Day 3: Making Headlines

When I was told I have to go to work on a national holiday, I felt no disappointment. There was a prevalent sense that journalists scarcely take holidays off. If you want to cover the ball coming down in Times Square, you should be prepared to miss a few New Year's eves.

So was the story on Monday, August 26, National Heroes' Day, when personalities from every angle of the limelight organized a "Million People March" at the Quirino Grandstand, attended by over 100,000 Filipinos. Imagine it. 100,000 people confined in a single park, free to express their views however they see fit.

The crowd only came in by online media and word-of-mouth. There was no political body or celebrity that nudged them to come. Streamers were discouraged in the event, there was nobody wearing political colors, and there was no single program that outlined it.

Everyone was free to do as they will. Regular Joes were allowed to speak up on megaphones in place of political prospects and representatives; some were playing rock music and some toyed with tribal instruments; there were even families taking pictures and kids carrying balloons. Bring out some floats and confetti and you have an all-out street party.

My trainer and I circled the grandstand hoping to find color. Malaya sent men to cover the rally already--one was assigned to cover this aspect, one was assigned to cover that; I don't know the specifics but I was assigned to write about color--the overall atmosphere of the event.

My trainer led me to a press conference happening at the Manila Hotel. I stayed there while she went to find former Chief Justice Renato Corona--a controversial figure who was thrown out of the Supreme Court for "corruption." It was a posh lunch with VIPs speaking up front, one of them was former Senator Kit Tatad, and another was Fr. Robert Reyes. There were other speakers that told us how we are all victims of the pork barrel. About 15 minutes later, my trainer came to collect me and we headed back to the rally.

The weather which previously dampened us with occasional drizzles became a little better. On the bright side (ironically), the sun was absent and we were free to walk around without sweating like pigs. We walked down Roxas Boulevard and saw Willie Revillame and Gloria Diaz. I thought we should have moved closer but my trainer said she didn't want us to seem like groupees because journalists are equal with celebrities.

After interviewing a few groups, we went to Chowking for take-out and made our way back to the office. We were the only people there and the internet was shut down. My trainer however managed to connect with another signal but it was restricted to official members of the press. I needed some details from the internet so I waited quite a while for her to finish up and give me my turn to use the internet.

My story also took a while to write. I finished it at 5:30, counting more than 700 words. I handed it over for my trainer to edit and usual, it significantly sized down to about 500 words. She also rephrased and restructured a lot of paragraphs giving my article a newswriting facelift, telling me it might make the banner the next day. Finally, I called it a day but my trainer stayed in the office to write other stories.

I woke up the next morning and asked my mom to buy a copy of Malaya on her way home from work (she in the graveyard shift). I read it and yes, my story did make banner.

For journalists, it's a natural thing to make cover pages but for us interns, it's the rare thing to even make it to the front page, especially in a national broadsheet. But I made it.

8/27/2013. I'll always remember that day as the day I first made headlines. I'll save that issue of Malaya. What a pat on the back.

Day 2: It Pays To Be Punctual

Arriving late has been a constant issue for me ever since I graduated elementary. It must be my way of acting out for my lack of motivation to go to school. There were many times my parents were asked to meet my teachers because of my punctuality problem. 

When I entered college, all the trouble that came with arriving late seemed to disappear. My professors couldn’t care less. I’d come in an hour late for weeks and I wouldn’t hear one word about it from anybody.

But those were the good days. Last Thursday, I learned that my job as a journalist wouldn’t stand for it.

My trainer Gigi asked me to go to work at 11 o’clock, a couple of hours ahead of her and before anything newsworthy is likely to happen. She assigned me to cover the “Run-After-The-Smugglers” (RATS) press conference of the Bureau of Customs. She told me to follow the cameramen because they would be covering, too.

I arrived about 11:10 AM and the news crews have already set up their satellite dishes outside the National Bureau of Investigation which was just a couple of blocks from our office. I thought “Sheist! I might be running too late!”

I speed-walked to the press office and found that the cameramen have already left. I asked around for directions to the press conference and some guy from TV5 said that it was taking place right behind our building, so I stepped out of the office and circled the entire area our building is situated. I passed U.P. Manila, the Supreme Court, the NBI, the Court of Appeals, a train station, a very large private office, another U.P. Manila building, and there was still no sign of the press conference.

I headed back to the office for more specific directions when I came across a really friendly co-worker. He said that the press conference was taking place BEHIND OUR OFFICE—barely 20 steps away! I thanked him and skedaddled to the event where I saw Ruffy Biazon and other Bureau of Customs officials answering questions. There were a lot of cameras and I had no business with Mr. Biazon so I just asked for a press release and I was quickly handed one.

Phew. All that legwork had a point somehow.

I made my way back to the office and re-wrote the press release. I subtracted the usual political-sugar-coating and broke it down to less than 300 words. It’s nothing significant anyway—if a government body organizes a press conference, its only purpose is to improve its image—proving true the adage “Nothing worth having is easily obtained.”

I finished up before Gigi arrived and she cut fewer words from my work than she did in my first (which in my opinion is a total wreck.) Hm. I might be taking baby steps but I am improving.

She gave me another story to write but that time she told me I was free to feature-ize. I made a few grammatical errors but they were considerably fewer than my previous work. After submitting it to the Malaya network, Gigi said we could call it a day. It was 5:30 after all.

That day's lesson was it pays to be punctual. I never realized how time-sensitive journalism is until that day. I'm gonna have to find a fix for my punctuality glitch soon. In this profession, missing out is not an option.

First Day of Work at the Microscope Store

As some of you might already know, I was accepted for an internship with Malaya Business Insight: a national newspaper focused on business news and vicious technical terms. At first I really didn't know what to think. Do they even have a police beat? Will I be assigned to some executive place to write about stocks and figures? Or will I be assigned the lifestyle beat for an internship dream-come-true?

Let me say before anything that my mental attitude is whatever beat I'm assigned, I would gladly accept it. I made it in a national broadsheet! I'd say that's a lot better than some of my classmates who are now writing for vulgar tabloids and provincial newspapers.

I was assigned the Department of Justice beat, but since my trainer has a lot of other beats to handle, I'm looking forward to bounce around Manila over the course of my internship. Just yesterday I wrote a story from facts I obtained from the NBI. Next week, my trainer said we'll pay the Manila Police District a visit--that's where all my classmates are.

My first day was nothing out of the ordinary. I walked into an office where everybody was already friends and I sat quietly on a chair in a corner next to my trainer's station. I read some press releases to pass the time since my trainer was running a little late. I've never met my trainer before so I didn't know what to expect. All I knew was her name's Gigi and she worked for Malaya.

People at the press office were really noisy. They were talking about watching The Conjuring, the latest horror flick from Hollywood that's actually scary. There was also someone who was celebrating his birthday, and another someone who was bullied because she has a loose grip on her her temper; There was gay guy there who's the life of the party, a fat dude who's really friendly to everybody, and a quiet, nerdy man who works for the Business Mirror among other characters.

Ha. It's high school all over again.

Anyway, my trainer arrived about fifteen minutes later. After putting all her stuff down on her table she said that something was taking place at the Court of Appeals, which was only a couple of blocks from the press office. She brought me along and for the first time in my life, I experienced what it's like to scour for a story.

The mayor of Taguig counter-filed against Makati City for the controversial Fort Bonifacio. A few seconds after the mayor stepped outside the filing department, the press immediately gathered around her. Cameras, mics, and sweaty pressmen awaited her every comment. My trainer managed to ask a couple of questions herself and she jot down everything in her little notepad. I saw a TV reporter from ABS-CBN but I forgot her name.

When it was over, we walked back to the press office to write our stories. My trainer handed my a press release from the NBI. I was expecting it. I knew I was too inexperienced write about what just happened.

It took me an hour and a half to finish writing my story and I lent it to my trainer for editing. She cut it in half and made me change my lede. After I changed my lede, I lent it to her again and she further cut it--completely eliminating some sentences while changing some words to make it concise.

After she was done, my story looked like a bona fide newspaper article. Amazing. It's like she has microscopes for eyes. And to think that everybody in that office has the same, marami pa 'kong bigas na kakainin.

She said my style is fit for feature writing and that news writing is a different beast.

To be honest, news writing is really my weakness, that's why I applied for internships in magazines before resorting to newspapers. You have to be cold and to the point. There is no room for artsy words or fancy descriptions. You have to tell it like it is and move on. It's kind of like sex with a hooker as opposed to sex with an emotionally involved girlfriend.

And that's it. My first day of internship at the microscope store a.k.a. the Jucra Press Office.

I have to be back there again this morning but I'm covering an event alone. It's some kind smuggling run for the Bureau of Customs. Wish me luck!