Dreams

Sunburnt
By Bek Tulad

There are many things I thought I understood. I thought I knew why a 60 something year old man had to market his body to gays for at least 30 pesos a day. I thought I knew why so many activists end up missing or dead every month or so. I thought I knew why little kids had to stand in the middle of the road, risking their lives just so they could sell a couple of rags.

I admit to be guilty of idealism. I see the cruelties of life everyday; scenes of poverty become my breakfast and dinner most of the time. Yet, what can I do? I am a mere sophomore student in an elitist school. I am really nothing more than handicapped in doing anything that could help the needy. I am not well-off myself. My family relies on me to support my two younger sisters’ education among other things. I like to dream that upon graduation I would be able to start my life as a proper journalist and be of some help. Eventually I imagine myself to be like Howie Severino or Maria Ressa. I want to expose the truth, serve the public, and fight for the rights of the marginalized part of the society – the part where I come from. By doing so, I may just be able to make the lives of many more livable. However, I realized I was being too idealistic again.

Turns out the profession I dreamt of was another thing I didn’t quite understand.

Journalism is more than just reporting an event or revealing the facts, it is sacrificing your life for the sake of the truth and your principles.

Upon seeing the film Veronica Guerin, I couldn’t help but imagine myself to someday, end up like Veronica, lying covered in her own blood with at least four bullets in her body.

Like Veronica, I enjoy investigative journalism. I want to expose the rotting system of the country, and of the people who should pay for how the nation and it’s people has turned out. I want revenge from those who corrupt the lives of the innocents for their own gluttony. I want to write.

However, I also want to live. I want to marry, have kids and be there every minute of my life for my family. I want to always keep my loved ones safe and secured. Unfortunately, I guess I haven’t really been thinking. If I want to fight evil in society and protect the oppressed from opportunists who have been multiplying rapidly, I will need to devote a lot of my time and strength on my profession.

I will also need a great deal of sensibility and logic. I don’t want to reach that point when I have to decide between the safety of my family and the story I am writing. Both are my passions, and losing one means losing a very big part of my life. I don’t think that Veronica was selfish when she pursued her work on the drug dealings in Ireland despite the threats she received. I thought she was very brave and admirable and I want to be like her. The only problem is, I’m scared.

When I was a child I thought that reporting would be easy. You just have to stand in front of the camera and say the right things (and of course look good). Upon learning about journalistic killings, I found out that one other thing a reporter needs is to keep herself alive. Probably the only real solution to my dilemma is for me to erase all my idealistic thoughts about the world and journalism and try to accept every bit of truth that I encounter. I know that I want to write and I know that it will be my inevitable but satisfying future. I just don’t know if I’ll be able to live that long to reflect on the work I have done. I’m keeping my fingers crossed.