My story
"I am, was, and always will be a catalyst for change," Shirley Chisholm.
During my second semester of sophomore
year, I remember sitting in a straight-backed wooden chair, staring out the
window of an office in the career center. A 30-minute talk with a counselor and
one inconclusive Myers Briggs test later, I was sure I had no clue what I wanted
to do in life.
“What are you interested in?” my counselor asked.
“Everything, nothing. I honestly don’t know,” I replied, avoiding his eyes so he wouldn’t see the tears welling in mine.
“Okay, well, what are you good at?”
I hesitated, not knowing exactly how to respond.
I first thought about a poem I wrote in third grade. My teacher wanted the class to write a poem about our mother’s for Mother’s Day to submit to a local poetry contest. The one-page poem I wrote on blue-lined handwriting paper went on to place in the contest and I was asked to read it in front of a crowd in a small local bookstore with my mom in the first row. I can’t remember what I wrote, but I’ll never forget the tear of joy and pride welling in my mom’s eyes after I read her my poem.
Then I thought about my letters. I wasn’t a huge fan of writing in diaries when I was younger, but I’d always write letters that I’d never send. I write a secret wish list that I’d leave under my pillow for only God (or for Santa around Christmas time) to read.
I also wrote letters after my father passed away in 2008. The first few weeks after his death were the hardest emotionally. I felt numb and I completely shut everyone out emotionally. When the pain was just too much to bear, I’d wake up in the middle of the night crying profusely. But then I’d grab my notebook or my laptop and write a letter to my dad until I’ve calmed down enough to feel asleep again.
“Writing, I guess,” I said to my counselor.
“Well that’s a start! Have you thought about pursuing writing?” he said. “No. Should I?” I said half-jokingly.
Right then, it occurred to me. Finding a perfect career isn't just about discovering that I can write, it’s discovering what I’m passionate writing about.
When I become an English and Journalism co-major, in comparison to all my peers competing for spots at the New York Times or the Washington Post, I knew I did not belong behind a boring old desk in a corner cubicle writing stories I had no interest in whatsoever (not to mention the prospect of being only one of a handful of women of color employed at a newspaper was very intimidating).
I swore to myself that if I ever were to become a writer, I would write about something that I’m passionate about. I asked myself what makes me passionate? How can I make a difference by writing? Can I change lives? How can I build a connection with my audience?
That's when I discovered my interest in writing for the African American community. The Black community is in no way monolithic, however, we all do share similar experiences based on the color of our skin. I chose to become a writer to share my thoughts and feelings about my experiences. I want to uplift someone, to change someone's perspective, to inform the greater society about our triumphs and failures.
It's very discouraging not to see more familiar faces on TV and in movies, and it's even sadder to see the number of African American journalist in major media outlets. This is why this topic is so important to me. I want to become a journalists because I want to represent and serve my community the best way I know how. Excuses like, "Well, we've entered a post-racial society because we know have a Black president," isn't going to justify the murder of Black teenage boys by vigilante White men in Florida. I want to be a journalist so I can highlight the perpetual educational gap between African Americans and their white counterparts. I want to become a journalist because I want to paint a realistic image of African Americans being racially profiled by law enforcement. I want to become a journalist so that the stories and issues about the African American community are no longer swept under the rug by mainstream media. I want to become a journalist in order to shed light on the issue of racial discrimination in American society.
“What are you interested in?” my counselor asked.
“Everything, nothing. I honestly don’t know,” I replied, avoiding his eyes so he wouldn’t see the tears welling in mine.
“Okay, well, what are you good at?”
I hesitated, not knowing exactly how to respond.
I first thought about a poem I wrote in third grade. My teacher wanted the class to write a poem about our mother’s for Mother’s Day to submit to a local poetry contest. The one-page poem I wrote on blue-lined handwriting paper went on to place in the contest and I was asked to read it in front of a crowd in a small local bookstore with my mom in the first row. I can’t remember what I wrote, but I’ll never forget the tear of joy and pride welling in my mom’s eyes after I read her my poem.
Then I thought about my letters. I wasn’t a huge fan of writing in diaries when I was younger, but I’d always write letters that I’d never send. I write a secret wish list that I’d leave under my pillow for only God (or for Santa around Christmas time) to read.
I also wrote letters after my father passed away in 2008. The first few weeks after his death were the hardest emotionally. I felt numb and I completely shut everyone out emotionally. When the pain was just too much to bear, I’d wake up in the middle of the night crying profusely. But then I’d grab my notebook or my laptop and write a letter to my dad until I’ve calmed down enough to feel asleep again.
“Writing, I guess,” I said to my counselor.
“Well that’s a start! Have you thought about pursuing writing?” he said. “No. Should I?” I said half-jokingly.
Right then, it occurred to me. Finding a perfect career isn't just about discovering that I can write, it’s discovering what I’m passionate writing about.
When I become an English and Journalism co-major, in comparison to all my peers competing for spots at the New York Times or the Washington Post, I knew I did not belong behind a boring old desk in a corner cubicle writing stories I had no interest in whatsoever (not to mention the prospect of being only one of a handful of women of color employed at a newspaper was very intimidating).
I swore to myself that if I ever were to become a writer, I would write about something that I’m passionate about. I asked myself what makes me passionate? How can I make a difference by writing? Can I change lives? How can I build a connection with my audience?
That's when I discovered my interest in writing for the African American community. The Black community is in no way monolithic, however, we all do share similar experiences based on the color of our skin. I chose to become a writer to share my thoughts and feelings about my experiences. I want to uplift someone, to change someone's perspective, to inform the greater society about our triumphs and failures.
It's very discouraging not to see more familiar faces on TV and in movies, and it's even sadder to see the number of African American journalist in major media outlets. This is why this topic is so important to me. I want to become a journalists because I want to represent and serve my community the best way I know how. Excuses like, "Well, we've entered a post-racial society because we know have a Black president," isn't going to justify the murder of Black teenage boys by vigilante White men in Florida. I want to be a journalist so I can highlight the perpetual educational gap between African Americans and their white counterparts. I want to become a journalist because I want to paint a realistic image of African Americans being racially profiled by law enforcement. I want to become a journalist so that the stories and issues about the African American community are no longer swept under the rug by mainstream media. I want to become a journalist in order to shed light on the issue of racial discrimination in American society.