I wasn’t supposed to be a journalist. 

 

I wanted to be a novelist – the introverted writer – as vivid daydreams occupied most of my mental space, stories ranging from teenage cat mercenaries to a Lord of the Rings spinoff where Sauron was trying to destroy hobbit vegetables.

 

Journalism was supposed to be my pathway to superior fiction writing – I really didn’t like talking to others. Ironically, I fell in love with it because of the strangers I’ve spoken with and the humanity-driven, diamond-in-the-rough stories I’ve told.

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My phone buzzed in my pocket as I sat down to take my physics test. My mind raced with who could be calling me right now – only the people that came to mind weren’t the typical suspects. Rather than my mom, sister, or perhaps a friend, I knew it was likely either the San Carlos chief of police, a bodybuilder, or a state senator.

 

I was happily wrong.

 

The call was from Mark Haub, a nutrition professor at Kansas State University who found fame over his Twinkie Diet in 2010 and by far the most elusive person I’ve ever tried to contact. 

 

My hunt for him involved outreach by every method possible – phone, email, LinkedIn, social media, even going so far as to ask a different professor from the same university how I could speak with Haub. 

 

That sourcing culminated what journalism meant to me: forgoing fears to chase a story. Eat Twinkies, be healthy was my first solo article, and my determination to speak with Haub pushed my inner introvert far outside my comfort zone as it pushed me to cold-call someone for the first time.

 

Now, I’m a self-proclaimed retired introvert who learned to talk on the phone (an abnormality for teenagers everywhere) and fell in love with telling the stories of strangers – real stories about humanity and true life you can’t find in a library.

 

My phone, previously used for Solitaire and Pokemon Go, now handles my morning scrolls through social media, which spark innumerable news and feature ideas. I instinctively call every source I find in my 20-minute window before school to see if I can get a story moving. No plan and no interview questions, just a phone and a lightbulb — an introvert’s nightmare.

 

Over the past two years in journalism, I’ve grown to find inspiration in the homeless man crossing the street with his shopping cart and in the weary faces of seniors chasing their parents’ aspirations. As I walk past a white teddy bear shoved against a San Francisco storm drain on February 15, its pink ribbon blackened with smoke and dirt, I understand the purpose of journalism and my duty as a reporter.

 

Journalism is a tool to advocate for those who can’t speak for themselves. The homeless population struggling with mental health issues in San Francisco doesn’t have a voice to speak out against California’s lacking behavioral health services. Without reporters' help telling the story of why improvement measures are critical, a ballot initiative that would aid homeless people’s plights might not pass in the 2024 election. 

 

I stand up for the cancer care nonprofit organization that didn’t know how to recover from a massive theft through emotional narratives that left readers clamoring to donate. My writing voices the plight of fireflies as human activity decimates their habitats and scatters their light show.

 

Journalism is a means of challenging. Defiance stems from reading an angry Facebook post and digging to uncover where the root of the outrage is directed. Whether it is at society for pushing every young mind into college when a stay-at-home life would be equally fulfilling yet disproportionately ridiculed or if the fury is pointed at Western medicine for failing addiction patients in dry-out centers. I weave defiance and calls to action in every piece I write – if nothing changes, nothing gets done. 

 

Editorial inspiration arises from overheard conversations during passing periods and issues our generation will face as we age into adulthood. Descriptions of a world without core Gen Z tenets bring conversation to the classroom as I connect national events with their subsequent effects in my community, telling the story of our near future without present preventative measures. 

 

Most importantly, journalism puts cries for help into writing. As a student reporter, I’ve learned to seek out the unheard cries. I tell the stories of Lahaina residents who jumped into the ocean to stay alive during the devastating wildfires, of a mother who sent her kids away so she could die with her ancestral home. 

 

To me, journalism is about telling the stories of different individuals and circumstances that exist unseen in the same world as my readers and advocating for change in modern society.

 

As Editor-in-Chief, I will implement these pillars of journalism in the next generation of journalists and guide them to search for the depth of reporting in everything they write – from tiny insects to raging wildfires and everything in between.