Thank you, Bethlehem

It’s become my end-of-semester tradition to make my rounds.

During the final week of classes, I’ll leave my apartment, trudge down the hills and head into the heart of the Southside.

I’ll start at a café, laughing with the barista who knows my order by heart  — a large latte with whole milk topped with an extra shot of espresso — from the sheer number of times I’ve shown my face there.

Then I’ll slowly make my way across town, stopping into every store and restaurant I frequented to check in, talk about summer or winter plans and bid farewell.

For each semester, this became clockwork.

Each year, that route expanded. It always seemed to get longer; there were more stops I felt obligated to make along the way.

During my first year, I was welcomed with open arms to the Homebase Skateshop family, even though I couldn’t even skate. Upon constructing a skateboard for me, I hiked up behind my room at Drinker Hall to an empty parking lot to hop on a board for the first time.

Unfortunately, I am not Tony Hawk. I clipped a rock and wiped out, gashing my knee and elbow. 

Even then, when I returned to Homebase the next day, Aidan Wilson still encouraged me to persevere and take my bumps.

Homebase’s family became my first real connection outside of Lehigh’s campus. I still proudly wear my “Home Team” crewneck and hat to support my local skate shop.

Sophomore year, I’d spend hours chatting with my favorite barista at Saxby’s. Over the hisses of the milk frother, I learned about her aspirations to travel, only to never see her again when I stopped by in May 2024. 

I hope that she’s out there somewhere, her eyes wandering the world she longed to see.

This year, I reported on a three-band punk concert held at Homebase, plunging into an endless world of original music. My ears rang from the intensity of the buzzing guitars as I scribbled chicken scratch handwriting into my notebook. 

I loved every second of it.

The event rekindled my love for punk rock music — the genre that filled my Spotify top songs lists in high school. I hadn’t gotten lost in music for years. Now, I’ll be first in line at performance venues to feel that escape. I’ll support the bands I now call my friends one final time.

With each passing year, these stops represented a “see you later.” I’d knowingly return three months later, when campus became lively and filled with students again. It never fully settled in that this reality could be crushed, or maybe I didn’t want to accept it. 

Father Time can be cruel in some ways.

Now, I’ll be making my final rounds. It’s bittersweet. There’s a gloomy reality that some of these people, many of whom I would share laughs and stories with nearly every day, I’ll never see again.

How do you properly say goodbye to a city that has done nothing but love and support you? 

Especially one that has never physically asked for anything in return.

It’s an answer I don’t even know. And to be honest, I probably will never know — I’ll forever be trying to pay it back.

Bethlehem is truly a unique place. There’s a bustling arts scene, the college newspaper where my name will be forever etched in bylines and the place I found love.

Time doesn’t move as rapidly here as it does at home in New York City. But it also isn’t the slow, soothing pace of my harbor-filled hometown in Long Island. It’s somewhere snug in the middle. 

There’s enough motion to leave me yearning to explore more. But also a steady pace where I can stop and appreciate the beauty of the people and art around me.

That’s all I could have ever wanted for my four-year home.

So, in preparation for my final rounds, I wrote over 40 thank-you cards, expressing my gratitude to the people — my professors, my peers, my interviewees and friends — who shaped me into the person I have become walking across Goodman Stadium’s stage.

When I make the crosstown trek in a few days, there will be a litany of stops — the most I’ve ever made — to drop those cards off. 

It feels right for a grand finale.

But amidst all that, I’ll be missing the biggest card of them. No handwritten words or stamps. Just a flurry of best-kept memories addressed to the city of Bethlehem.

And to that, all I can say is I hope I’ve made you proud.