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BY HERBERT VEGO
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A senior journalist looks back and forward
THE last time I video-called my son Norbert – a nurse in New York City – it was to greet him a happy birthday. I could hardly believe he had turned 44. Oh, it seemed only yesterday when the 23-year-old “me” rushed my wife to a Quezon City hospital to give birth to him.
He has blazed an enviable trail in his nursing career: five years working at the Family Clinic in Quezon City, five years in a hospital in Abu Dhabi, another five years in Canada, and now in his sixth year in the United States.
I momentarily worried that, having found greener pasture in a prosperous foreign country, he would not want to come home anymore. On second thought, however, I rejoiced because he had accomplished much more in monetary terms than I had. Whereas, at age 67, I still eke a living as freelance journalist and editor.
If I were to live my life over, I would no doubt go for a more financially rewarding career. But why should I regret? Writing is my talent. On the positive side, it’s the career – thank God – that has funded the education of my son from elementary to secondary and nursing schools.
It all began in my third year at the Antique National School when I passed the examination for staff members of our high school paper, The Madia-as, bagging the position of news editor. From then on, I aspired to be a journalist.
My father opposed my plan: “Oh, no, writing will not make you rich. I have a better idea. Why don’t you become a veterinarian? There is great demand for animal doctors in government.”
To appease him, I enrolled in Veterinary Medicine at UP-Iloilo. I was supposed to proceed to UP-Diliman for my second year but since enrolment had closed when we got there, my parents hesitantly agreed to let me shift to Journalism at Manuel L. Quezon University in Quiapo, Manila. Wow, I thought, a clutch of circumstance was paving a way for my destiny – defined as “the predetermined, usually inevitable or irresistible, course of events.”
It has been 46 years since I finished my college graduation. In my first 10 years in this profession, I handled various jobs as publicist for movie and music companies, editor of an entertainment tabloid, stage show producer and freelance journalist in Manila. I came to Iloilo City in 1981 to edit Panay News in its infancy.
“Regrets,” to quote a song, “I’ve had a few.” No use dwelling in them. Who knows? Writing a newspaper column that keeps my memory awake might have served the purpose of driving Mr. Alzheimer away.
Admittedly, however, writing for a living is no easy task in this country. It’s the rare writer who can splurge off his or her earnings. For those of us who simply love the job, survival is enough.
You must be familiar with the saying that those who can write, do; those who can’t, teach. Methinks that’s unfair for teachers who can write. Had I earned an MA or PhD degree, I would have taught Journalism in school, too.
Of course, there are many others like us who have the ability to create new realities out of thin air — painters, singers and actors, among others who thrive on the need to express themselves even in thankless jobs. More often than not, ours is a lifetime commitment.
What about you? Do you make a living doing what you love? Why is it so important?
Well, it’s because self-expression is the stuff that human civilization is made of. (hvego31@gmail.com/PN)
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