Ten years later, the spontaneous self-fulfilling prophecy met its chance to be realised but the “adult” plan was to be an architect. Upon graduation, I practiced for a while but always ended up writing more than I drew. My moment came, when I had to write what seemed like my 100th accompanying report to “sell” the concept of a condominium project. I think that was when it hit me. I loved what I wrote more than what I drew. Something was amiss – my soul was missing. All along, I’d felt communication for me, had always been a release. Even as a teenager, when I couldn’t speak the words I wanted to say, I would pick up a pen and write in my diary. Most importantly, it stirred my fist concrete thoughts of a career in journalism which I must have shoved aside as I got older. So, on that fateful day after the writing-instead-of- drawing incident, I went home to flip through my diary. Besides the boyfriends I wrote about, everything else were quite interesting. The words flowed easily because the experience stayed with me, not just in my diary but also in my heart. Then, I knew there was no greater path for me to follow than journalism.

Looking back, journalism was a perfect fit for me. Every day we write history but I can still remember my first day on the job six years ago. I bore witness to unimaginable misery. I saw the shredded wreckage of a black Nissan sedan. It looked as if it had been shoved through a shredding machine – twice. Some people had seen the cars collide. Others heard an explosion. I called my editor and she echoed the frenzied tone of the scene by saying “Did anybody die?” I paused. Was I to be the hurried scribe of tragedies, here to capture the worst day in another person’s life? I pushed those thoughts away and got to work, scribbling fast. I approached a family crying in the shade. I pulled out my notebook and started interviewing the family. I felt that if I didn’t thrust myself into reporting, I might just start crying with them. I reminded myself I was just there to give words.

When the Tsunami hit us, Asia wept. Days went by and rescuers forged through sunshine and rain. As I was trying for shelter with a woman who was searching for her son, she took my hands in hers and looked me in the eye. She pleaded, “Can you get us help? Can you tell the world how much we are suffering? In tears, I nodded and told her that was the only reason I was there. For weeks, donations and condolences streamed. I had made a difference… and since then I have been hooked.

I am often asked why I do what I do? Long hours, break-neck deadlines. I do it because it is intoxicating to see the world as a journalist, to witness history in the making, witnessing people changing the world and being changed by it, in ways enduring and fleeting. I try to do it in a fair and truthful manner, with no apologies and no regrets. The best part for me, at least, was finding out, learning what others do not know, and knowing what people don’t want you to know.

Journalists document life. I learn to gather the “who, what, when and where” of stories and how to be sensitive when interviewing a mother whose 8-year old daughter was murdered. We are there when the world goes to war, when a new prime minister is sworn in, when buildings crash to the ground. We tell you how Lady Gaga rocked Singapore, which colours are in and which restaurant sells the best Nasi Lemak. My position as a reporter has allowed me to ride in the back of a limousine, rock-climb and even shoot a gun. I’ve ridden in four-wheelers for raids on under-aged prostitutes. Along the way, I have mastered the basic skills needed for election and trend stories. I’ve done the grunt work of trolling through court cases and police reports. We are part of every process. No other profession can boast of becoming part of everyday life the way journalism can. So it’s a wonderful life, most journalists discover. We do what other folks do for pleasure – read, travel, meet all kinds of people. It’s an incredible responsibility but I love it! I sometimes feel guilty that I’m paid for having so much fun.

Like many journalists, I’ve thought a lot since my first day at Channel NewsAsia. What it means to do what we do? Why we go to people in their saddest moments with paper and pen? Why tragedy sometimes can inspire our best work? Why we move fastest when the world stands still? Are these the bases of a healthy career, let alone a healthy lifestyle? Sometimes, I’m not sure. But when the doubt creeps in, I find myself returning to that day, that conversation I had with the family at the car crash. It was probably three minutes on air but it was someone’s story. That was it. In doing my job, hearing the sobs and broken words from that family, I think I helped them get through that morning.

Career contentment comes from following your passion, from finding that spark deep within, to bring out the absolute best in you. Journalism, with all its power, excitement, privilege and spontaneity, does that for me. If what I’ve written today stirs your soul, it is probably a sign that journalism is calling out to you.

This first blog by Rita Zahara touches on journalism by offering slices of her personal experience as a journalist. For more information about her background and latest endeavours, log on to http://www3.ntu.edu.sg/sci/graduate/research_ritazahara.html