News, nights and nightmares…
Pakistan. Pkaistan. No! What?
Did I just spell my country’s name wrong? Oh wait. No, I not only spelled it wrong, I printed it wrong. Printed it wrong on a newspaper — a national daily newspaper. The entire country is laughing at me. My career is over. I’m switching my phone off.
When I wake up, I try to gather the strength to pull myself out of bed. It’s 4:30am. I go outside my apartment door and there is no newspaper.
I take a sigh of relief and then I’m simply angry at myself.
How can a rational human being let one dream, the same dream, haunt themselves over and over again?
For years. Then I thought maybe I needed therapy.
After talking to a couple of colleagues I figure this is it: Every career has its pros and cons. Apparently working in a newsroom comes with its share of terrifying nightmares.
It also comes with dependency on cigarettes and tea and junk food and carbonated drinks and energy drinks and coffee. I will not speak of the stress levels. Friends start hating you because you leave office at 2:00am every day.
I think my mum forgot my name once. She hadn’t seen me in days.
Journalism is not everyone’s cup of tea, but so invigorating is the whole experience that despite its pitfalls, you want to take that last leap — knowing there’s bottomless pit waiting for you.
Then you let yourself fall. And the smart ones realise that the only way to survive in this merciless industry is by enjoying this cruel fall.
And then you see it — those stack of papers in front of you. No dad is leaving house without reading it in the morning. Policymakers and judges read it. The common man reads it.
And finally you realise why you’re in it. Whoever said it was easy being voice to the voiceless?
Read more by Musab here.
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