The heart of a journalist

Although I studied journalism like Quyen, I didn't pursue that career path and instead took a different one. Back then, it was partly because I wasn't passionate about journalism, partly because my abilities were limited, and I needed to earn money instead of pursuing my dream.

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Whenever we had the chance to meet, we talked about everything under the sun, from work to family, spouses, and children... We never felt any distance between us, even when more than a year had passed without us sitting down together. In our conversations, Quyen was always the center of attention.

- Quyen, have you ever regretted choosing journalism as a career?

She looked up, her eyes sparkling. With a bright smile, Quyen replied:

- Never. Life as a journalist is so much fun! I hope I can go a long way in this profession.

I smiled, looking at Quyen with admiration. Like Quyen, I studied journalism, but I didn't pursue that career path; instead, I took a different one. Back then, partly because I wasn't passionate about journalism, partly because my abilities were limited, and I needed to earn money instead of pursuing my dreams . And so I entered the world of business. Later, when someone asked me if I regretted it, I always shook my head. Because my passion wasn't strong enough.

In our old class, everyone respected Quyen. A strong, courageous, and ambitious girl. She was born in a small, sunny, and windy coastal province in South Central Vietnam. When she first arrived in the city, Quyen had nothing. The first time I spoke to Quyen was when she stood awkwardly in front of the rice restaurant opposite the school gate. Recognizing me, I waved and accompanied her into the restaurant. That time, Quyen told me so many stories. Stories about the familiar sea where her father used to brave the waves to make a living, stories about the long stretches of white sand under the golden sun that she would go to admire when she was sad, letting all her worries drift away into the air… Through Quyen's stories, I learned that her hometown was beautiful and that she was always proud of it.

Unexpectedly, Quyen asked me:

Why did Phuong choose to study Journalism?

Feeling a little hesitant, I smiled and replied:

- Because my dad wants me to become a journalist. It's that simple!

"Isn't it because Phuong wanted it that way?" Quyen asked further.

I shook my head.

No! I have more artistic blood than journalistic blood.

Quyen laughed heartily. The laugh of this girl from the seaside was generous and genuine.

And so we finished our four years of journalism studies. Quyen was a bright student, receiving scholarships every semester, and she was also dynamic and resourceful, so as soon as she graduated, she got a job at a reputable newspaper in the city. I also received a bachelor's degree in journalism, but my academic performance was less impressive than Quyen's. After graduation, I didn't pursue journalism but instead got a job at a private corporation. My job was quite stable, and the income was high; however, I couldn't apply much of the knowledge I had accumulated from university, so I sometimes encountered difficulties.

After working together for several years, we met again. By then, Quyen had become a renowned journalist, frequently mentioned in the city's journalistic circles. I admired Quyen greatly! She still retained her innocent charm, her natural and genuine smile, the gentleness, her subtlety, and her constant concern for those around her. Because of this, Quyen never let anyone down.

It seems life always creates opportunities for people who love each other to meet in different circumstances. Once, I met Quyen, drenched in sweat, her hair disheveled, in the scorching midday sun of the city. I waved and called out loudly:

- Quyen! Quyen!

Quyen turned around in surprise to look at me, recognizing me as an acquaintance, her eyes lit up:

- Direction!

I pulled Quyen into a cafe across the street. It was a dusty midday, the sounds of traffic, the clanging of street vendors' carts, and the murmur of people discussing the city's events all mingled together. Quyen was breathless, quickly smoothing her matted hair and wiping the sweat from her tanned face with her sleeve.

"Oh my God, that's terrible! Girls who spend so much time in the sun will age prematurely, Quyen!" I exclaimed, feeling sorry for her.

Quyen laughed:

- It's no big deal. I'm just gathering information. Wherever the event is happening, I'll be there to cover it. Rain or shine, I can't refuse. Sometimes, even in the middle of the night, if there's something I need to do, I'll still get up and go. I'm a journalist, Phương!

I shook my head, looking at Quyen. I always saw so much energy in her. It seemed no difficulty could ever defeat her. I whispered, "Well, that's true! It's the job, the calling. But I feel so sorry for Quyen! Quyen, the most gentle, feminine, and soft-spoken girl in the class, is now such a strong and capable woman."

Quyen continued my sentence:

- This profession has honed my qualities! I have no regrets, Phuong. Thanks to journalism, I feel I've matured a lot. It's also thanks to this profession that I haven't had to struggle so much with the unpredictable and challenging aspects of life.

I shook my head, looking at Quyen as if she were a "female general" from a story I'd read long ago. I took a sip of water in the scorching midday sun of the city. Looking out at the street, through the smoke and dust billowing from the exhaust pipes of motorbikes, I suddenly saw so many people quietly making a living, so many people working hard, following the call of their hearts, their passions, their desires. Each person had a different job, but everyone was giving their all to their work. Like Quyen.

We—those journalism students from back then—now each have different jobs. Many of us have become journalists, reporters, editors, etc., living out the dreams we once cherished. There are also those "exceptional" ones like me, who prefer chasing fame and fortune, not passionate about cameras, words, or journals, like Quyen. But I think everyone has their own destiny; some are destined for journalism, others not. Trying hard is good, but stubbornness won't bring joy or happiness.

It's been a long time since we had the chance to sit together, drink, and chat, reminiscing about our difficult and impoverished student days, but each of us harboring a sky full of dreams. We always cherish moments like these, and suddenly life seems so beautiful because of these encounters and connections. I see life as mostly rosy, without too much bitterness or storms, probably because there are people as energetic, passionate, and enthusiastic as Quyen.

To keep the atmosphere from calming down, I joked:

When will we finally get to celebrate Quyen's wedding?

The whole group burst into laughter. Quyen blushed, feeling embarrassed.

- No, I'm not getting married. What husband would tolerate his wife spending all day out working? What husband would accept his woman enduring the sun, wind, and storms? It's better to stay single and live peacefully.

I laughed heartily – my signature laugh from my student days.

- Don't tell us yet, young lady! We might not have time to prepare the wedding money before you announce the good news!... Just kidding, loving your job is one thing, but loving yourself too.

Quyen nodded.

- I know.

Quyen remains the same gentle and innocent woman in my eyes.

Around me, not only Quyen but also many others are striving their best in journalism, a profession of words, sensitivity, and accuracy. Suddenly, I felt sorry for Quyen and wanted to do something for her, but I didn't know what, as long as it was a way of thanking her. Because I felt that Quyen had done the work I was so thoroughly trained in, both in knowledge and skills. I understand that to become a journalist, those two things alone are never enough. It also requires a passionate heart and a burning passion for the profession.

Hoang Khanh Duy

Source: https://baolongan.vn/trai-tim-nha-bao-a197501.html