Personal Narrative

I couldn’t help but cry over spilled milk.

I was in the fifth grade, and I had just realized I lost my favorite jacket. Further, instead of just crying, I spiraled into a full-blown panic attack during guided reading time. As I was hyperventilating and furiously flapping my hands, my classmates rolled their eyes and assured me halfheartedly that there was nothing to be done anymore. From then on, I was known by my  last name “Panicker.”

That nickname followed me longer than the jacket ever could and it became shorthand for “overdramatic.” Nearly anything that I was passionate about was treated as an overreaction by the people around me. By the time I entered middle school, I had traded my worried eyes for blank stares and my screeching voice for pursed lips when it came to topics that I used to be so passionate about, whether it was racism or climate change. During class discussions and debates within my friend group, the fear of my last name being taken too literally kept me frozen in place. I was conditioned to believe that my thoughts didn’t matter. 

Ironically, while I feared being “too much,” I was also not doing enough.

In my sophomore year debate class, during our Extemporaneous Speaking unit, I was handed a prompt: How will public schools be affected by Governor Greg Abbott’s school voucher plan?

As if the activity wasn’t daunting enough, I had no idea who the governor of Texas was until then. While I stared at this question dumbfounded, I realized that if someone were to ask me right then to name my local elected officials, I would just end up staring at them dumbfounded, too. I was disengaged not only from international and domestic affairs, but from my own town of Prosper.

The next month, I joined the Current Issues and Events UIL team. Coincidentally, the team’s coach, Mrs. Roskens, was also the school newspaper adviser. As I started dedicating more of my time to the team throughout my sophomore year, we developed a closer bond. She would give me updates about the newspaper and say how she wished I had joined the team of reporters. Not only that, something about the newsroom drew me in: the publication planner with all different types of handwriting scribbled on it, the magazines sprawled out on the desks, the podcast equipment, and even the camera closet intrigued me. 

Unfortunately, I had only heard that we had a newspaper too late in the year for me to change my schedule and so I grew jealous of the current reporters who were taking on these ambitious projects. 

However, by junior year, I finally stepped into the newsroom. And for the first time since fifth grade, I felt welcomed rather than reduced to simply my last name.

I had finally found an outlet to write about the topics that mattered to me on an online platform that received thousands of views from students and others in my local community. When I wrote the date for my first article on the newspaper’s publication planner, the editorial team circled it instead of erasing it. This newfound sense of importance motivated me to take on more controversial issues that affected students directly, which in turn allowed me to sit down with local town officials, nonprofit directors, and school administration. It allowed me to regain my confidence and guide my teammates towards our shared goals.

Soon, I found myself covering school board and town council meetings, asking administrators difficult questions, and interviewing nonprofit directors and local officials. It was nerve wracking to sit face-to-face with such influential people who led Prosper but through each interview, I understood the other person more and the greater cause I was reporting toward.

A year into reporting for the school publication, my passion for student journalism and press rights became the center of my outspokenness. Attending journalism conventions, covering community events, and collaborating with the rest of my staff as the Editor-in-Chief drove me to want to speak out more loudly the next time. 

And there was one part of me that stayed the same through all of this: the press badge I wore, depicting my first and last name for everyone to see. I’m no longer ashamed or self-conscious of “panicking” over issues that may seem beyond my control as a student. 

Raising awareness through my publications and the New Voices of Texas student organization is the first step to make sure that students like me are not overshadowed. Taking real legislative action by involving myself in political campaigns and running for office is the ambitious goal that I have set for myself during university and beyond, when my fight for the rights of those who don’t have the privilege to speak out will turn into something more permanent.          

I don’t feel small anymore. Or powerless. Or overdramatic. 

With a camera in one hand and a marker in the other writing down the article publishing today, I feel that I can now take on Prosper and all the news it has to offer. My on-the-ground coverage is how I experience my town’s vibrancy and the different stories that makes it up. 

Prosper is no longer just the town I live in. Because now, it is a town that I document, challenge, and celebrate.