Courtesy of Robert Kinnaird/The Hofstra Chronicle
When I came to this university, I knew that I wanted to write. It’s what I had always loved – always imagined myself doing. I felt comforted by the words that flowed out of me and angry when they refused. It was a beautiful balance between brilliance and insanity, a practice in art that I spend every day trying to perfect, no matter how futile the exercises seem to be.
In my senior year of high school, I made the decision to major in English. What other choice did I have? I didn’t have the brain for math or science – still don’t – but I did have a desire to build other universes through language. The creative nuance required for fiction writing evaded me, but I knew that within me was the ability to tell stories of reality – of real people and the real triumphs and struggles they must face each day. I still want to do this. The need to navigate this strange, overwhelming world of life through the elegance of the English language has never left me, and I don’t think it ever will. By the time I had joined the school newspaper, I had realized my love of journalism and decided to take the plunge that is a double major. The Chronicle has given me another outlet to share my love of language and communication with others – a gift I can only repay with my words. It only seems appropriate.
To the next editors of this incredible arts and entertainment section, I hope I’ve given you some sense of my passion for this position and the role of leadership it has provided me. Before I joined this organization, I’d been too quiet, too scared to demand visibility – now, I move on with a greater sense of confidence and power, more comfortable in my ability to command a room and communicate with the people waiting to hear my voice. Good luck to you.
To The Chronicle’s staff at large, thank you for accepting me into your fold, for allowing me to explore my interests and hone my craft through these black-and-white pages. Were it not for you, I would have never gained the greater understanding of the story of this campus and its students that I have now. You give power to the weak and visibility to the unseen. You are so important. I have no other words to describe you, no profound insights into your mission or drive. The only words that seem appropriate to describe you – this team – are simply “infinitely important.”
In order to survive in this world, we must find what we love. Whether it be professionally or personally, in our work or in one another, we must pursue our deepest desires. For me, I’ve learned that this love exists in my hands, behind my eyes and in my stomach. Words haunt my dreams – fragmented sentences of unwritten stories often keeping me from the bliss of sleep, demanding to be typed out quickly and with abandon.
In an 11th-grade American government and politics class, my teacher told me to never stop writing. When I think about her and this small message of encouragement, I feel empowered. My hands begin to ache for the sound of computer keys beneath my fingers, my brain eager to release its thoughts from the confines of my skull.
These are dramatic sentiments. I realize this. But without drama and excess, what is language but empty words and punctuation? Love is dramatic. Excessive. Overwhelming. But love is so necessary – the pinnacle of our existence as humans. We must chase it forever.
To the reader, I hope you find what you love, just as I have. As the old saying goes, “I hate writing, but I love having written.” Fall in love with the beautiful process. Stormy weather is behind me. All that is left is to write.
