I think turning twenty has been more of a milestone for me than turning eighteen or nineteen.
When I turned eighteen, I figured I was becoming an adult. I could vote, after all.
When I turned nineteen, I guessed adulthood must have hit me. I could go to bars and buy lottery tickets.
But when I turned twenty, I think that's when adulthood (see: reality) finally decided to really kick in.
There isn't anything I can do at twenty that I couldn't do at nineteen, but twenty as a number seems to have more of a psychological impact on me than eighteen or nineteen. There's no "teen" in my age anymore.
I can't blame being a teenager for mistakes I make. I can't plead young ignorance anymore.
While this doesn't mean that I all of a sudden know what the hell I'm doing sometimes, it means I've gotten better at pretending.
I feel like it was just yesterday that I was graduating. Now, I'm halfway through my undergrad and spending the summer getting a glimpse at what it's like to be a journalist.
I've managed to land a summer internship with the T-J, my hometown newspaper and the province's largest daily. I'm writing for the paper I've grown up reading, ironically enough, in the city I always thought I'd leave.
It kind of all happened by chance. Since I don't have my license yet, I wasn't going to apply for an internship. But I realized that I had nothing to lose in applying. And now, here I am.
My biggest fear was that I wouldn't like it.
I started researching journalism programmes when I was in grade six. To say that I had ambitions to be a journalist would probably be an understatement.
I'd like to think that just about everything I've done has been working toward the very moment I stepped into the T-J two weeks ago tomorrow.
So to finally get here and then realize it's not what I want was a thought that was in the back of my mind after I finished exams and waited patiently for the internship to begin.
My second biggest fear was that I wouldn't be good enough.
I've gotten better at not doubting my abilities, because I've realized that if I can't believe that I'm good at something, the person I need to give me a shot certainly isn't going to. And once you start doubting yourself, that's it. You're finished. I think not measuring up will always be at the back of my mind and I'm not alone on that. But I'm pushing it back and free diving ahead for now.
With two weeks at the T-J under my belt, I now feel a bit more comfortable, but not too comfortable. I'm always worried about making mistakes, and it's taught me to pay more attention to what I'm writing. More importantly, I think my experience so far has shown me what I want to do as a journalist.
I've never really known exactly what I want to do in journalism, just that I want to be a journalist. And while I don't want to limit myself too much and I want to be versatile, I'm starting to see what I'm best at and where I want to be in my career eventually.
When I was a kid, what always attracted me to journalism was the excitement of it all. When something big happens, I want to be there. I want to know what's going on. I might not understand it and hell, I might not be able to help others understand it, but I'm going to try.
I want to tell stories that matter, stories that wouldn't be told otherwise. I want to make a difference and I think that's what has kept me pushing all of these years through late IB nights, losing Papa, marathon yearbook sessions, high school awkwardness, all-night paper writing sessions and general "oh damn it, I'm growing up!" identity crises.
I've also realized how much I've learned writing for The AQ. Without my experiences at The AQ, I would feel much less prepared to take on each day of this new adventure.
Saint John has surprised me. I'm learning more about Saint John this summer than I have in my twenty years combined here. Instead of wanting to leave Saint John, maybe I've turned the corner and realized it'll always be a part of me. I may not live here forever, but maybe I could live here for a while.
That's how things happen sometimes I guess. I wanted to leave Saint John. I wanted to go to Ryerson. I wanted to be a broadcast journalist, and hell, maybe I still will be. But I've fallen in love with print, I'm still in Saint John, and I ended up at STU. In first year, I might have regretted my university choice. But now, I think it was the best last-minute (as usual) decision I ever made.
If I didn't go to STU, it's likely I wouldn't have gotten the opportunity to write so much at any other campus newspaper. I wouldn't have met the great friends I've met in Fredericton, who've helped me a lot this year. I wouldn't have learned so much about myself.
Back to the original subject, I love what I'm doing this summer. I'm so thankful to have the opportunity to get up every day and do something I love, and hopefully, make a difference. I know that these types of jobs are scarce, which makes me even more grateful to have this opportunity.
Sometimes, I don't know how the hell I got here, but I'm glad I did.
Monday, May 17, 2010
Monday, March 29, 2010
Aside
Sometimes, it takes a while to appreciate things.
When I lived at home, I only noticed the things about my neighbourhood I disliked. It became monotonous to me. When you live somewhere for so long and experience the scenery for so many years, I think it's bound to happen.
To be blatantly honest, I was also always a bit embarrassed about where I came from.
Which makes little sense, because everything my family raised me with drilled in the idea of equality to my brain. They taught me that I am no less than anyone else based upon how many parents I had, or how much money we made. Nor am I any better than anyone else.
Despite this, I still felt embarrassed telling people where I lived or what I came from.
It took living in another place where I could be around new types of people and experience new ideas to really appreciate who I am, and where I came from.
If there's anything I've ever learned from the time I had with Papa, it's that you don't need to be great, rich or grand to make a difference. You don't have to have a lot to impact someone else's life.
You can bloom where you are, no matter where that is.
It doesn't matter where you are, or what situation you're in, something can always be learned from it.
Neighbourhoods like the South End don't need to be fixed. They can be great neighbourhoods and so can the people in them be great. You just need to give them the opportunity to have an impact on their own community and to grow.
That's when you'll really see people blooming where they are.
The Weakerthans - Aside
When I lived at home, I only noticed the things about my neighbourhood I disliked. It became monotonous to me. When you live somewhere for so long and experience the scenery for so many years, I think it's bound to happen.
To be blatantly honest, I was also always a bit embarrassed about where I came from.
Which makes little sense, because everything my family raised me with drilled in the idea of equality to my brain. They taught me that I am no less than anyone else based upon how many parents I had, or how much money we made. Nor am I any better than anyone else.
Despite this, I still felt embarrassed telling people where I lived or what I came from.
It took living in another place where I could be around new types of people and experience new ideas to really appreciate who I am, and where I came from.
If there's anything I've ever learned from the time I had with Papa, it's that you don't need to be great, rich or grand to make a difference. You don't have to have a lot to impact someone else's life.
You can bloom where you are, no matter where that is.
It doesn't matter where you are, or what situation you're in, something can always be learned from it.
Neighbourhoods like the South End don't need to be fixed. They can be great neighbourhoods and so can the people in them be great. You just need to give them the opportunity to have an impact on their own community and to grow.
That's when you'll really see people blooming where they are.
The Weakerthans - Aside
Saturday, January 16, 2010
Haiti
Like many others, I've seen a lot of pictures of the devastation in Haiti over the last few days. With technology, we have gotten used to seeing pictures of devastation perhaps more than previous generations. It's just so easy for pictures to make their way around the globe.
But I think what has made the tragedy in Haiti more real for me is reading profiles of missing Canadians on the Toronto Star's website. They've set aside space on the website for people to upload pictures of their missing loved ones in Haiti.
The photos are complimented by a small write-up about why they were in Haiti, what they have done in their lives, and worst of all, who they may be leaving behind if the story ends tragically. It's another example of how technology is helping disaster relief.
I have always found obituaries to be fascinating to read for the same reason that I find these profiles fascinating (and mind you, I hope that these profiles do not turn into obituaries -- with luck, many of these people will be found alive).
Essentially, you're summarizing someone's life. You're talking about their accomplishments and you're trying to tell the world who they are and there's not a lot of space. Not only that, but you're doing it by talking to everybody else except for that person that you're writing about. It has to be a challenge for the writer.
What strikes me even more is that for many who have or will perish in Haiti as a result of the devastating earthquake, there won't be anyone to tell their story. A lot of people die without having their story told. That doesn't mean they'll be forgotten and that their story won't be told in other ways, of course, but it's a sad thought nonetheless.
I guess what I am trying to say is that even though we see a lot of devastation, we can't become desensitized to suffering simply because we are used to seeing it. Images from Haiti today shouldn't be less shocking than they were last week just because we're getting used to seeing them.
That's why it moved me to read the profiles on the Star's site. It's one thing to see a picture of someone suffering or to read about someone suffering. But it's another thing entirely when I'm reminded that the person had a life, a family, and that the person was not entirely unlike myself.
The Arcade Fire - Haiti
But I think what has made the tragedy in Haiti more real for me is reading profiles of missing Canadians on the Toronto Star's website. They've set aside space on the website for people to upload pictures of their missing loved ones in Haiti.
The photos are complimented by a small write-up about why they were in Haiti, what they have done in their lives, and worst of all, who they may be leaving behind if the story ends tragically. It's another example of how technology is helping disaster relief.
I have always found obituaries to be fascinating to read for the same reason that I find these profiles fascinating (and mind you, I hope that these profiles do not turn into obituaries -- with luck, many of these people will be found alive).
Essentially, you're summarizing someone's life. You're talking about their accomplishments and you're trying to tell the world who they are and there's not a lot of space. Not only that, but you're doing it by talking to everybody else except for that person that you're writing about. It has to be a challenge for the writer.
What strikes me even more is that for many who have or will perish in Haiti as a result of the devastating earthquake, there won't be anyone to tell their story. A lot of people die without having their story told. That doesn't mean they'll be forgotten and that their story won't be told in other ways, of course, but it's a sad thought nonetheless.
I guess what I am trying to say is that even though we see a lot of devastation, we can't become desensitized to suffering simply because we are used to seeing it. Images from Haiti today shouldn't be less shocking than they were last week just because we're getting used to seeing them.
That's why it moved me to read the profiles on the Star's site. It's one thing to see a picture of someone suffering or to read about someone suffering. But it's another thing entirely when I'm reminded that the person had a life, a family, and that the person was not entirely unlike myself.
The Arcade Fire - Haiti
Friday, January 8, 2010
After Hours
I like writing, but sometimes I despise it. It doesn't really come easily to me because I have a hard time starting. After that, it flows pretty well. I've always had a tendency to ramble though -- I'm workin' on it. This is ironic because now that I've written what you just read (or at the very least, what I just re-read over in my head), my writing is flowing and words are coming easily.
Christmas break has been good, it has truly been a break. A good time to recharge my batteries, if I can use a rather overused phrase. I've read a lot this break, mostly in front of the Fireplace Channel (yeah, that's right, the Fireplace Channel), because that's how classy I am.
I've read three books over this break. First was "The Pickton File" by Stevie Cameron. I've written about Vancouver's DTES on here and on BelowtheLine and bought this book for my Mom as a Christmas gift last year. She's always liked reading about murder and watching Court TV proceedings. It's never really been my thing.
Cameron was the Irving Chair in Journalism during the first semester of my first year at school. I ran into her one night heading down to a friend's room to do karaoke. She was doing laundry in my residence's locked wing, where people with single rooms live. Apparently, people who live in suites also make use of the laundry room.
At the time, I hadn't really recognized what I wanted to do with my journalism and I'm not sure I even knew why I wanted to be a journalist. That's all kind of transpired within me over the last year.
Anyway, we had a good chat but I wish I had read the book then. I would have liked to have the chance to talk with her more in depth about her experiences. Oh well.
After that, I picked up "Missing Sarah" at my local library (see: previous blog post on how the public library is one of my favourite places), a beautiful memoir about one of Pickton's victims. The book was written by the woman's sister, Maggie de Vries. It was heartwrenching, truthful, eye-opening and changed some of the stereotypes I may have had ingrained in me about sex work. It was real.
Finally, I read "Hey Nostradamus!" by Douglas Coupland. I've always wanted to check out Coupland, and I kind of grabbed this book on a whim when I visited the library to pick up "Missing Sarah". I wanted to read "Generation X" but I wasn't able to find it for some reason or another. Some other time.
It was a good read. A lot of thought back and forth about faith and life and purpose and the like. I'd like to read more Coupland, but I want to read more in general and haven't yet pushed myself to find the time do so as much as I'd like while in school, save for news.
I've also put a dent in "A Million Little Pieces" by James Frey. I know the book is a bit fabricated and the style of writing annoys me, but I found myself drawn in particularly late at night when I cannot fall asleep.
So there you have it. I've certainly done more than read this break, don't get me wrong. I've seen a lot of family and friends that I haven't seen since the summer or since Thanksgiving. That was nice.
The one thing I am aching to do while home is to go for a jog. I suppose I could still go for a jog, despite the snow covering the ground, but it's not quite the same. It's not the same in a gym on a treadmill either. I just like the reckless abandon of jogging outside. Add it onto my list of the many reasons I wish I lived somewhere with a more favourable climate.
Speaking of running, remember the guy I wrote about in a previous blog post that runs past my house everyday like clockwork? Well, I do. I haven't seen him in ages, I began to wonder if he was still running. I was heading down to my grandmother's house the other night and sure enough, he ran past, even though it was pretty cold out that night.
I wanted to run after him and talk to him. I don't even know what I'd say without sounding creepy. I don't know him at all. Yet, he's been a part of my life for as long as I can remember. My inner creature of habit was quite pleased.
After Hours - We Are Scientists
Christmas break has been good, it has truly been a break. A good time to recharge my batteries, if I can use a rather overused phrase. I've read a lot this break, mostly in front of the Fireplace Channel (yeah, that's right, the Fireplace Channel), because that's how classy I am.
I've read three books over this break. First was "The Pickton File" by Stevie Cameron. I've written about Vancouver's DTES on here and on BelowtheLine and bought this book for my Mom as a Christmas gift last year. She's always liked reading about murder and watching Court TV proceedings. It's never really been my thing.
Cameron was the Irving Chair in Journalism during the first semester of my first year at school. I ran into her one night heading down to a friend's room to do karaoke. She was doing laundry in my residence's locked wing, where people with single rooms live. Apparently, people who live in suites also make use of the laundry room.
At the time, I hadn't really recognized what I wanted to do with my journalism and I'm not sure I even knew why I wanted to be a journalist. That's all kind of transpired within me over the last year.
Anyway, we had a good chat but I wish I had read the book then. I would have liked to have the chance to talk with her more in depth about her experiences. Oh well.
After that, I picked up "Missing Sarah" at my local library (see: previous blog post on how the public library is one of my favourite places), a beautiful memoir about one of Pickton's victims. The book was written by the woman's sister, Maggie de Vries. It was heartwrenching, truthful, eye-opening and changed some of the stereotypes I may have had ingrained in me about sex work. It was real.
Finally, I read "Hey Nostradamus!" by Douglas Coupland. I've always wanted to check out Coupland, and I kind of grabbed this book on a whim when I visited the library to pick up "Missing Sarah". I wanted to read "Generation X" but I wasn't able to find it for some reason or another. Some other time.
It was a good read. A lot of thought back and forth about faith and life and purpose and the like. I'd like to read more Coupland, but I want to read more in general and haven't yet pushed myself to find the time do so as much as I'd like while in school, save for news.
I've also put a dent in "A Million Little Pieces" by James Frey. I know the book is a bit fabricated and the style of writing annoys me, but I found myself drawn in particularly late at night when I cannot fall asleep.
So there you have it. I've certainly done more than read this break, don't get me wrong. I've seen a lot of family and friends that I haven't seen since the summer or since Thanksgiving. That was nice.
The one thing I am aching to do while home is to go for a jog. I suppose I could still go for a jog, despite the snow covering the ground, but it's not quite the same. It's not the same in a gym on a treadmill either. I just like the reckless abandon of jogging outside. Add it onto my list of the many reasons I wish I lived somewhere with a more favourable climate.
Speaking of running, remember the guy I wrote about in a previous blog post that runs past my house everyday like clockwork? Well, I do. I haven't seen him in ages, I began to wonder if he was still running. I was heading down to my grandmother's house the other night and sure enough, he ran past, even though it was pretty cold out that night.
I wanted to run after him and talk to him. I don't even know what I'd say without sounding creepy. I don't know him at all. Yet, he's been a part of my life for as long as I can remember. My inner creature of habit was quite pleased.
After Hours - We Are Scientists
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