There was a time when I wanted to disappear, get away from everything what kept me in a captivity. Sooner or later, such desire occurs in a man when he can not fit in himself and begins to wander like a butterfly in the glass enclosure. After a day the butterfly in one way or another dies. But I’m not about the death, I like to live – and here’s the whole point.
How I wanted to make full use of the possibilities of life. Would be enough rebellious to crawl out of the day after day dimming cave? I always thought that I will not. I’m just too angry to change something, maybe too weak. I totally did not perceive if my glass was half full or half empty. Yes, at that time I hated my life – that I knew. That was too obvious. But to change something? Really?
May a five times a day I was off to sunny and unfamiliar own country… I thought about migration from my country. I had a big dreams. No, I never was a patriot, unfortunately. Only trees and smell of my land calms me, the beauty of our language suppresses the chest.
Maybe five times a day I wanted to leave my graduate studies, because I felt that I was wasting my time. I found it interesting and heartbreaking at the same time – such a strange relationship while learning new things.
Interesting, because I left my job after understood that is not for me, and started new studies, and thought that journalism from now will be my daily bread, and painful, because in less than a year I grew up a thick nihilist’s skin and denied everything. I split into two halves – capable and unfortunate – and became too difficulty to choose between them, because I did not understand how much of my visible negativity will be spread out through the future role of the journalist.
Here I began to realize that I really do not like the world. World, screamed out by Media and screens, office’s journalism. Blunt headlines about the incredible, amazing, unseen. Politics – sometimes even “better” than the theater. Everything here is kitsch, the whole system of public information with their purchasable journalists is dirt. And nothing is certain if to think objectively.. Everything is inflated, mottled, wry. And how to become a serious journalist in such medium, who not be afraid of truth and not selling himself?
Of course, you can write about cosmetics and animals. You can do a subordinate importance’s reports as a reports of dry facts registers. But your position as a journalist, enduring value then is like garbage. Each of your own written word lives only a second. And in general, it is still possible to argue about whether what you do is journalism. And how to write about the world that you do do not like?
I thought that what I will learn there, will be the most beautiful in life. And now I felt a huge emptiness, hostility and sometimes even boredom. I still never experienced before so close to see the face of boredom in life.
About five times a day I renounced my unloving and trying to fell in love. Everything. All. With the love that they deserve. How could I love, if at that time I did not know if I loved myself. When you have the brain, palpitating by the whole world, it is very difficult to love. First of all, you have to rebuild yourself into a strong not split rock, and only after that, under its rough apex accommodate others. I was doubtful whether I will succeed quickly. But I did it. I did.
Picture from Pixabay.com
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To be a good journalist, be objective, do not take biases. If you are a field reporter, just report what really happened, be on the scene, take it from the horse's mouth and stay away from temptations. Bad people will tend to corrupt journalists, giving them perks, or offer money in exchange for some biased news.
But if you wanted to be famous/successful, just stick to truth.