That was the first question my editor asked me when she called today to check on me. I had just sms-ed her and told her I would be coming to work late because I woke up with bad gastric and diarrhea regretting that I kept ignoring my hunger pangs the day before.
"Yes I'm surviving!" I reassured her.
And all my friends at office asked why I didn't take an MC. Now, I don't exactly want to look like I am one of those journalist freaks who are married to the job but I just wanted to finish up my centrespread story (which is equivalent to some of your essays, people) by today or I'll be regretting on Friday when we have to proofread and hound the artists about minute details in the text or pictures or layout or...etc.
Anyways, three of my features have come out last Sunday in education (March 25, 'Speak and you shall be heard', 'All I want...', 'Eating right in schools'). http://www.thestar.com.my/education/
And check out this Sunday's (April 1) education pullout on some music workshop thing by jazz drummer Lewis Pragasam. Centre-spread. Heh..
Ok, self-indulging over. Soon enough, I'll be writing so many things so I'm not gonna be bothered telling ppl to read. My byline is Sarah Chew by the way, look if u want.
So how is work? Everyone has been asking me and I suppose I have to say I survived 3 weeks of the job. Being the newbie here, people tend to make me do more work and I have to follow some seniors around if we're covering ministers. So far I've met the deputy education and higher education ministers and some ppl here and there on the exams board (no, I'm not gonna start leaking exam answers) and PR ppl everywhere. British Council la, UPM la, wheelchair basketball players, crappy school principals.
I told a friend that I covered ministers and he's like 'wah' but seriously. They're nothing great. They go on about things that even I could crap up in 5 mins, and their quotable quotes are like....'we need a paradigm shift' (shift from what also I dunno) or 'we want to do this and this in line with our goal of achieving world-class education'. Oh save me. Even if they didnt do their homework at least PRETEND to say something intelligent.
My senior told me all kinds of ridiculous stories of politicians and their...intelligence. She once interviewed some Pahang dude and she was pointing out to him a problem with libraries. Apparantly he said to her "Oh so how ah?" Mind you, she actually suggested an action plan to him and he was like "Oh wow ya, say that la. Watever you told me, just use my name for watever." It became one of the main news in Metro I think. And really, no wonder so many journalists are so skeptical. It comes with the job.
I hope I'll retain some innocence :) Wish me luck.
Wednesday, March 28, 2007
Wednesday, March 07, 2007
Work!
The person on my left computer terminal is typing about some environmental issue. Her phone rings, the ringtone has frogs croaking. Literally. Then she chats about sea monkeys to a friend and gasps at the latest Indonesian disaster. "Is the world falling apart?" she exclaims.
The woman on my right is writing about her tour of Egypt. Must have been paid for by the company. She stops for awhile and talks to the other woman beside her, "So how did the date go?" "Oh, not bad..." the other woman says. I can't help but eavesdrop. She went on a date with a 40-yr old man, he's into real estate and charity works. The women laugh about him collecting brownie points to gain her heart. She's going on a series of dates with 9 men, in hopes to find Mr. Right--and write about them. "I hope I don't break their hearts!" she tells me later. Well. Maybe you can watch out for her stories in Star Two one of these days.
This is my 4th day at work, I'm sitting here nearly alone on the entire section and I've learnt something new today.
Never come in on time. Everyone comes in after 9.30am. (Sounds familiar, MY?)
BUT. But. They tend to leave late too...basically, don't leave till your work is done for the day. That could mean 5.30pm, 8pm, 2am, etc.
Here are some cool things bout my job:
1) You get a pretty decent allowance for mobile phone bills (!)
2) The education section I'm in has a few overseas trips a year. The writers take turns to go on them. So far they've gone to Canada, Taipei, California, France, South Africa, LA, etc. Unfortunately, I'm new so I'm at the bottom of the list.
3) You get paid for doing work on my off days, or covering assignments outside normal working hours. Overtime.
4) If I ever need to wear specs, which I don't intend to, they will cover the expenses. Every year.
5) Medical and dental treatments are free. Job related or not.
6) Should you die, a decent amount of money will go to your family.
7) You get to claim for alot of things. Which I can't remember what. So it renders it pretty useless at the moment.
Some not-so-cool things bout the job:
1) You work hard. Datelines are real. Not only the editor is scrutinising your work, the sub-eds are too.
2) Education not only covers stuff that comes out in the pullout on Sunday, it covers news as well. Anything education related. If you're working on a news piece, you work till late, until the editor clears your piece.
3) You're expected to work weekend shifts. And my parents are gonna yell if I have to work Sundays. But I get some weekdays as my off days.
4) You probably have to bug every Tom, Dick and Harry that you know for interviews.
5) My baptism of fire begins next week. SPM results come out and we'll be running from school to school trying to grab the most interesting stories before other newspapers get it. And probably working till 3am or something.
Oh well. Let's see what else happens.
The woman on my right is writing about her tour of Egypt. Must have been paid for by the company. She stops for awhile and talks to the other woman beside her, "So how did the date go?" "Oh, not bad..." the other woman says. I can't help but eavesdrop. She went on a date with a 40-yr old man, he's into real estate and charity works. The women laugh about him collecting brownie points to gain her heart. She's going on a series of dates with 9 men, in hopes to find Mr. Right--and write about them. "I hope I don't break their hearts!" she tells me later. Well. Maybe you can watch out for her stories in Star Two one of these days.
This is my 4th day at work, I'm sitting here nearly alone on the entire section and I've learnt something new today.
Never come in on time. Everyone comes in after 9.30am. (Sounds familiar, MY?)
BUT. But. They tend to leave late too...basically, don't leave till your work is done for the day. That could mean 5.30pm, 8pm, 2am, etc.
Here are some cool things bout my job:
1) You get a pretty decent allowance for mobile phone bills (!)
2) The education section I'm in has a few overseas trips a year. The writers take turns to go on them. So far they've gone to Canada, Taipei, California, France, South Africa, LA, etc. Unfortunately, I'm new so I'm at the bottom of the list.
3) You get paid for doing work on my off days, or covering assignments outside normal working hours. Overtime.
4) If I ever need to wear specs, which I don't intend to, they will cover the expenses. Every year.
5) Medical and dental treatments are free. Job related or not.
6) Should you die, a decent amount of money will go to your family.
7) You get to claim for alot of things. Which I can't remember what. So it renders it pretty useless at the moment.
Some not-so-cool things bout the job:
1) You work hard. Datelines are real. Not only the editor is scrutinising your work, the sub-eds are too.
2) Education not only covers stuff that comes out in the pullout on Sunday, it covers news as well. Anything education related. If you're working on a news piece, you work till late, until the editor clears your piece.
3) You're expected to work weekend shifts. And my parents are gonna yell if I have to work Sundays. But I get some weekdays as my off days.
4) You probably have to bug every Tom, Dick and Harry that you know for interviews.
5) My baptism of fire begins next week. SPM results come out and we'll be running from school to school trying to grab the most interesting stories before other newspapers get it. And probably working till 3am or something.
Oh well. Let's see what else happens.
Saturday, March 03, 2007
Goodbyes.
I've said many goodbyes the past two weeks. I was in Melbourne for 6 days to sell off my stuff that have sustained me through 3 years of uni life, I had to ship back some things, I gave away some things. I tried my best to catch up with people whom I won't see for some time--if ever at all. I sat in an open park at night under a lamp watching my church friends say their goodbyes in the typical CG way of saying nice things bout the person who is about to leave. It was probably untypical that it was open-air and at night with possums attacking us from all corners, but I sat there thinking...I used to be one of them. And I'm gonna miss them all. Uni friends, church friends, friends of friends, housemates, fellow editors/reporters in magazines.
All those lazy afternoons of gelati in summer and hot chocolate in winter, the roller skating by the beach, laser quest, swinging my legs over Grampians' cliffs. Watching anime and shaking my head at the DOTA guys. Blindfolding people and throwing flour at their birthdays. Eating at Sam T's ultimate bachelor apartment, steamboat at Ben's, pot bless at College Square. Retreats, camps, conventions, holidays, sea, beach, hills, sun, moon, stars, indoors, outdoors, in uni, out of uni. A person calling me at 8am on Sat morns (AHEM, ppl need to sleep..). Stressing for essays, haggling for articles, pouring over academic references. Studying together in the library. Praying, crying, laughing, smiling, frowning, misunderstandings.
Goodbye.
I went back home to Malaysia and decided I needed to clean my room before I start work on Monday. My first official job as a journalist with The Star. I needed some ORDER in my life, you know, some sort of organisation and a sense that I'm a yuppie to be.
I didn't know what to feel. Old clothes were packed away to be given to charity. The stuffed toys were stored away, gifts from childhood friends were put away. Where the photoframes once were, cosmetics now stand. Handbags hang from a wooden coat hanger, where my art papers used to be. A cheque sits on my table, where my school books used to pile. My room is full of my childhood, my teenage years, memories of people and places fill that room. It is old now. The paint is fading, hardly impressive as a yuppie room but really. I can't decide if I actually wanna grow up.
And suddenly goodbyes become harder.
This is a new season. In a few months, I won't be as free to go skating on the beach. Or hang out eating people's cooking. In a few months, I won't be as naive anymore. I'm gonna meet new people and new friends, and discover all over again if I can trust them. I'll be driving round, with a proper handbag on my arm and wearing high heels. And maybe even a dash of make-up (oh horror!). And trying to snoop around people's lives without getting caught.
And before you know it, I'm a woman.
All those lazy afternoons of gelati in summer and hot chocolate in winter, the roller skating by the beach, laser quest, swinging my legs over Grampians' cliffs. Watching anime and shaking my head at the DOTA guys. Blindfolding people and throwing flour at their birthdays. Eating at Sam T's ultimate bachelor apartment, steamboat at Ben's, pot bless at College Square. Retreats, camps, conventions, holidays, sea, beach, hills, sun, moon, stars, indoors, outdoors, in uni, out of uni. A person calling me at 8am on Sat morns (AHEM, ppl need to sleep..). Stressing for essays, haggling for articles, pouring over academic references. Studying together in the library. Praying, crying, laughing, smiling, frowning, misunderstandings.
Goodbye.
I went back home to Malaysia and decided I needed to clean my room before I start work on Monday. My first official job as a journalist with The Star. I needed some ORDER in my life, you know, some sort of organisation and a sense that I'm a yuppie to be.
I didn't know what to feel. Old clothes were packed away to be given to charity. The stuffed toys were stored away, gifts from childhood friends were put away. Where the photoframes once were, cosmetics now stand. Handbags hang from a wooden coat hanger, where my art papers used to be. A cheque sits on my table, where my school books used to pile. My room is full of my childhood, my teenage years, memories of people and places fill that room. It is old now. The paint is fading, hardly impressive as a yuppie room but really. I can't decide if I actually wanna grow up.
And suddenly goodbyes become harder.
This is a new season. In a few months, I won't be as free to go skating on the beach. Or hang out eating people's cooking. In a few months, I won't be as naive anymore. I'm gonna meet new people and new friends, and discover all over again if I can trust them. I'll be driving round, with a proper handbag on my arm and wearing high heels. And maybe even a dash of make-up (oh horror!). And trying to snoop around people's lives without getting caught.
And before you know it, I'm a woman.
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