In the Pak household, joining The Accolade wasn’t a question — it was a tradition.
Before I even knew what a cutline or a nut graf was, I had heard my older sister Camryn talk about deadline stress, writing stories and winning awards. I watched her, a News editor in the 2018-2019 school year, return home past 10 p.m. from production nights with bags under her eyes.
This sparked a strange mix of both curiosity and hesitation in me.
Journalism seemed overwhelming. Why does she put up with this if it’s so exhausting? I didn’t fully understand it yet, but I knew it mattered to her, and observing her dedication made me want to discover what made it all worth it.
Camryn cleared the path for us. My older brothers followed in her footsteps, enrolling in the Journalism 1 class and working their way up the Accolade staff. Tyler, my oldest brother, became the editor-in-chief of the 2020-2021 school year, and Justin, the second oldest, is now the web managing editor. One by one, each of my siblings left their mark on the program.
Even with this established path paved in front of me, I was scared to walk through it. Their achievements felt like footprints that were too big to fill, and I questioned whether I truly wanted to follow or was just expected to. The legacy was clear, but where I fit into it wasn’t. I began to feel the pressure of their success.
The pressure didn’t derive from my parents. My whole life, I’ve watched my siblings win awards, coming home with beaming smiles plastered on their faces; be praised for their success from family members at reunions and even build valuable friendships and connections that lasted beyond high school. I witnessed how journalism shaped them into intelligent, hardworking individuals. So when I reached high school, I took my first step on the path.
On my first day in Journalism 1 during my freshman year, a part of me was apprehensive, but another part of me was excited. I shifted in my seat nervously, wondering if I would measure up to my siblings. What if I’m a poor writer? What if I let our adviser, Mr. Li, down? But as the months passed, and I walked further down the path, I began to understand why my siblings committed to journalism. It wasn’t instant, and it definitely wasn’t easy, but I slowly got the hang of it.
However, coming from a family and classroom known for its award-winning culture, I soon realized I didn’t know whether I was striving for excellence for myself or just robotically continuing the legacy expected of me. And when I faced challenges in my journey as a staff reporter — when I spent six exhausting months writing one story or stared at an empty Google Doc at 1 a.m., suffering from a writer’s block — I began to doubt if I truly belonged here, and if I even liked journalism or was good at it.
Oftentimes, I considered not returning to The Accolade for my junior year. I hoped to try new extracurriculars like video production and to find something I knew for sure I was passionate about. My mom frowned at this news. My siblings encouraged me to utilize high school as a time to explore different pathways. But something stopped me. Something made me want to stay.
It wasn’t guilt, obligation or embarrassment. It was the realization that somewhere along the way, journalism had become my passion, too.
I thought of the gratification I feel when I see my stories published on our website or in magazines. I remembered the happiness of watching my feature stories win Best of SNO awards and the hours I poured into those pieces so they could be the best they could be, making countless calls and asking what felt like thousands of follow-up questions. I looked back on all the different, unique people I got to meet through my work as a journalist, from my peers at Sunny Hills to reporters and editors from all around the country who taught me during journalism camp.
Yes, I grew up surrounded by an award-winning culture, both at home and in Room 138. The path may have been paved by my siblings, but the decision to stay on it was mine. And now, I want to be a part of shaping The Accolade for the next generation of staffers — not just as another Pak, but as Elise.
