By Angelina Tang
I built myself a place in this world with my pen and used notebooks. I always thought that I have never been granted a thing off of dumb luck or circumstance or kindness–I created my gifts, wrote my way to success. I wrote day in and day out to get the views on those online forums, to get the middle school author’s guild awards, to get the literary magazine publications, to get all those pages of feedback on my first novel draft, to win that fellowship and self-publish my novel. When I had nothing else to be proud of, to pin my name to with pure joy, I still had writing. I wrote myself into being confident, into believing I had a place in the world and into believing that I was worth something more than my blood and bones.
But this? This club, this paper, this dream? This is a gift. This is the gift East gave to me, the gift that opened my eyes to journalism. This is the thing I could not have created, only granted, by Mr. Huber and Mrs. Lanzone in COVID freshman year when everyone was on Zoom. Every meeting, they’d go around and talk to every single person in attendance, ask how they’re doing, how their day’s been. Everybody was seen. I felt seen. It made me feel like I was part of a community, going back into school in sophomore year. Like I wasn’t alone.
Newspaper has always been a home for me. You were not expected to always talk–just to think, and write, and be there. And even if you couldn’t be there, you were still seen, writing articles and signing up to bring food to Coffeehouse. I was not used to being perceived. How wonderful it is to be acknowledged, to exist in a space where you are allowed to take up space and where if you disappeared, people would notice.
Speaking of Coffeehouse–I will always miss the thrill of running around in heels fetching more paper and tape at 6:30 P.M. before everyone shows up, of calling people up to the makeshift stage with black cloth curtains and of tripping on wires webbing across the Commons, of scrubbing burnt batter off the waffle maker I forgot to grease. I will miss the busy times and the low times, the mistakes and the successes, the loudness of the crowd and the brightness of that spotlight that everyone always accidentally walks in front of. I will miss the stage crew and cleaning up at 10 P.M. with Mr. Huber and Emma after everyone’s gone. I know that I will find some similar event in college, in my town, in another coffee shop or bar or student common room, but I will not forget East’s Coffeehouse. I will not forget this joy.
And I will not forget learning that I, too, can make a change. That journalism is powerful, that language is power and power is the ability to make the world better. In November of 2024, I wrote a commentary about why Jekyll & Hyde was a poor high school musical choice, citing its role as the origin of media stigmatizing DID and mental disorders. And I was pleasantly surprised when, upon reading my article and rereading the script, Mrs. LoVullo changed it to Mamma Mia!. It was a liberating experience–that was the day I learned that my voice could create real ripples and create tangible change in the world. That was the day I began to believe in my journalism, in my work. Of course, I was disappointed that I was not permitted to publish the article on account of its criticism of an East institution–the school musical–and a desire to direct negative attention away from the changed musical, instead aiming positive attention towards the new one to hype it up. I didn’t want glory, no, I wanted to educate people on why the musical was changed. I wanted to show people why stigmatizing psychotic disorders like DID was harmful, and how we can fight against this stigma by refusing to perpetuate works of art that portray DID in a negative light, like Jekyll & Hyde, even if it wasn’t the original author’s intention and rather a modern interpretation gone wrong. Even if it wasn’t published, I hope my summary of why it was changed makes sense and provokes thought in you, dear reader, and I am still honored that I got to make a change. Thank you, also, to Mrs. LoVullo for doing the right thing and going through all the trouble to change it. You are the type of person we need in our world–someone who is willing to fight for justice, no matter the cost.
But my time here is over, now. I must lay the East Side News down to the next age of journalists, of writers. I want you all to know that I see you, and I see your pain, your struggles, you fight for a better world. I want you to keep writing, to make change, to be controversial and criticize institutions and authority figures. I want you to show the world just what journalism means.
Thank you so much, East, for all that you have shown me. I hope I made somebody’s day better while I was here, that I left a mark on this school.
