Antonia’s “Fake” News … A Column


Antonia Le, Editor-in-Chief

   I think the problem with me using my column as my own personal diary/therapist’s couch is now that I’m doing okay, I have nothing to write about. It sounds really stupid, but I almost wish I was going through some sort of personal turmoil so that I wouldn’t be facing writer’s block every time I open up Google Docs.

   I’m okay, I’m kinda happy, and I’m hating it. I guess I’m too used to channeling all my rage and heartache into sarcasm, similes, and syntax to know how to do anything else when it comes to writing.

   And you know what? That scares me. I’ve always dreamed of being a writer. I want to write books. I want to create the next Six of Crows or To All the Boys I’ve Loved Before. I also want to write for TV. I want to create the next great comedy, like Brooklyn Nine-Nine or Parks and Recreation. Or maybe I’ll develop a gritty cop drama or murder mystery. I have so many things I want to write. Sometimes it feels like every cell in my body is screaming at me to become a writer. Who would I be if I didn’t listen?

   The thing is, though, every time something bad happens and it feels like all of the hope has been sucked right out of me, I write, and I tell myself that it will get better and I will be happy when I’m finally a real writer.

   That ends up creating one hell of a paradox. I want to be happy, and I can’t be happy unless I’m writing. Yet, I can’t write unless I’m sad, and being sad is just… not fun.

   What am I supposed to do? Should I seek out pain, self-destruct in the hopes that it’ll make a good story? Should I give up on my dream and resign myself to a life in limbo, with neither true happiness nor sadness? Should I continue trying to pursue my dream, even when there’s a voice in the back of my head that’s telling me that I suck and my dream will never come true?

   There’s no right choice here. There are just paths to take, and all paths require a big leap of faith.

   Luckily, I’ve been doing a lot of leaping lately.

   When I think about it, everything I’ve ever published in the newspaper is a mini leap of faith.There’s no guarantee that people will like, understand, or just plain read my writing. I write with the faith that it will make an impact.

   To me, all of these mini leaps of faith feel like practicing for the main event. The mini leaps make me a tiny bit more confident about the big leap, but I’m still 95 percent scared against 5 percent okay. There’s a big difference between writing two articles a month and being a real writer. I can’t properly predict whether I’ll land gracefully or splatter.

   They say that a cat always lands on her feet and, according to the Vietnamese zodiac, I was born in the year of the cat. I’ve never been particularly superstitious, but I’m jumping, so here goes nothing.