My soulmate is Gertrude, a 2009 Toyota Sienna minivan. Most people would laugh, but I’m certain there’s a soul in that old engine. Although her AUX is broken, her body full of dents, and every light on her dashboard is on, I still love her. All these things that are ugly, unattractive, or ‘unsafe’ are the things that make my car feel like she's got a real soul. Whenever I need to talk, I know that Gertrude will understand why I feel sad or out of place. Lately, I’ve become painfully aware of how bright my dashboard looks. I ran out of fuel to continue to do my best in school because I had no idea what my destination would be. My other friends seem to know exactly what they want to do, the career that they will choose, and what college they want to go to. I felt pressure to go to a ‘real’ college. I considered engineering because I knew that I wanted to create or build because I’ve always felt best when I get to do hands-on projects. While I was discussing with Gertrude, a new light turned on. At first, I thought she was trying to empathize with me, but then I realized she was giving me a new Idea. I could do a trade like Automechanics to try something new and be able to do something hands-on. More than a career, I hope to help others keep their soulmates as long as they can.

My soulmate is Gertrude, a 2009 Toyota Sienna minivan. Most people would laugh, but I’m certain there’s a soul in that old engine. She’s in quite good shape and looks brand new. She glows brighter than most other cars. Her dashboard looks like the city at night. People say that I should be concerned by the number of lights on, but I think they’re just jealous. It’s her beautiful curves that really make people envy her. All my friends know my car the instant they see the giant dent- err I mean curve- in the back. Which, by the way, was not caused by me. I blame whoever decided it was a good idea to leave that fire hydrant where my sister was backing up. I don't have a lot of money to fix her, but I'm just grateful for a car. The dents and bruises she’s acquired over the years are what gives her a real soul anyways. Whenever I need to talk, I know that Gertrude will understand why I feel sad or out of place. Lately, I’ve become painfully aware of how bright my dashboard looks. I lack direction and fuel, whereas my other friends seem to know exactly what they want to do and what college they want to go to. For the longest time, I’ve felt pressure to go to a ‘real’ college. One career I considered was engineering. I knew that I wanted to create or build because I’ve always felt that I do best when I get to do hands-on projects. While I was discussing with Gertrude, a new light turned on. At first, I thought she was trying to empathize with me, but then I realized she was giving me a new Idea. I could do a trade like Auto-mechanics to try something new and be able to do something hands-on. Then, as if all the pieces were falling into place, I got my acceptance letter from a college with the ideal program. I looked at all the programs that were offered, and then it all just snapped into place. If I can become a mechanic, I feel like I can encourage other women to be bold and break the stereotypical title of it being a "man's job." I admit, I am nervous about the next step, but I know that it will be worth it if I can help other people keep their soulmates running as long as Gertrude has.

Instead of one thousand cranes, as I had ambitiously believed I could make, I had roughly a thousand creases in a balled up piece of paper. Mrs. Wong, my chinese teacher, had explained over and over in great detail how to fold such a simple creature. She surveyed the room and realized how many people had a figure that looked almost identical to my pathetic paper ball. We anticipated that she would finally give up attempting to teach us. To our surprise, her hope for us held out. While I had thought I was ambitious for planning to make even a single crane, I realized how much more ambitious she was for attempting to teach a bunch of eight-year-olds how to fold a crane in only an hour. In an attempt to get us motivated to try again, she explained the significance of the crane. In her culture, there is a belief that if a person folds one thousand cranes, they will be granted a wish. Her wish had been to come to America. If it worked for her, then surely it would work for us too. Miraculously, by the time the bell rang, we all knew how to fold an origami crane. Like a madman possessed, I began to fold origami cranes every chance I had. There were a number of things I wished to be: an author, a famous singer, an artist, and my list continued for days. As my collection of cranes began to spill out of my drawers, my aspirations began to pour over into my life. I started reading more, singing with a local choir, and I even begged my sister to let me use some of her fancy art supplies. After a few years, the vibrant colors faded from my cranes and my desires seemed to fade as well. Switching to a new school in Seventh grade changed my focus from my passions to focusing on how to fit in. In an effort to make friends, I changed who I was. If it meant losing a hobby or two just to have someone at lunch to sit with, I believed it was worth it. As the facade continued, the person I was became blurred with the people my friends were. My list of wishes was replaced with thousands of questions that seemed to have no answer. I wondered who I was, the person I was becoming, and who I wanted to be. I would lay in bed for hours simply pondering over these questions, allowing them to consume me. One day, as I lay in my room, I turned over to see the edge of a wing peeking out of my drawer. Something magnificent sparked in me and pulled me out of bed. For the first time in years, I opened that drawer. A flock of cranes flew out, filling me with nostalgia. The memories seemed to reignite fantastic feelings that I had forgotten, reminding me of the emotions that seemed to emerge only when I was doing the things I loved. Opening that drawer released more than just cranes: it opened my mind to opportunities that I hadn’t seen before. My hands began to paint again, my shelves began to fill with books, and I started singing again. I still question my identity, but I have realized that I didn't need a wish to be happy. Although, eight-year-old me might be disappointed to find out that I'm not famous, yet.

Instead of one thousand cranes, as I had ambitiously believed I could make, I had roughly a thousand creases in a balled up piece of paper. Mrs. Wong, my chinese teacher, had explained over and over in great detail how to fold such a simple creature. She surveyed the room and realized how many people had a figure that looked almost identical to my pathetic paper ball. We anticipated that she would finally give up attempting to teach us. To our surprise, her hope for us held out. While I had thought I was ambitious for planning to make even a single crane, I realized how much more ambitious she was for attempting to teach a bunch of eight-year-olds how to fold a crane in only an hour. In an attempt to get us motivated to try again, she explained the significance of the crane. In her culture, there is a belief that if a person folds one thousand cranes, they will be granted a wish. Her wish had been to come to America. If it worked for her, then surely it would work for us too. Miraculously, by the time the bell rang, we all knew how to fold an origami crane. Like a madman possessed, I began to fold origami cranes every chance I had. I had hundreds of things I wished to be: an author, a famous singer, an artist, and my list continued for days. As my collection of cranes began to spill out of my drawers, my aspirations began to pour over into my life. I started reading more, singing with a local choir, and I even begged my sister to let me use some of her fancy art supplies. I was convinced that I would receive that wish, and when I did, I wanted to be ready. After a few years, the vibrant colors faded from my cranes and my desires seemed to fade as well. Switching to a new school in Seventh grade changed my focus from my passions to focusing on how to fit in. In an effort to make friends, I changed who I was. If it meant losing a hobby or two just to have someone at lunch to sit with, I believed it was worth it. As the facade continued, the person I was became blurred with the people my friends were. My list of wishes was replaced with thousands of questions that seemed to have no answer. I wondered who I was, the person I was becoming, and who I wanted to be. I would lay in bed for hours simply pondering over these questions, allowing them to consume me. One day, as I lay in my room, I turned over to see the edge of a wing peeking out of my drawer. Something magnificent sparked in me and pulled me out of bed. For the first time in years, I opened that drawer. A flock of cranes flew out, filling me with nostalgia. The memories seemed to reignite fantastic feelings that I had forgotten, reminding me of the emotions that seemed to emerge only when I was doing the things I loved. Opening that drawer released more than just cranes: it opened my mind to opportunities that I hadn’t seen before and answered the questions I had been asking. My hands began to paint again, my shelves began to fill with books, and I started singing again. I have realized that who I wish to be, is a person who can spread joy to others the way paper cranes did for me.