I VERB a writing job
Browsing through my personal email, I discovered that I have tons of writing job offers from the jobhunting sites I signed up for, right after graduation. Seeing these offers, I felt the desire to reconsider having a part time writing job. Part time only, because I can’t leave my financially beneficial job for a passion fueling but financially challenging job.
I want a magazine job; one wherein I get to cover events, interview people, and feel the rush of beating a deadline. I want to feel excited about things, people, occasions, and happenings, again. I want the editor to return a bloody article, one that needs improvement and see that as time passes by, the mistakes get less and less and less and then gone. I want to see the result on print and know if people were affected in one way or another, through my writing. I want to influence, to trigger, to create something that would make people act. I simply want to write. But I just don’t have the means (not even the chance, or is courage the more apt term?) for it.
I miss writing for public.
No, I miss writing in general.
Journalism school has been so kind to me in giving almost all the things I need to know to write for paper. It also gave me a hint on why I shouldn’t have taken it in the first place. I remember one professor telling us on our first year in college, “After graduation, only a handful of people from your batch would really pursue Journalism… since it’s not a high paying job.” And he was right. But more than that, journalism was more of a vocation, than a job. It needs dedication and sometimes, even putting one’s life on the line. As a freshman, I had high hopes and burning desire then. I even aspired to become an investigative journalist one day. I was full of courage then. But look at where I am now. All my burning flames have turned into ashes. All my dreams are mere wishes trapped inside a time capsule.
Two years after graduation, the prophecy (or was it blind truth?) came true: majority succumbed to the glitters of high paying jobs, not because we want to, but because we need to.
In time, the burning passion also died down. Or for some, it only slept and will one day be awakened once more, at the right time and at the right moment.
For now, I just want to listen to people’s stories, forget feeling the urge of giving them advice, be an insider while not entirely stepping out of the comfort zone of an outsider.
I want to just sit there, stare intently, ask questions genuinely, and leave inspired. That’s just all I ask. Is it too much to ask the universe to conspire on giving me all these? Hope not.