An Open Letter to The Eye

To whom it may concern,

Today is my last class as an Eye reporter. As Rosie Hogan would say, “That’s emo.”

And yes, today feels extremely bittersweet. I find myself walking in the halls and thinking of so many people I have yet to thank and so many I have yet to see before leaving Singapore. I feel like I’m running out of time. I keep deleting everything I’m writing because this just sounds so cheesy. And I really don’t want that. But as I write this I can’t help but get all sappy about the time I’ve spent here in Singapore. But more specifically, a member of the Eye staff.

During my freshmen year, I didn’t really know who I was. And I think everyone can agree in saying that as ninth graders, they signed up for an excessive amount of clubs and activities that in retrospect, didn’t really reflect their passions.

When my brother was in high school, his passion was clear and center: Music. He flourished in the school’s orchestra as a bassist and everyone knew him as that ‘tall guy with a bass.’ And now as I write this, he is in Madrid touring with his college’s orchestra. I admired him for his drive and confidence about this passion and, as a freshman looking up to him, wanted to find my own.

But I only knew two things about myself: I liked to draw and play basketball. Within a cluster of service clubs I knew nothing about, these were the two areas of interest that I explored. I joined Ms. Harvey’s Studio Art class my sophomore year and played on the JV basketball team as a ninth and tenth grader. But I still felt as though something was missing. In the back of my mind, I had always wanted to join the journalism class – specifically the broadcast section. In middle school, I had a small hobby of filming for the video production class and enjoyed reporting. But when class sign ups and counselor sessions started, I had people giving me advice that I shouldn’t sign up. I don’t know why I listened to them.

Finally, in my junior year, I addressed that little voice in the back of my head and joined the journalism class. I was ready. I remember pitching my first idea eagerly: to uncover the Southeast Asian tradition known as The Hungry Ghost Festival. My classmates giggled, but I was already too busy trying to figure out who my primary sources would be.

After conducting my first interview with a security guard, I realized I had completely forgotten to ask for his name. Frantically, I zoomed in on the photo I had taken of him, making out a shiny name tag that presented his last name. I then called a number of guards, hearing them pick up the phone, confused as to why this excited teenage girl was asking, “Do you know anyone with the last name Abdullah?” Finally, I found someone who knew Abdullah’s first name. Thankfully, my article got published.

And as cliché as it sounds, the rest was history. I met people that also loved to write and film videos about SAS and the world around them. I found myself in discussions about politics and issues that as a ninth grader, I couldn’t even picture myself reading, let alone taking interest in. Above all, I began to actually enjoy going to a class, no matter what kind of day I had.  

I look back at that with one clear idea: intuition. I wish that I had followed my intuition freshmen year, and listened to that little voice in the back of my head that was begging me to join journalism. I would have been able to experience all these things that The Eye gave me earlier: new friends, a community to always go to, and a passion. Every breakfast party, IASAS report, mood for food and written article made my last two years at SAS worthwhile, and from seeing the community grow tighter, I know it can’t only be me that feels it in the class.

Best Wishes Eye Staff,

Ana Chavez



Author: Ana Chavez

Ana Chavez is a Senior and one of the co-editors of the Eye. This is her second year as a reporter, and she has been attending SAS since kindergarten. Some of her hobbies include baking cookies, organizing her room, and annoying her older brother. She can be contacted at

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s