“I’ll walk there again and think of you.”

By Ayasha Nordiawan

“The hours we spent together passed quickly, the small path behind the station where we saw the sun going down over the fields and the little mill in the distance — I’ll walk there again and think of you.” — from Vincent Van Gogh’s letter to Theo Van Gogh, February 1877.

There are memories in our life that arrive loudly, full of movement and colour, and others that slip away quietly, like the hush just before dusk. I think Van Gogh’s line sits somewhere in the middle. Not a declaration of grief or longing, but a recognition of how meaning settles in the everyday: a path, a sunset, a companion. A place we pass through that becomes unforgettable only because someone else walked there with us.

The theme for Indigo’s final edition of the year is memories. I can’t think of a more fitting one to mark the end of my time with Indigo — not because I want to dwell in nostalgia, but because memory is what writing really is. A holding. A return. A path walked again.

To me, to be part of Indigo is to be part of something ongoing. A conversation across time, across a community, between writers who may never meet but echo each other’s thoughts unknowingly. In my interview to become Indigo Editor, the final question I was asked was, “When you eventually leave this position, what would you like your legacy to be?” I said: the International Editions. Looking back now, that answer has become one of my most treasured memories in Indigo — not because of what it says about me, but because of what it meant for all of us. The creation of those editions was never about one person. It took a whole community. Writers, editors, illustrators — all working together to tell stories that had never been told here before. It reminded me, again and again, that Indigo has always been about people, and that memory is something we build together.

What I’ve learned through my time in Indigo is that memory is something we build. It lives in the photoshoot with our incredible models for the International Editions, in the thrill of getting our first SPA awards & national shortlists, in the quiet satisfaction of a beautiful final edition. It lives in the shared frustration because InDesign crashed (again!), and the strange intimacy of working alongside people who love the magazine just as much as you do. These are the moments I’ll return to — not because they were grand, but because they were ours.

So, what is memory if not a shared sentence? What is an editorial but a letter — to those we’ve worked with, those we’ve written for, and those still to come? And so, before I go, I want to write one last thank-you — a record of the people who shaped this magazine to be a beautiful path for me. Firstly, to Ayah and Ibu, who have been encouraging me to write for as long as I can remember. To Cameron, who taught me how to love Indigo well and trusted Indigo in my hands. To Emily, who always believed in me. To Lily, for always having my back and the comfort of your company in the office, I’m endlessly proud of you. To Skye and Shoaib, for always helping me out during my print-related crises. My deepest thank you to Charlotte, for walking this path with me with kindness and unwavering patience, I couldn’t have asked for a better co-editor, or a better friend to lead this magazine with. Finally, to all the section editors I’ve had the privilege of working with in the past 2 years, thank you for creating such a beautiful thing with me.

With this edition, we are also saying goodbye to some of our wonderful section editors who will be graduating and moving onto life beyond Durham. As they step into new chapters, we wish them all the very best, and their memory will remain woven into the fabric of this magazine, a reminder that every ending is also a beginning. Thank you for reading Indigo in 2024/2025 and we wish you a warm and beautiful summer.

Image credit: Hayleigh McLean