On rainy days at Southport Elementary, you could find a young Ayslin Bowman in the corner of the room, crafting stories with frilly fonts and random images on Google Docs.
That was how she spent her indoor recesses, and I wish I could tell her now why she yearned for storms instead of slides.
I never expected to be a journalist, dreaming of a plethora of unattainable careers, but now I know what I want to do.
I got my first taste of journalism when the man who would be my adviser, Mr. Klopfenstein, walked into my eighth grade English class and pitched journalism class. My interest was piqued, and just like that I was a shy freshman walking into Room 400.
And I don’t mean to sound cliché, but the paper truly brought me out of my shell. I remember during my very first Journal meeting at the end of freshman year, shaking in my seat, full of anxiety.
The next year, during our summer ad blitz, the staff played a bonding game. When I was chosen to leave the room as a part of the game, I realized my leg was asleep and stumbled in front of everyone.
I laughed alongside everyone else and limped away. That was one of my more embarrassing moments.
But this year, I stood up at the podium among the rest of Top 3 on the first day of, staring at the 30 people I was about to lead, and not totally feeling like I was about to throw up.
Now, I don’t wear bedazzled Justice sets or chunky necklaces, but the storyteller is still in me. Thank you to The Journal, every single part of it, for letting her know she isn’t just destined to recess novels and that she should be proud of that.
There’s the bell! It’s no longer recess, and playtime is over.