Egg and Chicken

I returned home from the coverage of the  interfaith rally tonight bearing smooth realizations. The interfaith rally was against the Reproductive Health Bill attended by various religious groups at the Quirino Grandstand.

Of course there are those lessons once again in covering for a broadcast story. But they are lessons, always will they be and always will they be learned. And I could not think of a point to write those lessons in a blog for they happen all the time.

The lessons now would be on how I see journalists, the different kinds, who went out to cover events, and rallies for a story.


When you choose to become a journalist
you are en egg, the moment you enter
you are too young, a chick
but you grow into a chicken
who always would keep feet on the
ground, despite the wings to soar above.

And they tweet.

The print journalists are the unpredictable
kind of bird. In rallies, seem nowhere to be
seem but they are among the crowd
not on the stage. They are looking for the
best case studies.

The radio journalists are the most superficial
What they say are what they see
Verbs. Verbs. Verbs.
But they are not the best man to answer
the anchor’s question.

The TV journalists are the toy birds
in the alarm clock. Only coming out
when the program ends to talk to
personalities. But they are the most
charming, beautiful, and fashionable.
Yet one of the most shallow.
No doubt.

I admire the cameramen who stand by
all over the program, mostly unable to
grasp the speeches because of finding
the best shot.

But all are journalists.
Admirable. Credible. Unstoppable.
One might dare to ask: “Why that
f*cking course?!”

We love it.
But we can’t please everyone.
We’re still growing.


By the way, I was with my cousin althroughout the program. He was my cameraman. He was just welcomed to my life. It may take time for others to love it.


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