One weekend in September, as I searched for new ways to procrastinate writing college applications, my nostalgic self decided to sift through old memorabilia my mom had kept since kindergarten. Stored in a large, plastic container perched on the top shelf of my closet, the collection of keepsakes was a time capsule of my childhood.
My mom, just as sentimental as me, preserved almost everything — from miniature spelling bee trophies and certifications of achievement to class projects and old short stories.
Rummaging through my time capsule, I stumbled upon an “Read All About Me!” poster I had created for a second grade class project in Foothill Elementary. I distinctly remember, while waiting for my teacher to call on me, I was incredibly restless to share with the class my favorite food and color. As I skimmed through my old likes and favorite facts section, one particular section stood out to me: “When I grow up, I would like to be…” Written in large, 7-year-old’s handwriting was the word “author.”

As a self-proclaimed bookworm, I spent my elementary school days practically living in the Saratoga library, checking out stacks of books during my bi-monthly visits. I always returned ready to read the next Nancy Drew mystery novel or follow the adventure of another whimsical fairy in the “Rainbow Magic” Color Fairies Collection. By middle school, the “Harry Potter” series and Raina Telgemeier’s graphic novels became my companions, but the dream of being an author had faded away.
At my fifth grade promotion, the graduation pamphlet proudly announced my latest ambition: to be a “successful lawyer who plays soccer.” And yes — the “plays soccer” was included in the printing. Of course, reality had other plans. My dream to play soccer was cut short after I stopped pursuing college recruitment at the end of my sophomore year. I also soon realized that my I-want-to-be-a-lawyer phase was just that — a phase. I was far too impatient and stubborn to debate someone who didn’t immediately agree with me.

Like most kids, my ambitions shifted almost every year. At one point, I believed being a police officer was my calling, as I decided to dress up as one in fourth grade for Halloween. Another year, I wanted to be a firefighter and a dancer — yes, at the same time.
But in a way, my second grade self was onto something, because “author” wasn’t entirely off the mark. I recently applied as a journalism major to several of my top universities, eager to work for my college’s newspaper and their various publications.
While I might not be looking to write a novel and follow in the footsteps of Raina Telgemeier anytime soon, I can’t wait to see myself on the byline of an article for one of the nation’s leading news publications.
Writing has stuck with me through middle and high school — sometimes quietly in the background or at the forefront of my extracurricular pursuits. This is in large part due to my humanities teachers over the years — most notably, my eighth-grade English teacher Josh Marks, whose guidance became the foundation of my high school writing. As I was encouraged to write more in classes, I began to witness tangible growth across genres — personal, creative and journalistic. I loved that no matter what age I wrote a piece at or how refined my writing was, every word on the page had the ability to evoke emotion and shape readers’ perspectives.
Looking ahead, when I’m tired of the demanding and non-traditional journalist’s work life, I know I would love to teach high school students or become a college professor in the humanities.
I know so much will change in the next four years — it’s too soon to tell whether I will end up with a journalism degree or pivot to another career choice. But, what I can say is that I find a strange comfort in knowing these fleeting childhood dreams, captured on posters and pamphlets, were stepping stones to who I dream of being today.
For now, I can’t wait to attend college — whichever one that might be — focus on carving out a space for me in the journalism world and fulfill my second grade self’s aspiration.