The dream was wild, and so it remains. I'd like to share it again in celebration of every student's dreaded week - finals week.
I started my love story with Journalism when I was young. During my elementary years, I wrote reports of my daily dealings in school, church or the household. It was as if my journal was the imaginary friend that I talk to at the end of the day.
In high school, I made a habit of rushing to face the television set every time the daily local newscast aired. Like a person immersed in the live telecast of a thrilling basketball game, I would make side comments about the issues that came up in the news.
Journal entries soon became reports on campus news. The love story blossomed into a possible career path: to becoming a journalist.
When I visited Museo Sugbo's Cebu Journalism and Journalists Gallery sometime last September, I found myself in the world of my forefathers, when journalism was not just a daily reportage but a daily risk.
I learned that the stories they had to tell Cebu were not easy as pie. Some of them had to risk being threatened, disrespected and even trampled on, some literally.
One of the things that struck me was a huge poster mounted on the wall about a man named Antonio Abad Tormis. He was shot and killed by the Cebu City treasurer after he had a haircut. He had exposed financial anomalies at the City Hall such as payroll padding, kickbacks, hospital loan anomalies and overpricing of office supplies and garbage cans. Tormis was a columnist and editor of The Republic News.
On another wall near the Tormis tribute was a poster dedicated to media personalities who gained citations locally and nationally.
I guess there are some risks in the life of an aspiring journalist that every young blood should be aware of in this risky job. But that's the essence of the job - to be brave enough to give the truth to the people.
In Introductory Journalism class, we were taught that the media is the watchdog of the government. But how can media practitioners perform properly in their task knowing they risk their lives the moment the clean copy is sent to the printing press?
Freedom, no matter how liberating sounds, also has its own limitations. I guess what I missed in the media gallery was the Journalist's Code of Ethics formulated by the Philippine Press Institute and the National Press Club. This is the soul of every journalist who goes out into the field and looks for stories for the day. In our Media Ethics class, we were asked to learn all eleven principles by heart knowing that some day it will come in handy. Being a part of the media workforce is all about choices that would affect your ethics and ultimately your credibility.
As I took one last look at the dimly lit room, I inhaled the stories of the past. More than the old models of cameras and back issues of local papers, it all boils down to the freedom that we enjoy now.
Before leaving, I glanced at the portraits of people who made a mark in Cebu's media industry. Some faces looked familiar; some were not from my generation. I told myself, "This is the dream." I look forward to coming back after generations with my portrait lined up with those of the pillars of Cebuano journalism.
It's a wild dream, indeed. I plan to fulfill it maybe when the countless papers are done and the piles of things to do are done.
I guess finals week is not that depressing after all.