The first time my name ever appeared in a newspaper, I was 11 years old. I was recognized for my outstanding essay titled “My Hero.” It was a piece dedicated to my single father written for my secondary school entrance exam. There it was in black and white—our story, for everyone on the island of Barbados to see.
My father was proud, and his neighbors and close friends were touched by my heartfelt story. They congratulated him for doing a good job as a parent, but also offered support and empathy acknowledging his challenges. I realized then the power of writing. I wanted to tell other people’s stories. I wanted to educate others, captivate their minds, and take them on a journey. One that would take them from their world into someone else’s, forcing them connect to the intangible parts of society.
I later learned that I could get paid for doing this.
As a journalist, I want to tell the story of the disenfranchised—the people who tend to be invisible like the janitor at the office. Her house is paid off, but she continues to work through her retirement years because she wants security for her grandchildren. My goal is to pull the curtain on wrongdoers, and shine the light on people behind the scenes that keep the wheels turning.