Internship Mania

Lately, It seems all I have been doing is writing cover letters, picking samples, and trying to get summer internships with large newspaper corporations. I've already done an unpaid journalism internship where I was a photographer for an alternative weekly magazine, but now I would like a paid internship for a bigger corporation such as the Boston Globe or the LA Times. Those would be ideal and almost dream-like jobs, but hey, it's a possibility and no one will keep me down. Writing for the WKU Herald keeps fresh samples under my belt and fresh experience. I also received a letter of recommendation from my old Editor at the LEO which I hope will help me. Internships, here I come!!

My Article From the College Heights Herald (Memorial)

Friends remember Western student at memorial service
By Spencer Jenkins | 14 October 2009

When friends of Farhat Hamidullah think of her, many of them remember her constant smiles.

Tonight, students, friends, faculty and staff honored the life of Hamidullah, a junior from Franklin, Tenn., who was killed in a car crash last week.

Members of the Western community met at the Guthrie Bell Tower for Hamidullah’s memorial service.
They wore buttons with Hamidullah’s face on them and green and burgundy memorial ribbons, her favorite colors, said Nur Azlisya Ismail, a junior from Kuala Lumpur, Malaysia.

Hamidullah was originally from Afghanistan. There was a wreath with Afghanistan’s flag, white roses and a Western homecoming queen banner at the memorial.

“She always wanted to be international homecoming queen,” said Jasmine Bowie, a junior from Germany.

Hamidullah died on the scene of the crash in Greene County on Interstate 81.

Victoria Ciorba, a sophomore from Moldova, was driving the car and suffered minor injuries.

Tarek Elshayeb, director of International Student and Scholar Services, talked about Hamidullah’s character in an e-mail.

“She was the model of an active, engaged and successful student for all WKU students,” he said in the e-mail. “Farhat will greatly be missed, always remembered and may she rest in peace.”

Hamidullah was born in Afghanistan, raised in Turkmenistan and immigrated to the United States, Elshayeb said. She spoke several languages, including English, Russian, Turkish and Uzbek.

Hamidullah was also a Spirit Master, president of the International Club and involved in Habitat for Humanity and other projects and organizations, according to a Western press release.

Owensboro junior Jessica Paulsen, a fellow Spirit Master, said Hamidullah’s background story of escaping a civil war in Afghanistan shows how strong she was.

“She had a spirit about her that was captivating,” Paulsen said.

Today, Afghanistan’s flag flew at half-mast in Hamidullah’s honor at the ISSS building.

Inside the building, there is a memory book where people can write their thoughts about Hamidullah.

“Mostly everyone would agree about her laughter, smile, cheerfulness and her smirks,” Ismail said. “I got to know her, and she welcomed me into her home.”

English Instructor Marie Guthrie remembers Hamidullah as a smart and outgoing woman.

“She always made international students feel at home when they were so far away,” Guthrie said.

Hamidullah’s name is Arabic and means happiness, Elshayeb said.

She would want nothing more than for her friends to be happy, he said.

The International Club is collecting donations to send to Hamidullah’s family to help with the cost of the funeral, Elshayeb said in an e-mail.

WKU Student's Memorial Service

This is the wreath standing at Farhat Hamidullah's memorial I covered today for the College Heights Herald. I'll have the full story or a link to the full story up later tonight. It's times like these when you reevaluate your life and realize, "Hey, I'm alive, things aren't so bad."

My thoughts and prayers are with her family and friends.

Drunk Driving Aftermath

On February 3, 2008, 19-year-old Tyler Seaver experienced a horrible car accident leaving him scarred and with one less arm. He had been drinking a far amount of whiskey and made the horrible choice to get behind the wheel of his Lincoln Town Car. While he was driving home he lost control of the wheel and ran through forty feet of fence. A 3x5 fence post went through the left side of his chest and went straight through him, barely missing his heart. Seaver was not thought to have made it through the night due to his serious injuries. He was airlifted from the scene to University Hospital in Louisville, Kentucky. This is where he spent over thirteen hours in surgery and many weeks in ICU recovering. He eventually recovered enough to be move to a regular room, then to a rehab facility and eventually home.

Prose of Mine

When I'm not writing journalistically, I tend to write prose passages that have to do with my life in some way or another. They may not seem like it, but everything I do write, relates to my own life. I once based a prose passage after an Edward Hopper painting entitled Nighthawks. Here it is.

Their happiness makes me cringe. It’s not that I don’t want them to be happy; it’s more complex than that. I envy them. I envy every kiss he steals from her, every cigarette he lights for her, I envy the love he feels for her.

“Oh darling, can’t you be a little bit more discrete,” she says pushing him away from her.

“I could try love, but I just can’t contain myself,” he chuckles back at her.

They laugh about their overly dramatic conversation as I vomit in my mouth. Envy, I repeat. Pure envy. He sits close to her in a Siamese twin-like fashion making promises without speaking. The smile on his face is genuine, not painted on like mine. He holds her soft delicate hand in his, His eyes say he loves her forever, his hands say never let go, and his lips pressed against her vibrant red lips promise fidelity.

I sit across from them in my dark little corner of the diner counter staring. They don’t feel my eyes for their eyes are the only ones that matter. But did I matter to anyone? What does my life even entail? I work a repetitive nine to five job screwing light bulbs into refrigerators at the factory. After leaving my “oh so wonderful career”, I sit here in the same chair at the same diner every single night of my miserable adult life. After chain-smoking twenty-one cigarettes and three and a half cups of coffee (which is honestly water dressed in brown), I slowly wander back to the same shit hole of an apartment that I like to call “home.”

No warm soul sits and awaits my arrival. No one to kiss hello. No one’s cigarette to light. The only thing that lives in my apartment besides the colonizing roaches is a cheap print of Jackson Pollock’s Convergence. Its vibrant expression of colors and life illuminates the ceiling where it is posted above my bed. The bed whose ONE indent I fall into each night.

Why can’t I be Jackson Pollock? Why can’t my face be all over time magazine? The fame, fortune, and respect would sure bring a lover into my life. All he does is throw paint aimlessly onto a blank canvas. Its crap, but I contradict myself.

Envy. I envy the nasty love birds flaunting all their happiness in front of my face. Sometimes I believe I enjoy this envy. Enjoy the sadness. The loneliness gives me something to complain about. Keeps me occupied. So for now, I’ll puff away on my Lucky Strikes, staring at the lovers, envying their lives, but ironically enjoying my sadness behind the rising smoke.

The Day Before We Remember

A WKU student, Farhart Hamidullah past away in a car accident last Wednesday. 

They say the death of one person affects roughly four people. Then those four people affect more. I did not even know this girl, but as a reporter for the College Heights Herald, I am covering her memorial service tomorrow. As a reporter, I enjoy covering almost everything assigned to me because it is what I love to do. But sometimes I have to bite the bullet and report on not such light or entertaining topics. Covering the memorial of a young life lost is in all honestly not something I am looking forward to, but I know that Farhart deserves to have her memorial published so that she will not be forgotten. 

Versatile

Not only do I write/shoot journalistic, I also have an extreme fine arts side to my life. Writing prose passages as well as shooting beautiful scenes and beautiful people is actually what led me into journalism. But I can't lie, like any artist, my ultimate dream would be being an Andy Warhol type artist/socialite with multiple "superstars." I believe every great artist and writer has a muse; I most certainly have one. Shaye has inspired me in multiple different ways in my writing and photography. She IS my muse.

Kentucky Love

When I cover stories with photography, I like to get in close with my subjects so I get the whole story. When I shot at Churchill Downs over a period of time, I met with plenty of people such as horse enthusiast, gamblers, and drinkers. All of which make up the atmosphere of Churchill Downs.