I've been fascinated by mental health ever since I was a kid. There's just something so captivating about the way our brains work. I'd spend hours researching different mental conditions and how they affect people, and by the start of my Junior year I knew what I wanted to be: a children's therapist. It was a struggle to pinpoint exactly what I wanted to do myself. First, I wanted to be an author, but I couldn't rely on my creativity anymore as the older I got, the more burnt out I was in writing. Then, I channeled that love for literature into my next career interest, an English teacher. However, something about this didn't feel right either. I always felt like I was made to do something more with myself, there was a potential within me that had not yet been realized but was itching beneath the surface to accomplish great things. I wanted to help people. I've always been deeply empathetic. Whenever I saw someone being criticized, I couldn't help but put myself in their shoes. I don't think I've ever truly disliked someone because I've always been able to come up with a way to explain their actions, even though sometimes not all actions can be justified, there's a part of me that seeks to understand people. I think some of the most misunderstood people are young children. An example of this is my cousin. He's about five years old, and a troublemaker in and out of school. He has ADHD and he tends to act out. He gets continuously disciplined by his parents, but I believe that there are better ways to approach him. Because of this unique perception and the children in my family tend to stick to me wherever I go, I'm the family babysitter. My parents have always said that I'm good with kids and encouraged me to pursue a career in working with children. It comes naturally to me, and I always end up hanging out with the little kids at family gatherings because it's easier to talk to kids than adults. This year, I realized how my potential should be used. My interest in psychology and my talent for working with kids can go together, creating both a career and a passion. Since this realization, I've been advocating in many ways. Last summer, 2024, my aunt recommended a summer camp program to me called Easterseals at Camp Oakes. I accepted and allowed her to take me to the mountains to volunteer as a junior counselor for a week. Easterseals is a summer camp for physically and mentally disabled people of all ages. I learned many things as a junior counselor and had a life-changing experience during the week I was there. The acceptance this camp had for all sorts of people was beautiful to me, and helping people at this camp filled me with a higher sense of purpose and belonging than I had ever felt before. I went on to take psychology classes in school the following year. After high school, I plan to go to college and get my degree in psychology, and then pursue higher education to get my Master's and my doctorate so I can become a children's therapist. I also plan to continue my advocacy. This summer I plan to go back to Easterseals and help more people again as a junior counselor. My realized purpose in life now is to advocate for adolescent mental health in any way I can.

On the 4th of July, 2023, I braved the oppressive heat on my mint-colored beach cruiser at nine in the morning, a time far too early for a teenager with no responsibilities during the summer months to be awake. I biked through the streets and arrived at my town's annual holiday parade. I was not the kind of person to go to these kinds of things on my own, I only showed up at the request of a friend. As I surrendered to the patriotic festivities I had never liked and was convinced that I never would, the unfounded distaste for such events faded into a childish nostalgia that would briefly pass me by on this day for the rest of my life, too fleeting to dwell on, but still lurking in the below the first layer of my soul. I was bitterly fourteen then, standing in the shadow of quarantine and convinced that the world outside was a bad place. Fifteen came, and then sixteen, and so did the experiences that came with it. Such as this one. My southern California town is relatively small and unremarkable. In fact, most people haven't heard of it. I don't think that's a bad thing, though, not anymore at least. The repetition of it all used to get to me. Day after day, the same people, same place. Yet, here I was, finding comfort in that same dull repetition. The parade made me see my town in a new light. I saw right there in front of me how all those familiar faces came together, how everyone knows each other, and the big things a small town can do. I would see my teachers and my neighbors all coming together like a highly-anticipated crossover movie, and I found the beauty in that. I found the meaning of my small town in red, white and blue driving past me. The colors and the music and the connections all stood out to me, and sucked me into that same festivity, and I went home that day with my heart full of fireworks. I learned to love where I am, in spite of and because of its repetition. That repetition is full of love. Something I'd like to see more of is people coming together, helping each other and loving each other. The world we find ourselves in needs us to love each other now more than ever, and that's something we must all learn to do.