“Sit down and read a book.”

Those words fluttered through my childhood home often as I ran about being busy. My tiny hands always seemed to follow my brain, which led to many childhood mistakes that I still carry with me today. A dark scar sits on my thigh from when I pulled down the plate of steaming spaghetti and meatballs that looked so yummy on the dining table, and my missing right eyebrow from when I was obsessed with the pretty ladies behind me that I didn’t realize a wall wanted to pick a fight with my face. 

Obviously, since I was a young girl, I was very busy and my imagination took me very far. Sitting still felt funny to me, and I could not do it if I knew there was information I could retain from listening to the adults or watching TV. I remember going from a place of mental hatred toward reading because it took too much time, to loving my “punishment” because reading any book began to fuel my imagination. I would read a book, stop midway, and finish the story how I thought it should have been written because a simple setting in a story would take my mind to places only a child could conjure up. My eyes would dash across pages upon pages for hours before my hand began to take over and write without thought.

The day George Zimmerman walked free for the murder of Trayvon Martin in 2013, was the day I decided I wanted to be a journalist. That day, my young mind began to work faster than normal, and my pen didn’t feel the same anymore. Simple topics that we had to choose from in school didn’t excite me as much. Watching the news and hearing anchors debate, sparked something inside of my soul. Reading articles became exciting, and my journals began to fill with my version of what I heard on the news. Journalism found its way into my life, and it is definitely here to stay.

I found a love that might be strange to others but is so diverse and fulfilling to me. Everything about journalism brings me joy. The idea of chasing stories or one day being a journalist for a major news outlet makes me the happiest woman alive. It’s a thrill inside of me that I love to chase.

Looking back now, I realize that writing has always been my safe place. Putting a version of what I’ve seen down on paper or finding new words to add to a sentence to make it more vivid for the reader, has always been more fun in my opinion than most ordinary children thought it to be.

Gone was the girl who wanted to write kiddie stories and remake the entire “The Little Mermaid” because Ursula scared her. My hand yearned to write about injustice, civil rights, the inner city – where I was partially raised, and eventually, politics. 

With a pen in my hand, I can influence and change the minds of the masses. I will be able to speak my truth and debate with people who understand the topics at hand. Without journalism or journalists, I can genuinely say I do not know where I would be. 

To my first love: you saved me. You inspire me always to be truthful and authentic to readers because that’s what they deserve. You are the reason I dream endlessly; constantly.