All the influx of news, reports, and videos on my newsfeeds just reaffirms: "Journalism is an act of faith in the future." Thank god for journalists on the field, abroad, in offices hustling to get accurate information about Typhoon Haiyan/#YolandaPH quickly. Half a world away, we see things happening in the Philippines real time and get pushed to work on relief together no matter how far we are.
Imagine if there were no journalists to provide news? How would we be keeping track? How would people know how to give? I used to feel bad for not wanting to be a doctor or nurse or someone that “helps people,” but I think this put things into perspective.
Me writing about clothes and shoes and celebrities for fashion magazines is FAR from covering international disasters but I’m just not there yet. Yesterday, I was in the office trying to work on a holiday shopping story and could not help but think: Fuck. This. Fuck this $1000 dollar designer shit. Fuck what Ryan Gosling said. Fuck online shopping. Fuck beauty how-tos. What is wrong with these people.I felt guilty. I welled up in the office thinking about the affected people abroad while scrolling over news about the motherland to get to the stuff style blogs cared about: Miley Cyrus this and Lady Gaga that and OMG Shoes. While I am finding ways to help the cause outside of work, of course, I just felt like a big, fat fake. This isn’t journalism. This isn’t what I so badly wanted to achieve. This isn’t what I am being trained to learn how to report for. I could be used for so much more. How dare I praise another material object when thousands have lost homes, family….life?
I swell with appreciation at the secret, noble heroes of the relief effort: our reporters. I read articles and imagine the writer tirelessly going into the devastation each day, taking the time to listen to people’s stories, daring to ask questions, and carefully thinking of the right words to say.
If there was ever a time for me to realize why I pursue Journalism, this is it. I don’t want this to be about me but tragedy, unfortunately, has a way of enlightening. I think I know no matter where I end up writing, i must hold myself to a standard where I am always doing–as my professors say–”public good.” That’s the test I should hold myself to.
"This is like the worst day. I didn’t sleep.”
“How do you deal with your workload? Is it worth it?”
“It’s always worth it. People have been telling me since I was 9 years old. ‘Why do you do so much?’ I just don’t believe in idle time. There is so much that I think I can contribute. Sometimes I wish there was four of me, the different parts of me. But there’s only so much you can do.”
“You’re laughing a lot.”
“When your body is running on empty that’s what comes out.”
So, I was caught in the NYU Journalism building COMPLETELY off guard. Naturally, I was transcribing interviews for an article and ~trying~ to fit in lunch.
Vintage street style: Meet Vivian Maier, the woman who invented street style photography in the 1950s. More photos here.
My article! <3
fuck a sad girl party
you are not any more lovely
hanging on a cross
than painting yourself
into a kaleidoscope
if he meant shit
he would be the shit
since he ain’t the shit
why should you
sit around and feel like shit?
you are the sistine chapel
on intergalactic steroids
get off the fucking floor
fuck a sad girl party
FEMINISM IS IMPORTANT BECAUSE … FROM NYU’S PRESIDENT JOHN SEXTON.