The Sunshine Post #16

Hello dears!

I went to cover my first press conference after so long. It wasn't entirely by choice – Tammy kind of bullied me into it because my chief was a bit desperate (they got the press release late) and it was for a good cause. She also said it might be good for me to get into the swing of things again, just like old times. My chief seemed pretty happy to hear from me after three years. I hate to admit it, but it felt good being "on assignment" again. Years ago, I liked being "on the go" and off to events that were supposed to be of some national significance.

I have mixed feelings with journalism. I've been doing it since I was, hmm, ten years old, I think. Asking questions is second nature to me, and I am truly interested in the life stories of people. I guess that was my mistake when I went into science – I love asking questions, but not of inanimate objects!

Some of my best stories have come from assignments that I came up with. That's the beauty of being a writer – you can justify EVERYTHING that has ever happened to you, whether good or bad, because they will always be useful, whether they serve as the zenith or nadir of your storyline.

I've had a lot of happy stories. I named one of my (irregular) columns "Temporarily Yours." In it, I wrote about my experiences on a taking a job for a day. I've done a lot of unusual things I wouldn't be able to do if not for this craft. "Oh I'm writing an article," is enough for people to nod wisely and "understand."

For some, college years are forever marked with theses, papers, and presentations. I remember them because of my assignments. I've given a bath to a tiger cub and an albino snake as a zookeeper ("Close Encounter with Wild Things"), taken pizza delivery orders as a call-center agent ("On the Other Side of the Phone Line"), served espresso as a barista ("Conquering the Espresso Machine"), made sushi as a Japanese chef ("Frying Nemo"), became a magician's assistant ("The Sorcerer's Apprentice" – although this title was changed. Blast it.), played the piano in a mall ("The Affair of the Ivory Keys") and once trained as a performing bartender (This I had to scrap because I was busy preparing for my New York move.).

One of my most unforgettable assignments was the time I was a Jollibee mascot. Ah, one of my favorite projects ever! Jollibee is the reason why McDonald's never made it to the top of the fast food hierarchy in the Philippines. Their mascot is a very cute and happy bee (A jolly bee, get it? Get…? Oh never mind.) I couldn't remember an article I wanted more – dude, unless you actually want to work as a mascot, you will never get this chance ever again! I remember a huge head, a lot of sweat, and a sense of imbalance. The title of the article was "A Bug's Life." I couldn't fit my butt in the doorway.

I loved being able to have a lot of fun experiences, and being forced to record them so I could look back and see the adventures I've had. I learned a lot on the job because I was researching things that actually mattered to me; things I would never have learned in school. It was great having feedback from readers, too. I think that was a sign of my naivete – when you're 18, it feels very validating to have your experiences being chronicled for the sake of a publication. It made me feel like I meant something in the larger scheme of things, even though it's just a few paragraphs with my byline, written in between experiments.

But journalism done at a very early age admittedly did make me jaded early on in life. I felt very uncomfortable having my ass kissed by PR people and consultants who were more than twice my age when I hadn't even reach the legal one. But it did make me take my job a lot more seriously than I would say most of my peers. I paid more attention to ethics and accuracy because many of them were more enthralled about having their names on a national newspaper that was actually respected. I think that I was more terrified about being "unworthy" when I was supposedly giving the "truth" to people; I would agonize over every angry e-mail from readers and feel like a million bucks when I received a good one. Say what you will about the evils of the press – the newspapers that are out now will be the source of information for history books that your grandchildren will digest.

I think the stories that really bother me are product launches, which I'm happy to say that I've kept to the barest minimum during the years I worked as a correspondent. I hated those kinds of press cons. Dang it, of COURSE you have to write something good about them – they gave you free stuff! They sat with you and offered you wine and made you feel good about your job. Sheesh, you're almost bullied into giving them a gushy review because of all the PR crap that they went through just to make you feel important.

There are good things in keeping to your so-called "principles," for lack of a better term. The time I declined going to Singapore for a press con by a cellphone company (free flight + free phone + free accommodations = what an ethical nightmare. Would you like a side order of fries with my dignity, sir?) was also the weekend where my thesis experiments finally worked after months of zero results. After what seemed like an eternity, I finally mutagenized my breast cancer antibodies, yo! Mein Gott, site-directed mutagenesis is a bitch. At least when you're doing the whole plasmid with a gene insert of epic proportions. The lab techs and I were screaming ourselves hoarse in the DNA sequencing room -- the security guard actually went in the lab to ask what the hell was going on.

The lone time I agreed to go on a trip was my last article before I said goodbye to Manila. It was for this delegation going to China on some diplomatic thingy. I felt like I should at least say yes my chief once and at least it was for the purposes of patriotism and not a product. I thought it was for, like 10 people. It turned out to be 100+, which was freaky at first but you adapt quickly after four years of covering the unexpected. It was also a nice big farewell article for me after such a long time and ~150 published stories of things I would remember forever because I wrote them all down and I could research on microfilm.

For this night, however, I think I left the event a bit sad. (I was also a bit peeved – it was a product launch, but for a good environmental cause. I'm a bit on the fence on how I feel about it but I think I'm fine since they partnered with this environmental nonprofit. Now that I am working for one, I feel a certain solidarity with fellow NGOs -- yes, we're poor but we mean well: please be nice to us!). I liked the guy and what he and his people stood for. He had a beautiful family, and I really enjoyed being with them. They were even vegetarian! His family made me eat at their table so I could get vegetarian food. I was teaching their 5-year-old son "The Pound" and was giving him high-fives and was pointing to the fireworks on display at the end of the event (We were on a cruise).

But I feel very dismayed that we can never really be friends in the truest sense of the word at least now – I'm still the girl who's writing a story about them so the public can know them. To them, I have to be their ally by virtue of my position. The purity of the relationship is tainted, even though they seem to be very sincere.

But what IS sincerity, anyway? Is there really a relationship where one gives without expecting anything in return? Does a company become less honorable because they wanted the press to know what they are doing, and wish to do so in luxury and style? Does a fancy spread with hired hands who smiled and waved at a set of given instructions make their cause any less?

For every person who has ever reached out to the press, I'm sure they're perfectly nice people. But why do I feel so violated for every smile that seems wider than normal, for every stranger who comes up to me to introduce himself and asks for my number because he has a story to tell? Why does cynicism kick in even though most of parts of me do believe they're good and want to help people?

Man, I suddenly feel so old. And bitter. Haha.

The ex-editor-in-chief in me is heartbroken because the majority of this doesn't feel right to me anymore. I've grown to be way to ensconced in my own little world to want to dig up the dirt from anyone else's. I want to meet people whom I can be great friends with, not beings who will end up as "connections" who will be contacted when they are "useful." I can't live having people want to get to know me because they want their names published in a paper. I don't want to wear a nametag with my name plus some organization's because I will always be identified for the latter. Ah, curse the eternal hubris of creative people! We don't want to be known for something we didn't make ourselves.

If my disastrous affair with cancer research is any indication, I think I'm going to suck at doing journalism full-time, at least if I do it in the wrong area. I'm sure I'm not cutthroat enough to obtain information through sneaky underhanded means. And it's hard for me to be completely and coldly objective sometimes, especially when dealing with people who seem to need help. Sometimes, when you're part of the press, compassion is a great weakness.

Science is the perfect example of something I (thought I) desperately wanted, but didn't want me. Journalism, on the other hand, may be the other way around. At least if I still have to compete with nimrods writing about makeup and shoes. Crap, you guys! I swear there were so many times I wanted to raise hell because of this. Me-ow! I still love to write, and I do believe in the power of the press when implemented the right way, but I really can't do just that. Or at least I will swear off lifestyle journalism forever and ever and stick to, hmm, creative human interest pieces, which I think can represent some of the best work I've had, plus command a high level of originality so that I don't have to compete with anyone. I just want to write about people at their normal, unaffected unpress-conned selves because I find them fascinating, and because it is these raw stories that I'd like to believe sustain us. Plus I never have to open a press kit ever again!

Lots of love,
Cathy