#annchoi

is what I say when describing what I do and what I receive is at best a nod of fascination but in fact a confused stare. 

I go on and say I deal with numbers, statistics and I cover any topic that deals large set of data such as education, crime, government, really anything at this day and age; more blank stares promptly follow. 

With time, I hope I get better at elaborating how valuable data-driven reporting is. To make up for all the times I couldn’t do data journalism justice, here’s a snippet of my fan/love letter on the topic. 

Journalism or reporting, I believe, is about connecting  dots. We are not constrained because we can have more than just one character or voice in any given piece. We are given first, the latitude in collecting as many as perspective as possible and second, the confidence that we are  presenting them in a manner that is most comprehensive and collective. 

Data is just like another source; an official, an expert, a victim, an offender or a bystander. Except data can mean thousands or million of sources compressed in a single statistics. 

In lieu of the shooting of Michael Brown, no prosecution of Darren Wilson and protests that engulfed Ferguson, Mo., many news outlets around the country, small and big, have done great reporting, helping us make sense out of the tragedy.

Then there was, 1.5 million Missing Black Men  by Justin Wolfer, David Leonheardt and Kevin Quealy at The Upshot. 

Here’s an excerpt from the piece: 

African-American men have long been more likely to be locked up and more likely to die young, but the scale of the combined toll is nonetheless jarring. It is a measure of the deep disparities that continue to afflict black men — disparities being debated after a recent spate of killings by the police — and the gender gap is itself a further cause of social ills, leaving many communities without enough men to be fathers and husbands.

Perhaps the starkest description of the situation is this: More than one out of every six black men who today should be between 25 and 54 years old have disappeared from daily life.

“The numbers are staggering,” said Becky Pettit, a professor of sociology at the University of Texas.

And what is the city with at least 10,000 black residents that has the single largest proportion of missing black men? Ferguson, Mo., where a fatal police shooting last year led to nationwide protests and a Justice Department investigation that found widespread discrimination against black residents. Ferguson has 60 men for every 100 black women in the age group, Stephen Bronars, an economist, has noted.

Narratives are powerful. But they are limiting. They can’t descriptively explain the context; not to mention, why that certain context has come into place in the first place. Data, however, can fill in the gaps. 

It is far too easier to frame and dismiss a tragedy into just that: a tragedy. Tragedies bear no need for an explanation and therefore, accountability. Much like accidents, tragedies are constant.  They are not discriminatory. The shooting of Michel Brown, an unarmed teenager by a police officer, is a tragedy.  Many accounts, from eye-witness to officials, portrayed a conflicting explanations of how the tragedy took place, but not one could answer why this had happened. 

But much like evil or good, or everything in this world, really, tragedies do not exist in a vacuum. 

And the piece of data Upshot uses -- the ratio between men and women and the heartbreaking disparity between certain cities and race -- pinpoints the context: the context where the death of Michael Brown is not just another tragedy or accident.  

As of midnight, I'm a 3-month-old full time journalist.  Here are some thoughts on that topic. (mostly notes to myself) 

You are now playing the long game. In this long game you somehow got invited to, you can't be reckless. As an intern or a freelancer, you did whatever it takes to get the result. You need to learn the people who have made this group long before you arrived. You need to be part of the group and help the group grow. 

You can't take things personally. We are all in this with hearts. Loads of hearts to document and tell a story; to serve and inform people. With hearts, emotions tend to come along. You can't embody every criticism you get. Improve your work, always. But only you can define your worth. 

Most people want to help you. Ask. Be humble. But don't waste their time and generosity by making every effort to get it right fast. 

Some people do not want to help you. Accept that and move along. 

You are in a field where there are at least 100 great work/articles are produced, any given day. It's hard not to compare yourself when it seems like everyone but you is doing important work. Get over yourself. Read. Be inspired. Read. And read some more. 

Investing in a good coffee set (grinder, pourover/french press/espresso machine and beans). A good cup of joe will carry you through the day.  And it saves you so. much. money. 

Cry your eyes out when it crushes you to know that you are not as good as you'd like to be or when things seem unfair. Nights when you feel like you don't belong anywhere will come time and time again. Cry -- then get back to work the next morning.  

Don't lose heart. Take pride in small victories that no one else but you notice.

My life right now is far from perfect. To get a sense how imperfect it is, here is a list. 

Things I have yet to buy:

a couch. 

a dry hanger. 

a shoe rack. 

coasters. 

a bedframe. 

a drawer. 

a coffee table 

decaf coffee beans 

a wine bottle stopper (don't judge.) 

microwave

Things I have yet to figure out: 

a church/community 

how much I love and hate my job. (Notice the "and," not "or") 

where my relationship with harves is going. 

how to balance my budget and not get crushed when my paycheck disappears into the land of bills the moment I get it. 

what it means to grow up while not losing sense of who I am 

how to replace the battery of the fire alarm that won't stop chirping. 

See? Pretty messy stuff. 

This morning, I made my ritual All-American breakfast (pancakes, eggs and bacon) and a cup of joe. I had really snazzy jazz music playing (thank you, Spotify) and was flipping through Oct. 20's issue of TNY -- and it hit me.

It's all good.

Living alone in a new city forces you to spend majority of the time getting to know yourself. And so far, I am pretty happy with this person I've gotten to know. 

The biggest change I see in myself is realizing things are not so black and white. In fact, they almost rarely are.

I've always been more sure about what is right from wrong.  Having that sense of certainty might have turned me more disciplined; but it also made me judgmental, which is far easier than being fair.

Seeing things in gray tones gives me the real challenge of treating people and myself fairly, while being accepting of whatever flaws and differences I notice.  Some pretty difficult task, but it's a challenge I wholeheartedly want to pursue and succeed in. 

So, yes. My apartment is still bare. My job turned out not to be perfect -- (but then again, like why would any job be?) Things I were so certain about are shaky. 

Almost a week into playing dress-up as an adult, I was feeling pretty good about myself. After all, I drove a total of ~21 hours by myself to a city for a start of a dream career; I found a larger-than-life 1 bed apartment (a whopping 850 square feet with a waterfront view, i.e. a waterway). But two nights ago, this palpable sense of accomplishment came to a screeching halt. 

My TV had gotten stolen out of trunk at roughly 3:45 a.m., Thursday, September 18, 2014. 

My car is okay. It did not get broken into,. I must have left the car unlocked. More than the stuff he took- I know it’s a he, but more on this later – I was more upset that someone had been in my car and touched my stuff.  I felt vulnerable and frankly, creeped out as shit. Now, more than ever, I’m motivated to get a thorough carwash. 

I grew scared as I processed what had happened. I thought someone must have targeted me specifically from the complex as I have been moving stuff from the parking lot to the third floor about 29 times a day.  I called the cops. The officer thought the same.

He said probably nothing would come out of this as he couldn’t locate a single fingerprint. Officer M took more interest in where I had come from as it turned out he was thinking about moving to Austin. He is to retired in two years. Talking about Austin, despite the given situation, put me in a better mood as I listed all the perks that came with living in the city. That's the power of home, I presume. 

Few hours later, my landlord informed that the suspect was caught on the apartment’s security camera. I went to the office and watched few hours worth of footage. Luckily, he, a classic, hooded-figure, wasn’t out to get me. He checked every car parked in the apartment lot for about an hour. It was just his luck and mine that I had left the car unlocked.

I felt a bit better. I thought I had to fight my way out of the lease but both the officer and manager said break-in like this was a rare exception. Also, I was more at fault for not locking up.

(I do, however, refuse to take fault for the crime. It was my mistake for not taking the precaution but in no way, it justifies for a crime that took advantage of my mistake.)

Exhausted, physically and emotionally, I took a nap. I woke up and I thought I have to do something to put things into perspective.

So I cooked.

I cooked a sirloin stake with garlic, sweet potato hash with spicy hummus sauce and sweet brussels sprouts. I even had a glass of red wine and ate the fancy plate in my kitchen, standing up. I don't have a dining table yet.  It was one of the best meals I've made. 

As I took a bit of the steak, crunchy and sweet brussel sprouts, I was reminded of the  incredible opportunities and people who have led me to this point in my life, even if it meant having to come into terms with little bumps along the way. The secret, I suppose, is to not let these fog up my perspective on what matters. 

What counts really is I have been beyond fortunate in my walks with the help of so many people. That I have a place and the luxury to cook up fancy food as a way to clear my head.  

So cliche that it hurts to say but I'm grateful. 

I know my actions need to reflect more just how self-aware I am about how unjustifiably lucky I am.