During my first Rappler coverage as an Aries Rufo fellow, somebody questioned why a “kid” like me was there. I wasn’t expecting myself to be in that room either.
All the way from the South, I found myself seated beside seasoned professionals from the North who casually knew each other, perhaps wondering how a 4’11” girl like me ended up there.
As a Bicolana studying in Baguio, I took the challenge of covering the local community during the Aries Rufo Journalism Fellowship. It was a long and challenging journey, mostly filled with fear.
From the very beginning, I was scared and hesitant to ask my professor for a recommendation letter and even more so when I unexpectedly reached the final stage of the application, struggling to answer what stories I wanted to write about Baguio when I barely knew the city.
I was still scared even after becoming a fellow. I tried to engage with Baguio’s communities despite not fully understanding their language. I lost count how many times my mind went blank when speakers delivered entire speeches in Ilocano or how often I wandered for an hour with Google Maps, unsure which jeepney to take to an event I needed to cover.
Midway through the fellowship, I struggled to fully contextualize my stories, misspelled terms, and misidentified people. There was so much embarrassment, so these struggles motivated me to know and do better.
Embracing fears
I realized that to write meaningfully, I must immerse myself in the lives of those I write about first.
As a Bicolano writing for Baguio, I needed to understand the community and what shapes their lives. This means learning the subtle uses of terms like “ngay“, just as we use “baga” in Bicol. It means understanding the local pulse, even down to the latest city issues, and experiencing the food and culture that resembles home to the locals.
It was only then when I began to truly experience Baguio and write about its community. I attended cultural events, learned Cordillera’s history, engaged with market vendors to know their struggles, and listened to stories of Baguio artists. I also went to conferences to learn about the issues faced by residents, struggles that felt heavier because I was beginning to feel them too.
I’ve also been fortunate to share meals with local journalists twice at Luisa’s Cafe on Session Road after covering events like the Remembrance of the Ampatuan Massacre. It made me feel like I belonged because Luisa’s is a favorite spot among journalists and locals. Through those small interactions, I found the connection I was looking for. The fears I had that made me scared, literally and figuratively, started to slowly evaporate.
Writing about home
Even though I’ve stepped outside my comfort zone, writing about Bicol will always bring me back home.
During Severe Tropical Storm Kristine, I felt helpless, wondering about my loved ones in Naga City. All I could do was to write about them.
Fortunately, another Bicolano fellow collaborated with me to report about the calls of the Nagueños. There was so much satisfaction. What made this collaboration even more meaningful was our inside joke: our high school publications used to be rivals, but here we were, writing for the same goal. We also wrote about the struggles of people in Bula, a place that was part of my childhood and home to some of my loved ones.
Indeed, distance is never an issue when you want to serve the people. Despite initially feeling mentally distant from Baguio, I wrote about it anyway. And despite being physically far from Bicol, I also wrote anyway.
I even covered national stories like the rise of fake Facebook gambling ads and fake political news.
I felt big enough to create noise. My stories started gaining traction. My professor casually mentioned an article about privacy concerns among Baguio residents that he’d seen on social media, unaware that the writer was me.
Of course, there were stirring reactions, some negative and bordering on personal attacks, triggering the “keyboard warrior” in me. But I know for myself that I am more than their comments.
Looking back, this fellowship made me believe in myself. That there is more to learn and grow despite the fear and discomfort.
Special thanks to my professor for her faith in me, the people who shared their stories, my loved ones and fellow fellows who became my pillar of support, my patient mentor, Rappler’s managing editor Miriam Grace Go, and the entire Rappler team.
It was a rough road, but as Rappler’s head of training and investigation Chay Hofileña advised us, “Just start writing, even if it feels nonsensical.” I picked up the pen and went with the flow. Lost and scared, I wrote anyway. – Rappler.com
Lyndee Buenagua is a third year college student and campus journalist from the University of the Philippines Baguio. The former editor-in-chief of Highland 360, a Baguio-based publication, she is also a graduate of the Aries Rufo Journalism fellowship of Rappler for 2024.