This picture was taken when I first moved into my dorm room when I got to New York end July. It's of the sunset on the Hudson River, from the initial room allocation that I rejected. The picture is a little underexposed but it turns out 6A6 has a beautiful view and is much more spacious and well ventilated than the one I eventually have now, although 6A6 would have also come at a slightly higher rent.
But I really took this picture to forever remind myself of the price of knee-jerk reactions, and I never imagined the frequency I had to do a little of that self-reminding with the various small decisions I had to make in my time at the j-school so far.
It has been almost two months that I have been here in New York. I find myself generally happier here just simply because I feel much more connected to the things I am doing. And I am just revelling in the ideological freedom (at least from how I perceive it) that would allow me to undo what a sociology professor back home refers to as being my personal "postcolonial patrilinear" baggage so as to fulfill my human potential.
But some grave mistakes I made in the reporting of my first story for my capstone reporting and writing class has led me to question myself and whether I have innately what it takes to succeed in this whole reporting business. Chiefly, whether the flaws that these mistakes have exposed, are something way too fundamental for me to do anything about, no matter how hard I try.
To be quite honest, I entertained thoughts of just giving up, packing up and going home, if that was the case. I only changed my mind when I remembered this course was only going to be 10-months long and I should give myself time. At least finish this damn thing up.
Working on my second news feature assignment the last week or so, I have been driven by a certain self righteous anger, in large part to prove to myself and my teachers that I can do report and write a decent extended piece. This anger has largely also helped undo the crippling effects of my desire to impress my adjunct instructor, simply because she is a editor at the metro desk of the New York Times.
I remembered I was in school quite simply to make those mistakes and learn how to eliminate them from my reporting. I knew all along that coming here was meant to dust the cobwebs off my reporting and writing given how I haven't really been doing that since I decided to start Campus Observer, so I had to give myself some time for the inevitable shitty first few pieces that will come out of my time here.
It certainly did help that the professor who is teaching a class on foreign correspondence I am auditing right now, affirmed all the "deep, contemplative reflection" I am doing about my craft. He told me acknowledging my problem is the first step to rectifying it, and that I will do well if I address it with a similar panache.
I got reminded of what he told us in class in the first week, warning us against reporting that is lazy, out of its historical, political and social context and borne out of a reluctance to talk to people who are not within our comfort zone but are necessary to tell the local stories.
It gave me much strength to carry on but I am still very much works in progress. Just simply hanging on in the last few weeks and keeping my head down to do more reporting has gotten me out of the mess I was in, or at least I hope with this next piece that is due Wednesday before my class visit to the Times' newsroom.
But it has also made me very tired. I have been so busy here I haven't had time for anything else. I still haven't been to any of the musuems here, but I can tell you everything about my neighbourhood beat in Brooklyn. I haven't had a weekend free for a fortnight now, simply because I have been down at my beat neighborhood all day.
I thought it was too fast paced back home, but right here in the Big Apple, it's probably at least five times worse. But somehow I feel as though I am in the place I should be right now. Things are not perfect as I thought they should be, but I am just so glad I decided to come here.
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