Queen’s was never where I imagined myself, but four years later, I can’t imagine having been anywhere else.
When I first arrived in Canada in 2019, I felt that I was granted a whole new world of possibilities. Coming from a war-torn country, the shift from focusing solely on survival to having the freedom to make meaningful choices felt both surreal and overwhelming. But even as the world around me expanded, one desire stood out clearly: I wanted to tell stories. and pursue journalism.
As I started exploring which universities to apply to in grade 12, I focused almost entirely on journalism programs. That’s why Queen’s initially sat at the bottom of my list—it didn’t offer a journalism program. Instead, I had my sights set on Carleton, due to its strong reputation in the field.
I hadn’t yet realized that chasing my dream would come at the cost of risking both the culture I was raised in and the one I was subjected to. Split in two, I had to learn to speak two cultural languages—one unspoken but deeply felt, the other spoken yet rarely understood. One night, I got an e-mail notification from Carlton, and with my heart pounding in my chest, I anxiously checked the email. There it was—a letter of acceptance to Carleton, the journalism program I had always dreamed of. I was in. I made it. For a moment, it felt like the world cracked open with possibilities. But that feeling was short lived.
After receiving my acceptance letter, I was met with rejection—not from the school, but from my parents. They refused to support my decision to pursue journalism and leave the city we had just immigrated to.
At the time, my parents’ logic didn’t make sense to me. Everyone around me was doing the same thing—moving to new cities, even new countries, to chase the degrees they dreamed of.
So I fought back with everything I had, trying to explain why this mattered to me so deeply. But they saw something I couldn’t yet understand I wasn’t just a student—I was an immigrant teenager in a world none of us fully knew. A world with unfamiliar rules, a language that wasn’t ours, and systems they had never learned to navigate.
What I saw as an opportunity, they saw as uncertainty. And what I was asking, felt to them like too much all at once. As the deadline got closer, the decision was made for me—I would accept my offer to Queen’s University.
It felt convenient, close to home, and above all, safe. But I never truly felt connected to it. Queen’s wasn’t the dream, just the compromise. As an off-campus student, orientation felt distant, and so did the campus itself. I threw myself into work instead, clocking over 40 hours a week—sometimes even more—starting that summer before my first semester. It felt like survival mode all over again, just in a different setting.
When I started my Philosophy program that fall, I didn’t feel any real passion—just the pressure to finish a degree. I was going through the motions, disconnected. But then I enrolled in PHIL 111 with Professor John Miller. In the first few weeks, we began exploring the idea of happiness. Something about those conversations grabbed hold of me.
For the first time in my education, I felt a spark. Still, it wasn’t enough. I was searching for something more, something that aligned with the dreams I had once clung to so tightly. So, I started looking for a campus newspaper to get involved with and that’s when I stumbled across a big red house on University Avenue. More specifically, 190 University Ave. also known as The Journal House.
Still unsure of how I could contribute, I hesitated to approach the Editors in Chief. I didn’t think I had anything meaningful to offer—or even if I’d qualify for a job. So, I held back. But then, just after scraping through my first year, I saw a hiring post for the position of Assistant News Editor position at The Journal and I applied, fully convinced I wouldn’t get the job, but willing to try anyway.
By some kind of magic, I made it through a few rounds of interviews. Then, one day, I got the call: I was hired. I don’t think anyone could have been happier than me in that moment. Looking back, I’m convinced that this was the turning point, the moment that changed my entire experience at Queen’s.
Being an Assistant News Editor in my second year and starting my major in philosophy, felt like discovering a passion I didn’t know I had. Suddenly, I was excited about my courses, about the stories I was assigned, and about the opportunities unfolding before me. For the first time in a long while, I felt truly alive and driven.
Looking back, I somewhat understand why my parents didn’t want me to go to Carleton—they were scared, and honestly, I don’t blame them. But no matter what, my passion and drive stayed the same. Even now, what keeps me going is this desire to tell people’s stories. If you look to your right, there’s someone with a story to tell. Look to your left, and there’s another.
So many stories don’t get heard, so many voices go unnoticed. And sure, not everyone leaves their hometown to chase their dreams, but they find ways to make those dreams come true.
Now, four years later, with four different roles on the masthead and an internship at the local paper under my belt, I’ve never been more sure of where I’m headed. I was wrong about where I would find my passion, but right about journalism and telling people’s stories—and I’m grateful for the chance I’ve been given to chase that dream.
To anyone whose unsure of where they belong or what their path looks like, keep pushing, keep searching. Your story is waiting to be told, and so is your place in this world.
Tags
First Year in Focus, Postscript, The Journal, University experience
All final editorial decisions are made by the Editor(s) in Chief and/or the Managing Editor. Authors should not be contacted, targeted, or harassed under any circumstances. If you have any grievances with this article, please direct your comments to journal_editors@ams.queensu.ca.