The Making of a Journalist

Yesterday I signed up for the Diploma in Journalism.
There are seven joining me for now.
It's a small school, but the service was personal.
The career counsellor made me a cup of hot Chinese tea.
I bet you don't find that kind of service in any school.
My teacher-to-be had an informal 'interview' with me.

Today is my payday. And I literally empty every cent from my salary for this course.
Now I am literally empty - in my bank account, in my wallet, in my pocket.
To exchange all I have in my wallet, for a chance to learn a skill that will keep me alive, hopefully for the rest of my life.

When you drive a person to the edge, there is only one way, and there is no turning back. The desperation for survival and the hunger could drive a person to the extreme. Success is no longer an option.

My pores are open to every word of wisdom dripping from the lecturer's mouth cos his time are paid with sweat and pain. I cannot afford to fail cos the price I had paid is too high.

My mission is to earn back the course fees before the course ends.
Write and be published.

DO or DIE.