Want work? Work on it
Presenting to u the 3rd article from Janice Wong's book, SPG - Single Picky Girl.
It's that time of the year again when schools release fresh graduates by the truck load into the real world. Yesterday, I met a former journalism intern who visited the newsroom and despaired upon hearing that there were no job openings.
Good winds may be filing the sails of the economy, but finding a job is still not a breeze, especially for those hoping to enter a field distinctly different from what they studied.
I don't pretend to have all the answers or the authority to give advice. I just hope sharing my experience would draw a more realistic picture of what starting a career involves.
When I graduated, I was lucky enough to be recruited immediately by Singapore Press Holdings as a management trainee. Later, I left to become an air stewardess.
In late 2001, a period worse than now because of the terrorist attacks on Sept 11, it became increasingly clear to me that I wanted to be a journalist.
I was fascinated by the different angles with which news could be presented, how superb storytelling could lift news from blah to wow and how news commentators could shed light and shape opinions.
Most of all, cliched as it may sound, I came to the conclusion that it is a job that really reaches out and makes a difference.
Full of idealism, I applied to many publications with samples of my writing.
I thought: "How difficult could it be? After all, I had a distinction in GP (General Paper)."
I imagined that all editors would be moved by my impassioned speech -- Barbara Walters style -- on how I intend to contribute to the Fourth Estate.
Boy, was I wrong.
The constant refrain during interviews was: "We cannot hire you because you are untested as a journalist. You have never served an internship. You don't have a degree in mass communications, journalism or English."
I said: "Then why do you want to interview me?"
"Oh, to see if you are as pretty as your photo."
Jeez ... How could I prove myself if no one wanted to give me a chance?
Maybe I am blessed with the earnestness and sublime oblivion of William Hung. I refused to be put down. As my mother loves to say: Nobody owes you a living.
I started to freelance aggressively to build up my portfolio. Some of my pieces were pro bono. I asked only for a byline. If an editor wanted 500 words, I submitted 600 words plus sidebars, photos, captions and suggested headlines.
Finally, Streats gave me a break.
In my first week at work, I was bright-eyed and busy-tailed until my then-supervisor said mockingly: "Dog bites man is not news. Man bites dog is news. GET IT? And stop asking me stupid questions. You want yoru own column? Maybe in 10 years' time, you'll be qualified."
We later became friends and he told me that he was merely encouraging me to try harder. But at that point, all I felt was humiliation and self-pity. I didn't make a pay cut to suffer this.
I redid my story with tears streaming down my face and -- dare I admit it -- called my mother to complain, between sniffles and hiccups, about my mean nasty overbearing boss.
This tearful fit was the first of more to come. I cried the first time I made an editorial error, the first time I quarreled with a colleague and the first time a reader called me a bimbo.
But I wouldn't swap these experiences for a smoother career path because they toughened me and made me appreciate what I have more.
I still have a long way to go and much to learn, but at least nowadays I feel more amused than abused when people call me a bimbo.
So if you are jobless and have a dream, rise to the challenge, ignore the critics, and pursue your dream to its end. You can do it.
It's that time of the year again when schools release fresh graduates by the truck load into the real world. Yesterday, I met a former journalism intern who visited the newsroom and despaired upon hearing that there were no job openings.
Good winds may be filing the sails of the economy, but finding a job is still not a breeze, especially for those hoping to enter a field distinctly different from what they studied.
I don't pretend to have all the answers or the authority to give advice. I just hope sharing my experience would draw a more realistic picture of what starting a career involves.
When I graduated, I was lucky enough to be recruited immediately by Singapore Press Holdings as a management trainee. Later, I left to become an air stewardess.
In late 2001, a period worse than now because of the terrorist attacks on Sept 11, it became increasingly clear to me that I wanted to be a journalist.
I was fascinated by the different angles with which news could be presented, how superb storytelling could lift news from blah to wow and how news commentators could shed light and shape opinions.
Most of all, cliched as it may sound, I came to the conclusion that it is a job that really reaches out and makes a difference.
Full of idealism, I applied to many publications with samples of my writing.
I thought: "How difficult could it be? After all, I had a distinction in GP (General Paper)."
I imagined that all editors would be moved by my impassioned speech -- Barbara Walters style -- on how I intend to contribute to the Fourth Estate.
Boy, was I wrong.
The constant refrain during interviews was: "We cannot hire you because you are untested as a journalist. You have never served an internship. You don't have a degree in mass communications, journalism or English."
I said: "Then why do you want to interview me?"
"Oh, to see if you are as pretty as your photo."
Jeez ... How could I prove myself if no one wanted to give me a chance?
Maybe I am blessed with the earnestness and sublime oblivion of William Hung. I refused to be put down. As my mother loves to say: Nobody owes you a living.
I started to freelance aggressively to build up my portfolio. Some of my pieces were pro bono. I asked only for a byline. If an editor wanted 500 words, I submitted 600 words plus sidebars, photos, captions and suggested headlines.
Finally, Streats gave me a break.
In my first week at work, I was bright-eyed and busy-tailed until my then-supervisor said mockingly: "Dog bites man is not news. Man bites dog is news. GET IT? And stop asking me stupid questions. You want yoru own column? Maybe in 10 years' time, you'll be qualified."
We later became friends and he told me that he was merely encouraging me to try harder. But at that point, all I felt was humiliation and self-pity. I didn't make a pay cut to suffer this.
I redid my story with tears streaming down my face and -- dare I admit it -- called my mother to complain, between sniffles and hiccups, about my mean nasty overbearing boss.
This tearful fit was the first of more to come. I cried the first time I made an editorial error, the first time I quarreled with a colleague and the first time a reader called me a bimbo.
But I wouldn't swap these experiences for a smoother career path because they toughened me and made me appreciate what I have more.
I still have a long way to go and much to learn, but at least nowadays I feel more amused than abused when people call me a bimbo.
So if you are jobless and have a dream, rise to the challenge, ignore the critics, and pursue your dream to its end. You can do it.
Jun 22, 2004
Streats
Note: When I wrote this column, Streats was thriving and I thought I'd be a journalist forever. Then circumstances shifted and, while I still love the occasional scribbles, somehow my passion for hardcore journalism faded away. I made a career switch and have been enjoying my new job in the corporate world. If you have a dream, chase it. If it stops inspiring you, change it.
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