Culinary arts is not just a fancy way to prepare a meal for someone. It's dedication, heart, creativity, and it is the fuel in the heart that drives a plain dish, into a culinary dish. Passion and dedication overwhelms the ordinary cook into a professional chef. You have a dream for yourself, a goal and you create a mark for yourself and enforce that mark until you reach your dreams and your goals. For me it’s becoming a chef and owning a restaurant of my own. Those seeking to become involved in the culinary arts field, need to understand it is hard work, it is about the dedication you put in, it’s the passion and creativity that keeps you moving forward in the field. In the eyes of a remarkable chef with over 30 years of professional experience, chef Watez G. Phelps (MPA) said “to be a chef you have to work hard, be able to work well with others, and have a creative mind set in each dish prepared. Don't be afraid to try new things, and explore what other cultures are doing with their plates." Working in the kitchen is a fast paced environment, so you must be quick and hesitation should be kept at minimum. You must have the understanding of the basic kitchen preparations dealt with and you must master the required objectives for your job. It takes serious dedication to be able to present a perfect culinary dish. It takes heart to stand by your finished product proudly as it is being served to the customer in the front of the house. It takes creativity to ameliorate an ordinary plate, into a culinary art cuisine and that is what separates the cooks from the chef. It is the same dedication, heart, passion, creativity, willpower, and consumer enjoyment that gives me that passion for culinary arts. In the summer before my senior year at high school, my mother took a large cut in her salary and informed me that it would be near impossible to pay for my college. I was disappointed and discouraged, yet I knew that I had to continue on with school to provide a better life for me and my family. It was then that I joined the team at Applebee's. Naturally, people have their opinions about faster food and the climate within them, but it was here that my love for culinary arts was truly born, or at least realized. At Applebee's, it was my job to accommodate for each issue and make the customers happy. This taught me to be patient and understanding with other people and how to work under stressful situations. Naturally, multitasking is your best friend as a server. Each server had several tables at a time and it was their job to prioritize and strategize in order to give the most efficient service. A great tool to use was making strong relationships with coworkers and working as a team. Working in a restaurant teaches an individual how to be a team player. The greatest attribute that I have gained from my experience as a waiter is a strong work ethic. Working long shifts without a break or food builds character. It has taught me to put my needs aside and get the job done. I can still remember admiring the process from placing an order, to it being cooked and served. Everyday, I'd go home and search up what it took to own your own restaurant. My work as a server, and all the knowledge I gained, was the gateway to my love for culinary arts.

At first I was afraid. I was petrified. Only years ago, those words meant more to me than the opening line of Gloria Gaynor’s ‘I Will Survive.’ Growing up poor in the urban streets of North Philadelphia, it was hard for me to recognize my identities as my strengths; they were often dangerous. Even in my own neighborhood, I could not exist fully and openly without feeling invalidated. However, I found value in my identities in the classroom. Perhaps the most rewarding educational experience was during my time as a teaching assistant and sociological facilitator at Pennsylvania State University. In my role, I led difficult discussions with students from various racial and socio-economic backgrounds. This was challenging because it's often uncomfortable to talk about pressing matters in the world, but it was my responsibility to guide them down a civil path of discussion and create a welcoming and safe environment for everyone involved. Through grit and determination, I was able to do this and I walked away with some of the most meaningful conversations I’ve ever had. The students were able to open their eyes to various viewpoints and by the end, we were able to talk about these issues openly. This experience opened my eyes to the fact that I was not alone in my struggles, and that being a poor black queer man was not always a road walked alone. There were many others who needed help, but with no one to turn to. Months later, my mother passed away. I had lost my main emotional and financial support, and her death had brought forth the reality I so desperately ran from. I had to withdraw from college because I could not afford it, and I had become homeless–living with my aunt and friends, or whoever else had an available couch. After months of grieving and sitting with the pain and discomfort my truth had given me, I had come to accept my identity. Yes, I was black, I was poor, and I was lost–but that all would remain the same if I didn’t make a change now. I could not change the amount of wealth my family had, nor bring my mother back, but I could set my course for a better life and help as many people along the way. I started working for some time before enrolling at the Community College of Philadelphia. There, I was able to prove to myself that there is life beyond struggle, and I was lucky to be able to pay for it while working full time. When I review my narrow escapes from educational and financial disparity. I recognize that the law can play a lead role. My commitment to see an end to unbalanced educational and housing opportunities, drives my desire to study law and politics. As an administrative support at a large non-profit, I observed the small, but tangible, impact I had on my local population and was fueled with an intense passion to help. When I proved to myself that I could not only develop strategies that would benefit all members of a community, but also persuade my bosses and colleagues of their necessity and feasibility, I knew that my ultimate career fulfillment lay in policy making and advocacy. Justice can only be achieved when we both recognize the necessity of collective power and accept our fundamental role in collective actions, which further instilled in me an urge to contribute more to the world, prompting me to create my own small nonprofit; The Education Assistance Association whose dedication to serving underprivileged students in the Philadelphia area, and help them overcome their unique financial, cultural, and educational barriers to achievement. My vision is that all students, regardless of circumstances, will have the opportunity to attend college, graduate, and actively participate in transforming their communities and creating a better society. I have overcome adversities that most people will never imagine and have gained experiences most black queer men have never been afforded. I will become a lawyer and policy maker in order to augment an assembly of professionals that is reflective of the populations it intends to serve, while providing opportunities to the most vulnerable within our society. Success for people like me should not require enough fortune to beat the odds–we must eliminate the need for luck altogether.

Growing up poor in the urban streets of North Philadelphia, it was hard for me to recognize my identities as my strengths; they were often dangerous. Even in my own neighborhood, I could not exist fully and openly without feeling invalidated. However, I found value in my identities in the classroom. When I review my narrow escapes from educational and financial disparity. I recognize that the law can play a lead role. My commitment to see an end to unbalanced educational opportunities, drives my desire to study law and politics. As an administrative support at a large Philadelphia based non-profit, I observed the small, but tangible, impact I had on my local population, and was fueled with an intense passion to help. I knew that my ultimate career fulfillment lay in policy making and advocacy because justice can only be achieved when we recognize the necessity of collective power and accept our fundamental role in collective actions, which further instilled in me an urge to contribute more to the world, prompting me to create my own small nonprofit; The Education Assistance Association whose dedication to serving underprivileged students in the Philadelphia region, helps them overcome their unique financial, cultural, and educational barriers to achievement. My vision is that all students, regardless of circumstances, will have the opportunity to attend college, graduate, and actively participate in transforming their communities and creating a better society. I have overcome adversities that most people will never imagine and have gained experiences most black queer men have never been afforded. I will become a lawyer and policy maker in order to augment an assembly of professionals that is reflective of the populations it intends to serve, while providing opportunities to the most vulnerable within our society.

Growing up poor in the urban streets of North Philadelphia, it was hard for me to recognize my identities as my strengths; they were often dangerous. Even in my own neighborhood, I could not exist fully and openly without feeling invalidated. However, as a teenager I entered a school sponsored mentorship program that helped me deal with my own loneliness and sense of identity. This experience opened my eyes to the fact that I was not alone in my struggles, and that being a poor black queer man was not always a road walked alone. There were many others who needed help, but with no one to turn to. As such, years later I joined the team at Project Libertad in efforts to address immigration issues and provide mentorship for children within these vulnerable communities. Volunteering at Project Libertad and mentoring Juan Ramos was perhaps the most rewardable experience of my life. In my role, I led difficult discussions with my mentee about his family, life before America, and even his journey here. This was challenging because it's often uncomfortable to talk about pressing matters, and significantly affects the mentee when they have to relive trauma, but it was my responsibility to guide them down a civil path of discussion and let him know that I was there for him. Through grit and determination, I was able to do this and I walked away with some of the most meaningful conversations I’ve ever had. In summation, I hope that I was able to bring light to Juan's life and highlight that there are people out there fighting for him and his family. Undocumented immigrants are part of the country’s social fabric, building lives and forming connections that render them no different from any American citizen, and they deserve a chance.

At first I was afraid. I was petrified. Only years ago, those words meant more to me than the opening line of Gloria Gaynor’s ‘I Will Survive.’ Growing up poor in the urban streets of North Philadelphia, it was hard for me to recognize my identities as my strengths; they were often dangerous. Even in my own neighborhood, I could not exist fully and openly without feeling invalidated. However, I found value in my identities in the classroom. Perhaps the most rewarding educational experience was during my time as a teaching assistant and sociological facilitator at Pennsylvania State University. In my role, I led difficult discussions with students from various racial and socio-economic backgrounds. This was challenging because it's often uncomfortable to talk about pressing matters in the world, but it was my responsibility to guide them down a civil path of discussion and create a welcoming and safe environment for everyone involved. Through grit and determination, I was able to do this and I walked away with some of the most meaningful conversations I’ve ever had. The students were able to open their eyes to various viewpoints and by the end, we were able to talk about these issues openly. This experience opened my eyes to the fact that I was not alone in my struggles, and that being a poor black queer man was not always a road walked alone. There were many others who needed help, but with no one to turn to. From this experience, I was able to formulate a scientific question to the impending health crisis in the country while using the tools I garnered in my sociology class. Our sociology class sought to challenge the student's existing principles of beliefs, or those instilled in them by their parents, and identify what is distinct about analyzing these thoughts and behaviors from a sociological perspective. In addition, to analyze how we can interpret these findings on a broader scale for other issues in society. Personally, I was interested in how the sociological perspective highlights issues of race and why this approach A concept I intend to employ in order to better understand the sociological nature of our universe from a quantitative perspective is by utilizing the most common usage of interaction in viral communities and networks; social media. Using information gathered from Twitter and TikTok, I intend to create a data crunching tool that measures the epidemiological studies of the effect of COVID-19 in lower income minority neighborhoods. The COVID-19 pandemic has disproportionally affected racial and ethnic minorities, with high rates of death in African American, Native American, and LatinX communities. Minority groups are disproportionately affected by chronic medical conditions and lower access to healthcare that may portend worse COVID-19 outcomes. Furthermore, minority communities are more likely to experience living and working conditions that predispose them to worse outcomes. Underpinning these disparities are long-standing structural and societal factors that the COVID-19 pandemic has exposed. In summation, I believe it is important that we work to understand the nature of our universe and the reactions within because fundamentally, we are a part of the universe. It is the environment we find ourselves in, and therefore it is to our advantage to do so. And, after deep, varied and prolonged study, if we come to understand the universe and how it works, and become more familiar with universal laws or how smaller aspects of sociological influence can impact viral disease, we can use that knowledge and those laws to hugely improve our lives.

At first I was afraid. I was petrified. Only years ago, those words meant more to me than the opening line of Gloria Gaynor’s ‘I Will Survive.’ Growing up poor in the urban streets of North Philadelphia, it was hard for me to recognize my identities as my strengths; they were often dangerous. Even in my own neighborhood, I could not exist fully and openly without feeling invalidated. However, I found value in my identities in the classroom. Since childhood, mother had always instilled in me the importance of an education. For most lower-income individuals, a degree is much like Willy Wonka's golden ticket. It is a tangible representation of how far you and your family can go, or what opportunities could be awarded to you that may otherwise have been inaccessible--and my mother made sure I understood this. My success in becoming the first child in my family to go to college was far more monumental than I had understood at the time. It was a step toward my goal, but a giant leap of possibilities and door-openings for my family. I had worked extremely hard, and was lucky to mark that milestone, with the unconditional love and support from my mother. Months later, my mother passed away. I had lost my main emotional and financial support, and her death had brought forth the reality I so desperately ran from. I had to withdraw from college because I could not afford it, and I had become homeless–living with my aunt and friends, or whoever else had an available couch. After months of grieving and sitting with the pain and discomfort my truth had given me, I had come to accept my identity. Yes, I was young, I was poor, and I was lost–but that all would remain the same if I didn’t make a change now. I couldn't change the amount of wealth my family had, nor bring my mother back, but I could set my course for a better life and help as many people as I could along the way. I started working before enrolling at a Community College. There, I was able to prove to myself that there is life beyond struggle. When I review my narrow escapes from educational and financial disparity. I recognize that the law can play a lead role. My commitment to see an end to unbalanced educational opportunities, drives my desire to study law and politics. While working at a non-profit, I proved to myself that I could develop strategies that would benefit all members of a community, and I knew then that my ultimate career fulfillment lay in policy making and advocacy. Justice, in this regard, could only be achieved when we both recognize the necessity of collective power and accept our fundamental role in collective actions. As such, my vision is that all students, regardless of circumstances, will have the opportunity to attend college, graduate, and actively participate in transforming their communities and creating a better society. In conclusion, I have overcome adversities that most people will never imagine and have gained lifetime experiences most have never been afforded. I plan to use this scholarship, and subsequently my knowledge to become a lawyer and policy maker in order to augment an assembly of professionals that is reflective of the populations it intends to serve, while providing opportunities to the most vulnerable within our society. I was lucky to have a mother who did not stop pushing me, but success for people like me should not require enough fortune to beat the odds–we must eliminate the need for luck altogether.

"At first I was afraid. I was petrified!" Only years ago, those words meant more to me than the opening line of Gloria Gaynor’s ‘I Will Survive.’ Growing up poor in the urban streets of North Philadelphia, it was hard for me to recognize my identities as my strengths; they were often dangerous. Even in my own neighborhood, I could not exist fully and openly without feeling invalidated. However, I found value in my identities in the classroom. I enrolled in school and began what I believed was gonna be a great educational journey. Unfortunately, life had other plans. Months later, my mother passed away. I had lost my main emotional and financial support, and her death had brought forth the reality I so desperately ran from. I had to withdraw from college because I could not afford it, and I had become homeless–living with my aunt and friends, or whoever had an available couch. After months of grieving and sitting with the pain and discomfort my truth had given me, I had come to accept my identity. Yes, I was black, I was poor, and I was lost–but that all would remain the same if I didn’t make a change now. I could not change the amount of wealth my family had, nor bring my mother back, but I could set my course for a better life and help as many people along the way. I started working before enrolling at the Community College of Philadelphia, earning a 4.0 cumulative GPA. There, I was able to prove to myself that there is life beyond struggle, and I was able to prove to my nephews that tenacity is their greatest strength. I am fortunate to now have been accepted to my dream school, Fordham University for the Fall of 2022.

At first I was afraid. I was petrified. Only years ago, those words meant more to me than the opening line of Gloria Gaynor’s ‘I Will Survive.’ Growing up poor in the urban streets of North Philadelphia, it was hard for me to recognize my identities as my strengths; they were often dangerous. Even in my own neighborhood, I could not exist fully and openly without feeling invalidated. However, I found value in my identities in the classroom. During my time as a teaching assistant and sociological facilitator, I had discovered that my identity would shape my future career goals. In my role, I led difficult discussions with students from various racial and socio-economic backgrounds. This was challenging because it's often uncomfortable to talk about pressing matters in the world, but it was my responsibility to guide them down a civil path of discussion and create a welcoming and safe environment for everyone involved. Through grit and determination, I was able to do this and I walked away with some of the most meaningful conversations I’ve ever had. This experience opened my eyes to the fact that I was not alone in my struggles, and that being a poor black queer man was not always a road walked alone. There were many others who needed help, but with no one to turn to. Months later, my mother passed away. I had lost my main emotional and financial support, and her death had brought forth the reality I so desperately ran from. I had to withdraw from college because I could not afford it, and I had become homeless–living with my aunt and friends. After months of grieving and sitting with the pain and discomfort my truth had given me, I had come to accept my identity. Yes, I was black, I was poor, and I was lost–but that all would remain the same if I didn’t make a change now. I started working for some time before enrolling at a Community College, earning a 4.0 GPA. There, I was able to prove to myself that there is life beyond struggle. When I review my narrow escapes from educational and financial disparity. I recognize that the law can play a lead role. My commitment to see an end to unbalanced educational and housing opportunities, drives my desire to study law and politics. As an administrative support at a large non-profit, I observed that government and the public were often pitted against each other. At first this phenomenon disheartened me. I knew that my ultimate career fulfillment lay in policy making and advocacy. Justice can only be achieved when we both recognize the necessity of collective power and accept our fundamental role in collective actions, which further instilled in me an urge to contribute more to the world, prompting me to create my nonprofit; The EAA whose dedication to serving underprivileged students, helps them overcome their unique financial, cultural, and educational barriers to achievement. My vision is that all students, regardless of circumstances, will have the opportunity to attend college, graduate, and actively participate in transforming their communities and creating a better society. I have overcome adversities that most people will never imagine and have gained experiences most black queer men have never been afforded. I will become a lawyer and policy maker in order to augment an assembly of professionals that is reflective of the populations it intends to serve, while providing opportunities to the most vulnerable within our society. Success for people like me should not require enough fortune to beat the odds–we must eliminate the need for luck altogether.

"At first I was afraid. I was petrified!" Only years ago, those words meant more to me than the opening line of Gloria Gaynor’s ‘I Will Survive.’ Growing up poor in the urban streets of North Philadelphia, it was hard for me to recognize my identities as my strengths; they were often dangerous. Even in my own neighborhood, I could not exist fully and openly without feeling invalidated. The dangers of my urban environment highlighted a necessity for me to escape and achieve a higher purpose than one that was statistically destined and designed for me. Thus, I found value and safety in my identities in the classroom. I've always loved participating in various clubs. I've done track, cheer, theatre, and I'm also a ballet dancer. As a child, I used these activities as creative outlets of expression for my pain and a solace away from the world I was born into. However, my artistic expression would be stifled by reality when my mother emphasized the need for me to focus solely on my studies. Now, my mother was no Miss Trunchbull! In fact, she was my single most supportive ally, but she understood that getting an education and a college degree would be the key for me to build a better life for myself and my family. If successful, I would be the first person in my family to have attended college so it was safe to say, there was a little pressure. Fortunately, I was accepted to the Pennsylvania State University where I would begin my journey to baccalaureate success. Perhaps the most rewarding educational experience was during my time as a teaching assistant and sociological facilitator. In my role, I led difficult discussions with students from various racial and socio-economic backgrounds. This was challenging because it's often uncomfortable to talk about pressing matters in the world, but it was my responsibility to guide them down a civil path of discussion and create a welcoming and safe environment for everyone involved. Through grit and determination, I was able to do this and I walked away with some of the most meaningful conversations I’ve ever had. The students were able to open their eyes to various viewpoints and by the end, we were able to talk about these issues openly. This experience opened my eyes to the fact that I was not alone in my struggles, and that being a poor black queer man was not always a road walked alone. There were many others who needed help, but with no one to turn to. Months later, my mother passed away. I had lost my main emotional and financial support, and her death had brought forth the reality I so desperately ran from. I had to withdraw from college because I could not afford it, and I had become homeless–living with my aunt and friends, or whoever else had an available couch. After months of grieving and sitting with the pain and discomfort my truth had given me, I had come to accept my identity. Yes, I was black, I was poor, and I was lost–but that all would remain the same if I didn’t make a change now. I could not change the amount of wealth my family had, nor bring my mother back, but I could set my course for a better life and help as many people along the way. I started working for some time to provide for myself and my family before enrolling at the Community College of Philadelphia, earning a 4.0 cumulative GPA. There, I was able to prove to myself that there is life beyond struggle, and I was able to inspire my young nephews that setbacks are only temporary! When I review my narrow escapes from educational and financial disparity. I recognize that the law can play a lead role. My commitment to see an end to unbalanced educational and housing opportunities, drives my desire to study law and politics. As a current administrative support at a large non-profit, I observed that government, business, and the public were often pitted against each other. At first this phenomenon disheartened me. But upon realizing the small, but tangible, impact I had on my local population, I was fueled with an intense passion to help. When I proved to myself that I could not only develop strategies that would benefit all members of a community, but also persuade my bosses and colleagues of their necessity and feasibility, I knew that my ultimate career fulfillment lay in policy making and advocacy. Justice can only be achieved when we both recognize the necessity of collective power and accept our fundamental role in collective actions, which further instilled in me an urge to contribute more to the world, prompting me to create my nonprofit; The Education Assistance Association whose dedication to serving underprivileged students, helps them overcome their unique financial, cultural, and educational barriers to achievement. My vision is that all students, regardless of circumstances, will have the opportunity to attend college, graduate, and actively participate in transforming their communities and creating a better society. Now, I am a Black, first generation, LGBT third year student who was recently accepted and will be attending my dream school, Fordham University, in my dream city New York. Needless to say, I am living proof of my vision becoming reality. I have overcome adversities that most people will never imagine and have gained experiences most black queer men have never been afforded. I will become a lawyer and policy maker in order to augment an assembly of professionals that is reflective of the populations it intends to serve, while providing opportunities to the most vulnerable within our society. I was lucky to overcome many of my obstacles and use the principles that my strong Black mother embedded within me to persevere through the toughest of times, but success for people like me should not require enough fortune to beat the odds–we must eliminate the need for luck altogether.

At first I was afraid. I was petrified. Only years ago, those words meant more to me than the opening line of Gloria Gaynor’s ‘I Will Survive.’ Growing up poor in the urban streets of North Philadelphia, it was hard for me to recognize my identities as my strengths; they were often dangerous. Even in my own neighborhood, I was subject to a lifestyle . However, I found value in my identities in the classroom. As a poor inner city Black male, I was taught at a very young age that the key to success is getting a college degree. My mother, with her enduring devotion and refined guidance, pushed me to work hard in my educational journey so that I could provide a better life for myself. Throughout childhood and adolescence, I felt most comfortable in the classroom. Every day I had the opportunity to learn something new, and most importantly avoid the consequences of falling victim to my environment. I carried these morals, and the teachings of my mother, with me of which built a fertile foundation for me to grow and learn more than I ever had. Perhaps the most rewarding educational experience was during my time as a teaching assistant and sociological facilitator. I led difficult discussions with students from various racial and socio-economic backgrounds. This was challenging because it's often uncomfortable to talk about pressing matters in the world, but it was my responsibility to guide them down a civil path of discussion and create a welcoming and safe environment for everyone. Through grit and determination, I was able to do this and I walked away with some of the most meaningful conversations I’ve ever had. The students were able to acknowledge various viewpoints and by the end, we were able to talk about these issues openly. This experience opened my eyes to the fact that I was not alone in my struggles, and that being a poor black man was not always a road walked alone. There were many others who needed help, but with no one to turn to. Months later, my mother passed away. I had lost my main emotional and financial support, and her death had brought forth the reality I so desperately ran from. I had to withdraw from college for the semester because I could not afford it, and I had become homeless–living with my aunt and friends, or whoever else had an available couch. After months of grieving and sitting with the pain and discomfort my truth had given me, I had come to accept my identity. Yes, I was black, I was poor, and I was lost–but that all would remain the same if I didn’t make a change now. I could not change the amount of wealth my family had, nor bring my mother back, but I could set my course for a better life and help as many people along the way. I started working and helping my family in any way I could. Then, I was able to prove to myself that there is life beyond struggle, and I was able to inspire my young nephews that life goes on. When I review my narrow escapes from educational and financial disparity. I recognize that the law can play a lead role. My commitment to see an end to unbalanced educational and housing opportunities, drives my desire to study law and politics. I will become a lawyer in order to augment an assembly of professionals that is reflective of the populations it intends to serve, while providing opportunities to the most vulnerable within our society.

"At first I was afraid. I was petrified!" Only years ago, those words meant more to me than the opening line of Gloria Gaynor’s ‘I Will Survive.’ Growing up poor in the urban streets of North Philadelphia, it was hard for me to recognize my identities as my strengths; they were often dangerous. As a minority, not only is it hard to navigate the world of unequal experience outside of your immediate environment, but also within it. Even in my own neighborhood, I could not exist fully and openly without feeling invalidated. My mother, Karen, is all I have to thank for pointing me in the direction of an art that would inspire me and save my life. I remember watching 'Billy Elliot," a movie that illustrated the life of a coal minor's son who fell in love with dancing, and thinking to myself that was my calling. Of course, I didn't have money to fly to Northern England for dance, but I had a goal and the most supportive mother one could ask for. Thus, I found value in my identities at the ballet. My first week was marred by nerves and a feeling of otherism. Every day, I'd walk into the studio at 323 N. Broad Street, and admittedly, there weren't a lot of males, especially Black males. It wasn't until I settled with the understanding that within these walls, such differences did not matter and that we were all here to dance our hearts out. That season, my mother took me to see my first ballet performance; "Swan Lake" at the Kimmel Center. Beautiful would be an understatement--everything was beautiful at the ballet. Graceful men lift lovely girls in white and every prince had to have his swan. The endless thanks I had given my mom would never be enough for her to understand how she truly opened my eyes. For the first time in forever I was happy, I was welcome, and I was seen. No language can express the power, beauty, and heroism of a mother's love. Without my mother's refined guidance and unconditional support, I would have never been able to explore what was the greatest experience of my life. It was my mother's devotion to her child and to ensuring I had a fertile foundation to grow upon, that carried me throughout my childhood and adolescence. I lost my mother to early-onset dementia on July 26, 2018, the day before my birthday. The pain of not having her with me still lingers, but I know that her influence will carry me on to do great things in life. Upon graduation, I hope to use my skills to highlight the need for Black men to be able to freely express themselves in this atmosphere. My goal is to create a world class studio for minorities, and show the community, and the world, that this passion for dance comes in many shades and sizes. Garnering this unique opportunity not only allowed me to express the struggles of my world outside the studio through movement, but also instilled within me an urge to share this with the world. Like most things, the dance sphere could use a little more diversity so that little girls and boys will be able to go into a studio and see others who look just like them. Thus, I will foster an environment where racial and gender inclusion are pivotal to the larger success. Mother, the ribbons of your love are woven around my heart, and it is because of that--I will never give up! Thank you for everything!