Finding a home in headlines and deadlines
Four years have come and gone and the daunting reality of adulthood weighs heavy on my shoulders. Perhaps that’s the reason for my horrendous posture. I digress.
Seton Hall was never a real plan for me, it wasn’t even a backup plan. Four and a half years ago I stumbled upon a table draped with a blue cloth at a college fair at home in California. The recruiter told me there were four publications that I could write for, which turned out to be a farce – there are three papers on campus, and let’s not kid ourselves, only one that holds professional journalism standards.
The possibility of being involved in so many newspapers was attractive, of course, but I thought to myself “New Jersey? The armpit of New York? I’ll pass.” Despite my prejudice, I applied, I was accepted and lo and behold here we are four years later.
After my acceptance, the west coast recruiter reached out to me. My mother drove us two hours to meet this woman who first thanked us for making our way to this suburban Starbucks and then said that her father had just passed a couple days earlier. This teary-eyed woman gave us the spiel we’ve all heard – proximity to the city, internships galore, gorgeous campus – and that night I decided that I was going to become a pirate.
Did I feel bad for her? Was this going to set the tone of my SHU experience? As I sit in my room on this foggy night in “sunny South Orange” as described by Cheryl Janus in every housing email before the beginning of a school year, I can only gather that my SHU experience has been disappointing.
From the very beginning where I received rejection letter upon rejection letter and settled for Seton Hall, to my best friend who came here with me from high school transferring to Boston University, to the very end where I’ll be sitting in Prudential Center with my peers but no keynote speaker.
As an ethnic, queer, non-Christian woman (a group of people a friend of mine once pointed out is the least represented minority), I’ve found it difficult to be myself at school. Whether it be someone asking where I’m “really” from or having plastic fetuses shoved in my face, Seton Hall has been anything but a walk in the park. But, and this is a rather large but, The Setonian has provided a space in which I’ve made a home.
As my longest relationship in my time here, this paper has not only led me to work with some of the smartest, most passionate and hardworking people on campus, but it has also presented me with opportunities to do award-winning work, voice my experiences dealing with depression and social anxiety, and ultimately doing what I love and want to continue doing for the rest of my life.
The Setonian is and will be the shining pinnacle nestled away in my Seton Hall memories. While I may not always be proud to be a pirate, I am damn proud to have served this paper for four years.
Tiffany Do is a senior journalism major from San Francisco, Calif. She can be reached at firstname.lastname@example.org.