bad while also accomplishing everything in between. We are multitaskers, if nothing else.

I was surprised that I was being such a sentimentalist. Hell, I cried on my parents' shoulders when I came to terms with the fact that I had to attend Penn State.

But since that moment, conditions have turned around a bit. I have cultivated somewhat of a garden here, to reference Candide, my favorite Voltaire satire.

I'm not referring to anything that resembles the fake tulips and manure-stenched fertilizer the university orders every spring to beautify the campus overnight.

It is rather a garden of definition, one that does not rely on a university's name or other superficialities.

I have learned an important lesson here, a lesson punctuated with the events of these final days -- it is paramount to know who you are.

Whether you're an ass or a bleeding heart, you have to own it.

I can be a little bit of both, but I'm not going to explain it away. This 22-year-old reflects the effort of those who have labored in tending to my proverbial garden for all my years, making it what it is today.

I've found what I want to be by watching you, my colleagues, my friends, my family.

I've learned from those I've taught, the kids with raw talent and terrified stares, fresh to the newsroom. Who I see now is drastically different: budding professionals and friends who write and speak intelligently with maturity and dedication. You deserve more praise than I can show.

Others of you were integral to navigating my direction in this field, acting as sounding boards for everything from ethical issues to self-evaluation to the likelihood that we'll make it to the bar before last call.

And one of you has known for eight years the degree of my ludicrous behavior -- and has never failed to match and occasionally surpass it. I can't even begin to tap into this friendship and the best part is that I don't even need to.

In all, some of you give me grief and most of you creep me out, but each of you has taught me something about living.

However, this is all consequence of two people who gave me the confidence to walk into any situation and glean as much as I could. I'm in a career of words and I struggled over what to say here, but Mom and Dad, I don't think our relationship could ever be reduced to a few sentences. Just know what you have done for me, and I'll continue to show you.

Though I'm soon uprooting to move to one of our nation's warmer climes, I'm taking the garden with me. And I think the sun may help.