One cold November afternoon in the year 2000, I sat across from a school counselor with a smile playing at the corners of her lips. She said, “I took the liberty of buying you a little present,” and slid over a brand new pen and a black spiral-bound journal across the table. I was terrified of everyone and everything.

When I walked into a room, I could feel the floor beneath me tilt sideways. There were always just too many people in one room, and I studiously kept my eyes averted from their faces. My heart drummed against my chest violently—hands sticky with a film of sweat.

As soon as I walked back into class with my new notebook in hand, I felt empowered. It was like carrying around a shield, a megaphone. I had finally found my voice. Admittedly, my terror of expressing myself verbally has never subsided.

I still feel qualms about public speaking; nevertheless, I know I have the ability to put in written words what is usually so difficult for me to express verbally. Understanding this has allowed me to fortify my talents and grow as an individual and professionally at Eastern Illinois University.

Look at me now, writing for the newspaper. Four years ago, I would have never seen myself forming such intimate relationships with writers and editors.

When I first walked into this job, I had no idea what I was in for. The newsroom welcomed me warmly with nothing but shouts and smiles. They’re all rather lively people. It’s like someone hand picked each of us—some of the most colorful, outrageous and zany group of kids—and said, “Alright, get in there and write a paper!”

They brought me in as though they’d always known me. At first, I felt a tad out of place; they laughed and poked fun at each other. I wondered if I would ever grow comfortable enough to act like I was a part of the team.

Little did I know I didn’t have to act; I was a part of the team as soon as I set foot into that newsroom. Acting was not an issue. The hardest task at hand was to be myself and show this vivacious group of friends what I’d been preparing for all of these years.

When I thought about it carefully, I realized that no one was going to eat me whole for using my voice. I was no longer that shy, frightened second grader, and I had no one to hide behind and nothing to use as an excuse. I’ve got The  Daily Eastern News to thank for that—every single person in it whose ridden and still riding that hellish train—staff, cartoonists, writers and editors.

Marge Clemente is a senior English major and can be reached at 581-2812 or at [email protected].