By Friday, subway navigation came easily, and we efficiently and quickly made our way to Columbia University for the Columbia Scholastic Press Association Spring Convention. Because of the cold weather, I barely glanced at the campus as we walked along the road. (My eyes were focused on the glorious entryway basically radiating heat.) After checking in, our group divided to cover as many workshops as possible. Hannah, Allison and I decided on a social media workshop, which was located across the school grounds and gave us a glance of an Ivy League university. The campus radiated history, wealth and class. Street noise barely ever made it over the stone buildings sheltering the middle of the grounds, and if not for the glances of street, I would have no clue I was in New York City. Looming on the left and surrounded by brick buildings, the Columbia Library, complete with columns and a dome, spoke of the wealthy campus. However, the classrooms looked like any other college class would, minus the fancy spinning chairs.

The morning and lunch flew by and soon, my group clustered around the doors to the auditorium along with many other student journalists. Right on schedule, the doors flew open and chaos erupted. However, we had been in New York for several days and knew how to survive in a crowd. After snatching seats, we settled in for the awards ceremony. We knew from the CSPA Crown award notification that we would come home with a plaque. The staff’s anticipation was on whether the crown on the said plaque was gold or silver.

However, our anticipation didn’t make the awards ceremony fly by. For being in the top 14 in the nation, I didn’t think about the other sections with 14 groups as well. “Eagle’s Tale” should come quickly in the alphabet and appeared first for the online newspaper section list. But I soon remembered the four letters before “E.” With each letter of the alphabet, my peers and I stiffened slightly and edged forward in our seats. “Why am I so nervous?” Allison whispered to me on the left.

The announcer suddenly declared, “Eagle…” but it wasn’t us. The next “Eagle…” wasn’t us either. Finally, “The Eagle’s Tale” was announced as a silver crown winner. My national award-winning staff filed up to the front, where I was presented with the plaque responsible for the entire trip to New York City. Honestly, I was overwhelmed. When we walked over to take a picture with the CSPA Executive Director, he held out his hands for the award. I had to restrain myself from clutching the award to my chest ( Just a note: I carried the plaque in a cardboard box back to the hotel and through the airport. Yes, I did rock the cardboard box). I felt like I was holding my staff’s hard work and dedication from the past year, and I did not want to let the plaque go. After the fanfare of accepting the award and taking the picture, Allison and I walked the plaque back to our seats.

The rest of the award ceremony passed in a blur. My eyes kept drifting to the plaque, first passed around to my classmates than back to me. Finally, the ceremony adjourned and we drifted out the doors, seeking for the perfect picture opportunity.

The glass windows displayed a winter wonderland, New York at its finest. Snow framed the beautiful columns of the Columbia Library, and I knew Mrs. Smith would not settle for an indoor picture. We were herded outside, into the icy wind and toward the steps of Columbia Library. Already, another group stood along the edge, smiling for the iconic picture.

After finding just the right angle, we clustered around for our own photo shoot. The experience, in one word, was miserable. Snow soaked through my shoes, bit my face and melted into my hair. Only my enthusiasm for the award and the warmth of my fellow journalists (notice how close we are in the pictures) kept a bright smile on my face. For the final “funny” pictures, my smile slipped and started to resemble a rabid, hyper squirrel. No joke. Looking back while sitting in the warmth of the classroom, frozen toes and faces were worth the pictures. In fact, I would be willing for the whole encounter again in short sleeves and flip flops if only to go back to New York City.