A crossover episode that I always wanted was one with characters from A.N.T. Farm and Good Luck Charlie, two of my favorite childhood Disney Channel shows. If this episode were to have happened, I have an idea of how it would go. It would be titled Chaos Unfolds. The main A.N.T Farm crew--Chyna, Fletcher, Olive, and Angus-is on a field trip to an art museum in Denver. This same museum gave out free package tickets to all Denver exterminators--including Bob's Bugs Be Gone--and Bob and Amy have insisted on bringing their kids to the museum, despite Gabe's protests (he wanted to go to Super Adventure Land instead, free tickets to the museum or not). As the Duncans are intently looking at the art, Gabe creeps away. He runs into Chyna, Fletcher, Olive, and Angus. When he overhears them talking about San Francisco, he decides he needs to find a way onto their bus when they depart, not realizing that they aren't leaving until much later. He tries to blend in with their group, but Olive immediately notices his presence. She points him out to her friends, and Gabe panics and says that he's one of them. He proves it by saying all of their names, which he overheard earlier. Chyna, feeling a bit bad because she didn't know her classmate, asks him to remind her what his talent is. Gabe remembers earlier in the day when PJ was trying to fold a paper bird for Charlie, quite unsuccessfully. He tells them he can do origami. They believe him and continue in the exhibit with Gabe in tow. Meanwhile, PJ and Teddy are looking for Gabe. They run into Principal Skidmore, who mistakes them for museum employees. Teddy attempts to correct her, but PJ goes along with it, switching to his fake British accent and making something up about the painting directly behind them. Flustered and irritated with her brother but unsure of how to tell Principal Skidmore that they are not, in fact, museum employees, Teddy says they have a tour to give. Skidmore asks them to give her a tour first, and PJ happily obliges, glad to have an excuse to use his British accent. Teddy and PJ continue making up information about various artworks. The A.N.T. Farm gang (and Gabe) find a bunch of paper maps of the museum. Chyna, who started suspecting that Gabe was lying when he didn't remember Fletcher's story about something Gibson did earlier that day, asks him to make her a paper guitar. He doesn't want the ruse to end, so he starts very slowly folding the paper in random ways as the others watch, Chyna with a skeptical look on her face. Luckily, he's saved by the appearance of his older siblings and Principal Skidmore, who looks at her watch and realizes the actual high school students should be done with lunch and it's the A.N.T.s' turn to eat. She thanks PJ and Teddy for the tour and grumpily tells her students to hurry up. Angus waves at Gabe, who is being thoroughly chastised by Teddy. A few minutes later, Bob and Amy, with Charlie in a stroller, arrive, and the Duncans leave the museum after Teddy films a Good Luck Charlie video, in which the A.N.T.s can be seen in the background. The end credit scene shows both PJ and Gabe trying to master origami.

For the past seven or so years, the year 2023 has been looming over me. My high school graduation year. The year where everything would change--a concept I've never been incredibly fond of. It shifted from a safely distant future to a near inevitability. It didn't matter if I was unhappy in high school, because I was used to it, and I've always found comfort in familiarity. One of the things I was most worried about was losing my high school friendships after graduating, but this has luckily not been the case. Consequently, I think the first song from 1989 (Taylor's Version) that would be on my year's soundtrack is "This Love." Not only is it one of my favorite songs from 1989, but the lyrics are an excellent description of love--in my case, platonic love. The lyrics "When you're young, you just run/But you come back to what you need" are simple on the surface but are incredibly meaningful, a perfect demonstration of what it's like to grow and change with time. As young people, we tend to focus so much on the future that we ignore the present, but eventually, we return to the love and beauty that we already have, like coming back to old but strong friendships through change. Additionally, I think the line "This love left a permanent mark" is a resonant description of true love of any form. I may have graduated from high school and became physically distant from my close friends back home, but the relationships from my home left a permanent, unerasable mark on my heart. It is a love that I have returned to, and no matter how long we've gone without talking, my best friends have remained a constant. Their love and my love for them left a permanent mark, and no time or distance can change that. The second song from 1989 (Taylor's Version) that I'd have on a soundtrack for this year is "Out of the Woods." It's a beautiful song with, in my opinion, one of the best bridges. It sums up complicated experiences and feelings that I can relate to, especially this year--feeling like you're running from something dangerous, desperate to reach the other side, but realizing what you perceived as the threat may have been your imagination playing upon your fears, making them into something bigger. I was terrified of going to college; it seemed impossible (again, I'm not particularly fond of change). But most of my worries were, in hindsight, unnecessary. It was my own anxieties and fear of change intensifying and focusing on the worst-case scenarios. Or, as Taylor Swift says more eloquently in "Out of the Woods," "But the monsters turned out to be just trees." I can truly say that I am out of the woods, or what I thought to be the woods, of adjusting to change.

My favorite song on Taylor Swift's '1989' album is, without a doubt, 'Clean.' First and foremost, the lyricism is beautiful. In true Taylor Swift fashion, the imagery and figurative language are fantastic. As a future creative writing major, I can say her lyrics in 'Clean' are the epitome of poetry and beauty. I especially love the repetition of imagery involving rain, flowers, and butterflies. "When the flowers that we'd grown together died of thirst," is a raw and moving line that likens lost love to flowers dying in a draught. As a poet, I love involving nature and nature-related imagery, and Taylor Swift does a wonderful job with weaving emotion and natural elements together. The music that accompanies the lyrics also solidified 'Clean' as my favorite song from 1989. The subtle, soft melody that beautifully accompanies Taylor's pure vocals is another factor that makes this song my favorite. The music is soft enough to make the vocals and gorgeous lyrics the focus, but remains pleasing in its own right. The main reason that 'Clean' is my favorite song off of '1989,' though, is how cathartic it is. I wasn't a huge Swiftie until a few years ago, when my best friend--whose name also happens to be Taylor--made me a playlist of all of the songs she thought I would like, titled "Soft Swift Songs Selected by [friend's last name]." I listened to the playlist on repeat, and 'Clean' stood out to me from the beginning. Since then, 'Clean' has been one of my favorite songs of all time, earning a place on several of my playlists. The catharsis it provides is particularly special to me. I've listened to Clean and sang along in the shower, mostly because there's a beautiful kind of release in singing "The rain came pouring down/When I was drowning, that's when I could finally breathe" when water is quite literally pouring down on you--though not in rain/storm form. Finally, there's the fact that the lyrics are so incredibly relatable. I know it's technically about getting over a breakup, but the words leave so much room for interpretation that I truly think just about anyone can find a way that 'Clean' can be applied to their life. To me, it's a song about growth, about moving forward even if you aren't 'moving on.' It's about knowing that you're better off without something but still missing it, still longing for the past, even as you know there's a beauty in the freedom. In being clean. It's a song I don't think I'll ever stop listening to.

I'm a humanities person, but the accessibility of the areas I'm so passionate about--particularly writing--wouldn't be possible without the significant advancements in technology. It's definitely an old technological invention, but one technology that inspires me about the way in which technology can make the world a better place is the printing press. The printing press, created by Johannes Gutenberg, was an invention that enabled the standardization of language and the spread of ideas, which contributed to an increase in literacy during the 15th century and afterward. While a printing press is rather out of date in today's society, I see it as a wonderful demonstration of just how impactful the development of technology can be. Because of the printing press, people could communicate in ways they previously hadn't been able to--through literature, yes, but also through various ideas in the form of news. The printing press revolutionized communication. Furthermore, reading became significantly more accessible for people of all backgrounds. No longer was it a privilege restricted to the wealthy. As printed material became more accessible, so did reading. The invention of the printing press enabled the growth of the field I'm so passionate about--creative writing. The world was made a better place because of the spread of ideas that resulted from the creation of the printing press. As these ideas spread, they mingled, and the world saw further development. Additionally, I think the spread of ideas and exposure to differing ones is a significant factor in the development of empathy. When people can read about another's perspective, they become more understanding. The invention of the printing press enabled this increased empathy, as well as a rise in literacy throughout the world. Without this technology, the world wouldn't be where it is today, and I wouldn't be passionate about reading and writing, because its accessibility was enabled because of this invention.

Like most people, I can't necessarily say that I enjoy studying for a test, but I do enjoy the feeling of accomplishment that comes from making flashcards and review guides for myself to use. I always shared vocabulary Quizlets with my friends in middle school and my freshman year of high school, but before my sophomore year Chemistry class, it wasn't so much of a necessity. Then came the problem that was Chemistry. It was the fall of 2020, so the school environment was incredibly peculiar. People--including myself--would call off with a sore throat, just in case it was COVID. We wore masks to school, people who sat within 6 feet of someone sick got quarantined, and there were some record-level absences. I've never been much of a science person, more fond of the arts and humanities than experiments and the periodic table. Combined with the tension resulting from the unknown of such a tumultuous time, my Chemistry class was the perfect storm. So, naturally, I made myself flashcards that I shared with my friends in the class, and then began the learning process of study-guide making. Other people in my class struggled, and taking my experience from a childhood spent looking up to my educator mother and teaching stuffed animals how to do math (obviously, they weren't very responsive), I started to unofficially tutor a few people in my class and in one later in the day. I wasn't particularly gifted in chemistry, but I learned how to help myself study by creating personalized flashcards and paper study guides tailored to our specific units. My own problem solved, I helped other people, using the twenty-minute study hall before our class started to go over topics with my classmates, utilizing the study system I'd created. If I had the money and resources--mostly time--I think I'd like to create a site full of study materials for a variety of subjects, but especially for AP courses. My chemistry class wasn't AP, but it was my first experience with such a challenging course, and I applied my creative skills regarding flashcards and study guides in the AP classes that I took later on. I became somewhat known for my study guides, and to this day, I still have Quizlet folders dedicated to every class I'm in. Though there's no longer a need for me to tutor my classmates in a subject I wasn't entirely confident in, I think it would be a wonderful resource for students to have a website dedicated to study materials and flashcards. I envision something like "Teachers Pay Teachers," where teachers can purchase worksheets and educational materials from the teachers responsible for creating them. Of course, assuming I had enough money in this scenario, I'd make it free so that all students have access, and people's financial situations wouldn't deter studying. I think the most beneficial part of this would be the fact that the materials would be made by the students themselves. Most of the people I've helped have said my study guides are extremely helpful because they're tailored specifically to the exact course and made by students, for students. I genuinely believe that such a program would help students all over the country, and maybe even the world.

Growing up, I had major separation anxiety from my family, particularly my mom. It was especially difficult when I started Kindergarten, because my mom had been a teacher at my preschool, so I wasn't separated from her, there. As I started elementary school, though, I had to be forced onto the school bus screaming. I had a locket with a picture of my mom in it, I refused to eat my lunches, and I was extremely sensitive. Of course, my Kindergarten experiences don't haunt me anymore, but while I've grown out of my separation anxiety, subsequent social anxiety, generalized anxiety disorder, and depression have persisted. I was diagnosed with social anxiety, anxiety, and depression when I was fifteen, but I'm fairly certain I had at least been suffering from social anxiety and anxiety for much, much longer. My mental health struggles have made my life undeniably more challenging. I've had ongoing sleep troubles since childhood, spending hours trying to fall asleep when I had a test the next day because I was so worried about my performance. Naturally, this lack of sleep would leave me exhausted the next day. Even as a child, there was always so much that made my anxiety--though I didn't know that's what it was, at the time--difficult to bear. After learning about house fires, I experienced intrusive thoughts that would sometimes worsen my sleep problems. Furthermore, my obsession with grades and academic performance continued all throughout my childhood and teen years, resulting in unhealthy feelings of inferiority when I wasn't put in gifted classes in fifth and sixth grade. My mental health had always been significantly influenced by school success, but even when I am successful, I find myself incapable of feeling satisfied. My targets always seem to move, making it impossible to ever feel truly accomplished or proud of myself. Perhaps one of the biggest impacts that my difficulties with mental health have had on my life is the constant questioning of why exactly I'm 'like this.' When I experienced a panic attack on a band trip to Disney world because of the crowdedness and my anxiety, I felt a strange combination of shame and resentment. Shame, that I couldn't somehow will my way out of a symptom of my mental illness. And resentment, not necessarily at other people, but at the world. Why am I like this? Why do I have to be like this? Everything would be so much easier if I wasn't anxious, if I wasn't depressed, if I didn't have shaky hands and intrusive thoughts and a poor sense of self-worth. I could be normal, I could be happy, I could be proud of myself. My poor mental health has made me wish I wasn't myself, and it's exhausting. My mental health worsened dramatically after the loss of my oldest brother to suicide when I was thirteen, but my passion for mental health care grew as a result of the loss and my own experiences. We need to destigmatize mental health, especially in men, and suicide should not be treated as a shameful crime or a reflection of the person's character. Mental illness is an illness, and it should be treated as such. My mental health and experiences with suicide have made my life significantly more difficult, but I won't stop fighting for destigmatization and improved care. We need to do better. I want to continue advocating for us to do better so that fewer people suffer in silence, and so that people better understand mental illness and suicide.

Having integrity and honor means doing what is right when it is especially difficult, or when it would be easier to make a decision lacking integrity and honor. To be a person with integrity and honor is to have strong principles of morality, ethics, or a general belief in an idea or a truth about the world and how one should interact with it. An honorable person does everything they can to avoid sacrificing these principles, no matter how difficult it may be in a given situation. I maintain my integrity and honor by refusing to sacrifice the principle of kindness and generosity, no matter the situation or to who it is being extended. I'm involved in Speech and Debate, and starting last year, I became known for my abundant supply of fidgets, from Pop-Its to Play Dough. I ask everyone on my team and from other schools if they're 'in need of a fidget,' regardless of whether they're my competition or if one of my teammates doesn't like them. True kindness and generosity are not extended only to people who are easily accessible to you, who you know well, and who you generally like. True kindness is going out of your way to care for people, to be considerate, and to be generous, regardless of how difficult it may be and without consideration of personal feelings toward a particular person. I believe everyone deserves kindness, and in my small but still meaningful way, I uphold my honor and integrity by going out of my way to be generous towards everyone, thus adhering to my principles.

A variety of different aspects of my personality and life experiences have contributed to my community involvement. For instance, as an avid reader with a big imagination, both of which contributed to my decision to pursue writing as a career, one of my favorite places as a kid was the local library. I went to library events, got stacks of books to read, and participated in just about every summer reading program I could. Considering the fact that I still frequent the library as an eighteen-year-old, I'd say my experiences were pretty impactful. The library was a wonderful place when I was growing up, and it remains so today. In addition to my love of books and libraries, another part of my inspiration for involvement in my community was and is my love of looking after/taking care of/helping/teaching little kids. I'm the youngest in my family, but I've always been naturally fond of taking care of people, and any social anxiety I have disappears when it comes to children. I like making them smile, and I wanted to give them the kind of community experiences that I had growing up as a way of giving back to the next generations. Luckily, there was a way to combine my love of libraries and my interest in helping children to have fun. Starting in the summer of 2021, I volunteered at my local Massillon Public Library. Since COVID-19 hit many people's livelihoods, the library provided snacks in 2021, so in addition to serving as a greeter in the children's section and directing people where to certain library resources, I handed out snack bags to kids, sometimes twenty in just a few hours. My volunteer work may not have been the most rigorous, but I think it was meaningful in terms of making the library a more welcoming and pleasant environment, thus promoting literacy and library-love in children in my community. In the summer of 2022, I once again served as a greeter, though the snack bags were no longer part of it. There were opportunities to get free food, books, and crafts at bookmobile visits to various parks in Massillon, where I volunteered. Most fulfilling, though, were the children's events I worked at. I still remember going to library events when I was little, and I felt like I was making the library a safe and fun place for these kids, just like it had been for me, through working these activities. My favorite was a 'Stuffed Animal Sleepover,' in which kids left a stuffed animal with a nametag and a crafted sleeping bag after a storytime. Once the children had left, the other volunteers and I took pictures of the animals getting in to all kinds of trouble, from campfires to fishing to serenading each other on piano. I loved helping contribute to little ones' sense of magic and their beautiful imaginations, as well as further solidifying the library as a place of learning and enjoyment, doing for these children what had once been done for me.

This year, I've worked to become more involved in my community through volunteer work at my local library, Massillon Public Library. I work particularly in the children's section, primarily over the summer. It was my second year volunteering at the library, but the first year that I frequently worked community events catered towards young readers. I've always been "shy," more fond of peace and quiet than extensive socialization. Volunteering at the library was a perfect way to step outside of my comfort zone and give back to my community--especially to a library I have so many fond childhood memories of--while remaining free of the anxiety that might accompany a different kind of event. At the library, I worked as a greeter in the children's department, often bringing books and embroidery along with me for the slower days. Even then, many conversations were sparked by my book choice or crafting. As a greeter, my job (other than saying 'hello' and 'have a good day' to people) was to answer any questions about library services, upcoming events, or where to find different things. In doing so, I made it possible for employees--especially in the children's section--to focus on helping children find and check out the perfect books. Additionally, I served as a bookmobile volunteer. The library partnered with a school meal system for students, sending the bookmobile to different parks and giving out free books and crafts to children. I found this incredibly fulfilling, and while it was daunting to work with new people, I enjoyed seeing how happy the little ones were about finding a new craft or their favorite book. The most frightening step I took towards becoming more involved through volunteer work in the library also ended up being the most fulfilling. A variety of children's events are hosted throughout the year, particularly during the summer, and as someone who doesn't do well in crowds and who gets fatigued by extended periods of social interaction, especially with strangers, I wasn't sure it would be anything other than stressful. Luckily, I was proven wrong. My favorite event was a "Stuffed Animal Sleepover," where kids brought in a stuffed animal, filled out a nametag for them, had a storytime, made a sleeping bag for their toy, and then left them to get up to a variety of stuffed animal antics and orneriness. Assisting with an event that encouraged imagination and promoted literacy and library utilization for families and children was an incredibly meaningful experience for me. It was definitely a step outside of my comfort zone to become involved in such a manner, but helping children have fun and learn to love books made it impossible to regret. My increased involvement in my community through library-organized children's event volunteering has had a lasting impact on me. As an aspiring author, I want to someday have published children's books and further give back to my community with storytime events. Additionally, I've considered using my library experience and resource to gain information on what little ones want to see in their books (reflections of themselves, characters with atypical families, etc.) to make their reading and experiences even better.

We tend to overlook the impact of our communities on our lives--focusing instead on families, friends, and personal lives, neglecting the role of community in its significant influence and support. Community to me is perhaps best defined through a metaphor (as a writer, I'm quite fond of figurative language). Community is the whole of the puzzle. It's not complete without every single piece; in reality, every individual. When all of these pieces/people come together, they form something simultaneously complicated and beautiful that wouldn't make sense without every piece. The definition of a community is one of similar characteristics, of geographical proximity. The meaning of community, however, is far less simple. A true community is a support system full of people with shared experiences or of those who can empathize. A true community recognizes that every piece of the puzzle is important and meaningful to the functioning and thriving of the community, and of the individuals who make it up. Perhaps most important, a community is comprised of people with a sense of duty and of kindness towards the other members, all driven by the shared experiences of place, time, livelihood, or of some other aspect of life. I've seen this sense of community in the children's events hosted by my local library, some of which I volunteered in coordinating. The people organizing community events aren't directly benefitting, but by serving others and thus serving the community. Community is a part of humanity that should not be overlooked. An aspect of community that I never expected to experience or even notice was the support my family received after the sudden loss of my oldest brother, who was twenty-five. It was incredibly difficult for all of us to navigate, but we weren't alone. A local church hosted the funeral for free. We had rooms full of flowers from long-time neighbors. We had visitors, from friends of my siblings and me to my old elementary school counselor, checking in on all of us. People mowed the lawn for free since it was a particularly rainy spring and there was so much processing of the loss and grief left to do. Most meaningful to me, though, was the food. It's not really something that one would see as especially moving, but I think there's something very human about the act of giving someone something they need as a show of support, to make their lives just a bit easier. We had food for weeks on end, and though the support of our community didn't make the grief any easier to cope with, it took some of the weight of everyday life off of our shoulders. A few months later, we were the ones giving food to a family who suffered a similarly sudden loss. I realized, at only thirteen (at the time), just how important a community can be. Communities support when they need to, never missing a beat to lift up the people who make it up. Even when the only things we can do don't feel like enough, I think it's important to remember that letting people know they are loved, they belong, and they are not alone, is an aspect of community and humanity far more important than we may realize.

Feminism is part belief in equality for all people, regardless of assigned sex or gender identity, and part bold assumption the world's and society's capacity to change. It's the notion that injustices and oppression don't just 'happen to' women and girls--there are systems in place that carry out these inequalities, and thousands of years worth of precedent as the backup of the oppression. I believe in inclusive feminism, one that recognizes the intersectionality between different 'types' of oppression and strives to promote change and advancements for all women, regardless of differences in age, race, ethnicity, religion, socioeconomic status, sexual orientation, and every other complex aspect of humanity that can cause further injustices. Feminism is action rather than passivity. Feminism is bold, it is powerful, it is long-lasting. It is the fervent belief in the ability of people--no matter how marginalized--to continue to endure, accomplish, thrive, and bring about change for themselves and those of future generations. Feminism is a megaphone for the previously unheard or even repressed voices of women and girls everywhere, who want equality in work, in treatment, in social standing, in pay, in safety, in simple human rights. I see feminism as the key difference between a stagnantly unjust future, and one of change. A bit predictably, my mother is an inspirational person to me who has significantly impacted my view of feminism, not necessarily because she's a 'raging' or particularly radical feminist herself, but because she showed me how incredibly powerful a woman can be. Feminists are often thought of as more masculine yet still man-hating, having disregarded their womanhood (whatever that means). This, of course, isn't always the case. Still, in the books I read as an avid reader since childhood that featured 'strong female leads,' the idea of power was often one that overlooked the ability of a person to be both powerful and feminine. These characters scoffed at dresses and other traditionally feminine clothing, they didn't have many female friends, they weren't 'girly.' I didn't realize until I matured that it was very much possible not to choose 'feminine' or 'powerful.' I could be both. I didn't have to hate dresses and the color pink just because I liked to read "The Lord of the Rings." My love for hiking and fishing was not negated by my interest in perceived feminine areas, like arts and caretaking. My mother was the one to show me just how many different ways there are to be a woman--and that no way is better than another. We make these choices for ourselves...My parents got married and had their first son when they were eighteen. Consequently, my dad was the primary provider until after I was born, the fifth child and only girl. Then, my mom pursued a degree in education, while still looking after five children. She did something inarguably impressive, a feat that demonstrated her strength and power. She still liked to wear dresses and makeup. She still loved being a mother. Her (admittedly socially constructed) feminity and her intelligence and strength were not mutually exclusive. Mine did not have to be, either. I could be a woman any way I wanted to be, like my mother before me. I'm the co-director of my school's chapter of Girls Learn International, an organization of young feminists focused on educating. Our chapter, Students Learn International, has presentations and activities every other week on topics like human rights, privilege, women's history, and more. Through SLI, I work to help students become more aware of injustice and the significance of intersectionality in feminism.

I don’t like stopping songs in the middle. It feels like killing someone. Not that I would know. I think it stems from something one of my great aunts said when I was little and just as obsessive as I am now, though more gullible. Gullible enough to believe that stopping music stops a heart on the other side of the world. There are, of course, flaws to this logic. But I internalized it, and even though I’m old enough now to know it isn’t true, it still feels like I’m asking for disaster. That’s how it feels a lot of the time. Unfortunately, I’ve reached something of an impasse. To ward off disaster, I have a singular mission: stop this next song in the middle. I realized some time after the Revolution that if I already always feel like I’m in danger or like the weight of the world is on my shoulders, I might do well in situations where I am in such situations. So I started working for the people who made it possible for members of the third caste to have a say in matters of our ruling: the revolutionaries. I’m not technically a spy, and I’m certainly not an assassin. Like every other political organization, the Revolutionaries have their failings, but murder hasn’t been used. My job, you must understand, is to prevent assassinations from the Old Rule on important Revolutionaries. I suppose I am a bit of a spy, in the sense that I gathered information on who the target was. It’s impressive what people will say around someone they think isn’t listening, someone they think isn’t smart enough to truly understand, and someone they think doesn’t have a reason to care. I’m good at defying expectations. I am not, however, good at scaling buildings. Luckily, I planned for this. (I plan for everything). I know exactly which window to go to, and it's in the same closet where I stashed my dress. I may or may not have prepared three backup outfits, in case I’m under or overdressed. I won’t be late for the assassination prevention. I'm especially early for missions. By the time I make it to the third-floor window on the far left, my hair is nearly frozen. I always bathe before I go places, and after, so my hair is a bit damp. When I enter the closet, I’m met with warm air and music. It’s the first song in the sonata series I wrote by a pen name, both for privacy and because caste threes weren’t supposed to write music, pre-Revolution. When I change into the black dress and polish my just-in-case knife (quite necessary), a knock sounds on the door. The door opens, and the man I’m supposed to protect from being murdered stares at me. I gape, realizing too late that the music stopped. This is not part of the plan. “Imelda Thoreau?” he asks. I’m too shocked to realize I’m supposed to be keeping my identities separate. “You need to leave–” we say at the same time. He explains first. “You’re a target, to be assassinated for Revolutionary activity. Stay calm. My job is to–” “Keep you from danger?” she finished the speech for all agents like herself. And like him. “What’s going on?” the conductor/Revolutionary/victim-to-be (?)/counter-assassin wonders aloud. In the distance, the music starts again. I hear a wrong note. And a long, piercing scream. We were thrown off protecting the true target. Before I can act, the music stops again. Something is very, very wrong. All I can wonder is… What is going on?

What, Why, & When: I’ve never been very good at rest And it’s not that I’m always, perpetually stressed, Because even when I was little I could never seem to fall asleep, Even counting sheep. Every night, we take a living leap of faith, Trusting that we’ll wake And do the same things we did the day before, Maybe something a little different so it’s not such a bore; I could never get my mind to slow Even when it was tired long ago, I don’t know just how many times I’ve dreaded a clock’s hourly chimes. And I remember how much it comforted me To see A car’s bright light In the night, Telling me I wasn’t the only soul in all the world Who was awake with a mind still tangled and swirled. It seems so silly now, childish and irrational, A bit self-centered and entirely impractical, But when you’re little your world is so small, Small enough that you might just be the realest one of all. Now I think of everything I used to do When sleep just wouldn’t come to me: Looking at the stars, the moon, too, Counting my heartbeats just to see I was alive, I am alive, Is this what it means to be human: Second-guessing sanity & reality as we live And take a leap of faith every night, dreaming that we’re superhuman? Is this how it’s always been? Is this how I’ve always been? Is this how it’ll always be? Is this how I’ll always be? Always, ever-wondering, Hearts always, ever-fluttering, Dreaming what we’ll soon forget… I don’t know how not to fret, Just reluctance to rest And the sun sets in the west. And then we all fall asleep again, Tired from wondering what, why, and when.

I've been a storyteller for as long as I can remember, making up strange tales with my grandpa when I was little and hand-making my own children's books in Kindergarten. During indoor recess, I'd write a story and one of my more artistically inclined friends would draw the pictures. We don't get any kind of recess in high school, but my love for writing wasn't limited to my childhood and elementary years. In addition to my passion for reading, I write creatively nearly every day, from short stories to poetry to work-in-progress novels. Writing is my constant. Throughout my years of trying to decide what I wanted to do as a career, ranging from a teacher to a neonatal nurse, I've always had this idea in the back of my mind that, regardless of what I was doing as a job, I would still want to write. It took me a bit of an embarrassingly long time to consider the idea that I could make my passion my career. Because writing is my passion. It's always been a significant part of my life, and I think a lot of that has to do with how much it helps me to express myself and my emotions. I'm very dedicated to mental health advocacy, partially because of my struggles. Writing helps me to process the emotions that I may otherwise have had a more difficult time with. It's both a coping mechanism and a hobby; one that has kept me sane for decades. Poetry in particular has helped me deal with anxiety, depression, and the grief of losing my oldest brother--I'm the youngest of five, with four older brothers. He died unexpectedly when I was thirteen years old, and in the early days after his death, all I wanted was to escape. Writing was that escape. It had always been an interest, hobby, and passion of mine, as someone with an imagination that never quite faded as I grew up, but it became something more after my loss. I could escape my pain and that of my family, if only for a little while, by diving into worlds of my creation, building characters and coming up with stories that often reflected what I was feeling, though not always in a way that was noticeable on the surface. Grief found its way into my stories, and it has continued to do so nearly five years later. I genuinely believe that I would not be at the place of healing where I am today if not for the impact of writing on my life and my emotion. Stories are a tool, a way to use your voice in a quiet but powerful way. I want to continue writing for the rest of my life because, in many ways, it saved me. Writing has always been important to me, but during an extremely difficult time in my life, it became even more so. Writing is my saving grace, my escape, my outlet, my passion, my balm for heart-wounds. Writing is a part of me that cannot easily--if at all--be separated from the whole of who I am.