So here I am…left to my own devices at the Southern Daily Echo newspaper. Thrown in amongst the busy newsroom as the writers and editors of each department throw ideas at each other, barking orders across the open-plan office that looks like a converted air hanger, I sit here mindlessly scrolling through my facebook newsfeed hoping that something interesting pops up. As one of 104 work experience people they take on a year, I am far beyond the point of realisation regarding my own insignificance. Many are blind to me here, but why should they be any different? I am expendable – easily replaced.
I had booked this week’s work experience with the newspaper back when I was still living in Southampton, and upon reflection – still living ‘the Dream’. Back in December 2012 they had told me that the closest availability was the week commencing 30th September 2013. Whoa, I remember thinking…I have all the time in the world. Even more recently, gloating throughout the summer about this internship was my way of pretending to people (and more importantly myself) that I had something set up during the murky, dark period that is post-summer.
I had always regarded this week as a glimmer of hope; a light at the end of the tunnel, endless opportunity amidst what I have always known was going to be an odd time in my life. It had been my little sanctity when people would utter the same probing question that had been on everyone’s lips since the beginning of our final semester at University. “So, what are you gonna do once you’ve graduated?” FUCK OFF. Why do I feel as if I have to explain to you the ins and outs of my life plan when I don’t know yet myself? Yet I do try to explain. What’s even worse is that I try to sound as if I’ve got the world at my feet. This, I think, is some sort of psychological defence mechanism placed within my psyche as a sort of airbag of comfort when faced with thinking about the big, bad world.
This blog is going to read back quite chaotic and all over the place, heading in different directions, starting one way and then without warning will head off on a different tangent. This is not laziness however. What it does truly reflect is my current mind state. Lacking direction but sprouting sporadic burst of energy, flare and creativity; the comfort of a stream of consciousness way of writing is as honest as it comes when expressing my inner thoughts. I think it was Jack ‘Motherfucking’ Kerouac, the demon of my dreams during the dreaded dissertation period that once said something about always using what you first write as it’s the most honest…or something like that. Then again, On the Road was snubbed as merely ‘typing, not writing’, by Truman ‘Is that the guy from Along Came Polly?’ Capote.
Back to the present. I’m about to go and embark on a reporting mission which takes us to the dangerous, gritty, underground realms of journalism. Risking our lives to let YOU THE PEOPLE, know the truth! Placing humanity and justice above our own safety, we report from behind enemy lines to expose the biggest story of the century. Because today is a very important day in history, today is the day that a new jacket potato fast-food restaurant opens in Southampton. Luckily for you, we’ll be there to report and send exclusive footage across the globe. Eurgh.
As interesting as this week has been at the Daily Echo, I have also learnt a lot about the world of journalism. Sensationalism oozes out of every crevice of this office. Not that I was ever unaware of this, but to see it in its unadulterated, rawest form, from which rumours, false facts and exaggeration spawn, was slightly unnerving if not off-putting. “Every story needs a spin…an agenda!” This was the first thing I was told as I entered this environment a mere five days ago. Wait. Before I get ahead of myself and start slipping into sensationalism myself, I must make it clear the magnitude of the stories written at the Daily Echo. Having gone out with reporters over the week and met a lot of locals whose main and sometimes only source of news is the Echo, I’ve come to realise how detached and almost isolated Southampton seems in comparison to the chaotic worldwide goings-on. An odd contrast is made within the office as the television screens that loom over the newsroom broadcast a 24 hour stream of BBC News, reporting of the horrors and crisis’ with which the world has entangled itself within. Images of hostage situations, warfare and seedy politics linger while the archetypal stern Scottish editor storms about making sure reporters have written up the articles about stolen pumpkins. From my alienated perspective, I find this hilarious.
And so alas, is this the dream? Is this the occupation to which I apply myself to and dedicate the next ten years of my life striving toward? I don’t know is the best answer I can come up with. I don’t know has also been the answer to a lot of questions I and others have been asking myself. People asked me prior to going to University what I wanted out of my degree and why I had chosen it. I said to them that I don’t know. The truth is that I don’t ever remember consciously making the decision to go to the University of Southampton. The only influence I could possibly link it to is my encounter with a student at Portsmouth I met at their open day who’d said to me: “Fuck Portsmouth, Southampton’s where it’s at”. I don’t want to credit this random person with inadvertently dictating the last three years of my life, but deep down I think my subconscious was guided by his advice. I also don’t ever remember having the conversation with myself that I was going to study English. I just was kinda, suddenly there. And now I’m kinda, suddenly out of there, left feeling naked and hazy. The last three years of my life have whizzed by, all blending into one vivid dream. I am now left feeling as if I’ve awoken after one insane and eventful evening with a sore head and weak lungs, attempting to pick up the pieces and remember what happened.
In a nutshell, I’ve had the craziest three years I could have ever imagined. I now possess a million and one anecdotes and even more tagged photos. The one thing I am grateful for was my attitude toward the whole thing while I was still at University. I would constantly remind myself of how fortunate we were in comparison to the rest of the world. The student bubble is one of comfort, security and pleasure. However, I had always known that it was not permanent. As the final few weeks loomed over us like a bad smell, my close friends and I told ourselves that we were not to talk about the inevitable. NEVER MENTION THE END OF UNI, was our policy. And we didn’t, right up until the very second my parents came to collect me and I was whisked off back to the grim corners of Harrow, grieving about my departure from the grim corners of Southampton. I took the whole avoidance of the end of Uni thing to the point that I told myself that life ceased to exist on the other side of June, when our house contracts were to run out. The bubble has now burst; leaving behind the soggy remnants of what was once beautiful. Despite only very recently graduating, I feel worlds apart from that life. Obvious looking students walked past me yesterday as I strutted around in my black suit and tie, the heels of my shiny black shoes clipping the ground. They just smelt of student…and I instantly despised them. I couldn’t believe the reaction I was having, and I couldn’t suppress it. I’m only worried about what my attitude will be when I’m middle-aged, scrolling through my tagged photos on my timeline and spitting at the feet of students casually waltzing about with the only worry on their mind about whether to drink at their own house or go to so-and-so’s pre-drinks. Hopefully we humans will have destroyed the planet and civilization by then!
Yes, it has left me in a sort of limbo in which I am continuously struggling to get by, relentlessly applying for jobs that deep down I know I don’t want to do and visiting other Uni’s in order to desperately cling on to the last remains of student life; however, I kind of like it. As quoted in my personal statement, “having studied such a broad degree, I find life as a graduate daunting yet liberating”. And this is true. As scared as I am to quickly find myself within a job, earning money and making ‘work mates’, I am also the type of person to only ever think about the NOW. And right NOW, I’m chiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiillled. I’ll sort this shit out another day.
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