ABBA’s Chiquitita depicts the singer urging a dear friend, discouraged and mournful, to look at the lighter side of life and not allow their grief to govern them. The singer then assures Chiquitita that they may count on them and will always be a shoulder to weep on, essentially offering a message of hope in a time of uncertainty. I’ve always loved the song Chiquitita by ABBA. Chiquitita is a Spanish phrase, Chiquita signifies small, and -tita is added to feminize and humanize leading Chiquitita to mean little girl or little one. Growing up my dad would call me chiquitita or pequeñita saying “Anna un día tú vas a crecer y no vas a ser mi chiquita, pero vas a crecer en una mujer increíble” (Anna one day you will grow up and you won’t be my little girl anymore but you’ll grow to be an amazing woman). Sadly my dad will never be there to see the validity of his statement as he passed in 2021 due to leukemia. He was diagnosed in the midst of COVID-19, prompting our household's level of caution to increase in response, as well as our degree of isolation. Slowly the number of hospital trips increased as our hopes for recovery dwindled. Once joyful holidays turned to discussions over zoom as a result of COVID-19 exposure. Isolated to our house my family began watching movies and TV shows together, from Breaking Bad to Mamma Mia, in which ABBA’s transportive songs filled the remoteness with a feeling of familiarity to distract from reality for a mere moment. Whether it was dealing with immigrating to the United States from Mexico, going through cancer treatments, or having his usual coffee order mixed up, my father never seemed to let anything take away from his typically upbeat attitude. However, delaying the future is inevitable and now no one is here to call me Chiquitita. Sadly, the loss of my father ushered in a difficult time in my life. Nevertheless, I overcame it and was forced to question my true passions and aspirations for the future. I can only hope to uphold my father's legacy and live as though he were still by my side while I pursue my studies at the University of Michigan. “But the sun is still in the sky and shining above you/ Let me hear you sing once more like you did before/ Sing a new song, Chiquitita”. My father’s memory lives on and although it has taken me a significant time to recover from his passing and the pandemic I am now ready to sing a new song.

I've always been creative, at least according to my mother's numerous anecdotes of my childhood in which I crafted designer gowns fabricated from gift wrap and built elaborate cardboard homes. At the time what seemed like such grand projects were in reality truly quite small, but I never did seem to notice, I was limitless in my creativity; building runway-ready outfits and exquisite architecture. However I struggled with reading, when faced with daily reading time at school I always chose the same book, a habitual act that helped ease my struggle and feeling of inferiority. What was my chosen book you might ask? Shel Silverstein's Where the Sidewalk Ends. Although not a traditional art piece the book has a special place in my heart, not only were the words of poetry and silly rhymes amusing but the illustrations were what truly drew me to the book. Oh, what fabulous creatures, characters and utopias the author created. Even over a decade later I hold the book near and dear to my heart, and look at it every so often to remember the limitlessness of my potential, a constant comfort. Many have asked me why I've chosen to pursue both an artistic degree as well as a technical field, to which I simply responded I want to be limitless. I want to know how and why things work but also create my own utopia full of characters and lively ideas. Last year I set out on a new challenge: each month, I would select a country from which to prepare a traditional or popular recipe while also reading a novel by an author from that country. Slowly but steadily, this activity proved to be one of the most vital to my high school experience. Along the journey, I was able to locate several outstanding novels, from The Housekeeper and the Professor by Japanese author Yoko Ogawa to Normal People by Irish author Sally Rooney, while enjoying some great meals on the way, such as Arepas and savory Pajeon. The experience showed me it is okay for me to exist in more than one community, speak more than one language and enjoy more than one of my cultures without having to pick between them. Discovering I exist not on either side but in the space between. Although I have not explored every nation, I have made a modest dent in a lifelong goal. As for my future following college, I'm uncertain about what I aim to do. Something that encompasses both engineering, art and whatever else I'm truly passionate about.

My inspiration comes from examining the world around me. The pulse of life is reflected in architecture; it creates the basis of our environment, from the places we visit to determining which route we use to get there, serving as a constant in an ever-changing world. Early in my life, I cycled from one sterile hospital room to yet another cramped waiting room, feeling unsettled under the fluorescent light. Regardless, the one constant was my ability to return home to my environment, welcoming and warm amid daunting reality, a sensation I aim to create at the University of Michigan.