My Summer

Apartment ✔

Job ✔

Internship ✔

Car ---

Income $insufficient

Love ????

Six Word Memoir

Worthy of love despite bent wings

Thank You

When I leave, you will probably not know how much you inspired me. You will have no idea that I remember small things you said, and that I will probably think about your words for a long time. You won't know when I say goodbye that you have helped change me, but one day I hope you do. And if you do know that this is about you, then this is me saying Thank You.

Touristy Weekend

This past weekend I played tourist in my own town. I live on capitol hill, yet have not fully embraced where I live this semester. So, this weekend I embraced tourist season. I bought a sweatshirt went to four museums and watched people do yoga on the National Mall. It was pretty typical.

Friday our class went to the Newseum. I was really excited about this opportunity. A whole museum on my profession and the first amendment just sounds exciting to begin with. It was even better than expected. My only criticism is that junior high students were flooding the place.

I was completely inspired though. Journalism has been my dream since I was five. I wanted to travel the world, write about people’s problems and document life as it happened. This has always been important to me.

My insecurity and hesitancy to challenge people has been my downfall though. Until recently, I was scared to death to interview people. This semester has proven interviewing has been the least of my worries, since people on Capitol Hill love to talk.

I got over that fear of talking, but then the thought of being published and having words set in stone on the internet created a whole new kind of uneasiness. That’s why I sometimes stop blogging my life.

The Newseum reminded me of why I love journalism. It changes people and informs us. Even the industry of journalism has a story to tell. It is fascinating and has changed the way we live. Through freedom of press debates making information available to the public and social media creating protests in countries, journalism is a huge part of the world.

In the Newseum there is a map of the countries with free press, some free press and no free press. The map reminded me how easy I have it and that there is no reason for me to be scared of practicing my first amendment rights.

The Pulitzer prize photos were amazing. They were mostly devastating and depressing pictures, a couple who lost there child in the ocean, a lynching in Thailand, Columbine shooting students hugging, people jumping from buildings to escape fires and a decaying body in the grass. Images that you cannot easily erase from the mind.

The stories behind the photos were the most intriguing part of the exhibit. Walking through you first only see the images with some dates and locations. Some of the photographs are pretty self-explanatory, and others need additional stories to really explain the concept. I first say the picture of the African child with a vulture on the wall with all the photos, and then I saw the picture alone with its story.

The photojournalist, Kevin Carter captured the shot during a famine in Sudan. All the journalists had been told not to touch the because of disease. The child was curled up in a ball, a vulture had landed behind them. The photojournalist snapped the photo and then chased the vulture away. In response to the photograph, people asked, “why didn’t you pick up the child?” Soon after receiving the Pulitzer Prize, Carter committed suicide.

Depressing, but it makes me realize the type of courage journalists need to have. It also shows the lack of clarity between journalist and compassionate human. That is a challenge, especially as a Christian.

Then there was the 9/11 museum. I watched a documentary on the journalists who covered the report. They had to change from journalists to people. They cried in their interviews and had to stop filming and start helping. I cried the whole time.

I know the 9/11 story in and out. I remember it as if it was only a year ago, not 10. The Sudanese famine, I didn’t know. It’s journalists who bring awareness. It’s journalist who run towards the fire, go to the refugees, stay awake during earthquakes and keep asking why until they know enough to share. That’s what I love about it.

Afterwards, Emily and I went to see the National Archives. I was slightly unimpressed with the faded John Hancock, it was still something I am glad I got to see before it is completely invisible and faded.

We then went off to our last official taco night at the National Press Club. There were a gazillion other events occurring, so I just watched as other journalists came in and did there official business wondering what they were doing with their lives.

Saturday, Emily, Jenny and I got in line for out Holocaust Museum tickets. We weren’t going to get in until later though, so we went and bought souvenirs and took photographs with the beautiful cherry blossoms. The explosion of pink was the best.

Emily and I ended up at the American History Museum and got to see Abe Lincoln, boats and trains. It was a much more happier than the Newseum and the Holocaust Museum.

Then we went to the Holocaust Museum. Depressing. The worst part for me was the shoes. It smelt like leather and dirt. The voices of the survivors also made for some tearing up. It never ceases to amaze me that this was happening not even 60 years ago. It is even more hard to swallow that genocide still exists in parts of the world. People continue to treat one another like animals.

This also plays into the role of my desire to do journalism. Report all of the disturbing and troublesome things that happen in our world that we have the potential to change.

That night I went on another adventure with Josiah and Chris. We tried to meet up with people for fireworks, but a late bus, crazy lady and lack of communication hindered our original plans.

We get on the bus after waiting awhile and then a crazy lady comes on. She sits across from Chris and I in the back of the bus. She kicks her feet up and down pulls a piece of something in a plastic bag and starts hitting it against a pole that was right next to Josiah. She was speaking in Spanish for awhile and then was cursing out the United States and the three of us. Then she started playing the air piano and proceeded to pull something out of her bag, which may have been a knife or wrench, or some other type of metal object that could kill you. We got off as soon as possible.

We then tried to venture towards our friends who were on the other side of the water. We ended up at the fish market and were cold and lost. We then went and got food and walked home. Of course we managed to stop at some rocking chairs, and Josiah and Chris started singing and talking about grandma’s pie. I got it all on video, so I don’t need to dwell on their crazy ridiculousness.

Sunday, was much less mentally exhausting. I didn’t obtain too much more facts about the world or anything about museums. Kelsey and I went to Starbucks and discussed life, boys and our dream futures in DC.

This weekend just really enforced the fact that this is where I belong. This is what I need to do with my life, and I need to continue to pursue my goals. The people in my life are amazing, I live in a dream city and I get to write for my life. So, now I just need to figure out what’s next?

Night of epic fail

DC is all about the cultural experiences. So, when my friend Josiah, from the American Studies Program, suggested we go to a classical concert at the art gallery I thought it would be fun. Of course, nothing went right.

We get to the bus stop 10 minutes before the bus comes, or so we thought. It was gray outside, and the clouds were threatening to pour. We waited awhile, and thought it must be running late. Josiah had remember that he had forgotten he had no money on his Metro card, and quickly ran back to get some change. Then we look on the bus stop post, Josiah had looked up the Saturday schedule. We had to wait another 20 minutes.

Eventually, the bus came we almost sit on the back and see some green stain on the seat. Thankfully, we didn’t sit there. We safely arrived at our location, and walked in the decent drizzle of rain to the gallery.

The doors were locked. A man along with a guard walk up to the glass door and says something.

“What? We cannot hear you.”

Another lady, and then another man walk up to the door. The man on the other side tried to say something again. Finally, the guard realized that this would last forever and opened the door a crack. The man hesitantly peaked his head out and rudely said, “There are no more seats. We have a full house. I just looked and there isn’t a single seat.”

“Can we stand?”

“No. There are no seats. I just checked”

Naturally, the sky had followed through with it’s threat it was pouring. Well, mine as well make it worth our trip. Coffee sounded good, of course being down town Starbucks seemed like an unsatisfactory option. We walk around a bit pass a Starbucks and some gelato places, but it was too cold. We keep walking, optimistic that something has to be around. We end up at Starbucks. Order our drinks, and find there is no place to sit, even though there it’s two stories.

We walk to Dunkin’ Donuts. At least, we can get a donut, which might raise our spirits and drink coffee in warmth. A homeless man kept asking Josiah for money, who had to repeatedly explain he had no cash.

We ate our donuts and walked to the nearest D6 route bus stop. We find a stop, and use an retails awning for shelter from the rain. I looked up the estimated arrival on my phone, 21 minutes.

There is another Starbucks on the corner, not just any Starbucks though. Flashback, when I took the D6 to my internship I always passed this Starbucks downtown. It was open and brick and in a nice location. I really wanted to go here, and was excited when I realized I was entering it, even though it had been a rough night.

We go to sit down near a window. “Excuse ma’am. I need to clean this table. We are closing that’s why everyone is leaving,” said the Starbucks employee.

It was only 7:30. What Starbucks closes at 7:30?

We go back to our awning and wait.

“Well, at least this night can’t get any worse,” said Josiah. “Why did I just say that.”

Finally, the bus arrives. Josiah pulls out his dollar. We get on the bus. I search through my purse pulling out as many coins as I can find to make a 70 cents. We get to 60 and the bus driver tells us just to sit down. We laugh and venture to the back of the bus only to find the same uncertain green stain and laughed.

I look at my umbrella and realize it’s broken. Once we arrive at our stop we walked carefully to the apartment unscathed from the nights unsuccessful events.

New Blog: Signs of Compassion

Since I came to Washington DC about 6 weeks ago, I have felt a call more than ever to reach out into the world in search for signs of hope, love and compassion.

I have witnessed many of these signs: people buying homeless food, organizations helping individuals and families in need, protests and prayer groups for social and moral issues. I have seen people stand up for morality, and I have witnessed harsh realities.

When I left for DC, I was coming with a purpose. Part of that purpose was to pursue journalism, the other was to find my calling and discover whether it truly lies in a field of communication.

My jump into the journalism industry was rough. My internship was colliding with my coursework, and I felt useless and uncalled. I struggled to get through the days not knowing if my heart was in it. Then with the blessing and advice of my advisors, I changed internships and began interning at the Baptist Press.

In my first few days there, I was already working on stories that affected not only the Christian community but humanity as a whole. The more I get involved each day, the more I realize that there are so many social, justice and moral issues that people are not addressing.

These past two weeks I have been working primarily on pro-life issues. An issue I feel both strongly and unsure about. As an adopted child, a baby born out of a teen pregnancy and adopted at birth, I have always felt it was right to be pro-life. However, I understand not everyone’s situation is simple. There are complexities in pregnancies I cannot explain. Regadless, this topic is one often discussed and debated as a moral and social issue.

There are other issues that affect human rights that are less frequently addressed. In the Summer of 2007, I visited a village in northeast Thailand with my high school peers. In preparation, we learned about the horrifically large industry of sex trafficking. Ever since visiting Thailand, my heart strings have been pulled by this subject. Portland, Oregon the metropolitan area my hometown is a part of, is the second leading sex trafficking city in the US. As a young women, this is disheartening.

Last year, in my general education chemistry course I did a report on clean water. The amount of people dying throughout the world by harmful water is saddening. I did research and found organizations making a difference. However, every time I drink bottled water, I don’t think of the environment first, but rather those who have no access to healthy and clean water.

There are so many dilemmas in this world. I could write about it forever. The AIDS epidemic, the poverty-stricken in Mexico who live in wastelands, the black market of selling organs, the work slavery that still exists today, the drug cartels, the orphans living in soiled cribs, all of these things affect humanity, affect our world. What are we doing about it? What will we do about it? How did we let it get this way?

I hope I can show you, the signs of compassion.

Second First day

It's the sixth week of my DC adventure and fourth week of internship. Today was my first day at a new internship. I changed publications and am now interning at Baptist Press. A rare thing to happen at WJC, but Baptist Press is a better fit for the program requirements and also what I want to do in the future. I was excited for the new opportunity. I have heard great things about my editor, and was excited to write about the more human side of politics.

I woke up this morning ready for the new day, I was out the door and hoping to make it to work at 8:30. It snowed last night, so a thin layer of white covered the side walks and I slipped and struggled over them on my less than 15 minute long walk.

On my way I got cat called by the dumpster collector man, but it was not just any cat call. Thanks to technology complete strangers now have the ability to shout out there first and last name to you saying, "Hey find me on facebook, be my friend, you looking good girl." Due to this comical scene I knew my day was headed in the right direction.

I approached the door at exactly 8:29, perfect timing. The staff is personable, even though I am on a whole floor to myself, every time one of them walks by the pick up conversation and ask me if I need anything. They are giving me wife cell numbers, suggesting churches and giving in-depth tours of the three story house-office.

My editor sits down and hands me two stories for me for the week, easy enough. I am in business: researching, writing and contacting sources. I have a window life is good. It's a second first day and this new start is going to open my opportunities and give me more insight into politics that involve moral, social and justice issues. I can't wait to see what I will learn next.