Get a chance. Get somewhere you want to be.
If your main concern is, outright,
being the best, then I suggest you stop reading this. Often achievements matter
not depending on how fast you bag them but rather what you had to face before
cupping the prize in your hands.
Being a journalist is one
thing. Being a good one is another.
First of all, you must have in
mind and in heart, the passion and knack for truth and opinion, justice and
what opposes it. Sheer interest fuels it all – from what you think to how you
turn thoughts into an arty organization of gamut upon gamut of sentences, into
a stack of photographs that burst with distant familiarity, into drawings that
translate both what you think and what society has to say.
Innate skill is not enough.
Cultivate it into something worth considering and remembering. Wouldn’t it feel
exceptionally rewarding to inspire interest in others? To render them
breathless and have them crave for more – more of your pictures, your stories,
your sketches and justified tirades.
And how exactly do you achieve
these? Gather all the bravery and boldness that you can muster. Embrace the
rogue and rough without being reckless. Being a journalist grants you freedom.
Being a good one gives you claim to liberty by hanging it like a beacon,
resting atop a cliff, awaiting its rightful victor.
Not to make it sound like a vicious feat, but in
the raging ocean that is journalism, sugar-coating matters is never an option.
Greet your ultimate fear like
an old pal. Treat it to coffee, or a meal, perhaps. Analyze it, and once you
realize it isn’t worth a speck of your attention, let it go. Familiarize
yourself with deadlines and expect them as often as this article pops up with
clichés. Time is in an endless sprint for you to chase. Grant yourself the
constant favor of catching up with it.
Remember, too, and never let it
slither out of your mind, that a good journalist never contends with other
journalists but rather with himself. As aforementioned, it is not about being
the best. It never is.
What is the use of good
journalism, then? The use is restoring crevices carved by confusion. Filling up
gaps plagued by ignorance. Bridging distances across seas of malice and
miscommunication. The use is the good argument from the day’s paper after long
hours at work. The snapshots that will your muscles to form a smile when you’d
much rather sulk. The cartoons that make fun of those who pound their power
upon those who live in peace.
But good journalism, most
importantly, stimulates not self-satisfaction but self-elucidation.
Expect not a boffo of applause
but an unspoken heap of appreciation. And if you do so, then keep it up for you
are up for a promising journey.
Of Pens and Clarity
Every so often extreme combinations fuse into a better mishmash. How can the sense of lethargy and the pleasure of conclusion affect us alike? In time, we will realize. For today, we act.
It wouldn’t be much of a burden if I was not a part of this organization. Imagine, after school hours, I won’t have to bother where and when my time would be partitioned on, more time to evaluate my life, and constitute a wonderland of no busy days.
But I opted not to be, because I chose to be in Moleck – Moleck, where I have less time to ponder on my existence, less occasions to evaluate my life, and less time to daydream a wonderland. In Moleck, I have to, together with my friends, ponder on new ideas, evaluate life through words, and daydream literary pieces that will be worth reading on busy days.
If you would look at it that way, you will really be hopeless. But if you ever see it as: Joining the school paper organization, I won’t have to bother where and when my time would be wasted on, I would have more time to be productive, and will constitute reality, then perhaps your view on the organ will be at ease. Because this is true.
Lives fused; lives that previously did not realize what was awaiting them. I was one of the many people who were lucky enough. And I am not just saying this for the sake of good profile and a cornucopia of praises, because it’s irrelevant. I say this for the sake of bursting out the truth. Joining Moleck was never easy, but it didn’t get too hard because we were not alone as we work. In fact, we became more than merely just workers.
Perhaps, we were just tied up by the one thing that made us alike; it’s the passion for writing, isn’t it? Who could deny, anyway? When I first joined this, I thought, “I’m quite good in writing, maybe it will count…” And it did count. I even improved. Most of all, I helped. It made me feel glad, to know that I have made a difference, in any way.
Accept it; for I did long ago, we need to be in the know to cope with life. Being part of Moleck helped me tons. It will pay off someday; all of these late-night stay ups, repetitive process of critiquing my own work for the better, and so much more.
Like mine, it can be your story. So why don’t you want? There is no harm in trying. What’s wrong is there’s the chance, but you didn’t grab it. High school passes by so fast...
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