Do not ask me to choose a favorite entry in The Daily Pennsylvanian’s Style Guide.
But if you really twist my arm, I might pick the one on government titles. Or Penn President Larry Jameson (we did a moving tribute when we decided to drop the “J,” and another when we dropped the “interim”). Or curse words (damn, among others). Or the Oxford comma (we use it!). Or, controversially, the difference between hyphens, dashes, and em-dashes in the DP and 34th Street Magazine.
Clearly, decision-making has never been my strong suit.
The two years I spent as deputy copy editor mean I can probably still recite these rules in my sleep. I remember the bones I picked with section editors about repeat offenses (more often than not, with Sports). I fixed date formatting as a force of habit when I edited the stories that came my way on the politics desk. And even when I had technically moved on from my role in the Copy department, I still kept my eyes peeled for errant straight quotation marks in Instagram post designs.
For me, the devil has always been in the details, but — perhaps more importantly — so too has the angel.
My time in the DP is shaped by the good that has emerged triumphant out of the moments that, at the time, felt very, very bad — overwhelming, tiring, anxiety-inducing, and sometimes just plain depressing.
Was it hard to navigate what it meant to be a fair and ethical journalist through a never-ending breaking news cycle, an unrestful campus environment, and an unrelenting national spotlight? To make a huge step into a leadership position that did so much yet was so difficult to articulate? To skip out on dinners with friends and commit the equivalent of full-time employment to a windowless office with seemingly very little return on my investment? To ultimately decide to pursue journalism in a time when the industry has never looked more precarious? Unequivocally, yes.
I left many early-evening-to-early-morning production nights a little cranky and with none of my schoolwork done. I begged professors for their forgiveness and not their permission when my head was buried in Slack during an eight-person seminar. I remember feeling exceedingly annoyed when Imran, then the DP editor-in-chief, pleaded so earnestly for someone from the Copy team to check a breaking news article during fall break that I pulled out my laptop in the middle of a Yale University dining hall and got to work.
As campus tensions swelled to their zenith throughout my sophomore year — protests on campus, a sit-in in Houston Hall, former Penn President Liz Magill’s congressional testimony and eventual resignation, the Gaza Solidarity Encampment — I traded sleep for Redbulls and Papa John’s, spent more time in the Blue Room than my dorm room, and witnessed unprecedented disciplinary and police action against members of the Penn community. And when I became executive editor, I had to step away from the reporting and editing I had come to love so dearly — a shift that never really quite took shape as neatly as I wanted it to.
But these aren’t necessarily the things that have colored my DP experience, many months and years later. Instead, I remember “Sofia” by Clairo playing from the design pit Macs during Street production nights, the countless inside jokes that emerged from out-of-context Slack messages, and the greasy Chinese food I am finally willing to admit I miss.
I remember closing up the LGBT Center early on the Saturday Magill resigned and feeling my heart pounding with adrenaline as I ran to 4015 Walnut minutes after Jared, the then-news editor and editor-in-chief-elect, received a text that started with “OFF OFF OFF the record.” (If my ex-bosses are reading this and learning about this for the first time, I am so, so sorry.)
I remember seeing the sun rise on the Acme parking lot roof after I dozed off at 4 a.m. in the middle of copyediting a huge sports investigation — a sight so beautiful I forgot the fatigue of my all-nighter and the final exam I was to take in a couple of hours, for which I was woefully underprepared.
I remember walking into the office every night with the unwavering — but not untested — belief that the work we did was important. Not just for the Penn community or the DP Daybreak readers or the Instagram followers, but as a learning institution for the people within those walls.
I remember — and could never forget — the people who made everything worth it, day in and day out: Emily, my partner-in-crime. Sangeeta, Garv, Sarah, and Anissa, who allowed me to be their emotional woman. Anna, Jared, Molly, Imran, Allyson, Julia, Kira, Delaney, and Jonah, who placed their faith in me from day one. The people the DP has given me the privilege to know — especially Ben, Ella, Charlotte, Sophia, Elea, Katie, and Norah — for whom I am so grateful to have found friends for life. My best friend, Yeeun, who simultaneously kept me humble and worried about me when I came home at 4 a.m. And everyone I’ve met, worked with, spoken to, laughed with, fought against, made up with, who has shaped me into the person and journalist I am today. I would not be who I am if not for you.
Memory is a funny thing. It has a way of smoothing out the edges, making even the worst times seem like the good times.
That is the real reason I could never choose just one favorite style guide entry, or one favorite story I’ve ever written, or one standout moment from the nearly four years I made the walls of the Pink Palace my second home. In every corner I looked, in every second I spent, in every memory I cherished, there was always something worth remembering. And, when faced with the angels in the details, how was I to choose one among them that I loved most?
DIAMY WANG is a College senior studying political science; gender, sexuality, and women’s studies; and Asian American studies, from Alhambra, Calif. She served as executive editor on the 141st Board of The Daily Pennsylvanian, Inc. Previously, she served as politics desk editor, a deputy copy editor, and a Street staff writer. Her email is diamyw@sas.upenn.edu.
