My hands shook with fervor— the pressure settling into my stomach like an iceberg. Only five minutes left. Silence echoed in the entirety of the speech laboratory, my fellow writers too focused on their articles too look up from their papers.
I glanced at my watch, the last five minutes coming to its end. He enters the room, his presence sending chills down to the very tips of my fingers as I put down my pen. One by one, we stood up from our chairs, articles in hand, and nervously walked up to him to pass our outputs. My heart pounced with anxiety, but I managed to hold out my paper. I immediately turned my back , walked back to my seat, and biting my nails as I waited for what he had to say.
It's always been this way for me when press conferences come around: a hot mess of nervousness and panic. It's always the way our adviser calls my name after he reads my article , chin propped on his hand, that makes the hair on my arms stand on ends— but Junell Lupo has neither disappointed nor downed the fragile spirits in me and in others.
Mr. Junell Lupo— a teacher in his late twenties with black-rimmed glasses and black bag always slung across his chest— is a grade ten adviser whose major is in teaching English.
He has been the adviser of The Warbler— our school's student publication— for over five years now. In those years, he has managed to balance his classes and honing aspiring campus journalists.
Journalism started out rough for me, especially after deciding to take a break from it in 2016, but he wasn't one to give up on someone whom he thought to have a potential.
And so he trained me.
In 2017, trainings would go like this: as the clock chimes at 8:00 a.m., I would excuse myself from class to go to his room where other press con participants form our school would be meeting. I'd walk briskly past students and classroom, eyes looking down, pondering how I'd make it through the day.
"Sha...," he would always say as he calls me to critique my write-up. I would go to him, hands behind my back, biting my lip as I hide the dread creeping up on me. However, the fear would transform to gratefulness as he points out my shortcomings without ever hinting that he doubts my abilities. Rather, he would look at me and say, "I know you can do it."
I didn't believe it, not even as my name was called during the awarding ceremony of the Regional Schools Press Conference 2017. We sat on the bleachers, eyeing thousands of participants in the jam-packed hall, wondering who of these unfamiliar faces will win the coveted spots. Sir Lupo sat patiently with us, his calm demeanor was almost shocking, if only I wasn't acting calm as well. The next thing I knew, I was called up on stage and Sir Lupo's eyes filled with pride and joy.
The amount of boosting he gives us never dwindles, even as we forget ourselves sometimes. In the past few days, he'd spent days editing articles with us , emptying his wallet to provide us with necessities, and sleeping on plastic chairs for three hours.
In the coming days, as the contests near, my hand would still shake with fervor as I would write from my heart. The ink on my paper and the words written on white spaces will be the ones that decide my fate in the looming future.
Either way, there is no denying that whatever skills I've got and whatever confidence I have is because of Junell Lupo— a paragon of faith in journalism.