Until I began journalism, I always felt like a half. As someone of Chinese and Polish descent, being too much like one community or not enough like the other meant I grew up straddling both groups. I never had my own identity or a community to support me. Thus, in middle school, I was unsure of myself and aimless, with no path or sense of identity, and I struggled to complete work, doing assignments only halfway.

 

Then, just a few weeks after turning 13, COVID-19 shut down the world, and like many other kids my age, I turned to social media. I marveled at how confidently YouTubers expressed themselves, and I developed a love for presentation, public speaking, and, most of all, videography. With nowhere to go but my home and outside, I made everything from short Ken Burns-style documentaries to a weekly news show with characters I played. I interviewed my parents as sources, gave weather reports in the backyard, and put together around a 15-minute video package each week. I filmed with my iPhone 6 until it ran out of storage. That summer, I probably spoke in front of the camera more than I had spoken to other people in previous years.

 

Those few months were the first time in my life when I felt whole. Making videos gave me an identity and a purpose. At the time, I was just having fun and doing what came naturally; I had no idea what journalism was or that I was doing it.

 

Once I entered high school, my love for communication only grew. In my sophomore year, I joined KnightMedia, my high school’s multimedia program, as a part of the school’s live broadcasting program. Speaking and writing came quickly to me, and in reflection, it would be the easy way out to simply say that once my adviser taught me how to approach journalism correctly, I became super motivated, the skies became the limit, and I succeeded at every aspect of multimedia I attempted. 

 

But that just wouldn’t be true. The truth is that even with journalism, a part of me from middle school lingered. During my sophomore year, I was still somewhat aimless. I still loved making videos but couldn’t complete the articles I pursued; focusing was a nightmare, and I struggled to live up to my own standards. I can’t forget the countless nights I spent in front of a blank document, wondering why I even enrolled in a journalism class. In the rare chance I finished an article, it was quality work, but the hurdle was getting started in the first place. 

 

I knew I couldn’t be unproductive, so even though it felt like trudging through honey — I persisted. Even if my stories didn’t live up to my own standards — I continued. I just tried to make each month better than the last. 

 

I’d love to say that there was a moment when everything just clicked, and I suddenly realized my purpose in journalism. But honestly, it was an amalgamation of conducting interviews, forcing myself to finish articles, and learning from my mistakes. However, if I had to pinpoint the most significant factor, it would be the realization that I write stories, not articles. 

 

Whether I’m writing about an NFL player, Olympian, internment camp victim or school administrator, the one aspect all of my stories include is human experience. Sharing human stories gave me my purpose in journalism and shaped my approach to it.

 

Narratives are the building blocks of community pride, morals and identity. Any group on the planet, as large as a nation or as small as a focus group, has shared stories, and thus shared experiences. 

 

In my case, I never fit into my Chinese or Polish communities because I never had a completely similar upbringing to either side. Shared experiences, whether social, economic or otherwise, are as powerful in forming group thought and identity as shared blood. 

 

Yet, as easily as people can use shared experiences to build identity and solidarity, people can also use stories to divide one group from another. In history, there have been countless instances of media and mass communication to prop up certain groups or disparage others. One-sided narratives lead to community homogeneity, which leads to the misunderstanding and misrepresentation of other groups and, subsequently, people. 

 

My emphasis on individual experiences in my stories is my fight against one-sided narratives. It’s rooted in the belief that a well-informed public is a more understanding and accepting one. It’s easier to empathize with others when we view them as individuals with unique stories rather than part of a monolithic group. Nuanced and well-conducted journalism is one of the purest forms of public service. I believe that when journalists confront issues and facilitate conversation, acceptance and critical thought become more prevalent, which is why many of my high school stories tackle the representation of underrepresented communities or pressing student issues.

 

I began student journalism, looking to call football games; I left with more than I could have ever asked for; it has given me identity, community and leadership skills. Most of all, journalism shaped my individual experience. I empathize with my interviewees, and understanding their struggles helps me understand my own. I’m no longer a little kid, lost in school and stuck halfway between my cultural communities. 

 

I don’t know where I’ll end up when I’m older. I don’t know if I’ll write for a news publication or think tank. But I know that wherever I go, whether a big city or small town, I’ll strive to address the concerns and share the experiences of that community’s constituents through journalism or public policy.