question and answer

I recently attended a seminar for media workers on how to reduce stigma and discrimination in AIDS and HIV. What made the seminar interesting and lively is when Dr. Eric Tayag of the National Epidemiolody Department presented the results of the 2010 Philippine HIV & AIDS Registry. As always, after every press conference reporters would storm in sources for a more personal interview. Of course, a personal interview in reality is not possible as other reporters would join once they see someone getting an exclusive.

Seeing reporters storm in Dr. Tayag reminds me of the days when I was part of that commotion.

I was not always confident of my questions and I would usually rely on other reporters' question in hopes that they would be asking the "right" questions. 

Of course, this is a reversed mindset. Asking questions, even if just for clarification makes the reporter recognizable to the person being interview. Most especially when he/she is of high profile, reporters would usually fight over the source's attention. It seems like a badge of honor to some reporters.

But yes, I left that life. And I am about to leave the media industry. I honestly miss those days. Who knows, I might be back and by that time, hopefully, most likely, I am more confident of who I am, able to ask the questions I ought to have asked a long time ago.

too much

"I seriously don't enjoy spending a whole day at the office with our boss. There's just too much pressure, too much stress," my office-mate exclaimed as we got out of the little green gate and walked towards the main street late in the afternoon.

Welcome to my world

It's quite often that I find myself alone, with my boss. And pressure is an understatement to the ambiance he develops whenever he's there. With a day-at-a-time strategy to keep the business going, our boss has a tendency to make me do things that just suddenly popped out of his head. This, of course, sidetracks to the real work I was paid to do.

And so, my job description is not just editing but slash slash.

Lately, it's been difficult. Hopefully, it does not get worse, though.

work blooper

My boss asked me to follow up on certain malls regarding our proposal to be able to sell the magazine at their place. I started calling their offices Tuesday and never got a hold on any of them. I tried calling Music Museum this afternoon and have I made a major blooper!

Imagine a small room with tables at every corner. At the rightmost corner of the room is where all the printers and telephones are. The table right next to this is my boss', who was at that moment writing emails to practically everyone there is in his address book.

I went to the phone and dialed the number. Somebody answered.

"Hello? Is Ms. Soriano there?"

"Who is this?"

"This is Martha, from BusinessWorld-"

My boss stared at me.

three drops of tears

It was midday and I was at work. Though I know there is so much that needs to be done, it wasn't as immediate as the term "now" would imply. Besides, procrastination is a stage we all enjoy, especially when you have tons of work.

Seeing myself at that stage, I looked for a friend to talk to. One friend, online in Facebook, sent me a message. This was the distraction I needed. We talked about a lot of things that afternoon.

Of course, there were times my boss would give me instructions and thoughts on the issues the magazine has to cover. Just as he was about to leave, he wanted me to forward all the emails I sent to possible contributors. This is aside from the tag line for the magazine he wanted me to think of, and the blog posts and updates of vendors, activities and what else is there that he wanted me to upload. Obviously, I have not done a single one of them. Maybe he realized I wasn't doing anything work-related, I thought to myself.

I looked back at my computer to see if my friend had written any message right after my boss gave his talk.

And there I read my friend's message: "He left."

I knew he was leaving. God has been telling me for the past year that this will be happening, and I guess I should have been expectant of such a message. Besides, he himself told me he was, that is, four months ago.

Actually, it was the only thing he told me regarding this trip he is having. I must admit, I tried to dig a little deeper, but I guess I'm not as skilled as I thought I'd be. Without having any idea of what is to happen next, that is aside from his leaving, it only made me feel that I should be more than the unresponded messages.

"He left."

I left the room in fear of a public display of whatever reaction I was going to have. I rushed towards the comfort room to have more privacy and started to call God. I went down on my knees to hear what He was to say. And there were tear drops.

One.

Two.

Three.

I stood up, checking myself in the mirror if the drops had made a smudge of my make-up. There were so much to do, writers to contact, blog posts to write. I looked at myself in the mirror once more and smiled. If I were the unresponded messages, you mean nothing more than just three drops of tears, easily wiped out and barely noticed.

hallelujah chance!

If you are a Jdorama fan like me, the first thing that would definitely come into your mind reading these words is Ken-zou and his efforts to go back in the past and change things so that his bestfriend would love him instead.

I have been a fanatic of the series, really. In fact, since I have been the source of recommendations for DVD marathon episodes, I have used this position to influence people to patronize such a wonderful story. True enough, everytime they hear my ringtone in which Iwase Ken shouts "Hallelujah chance!", they would be frantic while enjoying the rush of thoughts it brings them.

I thought it was a simple fanatism.

Being a Christian journalist living a day at a time in faith, I take opportunity of every chance I get for a coverage, or at least get a hold of whoever official related to foreign affairs. Even if it were a mere ribbon cutting, photo opportunity or what else not newsworthy there is, I'd be there just to get a hold of anyone.

I have actually had days when I had no concrete plan of how and where to get a story. And then, a sudden coverage would come up and I would find myself writing stories to be passed a few hours later. I find myself mused with the fact that there is always a chance, an opportunity for me to survive this daily grinding. I know and I cannot deny that God is and will always be there to help me survive. And I have actually learned to remind myself of God's providence to the birds where it know not where to get food and yet they still manage to survive. How far more will He provide for human?

Hallelujah for the chance.

I'm currently on my 6th week on the beat and I have been able to pass articles daily. Though most of the times I pass them late, I am still thankful I was able to pull out a story, to have them submitted and sometimes, if lucky enough, would get it enough.

I'm always excited for text messages, as it is the door of chances for me; a spokesperson texting for Somali pirates updates, my friend reporter telling me of a coverage, or my editor sending me to another out-of-my-beat coverage. Whatever it is, it signifies my chances of survival and I'm happy for it.

Hallelujah chance.

to my editor

After a burst of tears, a word from God, further realizations along with moments that urge honesty last Sunday, I am ready to be terminated from work.

I am no egotistic person not to recognize how incompetent I had been in work. Working in the beat for almost a month now, I was only able to publish two stories on paper, and around six more on the net. With a quota of two stories a day, six days of work a week, this is a really low average.

I have had good coverage, but if someone else had been sent there, my editors would have gotten a better output compared to all the crappy articles I have done.

I'm no good writer, I always knew that. It's the love of writing that makes me stay in this field of arts but even before I graduated from college, I knew I will never be one of the best writers in my batch.

I have been a waste. The money paid for my salary has not gotten its worth.

Sunday work dreads me. In fact, I hate it. I feel I'd rather live with exact means in a ministry, than to be journalist.

Although to defend myself, my beat had never been easy. With officials who hate interviews, a bureaucratic agency and kill-the-young principle of certain reporters, I live with the story fed to me. I have learned to ignore or minimally use press releases. Very few press officers remember me. And I still have to admit, despite the stress and shame I feel every time I see my editor, I'm still happy I am in this paper. I am very blessed to have a very patient editor, and a newspaper who is teaching me of journalism standards I have not seen in any newspaper in this country.

The only reason why I have not resigned is because I know it is God who has given me this job. It has been difficult but He has shown His providence as well. I know for myself I will not be the one giving up on what God has given me.

Then again, I have never been great in this field, and my rational mind tells me I doubt I will ever be. If it God's plan to have me terminated, I am ready to accept that. If my editor tells me that there is nothing for me in this field, I am ready to accept. And by the time he tells me this, I have a lot of thanksgiving to tell him, not to make him retract but to recognize the good things this job has brought me.

If it is God's will, I am ready to accept my termination from this job. It is never mine to take.

something on obama

My editor asked me to attend an event at the US embassy. The embassy invited a professor of journalism to talk about the significance of the Internet at the 2008 US Elections.

As expected, I was late for the 8:30 in the morning affair. I came in the event a few minutes after the open forum had started. The topic was really interesting and I've learned new things about political campaign strategies. But then, since there wasn't any local peg, my editor didn't ask me to write any story at all.

Anyway, I was reading the portfolio of the candidates that were given to us during the event. As I am fascinated with Barack Obama's candidacy, I opened the magazine and read his biography first.

I must admit, I've heard a lot of stories about him, as he was featured in Time magazine, coverages from New York Times, and a few more stories from missionaries and friends who are going to vote.

One of the main contentions my friends have is that he makes it appear that he is a Christian when in turn, he is actually a Muslim. Now I don't know how true this allegation could be, but the mere idea that they wouldn't vote for him because he is a Muslim already raises an eyebrow.

Maybe I'm just liberated, as one of them would often refer me, or maybe I'm just being nice, but I really don't like the idea of discrimination because of religion. Religion, I think, should not be the measure for a person to be deserving in a position, especially with regard to the Muslim religion.

I'd like to quote what United Nations Secretary-General Bak Ki Moon said in his message for the Asian Conference on Religions for Peace. He said, "It is man who created war in the name of religion."

Because of this war against terrorism, people have started looking down on the Islam religion, that terrorism is a product of extremist religion, that it is the Islam religion that cultivates this extreme methods. However, they do not recognize the idea of ideology, that terrorism in its sense is actually a protest against the world power.

Now, on this point, Obama says the US should keep it's stand in the global power seat and yet he advocates for the end of the war in Middle East and resort to diplomatic settlements.

At one point, it seems quite ironic, to keep power and yet settle with those that are against you're being there. Then again, no one could very well achieve it unless he would actually know why there are these protests, make them feel that you understand them, and convince them to meet at a certain level, exactly the same element of synthesis Karl Marx discussed in his conflict theory.

My parents would have killed me by now if they would hear I have to say about this election such that they are being fed by the allegations against Obama. Quite honestly, I have much more to say but just to clarify, I'm not exactly pro-Obama. I'd like to think, thank God I'm not an American to be thinking who to vote. But yes, this elections is still quite interesting.

surviving

After exactly two weeks in the beat, like a fish taken out of the water, I am trying to get all the necessary air I can get to live as long as possible.

I have been bombarded with press conferences last week that I am usually assured of at least one story everyday. And how I wish it would go on until I decide to resign from work but then, it's just a wish.

I am starting my week with nothing, a blank paper. I checked out the newspaper where my friend is working, only to find out she does have stories to pass and they do actually get published. And I will not withhold from her the credit she deserves. She is excelling in the beat.

I'd like to think life is unfair, that she gets stories and I don't. But then, I'm just entering my third week on the beat. Aside from her, I've only had two friends in the beat, one would be my newspaper's photographer.

I opened all my electronic inbox in hopes to find a press release to start off the day. If I could get a lead of something, I might actually have something good to write on for the afternoon. But no, all I get are messages telling me of blog entries.

I checked on the embassy websites in hopes to find something new. Aside from the transcripts of interviews one of my editors had with the Australian Trade Minister, I didn't find anything else.

I went back to my mother, feeling depressed. And when I found myself alone, I broke into tears. I didn't really understand why but now, I am admitting that this job is killing me.

But then, life goes on. I am no quitter. I do not see myself backing out in the middle of any battle. I left and headed for the beat office.

Sure, I had some ideas on what to work on but never got the courage to do it. A few minutes after two in the afternoon, the beat spokesperson texted, informing the release of Filipino seamen in Nigeria.

I was happy enough to realize that I have a story for the day. But thinking that I had started passing two stories last week, I simply do not want to slow down the momentum.

I found a press release from the vice. Although I tried making it not a press release, circumstances drove me to passing it without getting an expert's opinion.

It's still depressing to find myself passing crappy articles. Then again, I shouldn't be complaining at this stage. I was able to pass two articles. That's what's important. Getting it published will come eventually.

I will get there someday.

just got killed

I would very much admit now that though I was not able to pass an article daily last week, if the managing editor had been there, I would have resigned or received a memo for my incompetency even before the week ends.

It had been frustrating then, but it would been even more if the managing editor had not been in Europe last week.

By the time he got back to work, I was filled with events and big time press conferences that I had been able to pass at least one every day.

Of course, much of what I had planned still were flushed in the toilet for either lack of newsworthiness, lack of facts, or simply never followed up.

Given that Friday was supposedly the lightest day of the week, I was truly thankful enough that I still had an event to cover, which meant a sure-ball article and I will still have enough time to follow up on stories I've been thinking to do.

Then again, everything just seemed to fade away so sudden.

Who would have thought that I could never get anything from an ASEAN event? I have been into the health beat for the week and I'm pretty sure I have enough knowledge to go about the press conference. I called up my editor to slug in my story, only to find out it was not worth the internet space.

Allow me to insert this here. This was the only time my editor really talked to me about my beat. Much of the phone call we had for the past few days were "this is my story" and "ok". But this time, he was telling what I should always be looking for in my beat, which is basically, "What will the Philippines get in this?"

With our phone conversation this afternoon, I was able to realize how vague and superficial ASEAN statements could get such that I couldn't really find anything concrete for the Philippines. I'm sure there are, but with less than an hour of open forum to a secretary who never really gave in to interviews, there wasn't enough opportunity to probe in these questions. And so, my story was scraped but he also gave me the feeling that it's ok since I'm just starting to get in the beat.

By the time my friend and I were in a taxi to get to a netshop, the desk texted me, telling me that my managing editor was looking for my stories, and should I further emphasize this, STORIES.

I was obviously obliged to call him and when I did, I realized I was talking to him without any story in my mind.

As expected, he was frustrated and started questioning me on what I had been doing the whole day. I had to explain the delay of schedule for the press conference and my attempts to look for a story even during the morning.

He wasn't that mad, but I remembered from him is that I should be treating my day as if no events were to happen and therefore I should be striving hard to get a story. The good part here though, is that he said since this was the first time, he's going to let it pass and instructed me to call him if I was able to come up with a story (which is an hour before the deadline).

I was scared really. I knew he was right and I needed to hear that. My editor and the managing editor has some sort of balance that both made me start moving on and try to do better. Moreover, I saw the blessing that has hidden from me last week, that if he had been there, I would have been dead by now.

I was killed today, yes, but it put a lot of pressure on me and I was still able to pass two stories for the day (although one of it is 30mins late). Welcome to the journ life of the business paper.

being a reporter

Being a journalist is not a far-fetched idea for friends who've known me and have been with me since time and memorial. Studying the craft for five years makes people think that I have been equipped with the necessary principles and skills to become a true journalist.

Yeah, right. Who ever said it was going this hard?

But then, to give credit to all my professors in college, journalism was never easy. Doing an article daily and living each day at a time may be stressing but students could really get use to it. They did not lack in reminding us of the perils of the system, not just the political but the media itself. With the communication theories, ethical principles and journalism artciles we've done in the past, how can the work field be so different?

Haha. It is. And my stress level had never got up this high, with my appetite shifting and my mind rejecting food as it is filled with plans and ideas for stories instead. (And by the way, I am a stress eater)

From the very moment I wake up, my mind worries of the stories I need to do, much of them I don't know where to get, where to look for. As I worry, I start praying hard, telling God to just grant me with stories that will get me through the day.

Around eight in the morning, I venture the computer shop in hopes to find a press release in my inbox. If not, I'd really be hoping that the beat spokesperson would suddenly text for updates on overseas Filipino workers stories.

If I had not been successful to look for a story by 10, I start getting depressed with no ice cream to compensate for what I feel.

I tried coming by the office during those times, but with my computer located right behind the line of editors, the more I feel tensed. And by feeling tensed, I literally mean shaking. If I would want to get out the office, it would be very hard because I had to pass by my editor's table and he would usually look at me every time I walk there.

If by 0ne in the afternoon, I still have no story (which by the way usually happens), I feel like I want to hide. It's a feeling of shame, embarassment of admition of incompetency that I just want to fade away.

Getting out of the office is not that different actually. Being assigned in a beat where most reporters are rather old, new reporters are not really easily welcomed. The press office is fantastic. Computers are available. Newspapers are on the desk. A television (and I think cables for PSP) is ready to use. Phone lines are everywhere, and the best part, the room is air-conditioned. But then, no one usually comes there, unless something important is going to happen or somebody wants to sleep during office hours.

Courtesy calls for the big people in the beat are simple fantasies for new reporters. The only event that I was able to see any official at the building is when the secretary was about to leave the building. I had tried asking permission to even at least, meet the spokesperson but no one ever allowed me. In activist terms, the agency is very bureaucratic and the media is expected to be simply an information dissemination agent. Probing is, I guess, discouraged.

So how had I been amidst the pressure and the beat, I'm trying to survive. Ergo, I must survive. I know very well that God had given me this job and to give up so easily is by far giving up on what God wants for me. Anyway, I'm just on my first week. Who ever said the first week was going to be easy? In fact, it might take me a month or so for just adjusting. Then again, being a christian journalist is never easy. I am obliged to live each day at a time with stress but still and always in faith.

I will survive, sing it with me :D