Oops that was embarrassing 😳. I wasn’t even finished with editing and revising my old blog post when somehow it was published on Reader as “Reflections on My Journey from Journalism to Blogging” , which is a false statement. Anyway, I wrote this blog post a while ago about my passion for blogging back in 2022. Then I revised it again in Feb of 2026. Then I deleted it again because it feels very personal—almost embarrassing. Whenever I read it, it reminds me of my failure. I wasn’t planning on publishing it so soon, but here it goes!
Before the birth of content creation and when the internet was still in its primitive stages, it seemed that if you wanted to write, the only career choices were to become a journalist or an author. I was never the type who could write lengthy prose or who was creative enough to come up with compelling plots. Thinking I had my life straight when I was a teenager, I opted for journalism. I job shadowed a court reporter at the local newspaper company, thinking that one day I would be a great reporter. Well, you can blame television shows for glorifying reporters. In reality, I remember I almost fell asleep during the court session, listening to the monotonous attorney presenting his case in front of a brightly lit room, and glancing at the court reporter who sat beside me, scribbling on her notepad with a red pen. Her notes were unreadable, and she knew it when she showed them to me and smiled.
She had that typical look of a reporter. Her brunette hair was up in a ponytail, and she had blunt bangs. She wore an oversized light brown blazer on top of a white blouse with greenish-gray slacks and carried a dark brown, leather crossbow bag. She was nice and as eager to show off her job to someone who was excited and young as I was. I remember I had to get a guardian’s approval before I could attend the murder trial. To my disappointment, the session went on for hours. I started to hear the court reporter’s stomach growling when the day was close to noon. The trial was so dry that my mind started to drift. It was nothing like on T.V where murder cases are dramatized for entertainment purposes. Her job was tediously repetitive. There was the note-taking part, the listening part, the researching part, and then the writing part. She had to organize her notes and make sense of all of them for normal people like me to understand. However, at the time, being young and inexperienced, I couldn’t appreciate the work she did. Thinking all reporters appreciate honesty, I wrote her a sincere thank-you letter that went somewhat like this:
Dear Karen (I think that was her name),
Thank you for allowing me to job shadow you, but your job is pretty dry. I appreciate your time.
–S.
I could have been more flowery with my word choice. In my mind, I thought I sounded sincerely grateful for being honest. However, the more I think about my failure to become the next Connie Chung, I was lying to myself the entire time (you can laugh at me). My peers were better writers and reporters than I can ever be. They are more vocal, and perhaps, seemingly confident because people are attracted to confidence. Me? I am just so quiet–almost creepy. “Somewhere in this strange world, you belong,” said my journalism teacher. He was right. I prefer writing in solitary. Sometimes in the dark in the closet. Only then can I let my hair down and breathe. I can write and focus on perfecting my writing craft without stressing for the audience’s approval. I know I will always make typos here and there. After all, I am the only person behind this blog.
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