Words, whether I am inhaling them as I read or pouring them out on a page or hearing them belted on the field, dominate my life. 

I became a journalist because I love language and because I love attempting to sway an audience and because I love hearing the stories of people itching to be heard.

I joined because I love words, words that give journalism meaning.

Because of journalism, I have spoken to a student who feels the country is pouring itself into an unobtainable future while failing to look everyday Americans in the eyes. His flustered words taught me the value of an inclusive message in a world retreating into an animalistic “us vs them” attitude.

Because of journalism, I have spoken to a woman who painfully but boldy tells her daughter to reach for the moon while knowing that her empty pockets bar her from financially aiding such boundless ambition. Her words are hopeful; they beckon a revolution. Her frail but demanding voice taught me there is no bubble in which struggle ceases to exist.  

Because of journalism, I have spoken to a nurse that tends to patients whose lives are being kept afloat by a gentle stream of meager donations. Her words call for empathy. Her words taught me the value of bettering the lives of others instead of bettering one’s pocket.

Because of journalism, I have also heard the words of determined athletes, boisterous actors and inaudible mumblers. 

Words. Words. Words. Their words have sculpted me. Their words have led me to discover that everyone has a story. Their words that have given journalism meaning to me.

Follow Nicolas (@nico_reyes19) and @CHSCampusNews on Twitter.