So I've been working for a local newspaper and it has been fun. Fun is actually referring to the busy-ness (not business, definitely) I get out of it and not the work itself.
For you to effectively know what I mean, here is a story.
Yesterday I was in a very public place but I still had my digital camera, mobile phone, voice recorder and all the essential things I call my journalism toolkit. My phone rang – an unknown number. When I said hi, a sad voice answered. I knew who it was.
A day earlier, I went to the OWWA (search it) regional office and talked about the death of an OFW from my locale in Abu Dhabi allegedly due to abuse from employer.
I had on the phone the sister of a victim.
Do you know how it feels to have a loved one die on the other side of the world? Me neither. I was sweating, I was stuttering. Talking to someone who knows sadness that I have never even imagined is just so harrowing. You feel so insensitive and incapable.
The woman on the phone was nice and accommodating. I have earlier introduced myself as a journalist based in their home city and I told her that a lot of the fellow Ilonggos of the victim are curious as to what will happen with the investigations.
She talked to me, answered my questions. She was brave. And then she told me they will fight and seek justice for the departed family member.
When the phone died, I did too.
As a journalist, you have to write a fact-ridden piece for hard news. For a long while, I didn't know why someone would have to read facts and create their own judgements. For a long while, I thought everyone should react the same way.
This world is a cruel thing to think about.
No comments:
Post a Comment