Can I just sleep for eternity?

Today I awoke with no desire to rise from my bed. I wanted to flip my pillow over so the cool side pressed against my face and to sleep for eternity to the humming sound of my window fan.

But alas I had to rise, even though there was nothing on the agenda today aside from applying for jobs.


For the past few days I’ve been working at a frozen custard place. It’s part-time and a lot of fun, but on the days I don’t work I must face my laptop screen and the job opening for which I am not qualified.

I finally did rise from my bed and was munching on gluten-free cereal when I remembered a textbook I needed to mail to a recent buyer. If I could sell my four years worth of textbooks I’d probably make more than what I get selling ice cream. But unfortunately, no textbook website wants to buy a pile of writer’s handbooks.

Climbing into my hot car I realized I’d have to face yet another small battle: wrestling my stick shift as usual. Yet, today it was only for a short time. It’s learned to behave.

I stopped at the bank on the way to Starbucks and felt like an undercover adult. Depositing my own checks. Do I look old enough to do this?

The police officer eyed me from the moment I entered to the moment I rushed out.

“I know I’m black but I’m not going to pull a gun on you!” I wanted to say.

Minutes later I sat at a Starbucks table, my computer pulling juice from the wall, and my parched lips sucking in the sweet slush of a Carmel Frap.

Don’t worry I’m not wasting my hard earned money on Starbucks. But then again my gift card is almost out. What am I going to do? Soon I’ll have to sneak in, order an ice water and hide in the corner without paying for anything.


I go to Starbucks not always for the coffee. Sometimes I just need to get out of the house and find a productive, clean, good-smelling environment to fill out more job applications.

I’d say my Starbucks trip was a success. Three emails popped into my inbox affirming my application acceptances and a forth notifying me of a recent job posting for a Reporter, a job posting I was again not qualified to apply for. So I did anyways.

It’s disheartening to think of where I am and where I want to be. Where I want to be seems years and years away.

Currently–I’m an unemployed, recent college graduate with minimal work experience, a car that runs like it may die any minute, living with my parents, and waiting to pay off my college dept. #losing

Where I want to be–Reporting the news through radio, film, photography and written word. Traveling the coast of East Africa, learning to speak Swahili and French, giving a voice to the voiceless, and holding the powerful accountable for what they’re doing.


But before I can even report news from my hometown I must wake up everyday and choose to get out of bed, even if I don’t know what that day will bring.

Because eventually, maybe that day could place me where I want to be.





My Life as a College Graduate

This week has been eventful to say the least. The job hunt continues despite almost being scammed by a fake company.

They found my resume on Indeed and sent me a job acceptance to a company I didn’t even apply for. After two sketchy emails, one promising a salary of $33 an hour, I decided to Google the contents of the company. I discovered that a host of complaints stand against the promises of this sham company.

I kind of took a hint when they asked for my bank information. But seriously the first email looked and sounded so professional that I almost believed it to be true. But a pay check like that for a girl with my degree is too good to be true.

It was very disheartening. Here I am, fresh out of college, a vulnerable journalist wanna-be and I get scammed. It makes me not want to apply anywhere ever again.

The shifting gear in my car has a mind of its own. It chooses if and when it wants to move and takes pleasure in watching my frail hands try to move it. According to my brother, the gear locks and you just have to mess with it until it moves. For him it takes a whole of five seconds, for me it seems like five hours as my hands are always red and tense by the time that little black stick slides into drive. A cloud of smoke soared from the tale pipe as a sped of to my Starbucks interview last week. The rickety engine that sounds like The Little Engine that could at age 100, jostled noisily as a set off to my destination.

What was the interview like? Well, let’s just say Starbucks knows how to sell itself.

I’m supposed to hear from them today and I really hope I get the job. The benefits they offer beat anything I’ve applied for. Plus, who doesn’t love Starbucks? At least I know they’re trustworthy. And don’t worry, I’ll keep applying for jobs despite the fake companies out there to steal my money. I just need to keep a sharp eye.



#hireme 🙂

When The Boy You Babysit Poops His Pants

dg-junior-boys-lion-head-bcak-print-jacket-for-summer-2011Hours of job applications consume my life lately, but yesterday involved a 7 a.m. car ride to take care of a feverish five-year-old neighbor.

My spirits have been rather low ever since I returned from a two week journalism program in Asheville, NC. Oh, and finished my college degree.

My suitcases hit the ground of my parent’s kitchen floor and I knew in that moment that this summer would be a long hassle of getting a job and finding my own place. Being gone, means more leg room for the rest of my family.


I took a break from filling out applications on Tuesday evening and ventured to the park in my car. It’s a Ford Focus my sister left for me when she moved to Taiwan last month. My phone slipped out of my hand and the screen smashed on the hot concrete of the parking lot outside the park and I almost laughed at the irony. College loans to pay, a job to get, and my phone breaks.


The fix will cost me $70. Not my ideal first purchase post-graduation. But the phone screen sort of represents my life at the moment—the cracks in the glass leading nowhere, the shattered reflection looking up at me through the black abyss.

The following morning I woke with my mom standing over my bed staring down at me with a phone pressed to her ear.

It’s 7:00. Why am I awake?

The little boy down the street had a fever and needed a sitter.

Steam from my coffee mug trailed behind me as I ran to my car, my hair still damp from the shower. I vowed last summer that I would never babysit again after college and here I was on my way to my first paycheck post-graduation, and what was I doing? Babysitting.


At the boy’s home, I sifted through the pages of a war novel, then browsed a book written by a journalist who interviewed Harper Lee in ’93. A stiff pan of orange jello sat in the fridge and I wondered if the little boy would ever eat what I’d prepared for him.

The five-year-old lay motionless on the couch, rosy-cheeked and glossy-eyed as Kung Fu Panda played on the TV across from him. Lost in my book, I hardly noticed him run by me to the toilet. A minute later he emerged, sobbing that he’d pooped his pants. His bottom was soggy when I tried to pick him up, so I carried him like a newborn up to his room to change him.

We flew in my car, the engine rumbling so loud like a space ship soaring across the universe to his doctor’s visit.

“You look a little young to be his mother,” the doctor joked.

I never know if that’s an insult or a compliment.


His mother spoke to the doctor over speakerphone through the chards of broken glass on my iPhone. When the boy wouldn’t open his mouth, the doctor asked me to hold down the boy’s squirming arms as he peered into his howling throat.

As a result the boy’s fever had gone down and his throat was cleared up. The boy’s arms flapped by his sides as we zipped out of the office. 

His mother met us in the parking lot and I had to follow her home because I’d left my coffee mug in the kitchen. I sipped the lukewarm coffee as I drove home with a $70 check in my wallet, just enough to cover my broken screen.

I suppose post graduation, things might just turn out okay.