My wardrobe is essentially a "field player's" uniform: comfortable sneakers for chasing stories across the city and a bulky backpack filled with my laptop, a power bank, and packs of sticky notes. I rarely wear dresses, preferring jeans and jackets with plenty of pockets—they’re much better for stashing a lapel mic or a phone. My movements are quick and precise, and there’s often a hint of impatience in my voice, as if I’m constantly worried about missing a crucial quote.

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I live with a recorder constantly running in my head and a notebook that’s bursting at the seams with scribbles in the margins. My hair is usually tossed up in a messy bun so it doesn’t get in the way while I’m leaning over my notes, and there’s almost always a small ink stain on my index finger. I have a sharp, inquisitive gaze—journalism school taught us to catch every detail, so I’m always studying passersby, trying to guess their life stories just by their expressions or the way they walk.

To me, there is nothing more exciting than asking the questions that others find uncomfortable. While my classmates are discussing fashion, I’m busy fact-checking a student report or editing audio tracks in my headphones. I truly believe that a story worth telling is hiding around every corner. My defining trait is the thrill of the hunt: I won’t rest until I get to the heart of the matter, even if it means getting soaked in the rain or waiting hours for an interviewee to show up.