10/03/2026
๐๐ฟ๐ผ๐บ ๐ฆ๐ถ๐
๐๐ต ๐๐ฟ๐ฎ๐ฑ๐ฒ ๐ฆ๐ฐ๐ฟ๐ถ๐ฏ๐ฏ๐น๐ฒ๐ ๐๐ผ ๐๐ต๐ฒ ๐ฅ๐ฆ๐ฃ๐ ๐ฆ๐๐ฎ๐ด๐ฒ: ๐ ๐ ๐๐ฎ๐บ๐ฝ๐๐ ๐๐ผ๐๐ฟ๐ป๐ฎ๐น๐ถ๐๐บ ๐๐ผ๐๐ฟ๐ป๐ฒ๐
๐๐: ๐ณ๐๐๐๐๐๐ ๐ซ๐๐๐๐๐๐๐
- 2nd placer DSPC
- 2nd placer RSPC
I was in sixth grade when I first learned that words could compete.
Not just sit quietly on paper, not just answer questions in a textbookโbut stand, be judged, and win. I didnโt know it then, but that moment marked the beginning of a journey that would follow me all the way to Grade 12, shaping not only my skills as a campus journalist but also my confidence, patience, and sense of purpose.
Back then, campus journalism felt intimidating. I remember holding my pen too tightly, afraid of making mistakes, afraid that my ideas werenโt good enough. Everyone else seemed smarter, faster, more confident. I joined not because I believed I was talented, but because something inside me was curious. Curious about headlines, curious about storytelling, curious about how a simple article could make people stop and read.
That curiosity was small, but it was enough.
In sixth grade, writing felt like guessing. I guessed what judges wanted. I guessed which words sounded โjournalistic.โ I guessed my way through grammar rules I barely understood. Sometimes I won, sometimes I didnโt. More often than not, I lost. And every loss stung. It made me question whether I belonged in journalism at all.
But I stayed.
As I moved up grade levels, campus journalism stopped being just a competition and started becoming a discipline. I learned that writing wasnโt about sounding smartโit was about being clear. I learned that journalism wasnโt just creativityโit was accuracy, responsibility, and truth. I learned that deadlines were not suggestions, and that revisions were not punishments but privileges.
There were moments I wanted to quit. Times when I placed low, or didnโt place at all. Times when I compared myself to others and felt small. Seeing classmates advance while I stayed behind hurt more than I wanted to admit. Itโs difficult to stay motivated when progress feels invisible.
But journalism taught me something school never explicitly did: growth is not always loud.
Every article I wrote made me slightly better. Every critique sharpened my awareness. Every failure trained my resilience. Even when no medal came, something else didโexperience.
By junior high school, journalism had become familiar. I knew the pressure of competition rooms. I knew the sound of time ticking during writing contests. I knew the panic of unfinished sentences and the relief of final paragraphs. I also knew how to breathe through it. I learned how to organize my thoughts quickly, how to trust my instincts, and how to let my voice come through without forcing it.
Still, winning big felt distant. Like something meant for other people.
Then came senior high school.
Grade 12 felt differentโnot because the pressure disappeared, but because my mindset changed. I stopped writing to impress and started writing to express. I stopped obsessing over rankings and focused on telling the best story I could within the given time. I wrote with honesty instead of fear.
And thatโs when it happened.
Winning the Division Schools Press Conference (DSPC) was surreal. Hearing my name called felt like time paused for a second. All the yearsโthe sixth-grade doubts, the losses, the quiet practicesโsuddenly made sense. It wasnโt just a win. It was validation that staying mattered.
For the first time, I qualified for the Regional Schools Press Conference (RSPC).
Something I had only seen from afar. Something I thought was beyond my reach.
I wonโt pretend Iโm not nervous. I am. RSPC is bigger, tougher, and filled with journalists who are just as passionate and skilled. But this time, the fear feels different. Itโs not the fear of not being enoughโitโs the fear of caring deeply.
What I realized along this journey is that campus journalism isnโt just about writing. It teaches discipline when inspiration is absent. It teaches humility when criticism arrives. It teaches courage when your voice shakes but you speak anyway.
Most importantly, it teaches patience.
Sixth grade to twelfth grade is a long time to hold onto a dream. A long time to keep showing up when results donโt come immediately. A long time to believe that effort will eventually meet opportunity.
Iโve changed because of journalism.
Iโm more observant. More careful with words. More aware that stories have power. Iโve learned that truth matters, that context matters, and that how you tell a story can influence how people understand the world.
As I prepare to experience RSPC, Iโm not just bringing my skills with meโIโm bringing every version of myself that refused to quit. The sixth grader who was unsure. The student who lost and cried quietly. The writer who improved slowly. The journalist who finally believed.
No matter what happens next, I know this: I have already won something greater than a certificate.
I found my voice.
And it all started with a pen, a piece of paper, and a sixth grader brave enough to try.
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