The first time I truly watched a Studio Ghibli movie was when I first discovered a true sense of connection. The time was 7 p.m. on a Saturday. A cacophony of crickets humming outside my living room window was barely audible over the artificial sound of crows shrieking through a television screen. There I was, sitting on my couch, rewatching Kiki’s Delivery Service on a 1990s VHS player for what was probably the 14th time. I had just gotten to the part where Kiki, a young witch trying to start her own business away from home, meets Ursula, a reclusive artist living in the woods. Little did Kiki know, soon she would be questioning her skills as a witch and be thrust into burnout. Que the credits, and for me, a meaningful contemplation of life, purpose, and passion sprouted. Kiki’s Delivery Service has been one of my long-time favorite movies on my yearly re-watch list, along with My Neighbor Totoro, Spider-Man: Into The Spider-Verse, and Song of the Sea. That day, as autumn symphonies seeped through the windows, I fully realized just how powerful animation can be. Success has a complicated definition for me, but it has always focused more on overcoming challenges rather than winning competitions. Growing up having chronic anxiety, depression, and sensory issues, I have always struggled with quick-onset burnout. Exhaustion would compile every day I spent doing work until it became unbearable. When I started working with a therapist in middle school, I figured out the way I was coping wasn’t helping my anxiety or depression. I developed new coping mechanisms - ones that addressed the problems I faced instead of dismissing them. This hasn't made any problems go away - I still experience burnout, panic and anxiety attacks, and depressive episodes - I just have more help with managing them. When I decided it was right for me, I started taking anxiety medication. I even worked with my teachers to create a 504 plan in high school so I could function better. Even though it's been a rough journey, medication has helped me avoid overthinking, and I've been able to focus and feel more emotions. I became more resilient, focusing on ways I could improve the present rather than just imagining it. I learned how to work through struggles to succeed, just like Kiki. Feeling just how much Kiki struggled through nothing but a screen also made me wonder what it could be like to impact people on that same level. It’s my dream to work with others in the animation industry and obtain my degree in the arts, I just need the funding to get there. If I’m selected as a recipient of this scholarship, I’ll be able to learn the skills I need for animated storytelling and fund the success of my future career. Art holds such an incredible power to change the course of someone’s life. I look forward to continuing to develop my artistic skills. The diversity of animation can help people feel seen and heard. I didn’t realize other people experienced burnout, too, until I rewatched Kiki's Delivery Service. Even now, I struggle to maintain relationships and sometimes fall back into older coping mechanisms, but I believe that things do end up getting better, in one way or another - and I look forward to continuing my journey with mental health.

The first time I truly watched a cartoon series was when I discovered the passion behind my art. The time was 9 p.m. on a Saturday. The screeching of birds outside my window was barely audible over the sound of rainfall through a screen. There I was, sitting in front of my desk, rewatching Netflix’s Bee and Puppycat for the 3rd time in the past year. I had just gotten to the part where Bee, an unemployed person in her early 20s, meets Puppycat, a dog-cat hybrid who is secretly running from his past. The two would go on to work fantastical temp jobs on different planets, with Bee and Puppycat questioning their worlds, the past, and everything they know and love. Cue the credits - and, for me, a meaningful contemplation of purpose and passion. As a Queer, Trans, Non-Binary, and disabled person, my identities and experiences are what inspire me to work towards a life in animation. Through everything, I’ve learned what it means to advocate for myself. During as early as middle school, I’ve been an active part of the Queer community, single-handedly changing my school’s transphobic bathroom policies, making a mural to raise awareness and teaching people about the LGBTQ+ community, and taking time to learn the history and discrimination my communities have experienced. Bee and Puppycat made me realize not a lot of people like me get representation through modern-day media. A desire for expression and validation is intrinsically, ineffably human. Everyone in this world deserves to feel seen. Minority communities - including LGBTQ+ folks, people of color, and disabled people - often don’t get the privilege of having their voices heard. Since I realized that, I knew what I wanted to achieve in my life. Advocating for those who need it - by helping them tell their stories and uplifting their voices. So far, to achieve this, I have taken courses on advocacy through my local LGBTQ+ center, have run my school’s Gender Sexuality Alliance for the past two years, attended and volunteered at multiple peaceful demonstrations for marginalized communities, and raised awareness of different identities through the art I make. If I am selected as a recipient of this scholarship, I will be able to learn the skills I need to convey necessary representation through animated storytelling, get my certificate in an animation program, and fund the cost of living while in an animation internship. Once I complete my certification, I’ll be able to work with diverse teams of people and help create new narrative projects - ones that help people feel seen. Representation and connection are vitally important for one to fully live, and connecting through stories is one of the most touching experiences that can influence that.

Liminal: The space between what is and what will happen next. Associated with feelings of surrealness, fear, nostalgia, or comfort. Those feelings were the strongest emotions I could make out as I was sitting on the side of a hospital bed on June 10, 2022. Holding a filled syringe and needle like a pencil above my thigh, my parents and doctor sitting to the side, I braced myself for what would come next. Reviewing what we had spent the last hour going over, I took a deep breath. First. Pinch the thigh. Second. Push the needle in as far as it’ll go. Third. Push the medicine in all the way. Fourth. Stop pinching. Last, fifth. Smoothly withdraw the needle from the leg. Re-cap it. Another breath. It was as if someone pressed pause on time itself. Pinch. In. Plunger. Unpinch. Out. Inhale, exhale. Finally, after what seemed like the longest moment of hesitation I’d ever experienced, I let go of enough anxiety to start the motions on my own. Before I knew it - Pinch. In. Plunger. Unpinch. Out - I had just administered my first testosterone shot, officially starting my journey on Hormone Replacement Therapy. It was during this experience that the rest of the world fell away. All the uneasiness I felt before that moment stopped its torment on my brain. This felt surreal. Soon, I would be back at home - with a patterned band-aid on my thigh - going through the rest of my normal, daily routine. I’ve known I was transgender and non-binary for half of my life. Before I started Hormone Replacement Therapy (HRT), I felt trapped in my own body. When I was younger I struggled with my mental health, having chronic anxiety, depression, and sensory processing issues. I had to cope with suicidal thoughts throughout middle and high school. I’d done a lot of work on myself - meeting with a therapist and learning coping skills - but it wasn’t until I was sixteen, facing my nerves and giving myself testosterone shots, that my health significantly improved. I started taking care of myself even more. I kept a skincare routine, focused more on my schoolwork, and I could hold conversations again without panicking about how people perceived me. Having to adapt to new changes and a different mindset, HRT helped me find more strength to advocate for my needs. I felt more comfortable within my own body. I became resilient, and I could experience the world in a more open-minded way. As a Queer, Trans, Non-Binary, and disabled person, my identities and experiences are what inspire me to work towards a life in art and animation. Minority communities - including LGBTQ+ folks, people of color, and disabled people - often don’t get the privilege of having their voices heard. This is what I want to help with - and what I can see myself doing for the rest of my life - advocating for those who need it by helping them tell their stories. So far, to achieve this, I’ve taken courses on advocacy through my local LGBTQ+ center, ran my school’s Gender Sexuality Alliance (GSA) for the past two years, attended and volunteered at peaceful demonstrations for marginalized communities, and raised awareness of different identities through the art I make. If I am selected as a recipient of this scholarship, I’ll be able to learn the skills I need to convey necessary representation with animated storytelling. Representation and connection are vitally important for one to fully live, and connecting through stories is one of the most touching experiences that influences that.

What would the world be like if life had a little more vibrance? OMORI, an indie horror game published in 2020, focuses on retreating into HEADSPACE, a vibrant, colorful, carefree world right inside your head. Secretly, though, HEADSPACE isn’t all that it’s cracked up to be. Keeping an endless cycle of escapism intact, the player eventually finds out that Sunny (the main character) uses HEADSPACE as a tool of isolation and an escape from reality. He would have no problems to confront, no painful memories to relive, and, most important of all, everything would be perfect. Forever. When I played through Sunny’s story in 2022, something about it deeply resonated with me. Growing up with chronic anxiety, sensory issues, and depression, I would often retreat into my imagination. I bottled up the stress brought on by chronic pain, depression, and transphobic bullying. Instead of processing any of it, I daydreamed about my characters and fantasy worlds all day. I used this to cope until I learned that stress doesn’t vanish. Suppressed emotions collect until you can’t keep a lid on them anymore. Sunny realized this when haunting images of his repressed memories started showing up in HEADSPACE; the only place he thought he was safe. When I started working with a therapist in middle school, I figured out the way I was coping wasn’t helping my anxiety. I developed new skills - ones that addressed the problems I faced instead of dismissing them. Since then, I’ve stopped isolating myself, started communicating with others more, and took care of myself. I worked with my high school administration to develop a 504 plan to meet my needs. Eventually, when my doctors and I decided it was right for me, I started taking anxiety medication. I learned how to become more resilient and open. I started focusing on ways I could improve the present rather than just imagining them. So when I discovered OMORI in 2022, I felt shaken up when I realized just how similar Sunny’s and my life were. We both experienced isolation; the escapism… the repression. It felt connecting to know that other people went through this too. My learning disabilities and the years I've spent living with them have been hard to manage. It took a lot for me to ask for guidance and seek help. The care that I got from my therapist is not something that everyone gets to experience- and even though I've received help for what I'm going through, that doesn't mean it magically goes away. I still view and experience the world in a fundamentally different way. I still have to accommodate the overstimulation that comes with living in an ableist society. I still struggle to maintain communicative friendships and sometimes fall back into older coping mechanisms, but I believe that things do end up getting better, in one way or another. Self-care ultimately led me to stronger bonds and a new love for self-expression. Everyone in this world deserves to feel seen. The disabled community often don’t get the privilege of having our voices heard. This is what I want to help with - and what I can see myself doing for the rest of my life - advocating for those who need it by helping them tell their stories. If I am awarded this scholarship, I will be able to bridge the gap and fund the rest of my college tuition to get a BFA in Animation. I want to learn how to make these dreams a reality and create an animated show - one with the representation people need.

Liminal: The space between what is and what will happen next. Associated with feelings of surrealness, fear, nostalgia, or comfort. Those feelings were the strongest emotions I could make out as I was sitting on the side of a hospital bed on June 10, 2022. Holding a filled syringe and needle like a pencil above my thigh, my parents and doctor sitting to the side, I braced myself for what would come next. Reviewing what we had spent the last hour going over, I took a deep breath. First. Pinch the thigh. Second. Push the needle in as far as it’ll go. Third. Push the medicine in all the way. Fourth. Stop pinching. Last, fifth. Smoothly withdraw the needle from the leg. Re-cap it. Another breath. It was as if someone pressed pause on time itself. Pinch. In. Plunger. Unpinch. Out. Inhale, exhale. Finally, after what seemed like the longest moment of hesitation I’d ever experienced, I let go of enough anxiety to start the motions on my own. Before I knew it - Pinch. In. Plunger. Unpinch. Out - I had just administered my first testosterone shot, officially starting my journey on Hormone Replacement Therapy. It was during this experience that the rest of the world fell away. All the uneasiness I felt before that moment stopped its torment on my brain. This felt surreal. Soon, I would be back at home - with a patterned band-aid on my thigh - going through the rest of my normal, daily routine. I’ve known I was transgender and non-binary for half of my life. Before I started Hormone Replacement Therapy (HRT), I felt trapped in my own body. When I was younger I struggled with my mental health, having chronic anxiety, depression, and sensory processing issues. I had to cope with suicidal thoughts throughout middle and high school. I’d done a lot of work on myself - meeting with a therapist and learning coping skills - but it wasn’t until I was sixteen, facing my nerves and giving myself testosterone shots, that my health significantly improved. I started taking care of myself even more. I kept a skincare routine, focused more on my schoolwork, and I could hold conversations again without panicking about how people perceived me. Having to adapt to new changes and a different mindset, HRT helped me find strength to advocate for my needs. I felt more comfortable within my own body. I became resilient, and I was able to experience the world in a more open-minded way. Now, with anti-trans legislation passing throughout the U.S. putting all my progress in jeopardy and my health at risk, I turn to something that can keep my future intact. I turn to college. As someone who was raised by the artistic and queer communities, I know that everyone in this world deserves to feel seen. Minority communities often don’t get the privilege of having their voices heard. This is what I what I can see myself doing for the rest of my life - advocating for those who need it by helping them tell their stories. So far, to achieve this, I have taken courses on advocacy through my local LGBTQ+ center, have run my school’s Gender Sexuality Alliance for the past two years, and raised awareness of different identities through the art I make. If I am selected as a recipient of this scholarship, I will be able to learn the skills I need to nourish necessary representation through storytelling. Representation and connection are important to live, and connecting through stories is the most touching experience that influences that.

The first time I truly watched a Studio Ghibli movie was when I first discovered the passion behind my art. The time was 7 p.m. on a Saturday. A cacophony of crickets humming outside my living room window was barely audible over the artificial sound of crows shrieking through a television screen. There I was, sitting on my couch, rewatching Kiki’s Delivery Service on a 1990s VHS player for what was probably the 14th time. I had just gotten to the part where Kiki, a young witch trying to start her own business away from home, meets Ursula, a reclusive artist living in the woods. Little did Kiki know, soon she would be questioning her skills as a witch and what it takes to make a living. Que the credits, and for me, a meaningful contemplation of life, purpose, and passion sprouted. Kiki’s Delivery Service has been one of my long-time favorite movies on my yearly re-watch list, along with My Neighbor Totoro, Spider-Man: Into The Spider-Verse, and Song of the Sea. As the autumn symphonies seeped through the windows that day, I realized just how powerful animation can be. Being able to feel just how much Kiki struggled through nothing but a screen made me wonder what it could be like to impact people on that same level. I had been creating and polishing a world of my own since I was 11, with characters who felt real to me. Sharing my experiences through storytelling, with mental health, chronic illness, being LGBTQ, and living as transgender, is how I can connect with others and bring representation to those who need it. The diversity that animation is capable of can help people feel seen and heard. I didn’t realize other people experienced burnout until that Saturday, rewatching the movie. We don’t always stop to consider what meaning our entertainment holds. Sure, there are all sorts of animated sitcoms or comedies to watch when you can’t handle something deep. However, the gems that help people reflect on life are harder to find. Starting with a college degree in the arts and internships in the animation industry, I intend to add to and create meaningful stories. I dream of attaining a BFA at the School of Visual Arts in New York City, but need help funding tuition. If I’m selected as a recipient of this scholarship, I’ll be able to learn the skills I need for animated storytelling and fund living out of state. Art holds such an incredible power to change the course of someone’s life. I look forward to continue learning about my chosen craft and spreading that power in the future.

The first time I truly watched a Studio Ghibli movie was when I first discovered a true sense of connection. The time was 7 p.m. on a Saturday. A cacophony of crickets humming outside my living room window was barely audible over the artificial sound of crows shrieking through a television screen. There I was, sitting on my couch, rewatching Kiki’s Delivery Service on a 1990s VHS player for what was probably the 14th time. I had just gotten to the part where Kiki, a young witch trying to start her own business away from home, meets Ursula, a reclusive artist living in the woods. Little did Kiki know, soon she would be questioning her skills as a witch and be thrust into burnout. Que the credits, and for me, a meaningful contemplation of life, purpose, and passion sprouted. Kiki’s Delivery Service has been one of my long-time favorite movies on my yearly re-watch list, along with My Neighbor Totoro, Spider-Man: Into The Spider-Verse, and Song of the Sea. That day, as autumn symphonies seeped through the windows, I fully realized just how powerful animation can be. Growing up having chronic anxiety, depression, and sensory processing issues, I have always struggled with quick-onset burnout. Exhaustion would continue to compile every day I spent doing any form of work until it became unbearable. Instead of processing any of the invalidation I received from others when I reached out for help, I fell into the habit of maladaptive daydreaming. I used this to cope with living until I learned that stress doesn’t just vanish. When I started working with a therapist in middle school, I figured out the way I was coping wasn’t helping my anxiety or depression. I worked to develop new coping skills - ones that addressed the problems I faced instead of dismissing them. This hasn't made any problems go away - I still experience burnout, panic and anxiety attacks, and depressive episodes - I just have more help with managing them. When I decided it was right for me, I started taking anxiety medication. Even though it's been a rough journey, medication has helped me avoid overthinking, and I've been able to focus and feel more emotions. I could de-escalate my panic and anxiety attacks. I became more resilient, focusing on ways I could improve the present rather than just imagining it. I learned how to cope with burnout, just like Kiki. Feeling just how much Kiki struggled through nothing but a screen also made me wonder what it could be like to impact people on that same level. Through my own story, I realized that sharing my experiences with mental health can be how I can connect with others and bring representation to those who need it. The diversity of animation can help people feel seen and heard. I didn’t realize other people experienced burnout, too, until I rewatched Kiki's Delivery Service. My mental illnesses and the years I've spent living with them have been hard to manage. The grit it’s taken for me to get this far, though, has helped me learn skills I’ll need more in the future. It took a lot for me to ask for enough guidance to seek professional help. Even though I've received help for what I'm going through, that doesn't mean it just magically goes away. I still struggle to maintain communicative friendships and sometimes fall back into older coping mechanisms, but I believe that things do end up getting better, in one way or another. Self-care ultimately led me to stronger bonds and a new love for self-expression.

The first time I truly watched a Studio Ghibli movie was when I first discovered the passion behind my art. The time was 7 p.m. on a Saturday. A cacophony of crickets humming outside my living room window was barely audible over the artificial sound of crows shrieking through a television screen. There I was, sitting on my couch, rewatching Kiki’s Delivery Service on a 1990s VHS player for what was probably the 14th time. I had just gotten to the part where Kiki, a young witch trying to start her own business away from home, meets Ursula, a reclusive artist living in the woods. Little did Kiki know, soon she would be questioning her skills as a witch and what it takes to make a living. Que the credits, and for me, a meaningful contemplation of life, purpose, and passion sprouted. Kiki’s Delivery Service has been one of my long-time favorite movies on my yearly re-watch list, along with My Neighbor Totoro, Spider-Man: Into The Spider-Verse, and Song of the Sea. As the autumn symphonies seeped through the windows that day, I realized just how powerful animation can be. Being able to feel just how much Kiki struggled through nothing but a screen made me wonder what it could be like to impact people on that same level. I had been creating and polishing a world of my own since I was 11, with characters who felt real to me. Sharing my experiences through storytelling, with mental health, chronic illness, being LGBTQ, and living as transgender, is how I can connect with others and bring representation to those who need it. The diversity that animation is capable of can help people feel seen and heard. I didn’t realize other people experienced burnout until that Saturday, rewatching the movie. We don’t always stop to consider what meaning our entertainment holds. Sure, there are all sorts of animated sitcoms or comedies to watch when you can’t handle something deep. However, the gems that help people reflect on life are harder to find. Starting with a college degree in the arts and internships in the animation industry, I intend to add to and create meaningful stories. I dream of attaining a BFA at the School of Visual Arts in New York City, but need help funding tuition. If I’m selected as a recipient of this scholarship, I’ll be able to learn the skills I need for animated storytelling and fund living out of state. Art holds such an incredible power to change the course of someone’s life. I look forward to continuing to develop my artistic skills, and to pay back the support I receive through guiding and mentoring aspiring artists in the future.

Liminal: The space between what is and what will happen next. Associated with feelings of surrealness, fear, nostalgia, or comfort. Those feelings were the strongest emotions I could make out as I was sitting on the side of a hospital bed on June 10, 2022. Holding a filled syringe and needle like a pencil above my thigh, my parents and doctor sitting to the side, I braced myself for what would come next. Reviewing what we had spent the last hour going over, I took a deep breath. First. Pinch the thigh. Second. Push the needle in as far as it’ll go. Third. Push the medicine in all the way. Fourth. Stop pinching. Last, fifth. Smoothly withdraw the needle from the leg. Re-cap it. Another breath. It was as if someone pressed pause on time itself. Pinch. In. Plunger. Unpinch. Out. Inhale, exhale. Finally, after what seemed like the longest moment of hesitation I’d ever experienced, I let go of enough anxiety to start the motions on my own. Before I knew it - Pinch. In. Plunger. Unpinch. Out - I had just administered my first testosterone shot, officially starting my journey on Hormone Replacement Therapy. It was during this experience that the rest of the world fell away. All the uneasiness I felt before that moment stopped its torment on my brain. This felt surreal. Soon, I would be back at home - with a patterned band-aid on my thigh - going through the rest of my normal, daily routine. I’ve known I was transgender and non-binary for half of my life. Before I started Hormone Replacement Therapy (HRT), I felt trapped in my own body. When I was younger I struggled with my mental health, having chronic anxiety, depression, and sensory processing issues. I had to cope with suicidal thoughts throughout middle and high school. I’d done a lot of work on myself - meeting with a therapist and learning coping skills - but it wasn’t until I was sixteen, facing my nerves and giving myself testosterone shots, that my health significantly improved. I started taking care of myself even more. I kept a skincare routine, focused more on my schoolwork, and I could hold conversations again without panicking about how people perceived me. Having to adapt to new changes and a different mindset, HRT helped me find more strength to advocate for my needs. I felt more comfortable within my own body. I became resilient, and I was able to experience the world in a more open-minded way. Now, with anti-trans legislation passing throughout the U.S. putting all my progress in jeopardy and my health at risk, I turn to something that has been a coping mechanism for me ever since I could pick up a pencil. I turn to art. As a person who grew up surrounded by an artistic community, I’ve had ample creative mediums available to experiment with. I found art as a space to amplify my experiences, speak up for others, express complex emotions, and bring the worlds I create to life. In eighth grade, I created a mural on vinyl canvas that raised awareness of different LGBTQ+ identities. It’s still hanging within Campus International School to this day. The same summer I started Testosterone, I also joined the Cleveland ARTWORKS internship. Eight weeks of work culminated in a final project exploring my emotions towards liminality. I took a comprehensive course on advocacy through my local LGBTQ+ center for 6 months in 2021. Throughout middle and high school, I participated actively in my school’s Gender Sexuality Alliance (GSA). In my sophomore year of high school, when the new administrators didn’t set one up, I co-founded a new GSA and was responsible for leading meetings, doing community outreach, and scheduling school-wide events. I also attended and volunteered at multiple peaceful demonstrations for marginalized communities. Expressing my emotions through art helped them become less overwhelming. If I didn’t turn to art to cope, I wouldn’t be here today. Starting with a college degree in the arts and internships in the animation industry, I intend to add to and create meaningful stories. I dream of attaining a BFA at the School of Visual Arts in New York City, but need help funding tuition. If I’m selected as a recipient of this scholarship, I’ll be able to learn the skills I need for animated storytelling and fund living out of state. There are so many difficult things that I face as a person who is trans, queer, non-binary, and chronically ill - but I don’t want the cost for college to be a part of that. My identities don’t define me, even though the way I view the world is heavily influenced by them. I’ve learned so much and come so far, and I’m excited to continue growing even further.

The first time I truly watched a Studio Ghibli movie was when I first discovered the passion behind my art. The time was 7 p.m. on a Saturday. A cacophony of crickets humming outside my living room window was barely audible over the artificial sound of crows shrieking through a television screen. There I was, sitting on my couch, rewatching Kiki’s Delivery Service on a 1990s VHS player for what was probably the 14th time. I had just gotten to the part where Kiki, a young witch trying to start her own business away from home, meets Ursula, a reclusive artist living in the woods. Little did Kiki know, soon she would be questioning her skills as a witch and what it takes to make a living. Que the credits, and for me, a meaningful contemplation of life, purpose, and passion sprouted. Kiki’s Delivery Service has been one of my long-time favorite movies on my yearly re-watch list, along with My Neighbor Totoro, Spider-Man: Into The Spider-Verse, and Song of the Sea. As the autumn symphonies seeped through the windows that day, I realized just how powerful animation can be. Being able to feel just how much Kiki struggled through nothing but a screen made me wonder what it could be like to impact people on that same level. I had been creating and polishing a world of my own since I was 11, with characters who felt real to me. Sharing my experiences through storytelling, with mental health, chronic illness, being LGBTQ, and living as transgender, is how I can connect with others and bring representation to those who need it. The diversity that animation is capable of can help people feel seen and heard. I didn’t realize other people experienced burnout until that Saturday, rewatching the movie. We don’t always stop to consider what meaning our entertainment holds. Sure, there are all sorts of animated sitcoms or comedies to watch when you can’t handle something deep. However, the gems that help people reflect on life are harder to find. Starting with a college degree in the arts and internships in the animation industry, I intend to add to and create meaningful stories. I dream of attaining a BFA at the School of Visual Arts in New York City, but need help funding tuition. If I’m selected as a recipient of this scholarship, I’ll be able to learn the skills I need for animated storytelling and fund living out of state. Art holds such an incredible power to change the course of someone’s life. I look forward to continuing to develop my artistic skills.

Liminal: The space between what is and what will happen next. Associated with feelings of surrealness, fear, nostalgia, or comfort. Those feelings were the strongest emotions I could make out as I was sitting on the side of a hospital bed on June 10, 2022. Holding a filled syringe and needle like a pencil above my thigh, my parents and doctor sitting to the side, I braced myself for what would come next. Reviewing what we had spent the last hour going over, I took a deep breath. First. Pinch the thigh. Second. Push the needle in as far as it’ll go. Third. Push the medicine in all the way. Fourth. Stop pinching. Last, fifth. Smoothly withdraw the needle from the leg. Re-cap it. Another breath. It was as if someone pressed pause on time itself. Pinch. In. Plunger. Unpinch. Out. Inhale, exhale. Finally, after what seemed like the longest moment of hesitation I’d ever experienced, I let go of enough anxiety to start the motions on my own. Before I knew it - Pinch. In. Plunger. Unpinch. Out - I had just administered my first testosterone shot, officially starting my journey on Hormone Replacement Therapy. It was during this experience that the rest of the world fell away. All the uneasiness I felt before that moment stopped its torment on my brain. This felt surreal. Soon, I would be back at home - with a patterned band-aid on my thigh - going through the rest of my normal, daily routine. I’ve known I was transgender and non-binary for half of my life. Before I started Hormone Replacement Therapy (HRT), I felt trapped in my own body. When I was younger I struggled with my mental health, having chronic anxiety, depression, and sensory processing issues. I had to cope with suicidal thoughts throughout middle and high school. I’d done a lot of work on myself - meeting with a therapist and learning coping skills - but it wasn’t until I was sixteen, facing my nerves and giving myself testosterone shots, that my health significantly improved. I started taking care of myself even more. I kept a skincare routine, focused more on my schoolwork, and I could hold conversations again without panicking about how people perceived me. Having to adapt to new changes and a different mindset, HRT helped me find more strength to advocate for my needs. I felt more comfortable within my own body. I became resilient, and I was able to experience the world in a more open-minded way. Now, with anti-trans legislation passing throughout the U.S. putting all my progress in jeopardy and my health at risk, I turn to something that has been a coping mechanism for me ever since I could pick up a pencil. I turn to art. As a person who grew up surrounded by an artistic community, I’ve had ample creative mediums available to experiment with. I found art as a space to amplify my experiences, speak up for others, express complex emotions, and bring the worlds I create to life. In eighth grade, I created a mural on vinyl canvas that raised awareness of different LGBTQ+ identities. It’s still hanging within Campus International School to this day. The same summer I started Testosterone, I also joined the Cleveland ARTWORKS internship. Eight weeks of work culminated in a final project exploring my emotions towards liminality. Expressing my emotions through art helped them become less overwhelming. If I didn’t turn to art to cope, I wouldn’t be here today. There are so many difficult things that I face as a person who is trans, queer, non-binary, and chronically ill - but through art, I’ve been able to manage the stress so much more effectively. My identities don’t define me, even though the way I view the world is heavily influenced by them. I’ve learned so much and come so far, and I’m excited to continue growing even further.

The first time I truly watched a cartoon series was when I discovered the passion behind my art. The time was 9 p.m. on a Saturday. The screeching of birds outside my window was barely audible over the sound of rainfall through a screen. There I was, sitting in front of my desk, rewatching Netflix’s Bee and Puppycat for the 3rd time in the past year. I had just gotten to the part where Bee, an unemployed person in her early 20s, meets Puppycat, a dog-cat hybrid who is secretly running from his past. The two would go on to work fantastical temp jobs on different planets, with Bee and Puppycat questioning their worlds, the past, and everything they know and love. Cue the credits - and, for me, a meaningful contemplation of purpose and passion. As a Queer, Trans, Non-Binary, and disabled person, my identities and experiences are what inspire me to work towards a life in animation. Through everything, I’ve learned what it means to advocate for myself. During as early as middle school, I’ve been an active part of the Queer community, single-handedly changing my school’s transphobic bathroom policies, making a mural to raise awareness and teaching people about the LGBTQ+ community, and taking time to learn the history and discrimination my communities have experienced. Bee and Puppycat made me realize not a lot of people like me get representation through cartoons. The first time I heard of the transgender community was when I was 11. I felt so frustrated for not learning who I truly was earlier. Since I realized that, I knew what I wanted to achieve in my life. Telling stories. Making art. Things that show people they aren’t alone. People can make this world accepting and supportive for everyone when they try to.

The first time I truly watched a Studio Ghibli movie was when I first discovered the passion behind my art. The time was 7 p.m. on a Saturday. A cacophony of crickets humming outside my living room window was barely audible over the artificial sound of crows shrieking through a television screen. There I was, sitting on my couch, rewatching Kiki’s Delivery Service on a 1990s VHS player for what was probably the 14th time. I had just gotten to the part where Kiki, a young witch trying to start her own business away from home, meets Ursula, a reclusive artist living in the woods. Little did Kiki know, soon she would be questioning her skills as a witch and what it takes to make a living. Que the credits, and for me, a meaningful contemplation of life, purpose, and passion sprouted. Kiki’s Delivery Service has been one of my long-time favorite movies on my yearly re-watch list, along with My Neighbor Totoro, Spider-Man: Into The Spider-Verse, and Song of the Sea. That day, as the autumn symphonies seeped through the windows, I fully realized just how powerful animation can be. Being able to feel just how much Kiki struggled through nothing but a screen made me wonder what it could be like to impact people on that same level. I had been creating and polishing a world of my own since I was 11, with characters who felt real to me. Sharing my experiences through storytelling, with mental health, chronic illness, being LGBTQ, and living as transgender, is how I can connect with others and bring representation to those who need it. The diversity that animation is capable of can help people feel seen and heard. I didn’t realize other people experienced burnout until that Saturday, rewatching the movie. We don’t always stop to consider what meaning our entertainment holds. Sure, there are all sorts of animated sitcoms or comedies out there to watch when you can’t handle something deep. However, the gems that help people reflect on life are harder to find. Starting with a college degree in the arts and internships in the animation industry, I intend to add to and create meaningful stories. Artists and audiences alike deserve a space where they feel listened to. It’s something extraordinary for a film to have the power to change a life. Hayao Miyazaki as an individual artist created an entire studio, whose many films, including Kiki’s story, did that for me. Inner revelations, no matter how they’re sparked, are the first step towards transforming the world.

The first time I truly watched a cartoon series was when I discovered the passion behind my art. The time was 9 p.m. on a Saturday. The screeching of birds outside my window was barely audible over the sound of rainfall through a screen. There I was, sitting in front of my desk, rewatching Netflix’s Bee and Puppycat for the 3rd time in the past year. I had just gotten to the part where Bee, an unemployed person in her early 20s, meets Puppycat, a dog-cat hybrid who is secretly running from his past. The two would go on to work fantastical temp jobs on different planets, with Bee and Puppycat questioning their worlds, the past, and everything they know and love. Cue the credits - and, for me, a meaningful contemplation of purpose and passion. As a Queer, Trans, and disabled person, my experiences are what inspire me to work towards a life in animation. I’ve learned what it means to advocate for myself. During as early as middle school, I’ve been an active part of the Queer community, single-handedly changing my school’s transphobic bathroom policies, making a mural to raise awareness for LGBTQ+ students, and taking time to learn the history and discrimination my communities have experienced. In ninth grade, a judge formally approved my legal name change. I worked through enough therapy appointments to finally coordinate approval for starting Hormone Replacement Therapy when I was 16, learning how to safely self-administer Testosterone injections. I have shown leadership in my life through this self-advocacy. I’ve known I was transgender and non-binary for half of my life. Before I started Hormone Replacement Therapy (HRT), I felt trapped in my own body. When I was younger I struggled with my mental health, having chronic anxiety, depression, and sensory processing issues. I had to cope with suicidal thoughts throughout middle and high school. I’d done a lot of work on myself - meeting with a therapist and learning coping skills - but it wasn’t until I was sixteen, facing my nerves and giving myself testosterone shots, that my health significantly improved. I started taking care of myself even more. I kept a skincare routine, focused more on my schoolwork, and I could hold conversations again without panicking about how people perceived me. Having to adapt to new changes and a different mindset, HRT helped me find more strength to advocate for my needs. I felt more comfortable within my own body. I became resilient, and I was able to experience the world in a more open-minded way. Bee and Puppycat made me realize not a lot of people like me get representation through cartoons. The first time I heard of the transgender community was when I was 11. I felt so frustrated for not learning who I truly was earlier. People don’t always get the privilege of having their voices heard. This is what I want to help with - and what I can see myself doing for the rest of my life - advocating for communities by helping people tell their stories. So far, I have taken steps to be more active in my community, taking courses on advocacy through my local LGBTQ+ center, running my school’s Gender Sexuality Alliance for the past two years, attending multiple peaceful demonstrations for marginalized communities, and raising awareness of different identities through the art I make. Now, with anti-trans legislation passing in Ohio putting my progress in jeopardy and my health at risk, I turn to something that could keep me safe. I turn to college. I dream of attaining a BFA at the School of Visual Arts in New York City but need help funding tuition. If I’m selected as a recipient of this scholarship, I’ll be able to learn the skills I need for animated storytelling and fund living out of state. Representation and connection are vitally important for one to fully live, and connecting through stories is one of the most touching experiences that can influence that.

What would the world be like if life had a little more vibrance? OMORI, an indie horror game published in 2020, focuses on retreating into HEADSPACE, a vibrant, colorful, carefree world right inside your head. Secretly, though, HEADSPACE isn’t all that it’s cracked up to be. Keeping an endless cycle of escapism intact, the player eventually finds out that Sunny (the main character) uses HEADSPACE as a tool of isolation and an escape from reality. He would have no problems to confront, no painful memories to relive, and, most important of all, everything would be perfect. Forever. When I played through Sunny’s story in 2022, something about it deeply resonated with me. Growing up with chronic anxiety and depression, I would often retreat into my imagination. I bottled up the stress brought on by chronic pain, depression, and transphobic bullying. Instead of processing any of it, I daydreamed about my characters and fantasy worlds all day. I used this to cope with living until I learned that stress doesn’t just vanish. Suppressed emotions collect until you can’t keep a lid on them anymore. Sunny realized this when haunting images of his repressed memories started showing up in HEADSPACE; the only place he thought he was safe. When I started working with a therapist in middle school, I figured out the way I was coping wasn’t helping my anxiety. I worked to develop new skills - ones that addressed the problems I faced instead of dismissing them. Since then, I’ve stopped isolating myself, started communicating with others much more, and took care of myself. Eventually, when my doctors and I decided it was right for me, I started taking anxiety medication. I learned how to become more resilient and open. I started focusing on ways I could improve the present rather than just imagining them. So when I discovered OMORI in 2022, I felt shaken up when I realized just how similar Sunny’s and my life were. We both experienced isolation; the escapism… the repression. It felt intensely connecting to know that other people went through this too. My mental illnesses and the years I've spent living with them have been hard to manage. It took a lot for me to ask for enough guidance to seek professional help. The care that I got from my therapist is not something that everyone else gets to experience- and even though I've received help for what I'm going through, that doesn't mean it just magically goes away. I still view and experience the world in a fundamentally different way. I still have to accommodate the overstimulation that comes with living in an ableist society. I still struggle to maintain communicative friendships and sometimes fall back into older coping mechanisms, but I believe that things do end up getting better, in one way or another. Self-care ultimately led me to stronger bonds and a new love for self-expression.

What would the world be like if life had a little more vibrance? OMORI, an indie horror game published in 2020, focuses on retreating into HEADSPACE, a vibrant, colorful, carefree world right inside your head. Secretly, though, HEADSPACE isn’t all that it’s cracked up to be. Keeping an endless cycle of escapism intact, the player eventually finds out that Sunny (the main character) uses HEADSPACE as a tool of isolation and an escape from reality. He would have no problems to confront, no painful memories to relive, and, most important of all, everything would be perfect. Forever. When I played through Sunny’s story in 2022, something about it deeply resonated with me. Growing up with chronic anxiety and depression, I would often retreat into my imagination. I bottled up the stress brought on by chronic pain, depression, and transphobic bullying. In 2021, my close family struggled with the loss of my grandmother. We spent time taking care of her before her passing in July, and I was mentally unable to engage in many extracurricular activities. During the summer and fall of 2022, I was not living at home and was suffering from that mentally. In early 2023, my father was diagnosed with cancer and I took care of him after his surgery in mid-January, taking up extra household responsibilities. I was diagnosed with chronic tendinitis in my wrists and arms in early 2021, so my productivity with physical tasks since then has been strongly inhibited. Instead of processing any of it, I daydreamed about my characters and fantasy worlds all day. I used this to cope with living until I learned that stress doesn’t just vanish. Suppressed emotions collect until you can’t keep a lid on them anymore. Sunny realized this when haunting images of his repressed memories started showing up in HEADSPACE; the only place he thought he was safe. When I started working with a therapist in middle school, I figured out the way I was coping wasn’t helping my anxiety. I worked to develop new skills - ones that addressed the problems I faced instead of dismissing them. Since then, I’ve stopped isolating myself, started communicating with others much more, and took care of myself. Eventually, when my doctors and I decided it was right for me, I started taking anxiety medication. I learned how to become more resilient and open. I started focusing on ways I could improve the present rather than just imagining them. So when I discovered OMORI in 2022, I felt shaken up when I realized just how similar Sunny’s and my life were. We both experienced isolation; the escapism… the repression. It felt intensely connecting to know that other people went through this too. My mental illnesses and the years I've spent living with them have been hard to manage. It took a lot for me to ask for enough guidance to seek professional help. The care that I got from my therapist is not something that everyone else gets to experience- and even though I've received help for what I'm going through, that doesn't mean it just magically goes away. I still view and experience the world in a fundamentally different way. I still have to accommodate the overstimulation that comes with living in an ableist society. I still struggle to maintain communicative friendships and sometimes fall back into older coping mechanisms, but I believe that things do end up getting better, in one way or another. Self-care ultimately led me to stronger bonds and a new love for self-expression.

The first time I truly watched a Studio Ghibli movie was when I first discovered a true sense of connection. The time was 7 p.m. on a Saturday. A cacophony of crickets humming outside my living room window was barely audible over the artificial sound of crows shrieking through a television screen. There I was, sitting on my couch, rewatching Kiki’s Delivery Service on a 1990s VHS player for what was probably the 14th time. I had just gotten to the part where Kiki, a young witch trying to start her own business away from home, meets Ursula, a reclusive artist living in the woods. Little did Kiki know, soon she would be questioning her skills as a witch and be thrust into burnout. Que the credits, and for me, a meaningful contemplation of life, purpose, and passion sprouted. Kiki’s Delivery Service has been one of my long-time favorite movies on my yearly re-watch list, along with My Neighbor Totoro, Spider-Man: Into The Spider-Verse, and Song of the Sea. That day, as autumn symphonies seeped through the windows, I fully realized just how powerful animation can be. Growing up having chronic anxiety, depression, and sensory processing issues, I have always struggled with quick-onset burnout. Exhaustion would continue to compile every day I spent doing any form of work until it became unbearable. Instead of processing any of the invalidation I received from others when I reached out for help, I fell into the habit of maladaptive daydreaming. I used this to cope with living until I learned that stress doesn’t just vanish. When I started working with a therapist in middle school, I figured out the way I was coping wasn’t helping my anxiety or depression. I worked to develop new coping skills - ones that addressed the problems I faced instead of dismissing them. This hasn't made any problems go away - I still experience burnout, panic and anxiety attacks, and depressive episodes - I just have more help with managing them. When I decided it was right for me, I started taking anxiety medication. Even though it's been a rough journey, medication has helped me avoid overthinking, and I've been able to focus and feel more emotions. I could de-escalate my panic and anxiety attacks. I became more resilient, focusing on ways I could improve the present rather than just imagining it. I learned how to cope with burnout, just like Kiki. Feeling just how much Kiki struggled through nothing but a screen also made me wonder what it could be like to impact people on that same level. Through my own story, I realized that sharing my experiences with mental health can be how I can connect with others and bring representation to those who need it. The diversity of animation can help people feel seen and heard. I didn’t realize other people experienced burnout, too, until I rewatched Kiki's Delivery Service. My mental illnesses and the years I've spent living with them have been hard to manage. It took a lot for me to ask for enough guidance to seek professional help. The care that I got from my therapist is not something that everyone else gets to experience- and even though I've received help for what I'm going through, that doesn't mean it just magically goes away. I still struggle to maintain communicative friendships and sometimes fall back into older coping mechanisms, but I believe that things do end up getting better, in one way or another. Self-care ultimately led me to stronger bonds and a new love for self-expression.

The first time I truly watched a cartoon series was when I discovered the passion behind my art. The time was 9 p.m. on a Saturday. The screeching of birds outside my window was barely audible over the sound of rainfall through a screen. There I was, sitting in front of my desk, rewatching Netflix’s Bee and Puppycat for the 3rd time in the past year. I had just gotten to the part where Bee, an unemployed person in her early 20s, meets Puppycat, a dog-cat hybrid who is secretly running from his past. The two would go on to work fantastical temp jobs on different planets, with Bee and Puppycat questioning their worlds, the past, and everything they know and love. Cue the credits - and, for me, a meaningful contemplation of purpose and passion. As a Queer, Trans, Non-Binary, and disabled person, my identities and experiences are what inspire me to work towards a life in animation. Through everything, I’ve learned what it means to advocate for myself. During as early as middle school, I’ve been an active part of the Queer community, single-handedly changing my school’s transphobic bathroom policies, making a mural to raise awareness and teaching people about the LGBTQ+ community, and taking time to learn the history and discrimination my communities have experienced. Bee and Puppycat made me realize not a lot of people like me get representation through cartoons. The first time I heard of the transgender community was when I was 11. I felt so frustrated for not learning who I truly was earlier. Since I realized that, I knew what I wanted to achieve in my life. Telling stories. Making art. Things that show people they aren’t alone. People can make this world accepting and supportive for everyone when they try to.

The first time I truly watched a Studio Ghibli movie was when I first discovered a true sense of connection. The time was 7 p.m. on a Saturday. A cacophony of crickets humming outside my living room window was barely audible over the artificial sound of crows shrieking through a television screen. There I was, sitting on my couch, rewatching Kiki’s Delivery Service on a 1990s VHS player for what was probably the 14th time. I had just gotten to the part where Kiki, a young witch trying to start her own business away from home, meets Ursula, a reclusive artist living in the woods. Little did Kiki know, soon she would be questioning her skills as a witch and be thrust into burnout. Que the credits, and for me, a meaningful contemplation of life, purpose, and passion sprouted. Kiki’s Delivery Service has been one of my long-time favorite movies on my yearly re-watch list, along with My Neighbor Totoro, Spider-Man: Into The Spider-Verse, and Song of the Sea. That day, as autumn symphonies seeped through the windows, I fully realized just how powerful animation can be. Growing up having chronic anxiety, depression, and sensory processing issues, I have always struggled with quick-onset burnout. Exhaustion would continue to compile every day I spent doing any form of work until it became unbearable. Instead of processing any of the invalidation I received from others when I reached out for help, I fell into the habit of maladaptive daydreaming. I used this to cope with living until I learned that stress doesn’t just vanish. When I started working with a therapist in middle school, I figured out the way I was coping wasn’t helping my anxiety or depression. I worked to develop new coping skills - ones that addressed the problems I faced instead of dismissing them. This hasn't made any problems go away - I still experience burnout, panic and anxiety attacks, and depressive episodes - I just have more help with managing them. I worked with my teachers in high school to create a 504 plan with a list of accommodations to help me work, and when I decided it was right for me, I started taking anxiety medication. Even though it's been a rough journey, medication has helped me avoid overthinking, and I've been able to focus and feel more emotions. My accommodations helped me develop a stronger work ethic, with more creative inclination. I could de-escalate my panic and anxiety attacks. I became more resilient, focusing on ways I could improve the present rather than just imagining it. I learned how to cope with burnout, just like Kiki. Feeling just how much Kiki struggled through nothing but a screen also made me wonder what it could be like to impact people on that same level. Through my own story, I realized that sharing my experiences with mental health can be how I can connect with others and bring representation to those who need it. The diversity of animation can help people feel seen and heard. I didn’t realize other people experienced burnout, too, until I rewatched Kiki's Delivery Service. My mental illnesses and the years I've spent living with them have been hard to manage. It took a lot for me to ask for enough guidance to seek professional help. The care that I got from my therapist is not something that everyone else gets to experience- and even though I've received help for what I'm going through, that doesn't mean it just magically goes away. I still struggle to maintain communicative friendships and sometimes fall back into older coping mechanisms, but I believe that things do end up getting better, in one way or another. Self-care ultimately led me to stronger bonds and a new love for self-expression.

The first time I truly watched a cartoon series was when I discovered the passion behind my art. The time was 9 p.m. on a Saturday. The screeching of birds outside my window was barely audible over the sound of rainfall through a screen. There I was, sitting in front of my desk, rewatching Netflix’s Bee and Puppycat for the 3rd time in the past year. I had just gotten to the part where Bee, an unemployed person in her early 20s, meets Puppycat, a dog-cat hybrid who is secretly running from his past. The two would go on to work fantastical temp jobs on different planets, with Bee and Puppycat questioning their worlds, the past, and everything they know and love. Cue the credits - and, for me, a meaningful contemplation of purpose and passion. As a Queer, Trans, Non-Binary, and disabled person, my experiences are what inspire me to work towards a life in animation. I’ve learned what it means to advocate for myself. During as early as middle school, I’ve been an active part of the Queer community, single-handedly changing my school’s transphobic bathroom policies, making a mural to raise awareness for LGBTQ+ students, and taking time to learn the history and discrimination my communities have experienced. In ninth grade, a judge formally approved my legal name change. I worked through enough therapy appointments to finally coordinate approval for starting Hormone Replacement Therapy when I was 16, learning how to safely self-administer Testosterone injections. I have shown leadership in my life through this self-advocacy. Bee and Puppycat made me realize not a lot of people like me get representation through cartoons. The first time I heard of the transgender community was when I was 11. I felt so frustrated for not learning who I truly was earlier. People don’t always get the privilege of having their voices heard. This is what I want to help with - and what I can see myself doing for the rest of my life - advocating for communities by helping people tell their stories. So far, I have taken steps to be more active in my community, taking courses on advocacy through my local LGBTQ+ center, running my school’s Gender Sexuality Alliance for the past two years, attending multiple peaceful demonstrations for marginalized communities, and raising awareness of different identities through the art I make. Now, with anti-trans legislation passing in Ohio putting my progress in jeopardy and my health at risk, I turn to something that could keep me safe. I turn to college. I dream of attaining a BFA at the School of Visual Arts in New York City, but need help funding tuition. If I’m selected as a recipient of this scholarship, I’ll be able to learn the skills I need for animated storytelling and fund living out of state. Representation and connection are vitally important for one to fully live, and connecting through stories is one of the most touching experiences that can influence that.

The first time I truly watched a cartoon series was when I discovered the passion behind my art. The time was 9 p.m. on a Saturday. The screeching of birds outside my window was barely audible over the sound of rainfall through a screen. There I was, sitting in front of my desk, rewatching Netflix’s Bee and Puppycat for the 3rd time in the past year. I had just gotten to the part where Bee, an unemployed person in her early 20s, meets Puppycat, a dog-cat hybrid who is secretly running from his past. The two would go on to work fantastical temp jobs on different planets, with Bee and Puppycat questioning their worlds, the past, and everything they know and love. Cue the credits - and, for me, a meaningful contemplation of purpose and passion. As a Queer, Trans, Non-Binary, and disabled person, my experiences are what inspire me to work towards a life in animation. I’ve learned what it means to advocate for myself. During as early as middle school, I’ve been an active part of the Queer community, single-handedly changing my school’s transphobic bathroom policies, making a mural to raise awareness for LGBTQ+ students, and taking time to learn the history and discrimination my communities have experienced. In ninth grade, a judge formally approved my legal name change. I worked through enough therapy appointments to finally coordinate approval for starting Hormone Replacement Therapy when I was 16, learning how to safely self-administer Testosterone injections. I have shown leadership in my life through this self-advocacy. Bee and Puppycat made me realize not a lot of people like me get representation through cartoons. The first time I heard of the transgender community was when I was 11. I felt so frustrated for not learning who I truly was earlier. People don’t always get the privilege of having their voices heard. This is what I want to help with - and what I can see myself doing for the rest of my life - advocating for communities by helping people tell their stories. So far, I have taken steps to be more active in my community, taking courses on advocacy through my local LGBTQ+ center, running my school’s Gender Sexuality Alliance for the past two years, attending multiple peaceful demonstrations for marginalized communities, and raising awareness of different identities through the art I make. Now, with anti-trans legislation passing in Ohio putting my progress in jeopardy and my health at risk, I turn to something that could keep me safe. I turn to college. I dream of attaining a BFA at the School of Visual Arts in New York City, but need help funding tuition. If I’m selected as a recipient of this scholarship, I’ll be able to learn the skills I need for animated storytelling and fund living out of state. Representation and connection are vitally important for one to fully live, and connecting through stories is one of the most touching experiences that can influence that.

This piece, "Rooftops", uses digital illustration to explore themes of human emotion, worldbuilding, liminality, and identity. Two of my original characters, Charlotte Wu (left) and Zoey Bhalla (right), star in the center, with a city lighting up the space behind them. I finished this work in the Digital Illustration course I took junior year, under the prompt to make something to showcase at Cleveland's Rock and Roll Hall of Fame. I wanted to show characters interacting with an environment and experiment with lighting, perspective, and detail. I wanted the two to feel like they could be real human beings with complex and thoughtful backstories. This was featured along with other student artworks in May of 2023 at the Rock Hall's "Rock Your World With Steam" Event. A desire for expression and validation is intrinsically, ineffably human. Everyone in this world deserves to feel seen. Minority communities - including LGBTQ+ folks, people of color, and disabled people - often don’t get the privilege of having their voices heard. People like me don't get a lot of representation, so I commit myself to creating it. The work of Hayao Miyazaki, Dana Terrace, Natasha Allegri, and Owen Dennis fuels a lot of the themes in my art. They are known for their storytelling and intricate characters. I enjoy exploring unusual moments and feelings - things that fall into a sort of ‘in-between’. Those small moments in life when you stop and take a moment to ground yourself. In this piece, I created an intricate city with its lore and story to frame two original characters, each of whom has trauma that brought them together. I like focusing artworks on the connections between people. I make art to help me understand the complexities of both my own emotions, as well as the emotions of others. I view it as work, as something I can learn the intricacies of and practice; but also as a tool to process the world around me, since I am neurodivergent and chronically ill. Starting with a college degree in the arts and internships in the animation industry, I intend to add to and create meaningful stories. Artists and audiences alike deserve a space where they feel listened to. I want to work towards producing creatively at a big studio - like Cartoon Networks, Dreamworks, or Pixar - and eventually, become a showrunner and bring my original characters and story to life. I dream of attaining a BFA at the School of Visual Arts in New York City but need help funding tuition. If I’m selected as a recipient of this scholarship, I’ll be able to learn the skills I need for animated storytelling and fund living out of state. Representation and connection are vitally important for one to fully live, and connecting through stories is one of the most touching experiences that can influence that.

The first time I truly watched a cartoon series was when I discovered the passion behind my art. The time was 9 p.m. on a Saturday. The screeching of birds outside my window was barely audible over the sound of rainfall through a screen. There I was, sitting in front of my desk, rewatching Netflix’s Bee and Puppycat for the 3rd time in the past year. I had just gotten to the part where Bee, an unemployed person in her early 20s, meets Puppycat, a dog-cat hybrid who is secretly running from his past. The two would go on to work fantastical temp jobs on different planets, with Bee and Puppycat questioning their worlds, the past, and everything they know and love. Cue the credits - and, for me, a meaningful contemplation of purpose and passion. As a Queer, Trans, Non-Binary, and disabled person, my experiences are what inspire me to work towards a life in animation. I’ve learned what it means to advocate for myself. During as early as middle school, I’ve been an active part of the Queer community, single-handedly changing my school’s transphobic bathroom policies, making a mural to raise awareness for LGBTQ+ students, and taking time to learn the history and discrimination my communities have experienced. In ninth grade, a judge formally approved my legal name change. I worked through enough therapy appointments to finally coordinate approval for starting Hormone Replacement Therapy when I was 16, learning how to safely self-administer Testosterone injections. I have shown leadership in my life through this self-advocacy. As a person fortunate enough to grow up in an artistic community, I’ve had ample creative mediums available to experiment with. I found art as a space to amplify my experiences, speak up for others, express complex emotions, and bring the worlds I create to life. Expressing my emotions through art helped them become less overwhelming. If I didn’t turn to art to cope, I wouldn’t be here today. Bee and Puppycat made me realize not a lot of people like me get representation through cartoons. The first time I heard of the transgender community was when I was 11. I felt so frustrated for not learning who I truly was earlier. People don’t always get the privilege of having their voices heard. This is what I want to help with - and what I can see myself doing for the rest of my life - advocating for communities by helping people tell their stories. So far, I have taken steps to be more active in my community, taking courses on advocacy through my local LGBTQ+ center, running my school’s Gender Sexuality Alliance for the past two years, attending multiple peaceful demonstrations for marginalized communities, and raising awareness of different identities through the art I make. Now, with anti-trans legislation passing in Ohio putting my progress in jeopardy and my health at risk, I turn to something that could keep me safe. I turn to college. I dream of attaining a BFA at the School of Visual Arts in New York City but need help funding tuition. If I’m selected as a recipient of this scholarship, I’ll be able to learn the skills I need for animated storytelling and fund living out of state. Representation and connection are vitally important for one to fully live, and connecting through stories is one of the most touching experiences that can influence that.

The first time I truly watched a cartoon series was when I discovered the passion behind my art. The time was 9 p.m. on a Saturday. The screeching of birds outside my window was barely audible over the sound of rainfall through a screen. There I was, sitting in front of my desk, rewatching Netflix’s Bee and Puppycat for the 3rd time in the past year. I had just gotten to the part where Bee, an unemployed person in her early 20s, meets Puppycat, a dog-cat hybrid who is secretly running from his past. The two would go on to work fantastical temp jobs on different planets, with Bee and Puppycat questioning their worlds, the past, and everything they know and love. Cue the credits - and, for me, a meaningful contemplation of purpose and passion. As a Queer, Trans, Non-Binary, and disabled person, my experiences are what inspire me to work towards a life in animation. I’ve learned what it means to advocate for myself. During as early as middle school, I’ve been an active part of the Queer community, single-handedly changing my school’s transphobic bathroom policies, making a mural to raise awareness for LGBTQ+ students, and taking time to learn the history and discrimination my communities have experienced. In ninth grade, a judge formally approved my legal name change. I worked through enough therapy appointments to finally coordinate approval for starting Hormone Replacement Therapy when I was 16, learning how to safely self-administer Testosterone injections. I have shown leadership in my life through this self-advocacy. Bee and Puppycat made me realize not a lot of people like me get representation through cartoons. The first time I heard of the transgender community was when I was 11. I felt so frustrated for not learning who I truly was earlier. People don’t always get the privilege of having their voices heard. This is what I want to help with - and what I can see myself doing for the rest of my life - advocating for communities by helping people tell their stories. So far, I have taken steps to be more active in my community, taking courses on advocacy through my local LGBTQ+ center, running my school’s Gender Sexuality Alliance for the past two years, attending multiple peaceful demonstrations for marginalized communities, and raising awareness of different identities through the art I make. Now, with anti-trans legislation passing in Ohio putting my progress in jeopardy and my health at risk, I turn to something that could keep me safe. I turn to college. I dream of attaining a BFA at the School of Visual Arts in New York City but need help funding tuition. If I’m selected as a recipient of this scholarship, I’ll be able to learn the skills I need for animated storytelling and fund living out of state. Representation and connection are vitally important for one to fully live, and connecting through stories is one of the most touching experiences that can influence that.

The first time I truly watched a cartoon series was when I discovered the passion behind my art. The time was 9 p.m. on a Saturday. The screeching of birds outside my window was barely audible over the sound of rainfall through a screen. There I was, sitting in front of my desk, rewatching Netflix’s Bee and Puppycat for the 3rd time in the past year. I had just gotten to the part where Bee, an unemployed person in her early 20s, meets Puppycat, a dog-cat hybrid who is secretly running from his past. The two would go on to work fantastical temp jobs on different planets, with Bee and Puppycat questioning their worlds, the past, and everything they know and love. Cue the credits - and, for me, a meaningful contemplation of purpose and passion. I’ve known I was transgender and non-binary for half of my life. Before I started Hormone Replacement Therapy (HRT), I felt trapped in my own body. When I was younger I struggled with my mental health, having chronic anxiety, depression, and sensory processing issues. I had to cope with suicidal thoughts throughout middle and high school. I’d done a lot of work on myself - meeting with a therapist and learning coping skills - but it wasn’t until I was sixteen, facing my nerves and giving myself testosterone shots, that my health significantly improved. I started taking care of myself even more. I kept a skincare routine, focused more on my schoolwork, and could hold conversations again without panicking about how people perceived me. Having to adapt to new changes and a different mindset, HRT helped me find more strength to advocate for my needs. I felt more comfortable within my own body. I became resilient, and I was able to experience the world in a more open-minded way. I started using art and animation more often to immerse myself in this new experience. Ever since I was little, animation has captivated me. Wanting to share my story inspires me to work towards a life in animation. I’ve learned what it means to advocate for myself. During as early as middle school, I’ve been an active part of the Queer community, single-handedly changing my school’s transphobic bathroom policies, making a mural to raise awareness for LGBTQ+ students, and taking time to learn the history and discrimination my communities have experienced. In ninth grade, a judge formally approved my legal name change. I worked through enough therapy appointments to finally coordinate approval for starting Hormone Replacement Therapy when I was 16, learning how to safely self-administer Testosterone injections. I have shown leadership in my life through this self-advocacy. Bee and Puppycat made me realize not a lot of people like me get representation through cartoons. The first time I heard of the transgender community was when I was 11. I felt so frustrated for not learning who I truly was earlier. People don’t always get the privilege of having their voices heard. This is what I want to help with - and what I can see myself doing for the rest of my life - advocating for communities by helping people tell their stories. So far, I have taken steps to be more active in my community, taking courses on advocacy through my local LGBTQ+ center, running my school’s Gender Sexuality Alliance for the past two years, attending multiple peaceful demonstrations for marginalized communities, and raising awareness of different identities through the art I make. Now, with anti-trans legislation passing in Ohio putting my progress in jeopardy and my health at risk, I turn to something that could keep me safe. I turn to college. I dream of attaining a BFA at the School of Visual Arts in New York City but need help funding tuition. If I’m selected as a recipient of this scholarship, I’ll be able to learn the skills I need for animated storytelling and fund living out of state. Representation and connection are vitally important for one to fully live, and connecting through stories is one of the most touching experiences that can influence that.

What would the world be like if life had a little more vibrance? OMORI, an indie horror game published in 2020, focuses on retreating into HEADSPACE, a vibrant, colorful, carefree world right inside your head. Secretly, though, HEADSPACE isn’t all that it’s cracked up to be. Keeping an endless cycle of escapism intact, the player eventually finds out that Sunny (the main character) uses HEADSPACE as a tool of isolation and an escape from reality. He would have no problems to confront, no painful memories to relive, and, most important of all, everything would be perfect. Forever. When I played through Sunny’s story in 2022, something about it deeply resonated with me. Growing up with autism and chronic anxiety, I would often retreat into my imagination. I bottled up the stress brought on by chronic pain, depression, and transphobic bullying. Instead of processing any of it, I daydreamed about my characters and fantasy worlds all day. I used this to cope with living until I learned that stress doesn’t just vanish. Suppressed emotions collect until you can’t keep a lid on them anymore. Sunny realized this when haunting images of his repressed memories started showing up in HEADSPACE; the only place he thought he was safe. When I started working with a therapist in middle school, I figured out the way I was coping wasn’t helping my anxiety. I worked to develop new skills - ones that addressed the problems I faced instead of dismissing them. Since then, I’ve stopped isolating myself, started communicating with others much more, and took care of myself. Eventually, when my doctors and I decided it was right for me, I started taking anxiety medication. I learned how to become more resilient and open. I started focusing on ways I could improve the present rather than just imagining them. So when I discovered OMORI in 2022, I felt shaken up when I realized just how similar Sunny’s and my life were. We both experienced isolation; the escapism… the repression. It felt intensely connecting to know that other people went through this too. My mental illnesses and the years I've spent living with them have been hard to manage. It took a lot for me to ask for enough guidance to seek professional help. The care that I got from my therapist is not something that everyone else gets to experience- and even though I've received help for what I'm going through, that doesn't mean it just magically goes away. I still view and experience the world in a fundamentally different way. I still have to accommodate the overstimulation that comes with living in an ableist society. I still struggle to maintain communicative friendships and sometimes fall back into older coping mechanisms, but I believe that things do end up getting better, in one way or another. My identities and experiences inspire me to work towards a life in animation. Through everything, I’ve learned what it means to advocate for myself. Starting with a college degree in the arts and internships in the animation industry, I intend to add to and create meaningful stories. Artists and audiences alike deserve a space where they feel listened to. It’s extraordinary for a video game to have the power to change a life. Sunny's story did that for me. Inner revelations, no matter how they’re sparked, are the first step towards transforming the world.

The first time I truly watched a cartoon series was when I discovered the passion behind my art. The time was 9 p.m. on a Saturday. The screeching of birds outside my window was barely audible over the sound of rainfall through a screen. There I was, sitting in front of my desk, rewatching Netflix’s Bee and Puppycat for the 3rd time in the past year. I had just gotten to the part where Bee, an unemployed person in her early 20s, meets Puppycat, a dog-cat hybrid who is secretly running from his past. The two would go on to work fantastical temp jobs on different planets, with Bee and Puppycat questioning their worlds, the past, and everything they know and love. Cue the credits - and, for me, a meaningful contemplation of purpose and passion. As a Queer, Trans, Non-Binary, and disabled person, my experiences are what inspire me to work towards a life in animation. People like me don't get the freedom that others do. Throughout elementary and middle school, I experienced verbal and physical bullying because I presented differently than other kids. People would shout anti-gay and trans slurs at me and my friends. Through all of this, I’ve learned what it means to advocate for myself and my communities. I’ve been out as Queer and Transgender openly since middle school, single-handedly changing my school’s transphobic bathroom policies, making a mural to raise awareness for LGBTQ+ students, and taking time to learn the history and discrimination my communities have experienced. In ninth grade, a judge formally approved my legal name change. I worked through enough therapy appointments to finally coordinate approval for starting Hormone Replacement Therapy when I was 16, learning how to safely self-administer Testosterone injections. I have shown leadership in my life by overcoming transphobic adversity. Bee and Puppycat made me realize a lot of people like me don't get representation through cartoons. The first time I heard of the transgender community was when I was 11. I felt so frustrated for not learning who I truly was earlier. People don’t always get the privilege of having their voices heard. This is what I want to help with - and what I can see myself doing for the rest of my life - advocating for communities by helping people tell their stories. So far, I have taken steps to be more active in my community, taking courses on advocacy through my local LGBTQ+ center, running my school’s Gender Sexuality Alliance for the past two years, attending multiple peaceful demonstrations for marginalized communities, and raising awareness of different identities through the art I make. Now, with anti-trans legislation passing in Ohio putting my progress in jeopardy and my health at risk, I turn to something that could keep me safe. I turn to college. I dream of attaining a BFA at the School of Visual Arts in New York City but need help funding tuition. If I’m selected as a recipient of this scholarship, I’ll be able to learn the skills I need for animated storytelling and fund living out of state. Representation and connection are vitally important for one to live fully, and connecting through stories is one of the most touching experiences that can influence that.

The first time I truly watched a cartoon series was when I discovered the passion behind my art. The time was 9 p.m. on a Saturday. The screeching of birds outside my window was barely audible over the sound of rainfall through a screen. There I was, sitting in front of my desk, rewatching Netflix’s Bee and Puppycat for the 3rd time in the past year. I had just gotten to the part where Bee, an unemployed person in her early 20s, meets Puppycat, a dog-cat hybrid who is secretly running from his past. The two would go on to work fantastical temp jobs on different planets, with Bee and Puppycat questioning their worlds, the past, and everything they know and love. Cue the credits - and, for me, a meaningful contemplation of purpose and passion. As a Queer, Trans, Non-Binary, and disabled person, my experiences are what inspire me to work towards a life in animation. People like me don't get the freedom that others do. Throughout elementary and middle school, I experienced verbal and physical bullying because I presented differently than other kids. People would shout anti-gay and trans slurs at me and my friends. Through all of this, I’ve learned what it means to advocate for myself and my communities. I’ve been out as Queer and Transgender openly since middle school, single-handedly changing my school’s transphobic bathroom policies, making a mural to raise awareness for LGBTQ+ students, and taking time to learn the history and discrimination my communities have experienced. In ninth grade, a judge formally approved my legal name change. I worked through enough therapy appointments to finally coordinate approval for starting Hormone Replacement Therapy when I was 16, learning how to safely self-administer Testosterone injections. I have shown leadership in my life by overcoming transphobic adversity. Bee and Puppycat made me realize a lot of people like me don't get representation through cartoons. The first time I heard of the transgender community was when I was 11. I felt so frustrated for not learning who I truly was earlier. People don’t always get the privilege of having their voices heard. This is what I want to help with - and what I can see myself doing for the rest of my life - advocating for communities by helping people tell their stories. So far, I have taken steps to be more active in my community, taking courses on advocacy through my local LGBTQ+ center, running my school’s Gender Sexuality Alliance for the past two years, attending multiple peaceful demonstrations for marginalized communities, and raising awareness of different identities through the art I make. Now, with anti-trans legislation passing in Ohio putting my progress in jeopardy and my health at risk, I turn to something that could keep me safe. I turn to college. I dream of attaining a BFA at the School of Visual Arts in New York City but need help funding tuition. If I’m selected as a recipient of this scholarship, I’ll be able to learn the skills I need for animated storytelling and fund living out of state. Representation and connection are vitally important for one to live fully, and connecting through stories is one of the most touching experiences that can influence that.

The first time I truly watched a Studio Ghibli movie was when I first discovered a true sense of connection. The time was 7 p.m. on a Saturday. A cacophony of crickets humming outside my living room window was barely audible over the artificial sound of crows shrieking through a television screen. There I was, sitting on my couch, rewatching Kiki’s Delivery Service on a 1990s VHS player for what was probably the 14th time. I had just gotten to the part where Kiki, a young witch trying to start her own business away from home, meets Ursula, a reclusive artist living in the woods. Little did Kiki know, soon she would be questioning her skills as a witch and be thrust into burnout. Que the credits, and for me, a meaningful contemplation of life, purpose, and passion sprouted. Kiki’s Delivery Service has been one of my long-time favorite movies on my yearly re-watch list, along with My Neighbor Totoro, Spider-Man: Into The Spider-Verse, and Song of the Sea. That day, as autumn symphonies seeped through the windows, I fully realized just how powerful animation can be. Growing up having chronic anxiety, depression, and sensory processing issues, I have always struggled with quick-onset burnout. Exhaustion would continue to compile every day I spent doing any form of work until it became unbearable. Instead of processing any of the invalidation I received from others when I reached out for help, I fell into the habit of maladaptive daydreaming. I used this to cope with living until I learned that stress doesn’t just vanish. When I started working with a therapist in middle school, I figured out the way I was coping wasn’t helping my anxiety or depression. I worked to develop new coping skills - ones that addressed the problems I faced instead of dismissing them. Even though I still experience burnout, panic and anxiety attacks, and depressive episodes - I just have more help with managing them. When I decided it was right for me, I started taking anxiety medication. Even though it's been a rough journey, medication has helped me avoid overthinking, and I've been able to focus and feel more emotions. I could de-escalate my panic and anxiety attacks. I became more resilient, focusing on improving the present rather than just imagining it. I learned how to cope with burnout, just like Kiki. Feeling just how much Kiki struggled through a screen also made me wonder what it could be like to impact people on that same level. Through my experiences, I realized that opening up can be how I can connect with others and bring representation to those who need it. The diversity of animation can help people feel seen and heard. I didn’t realize other people experienced burnout, too, until I rewatched Kiki's Delivery Service. This is what I want to help with - and what I can see myself doing for the rest of my life - advocating for communities by helping people tell their stories. The years I've spent living with my disabilities have been hard to manage. It took a lot for me to ask for enough guidance to get help. The care that I got from my therapist is not something that everyone else gets to experience- and even though I've gotten support for what I'm going through, that doesn't mean it just magically goes away. I sometimes fall back into older coping mechanisms, but I believe that things end up getting better, in one way or another. Self-care ultimately led me to stronger bonds and a new love for self-expression.

The first time I truly watched a cartoon series was when I discovered the passion behind my art. The time was 9 p.m. on a Saturday. The screeching of birds outside my window was barely audible over the sound of rainfall through a screen. There I was, sitting in front of my desk, rewatching Netflix’s Bee and Puppycat for the 3rd time in the past year. I had just gotten to the part where Bee, an unemployed person in her early 20s, meets Puppycat, a dog-cat hybrid who is secretly running from his past. The two would go on to work fantastical temp jobs on different planets, with Bee and Puppycat questioning their worlds, the past, and everything they know and love. Cue the credits - and, for me, a meaningful contemplation of purpose and passion. As a Queer, Trans, Non-Binary, and disabled person, my experiences are what inspire me to work towards a life in animation. I’ve learned what it means to advocate for myself. During as early as middle school, I’ve been an active part of the Queer community, single-handedly changing my school’s transphobic bathroom policies, making a mural to raise awareness for LGBTQ+ students, and taking time to learn the history and discrimination my communities have experienced. In ninth grade, a judge formally approved my legal name change. I worked through enough therapy appointments to finally coordinate approval for starting Hormone Replacement Therapy when I was 16, learning how to safely self-administer Testosterone injections. I have shown leadership in my life through this self-advocacy. Bee and Puppycat made me realize not a lot of people like me get representation through cartoons. The first time I heard of the transgender community was when I was 11. I felt so frustrated for not learning who I truly was earlier. People don’t always get the privilege of having their voices heard. This is what I want to help with - and what I can see myself doing for the rest of my life - advocating for communities by helping people tell their stories. So far, I have taken steps to be more active in my community, taking courses on advocacy through my local LGBTQ+ center, running my school’s Gender Sexuality Alliance for the past two years, attending multiple peaceful demonstrations for marginalized communities, and raising awareness of different identities through the art I make. Now, with anti-trans legislation passing in Ohio putting my progress in jeopardy and my health at risk, I turn to something that could keep me safe. I turn to college. I dream of attaining a BFA at the School of Visual Arts in New York City but need help funding tuition. If I’m selected as a recipient of this scholarship, I’ll be able to learn the skills I need for animated storytelling and fund living out of state. Representation and connection are vitally important for one to live fully; connecting through stories is one of the most touching experiences that can influence that.

The first time I truly watched a cartoon series was when I discovered the passion behind my art. The time was 9 p.m. on a Saturday. The screeching of birds outside my window was barely audible over the sound of rainfall through a screen. There I was, sitting in front of my desk, rewatching Netflix’s Bee and Puppycat for the 3rd time in the past year. I had just gotten to the part where Bee, an unemployed person in her early 20s, meets Puppycat, a dog-cat hybrid who is secretly running from his past. The two would go on to work fantastical temp jobs on different planets, with Bee and Puppycat questioning their worlds, the past, and everything they know and love. Cue the credits - and, for me, a meaningful contemplation of purpose and passion. As a Queer, Trans, Non-Binary, and disabled person, my experiences are what inspire me to work towards a life in animation. I’ve learned what it means to advocate for myself. During as early as middle school, I’ve been an active part of the Queer community, single-handedly changing my school’s transphobic bathroom policies, making a mural to raise awareness for LGBTQ+ students, and taking time to learn the history and discrimination my communities have experienced. In ninth grade, a judge formally approved my legal name change. I worked through enough therapy appointments to finally coordinate approval for starting Hormone Replacement Therapy when I was 16, learning how to safely self-administer Testosterone injections. I have shown leadership in my life through this self-advocacy. Bee and Puppycat made me realize not a lot of people like me get representation through cartoons. The first time I heard of the transgender community was when I was 11. I felt so frustrated for not learning who I truly was earlier. People don’t always get the privilege of having their voices heard. This is what I want to help with - and what I can see myself doing for the rest of my life - advocating for communities by helping people tell their stories. So far, I have taken steps to be more active in my community, taking courses on advocacy through my local LGBTQ+ center, running my school’s Gender Sexuality Alliance for the past two years, attending multiple peaceful demonstrations for marginalized communities, and raising awareness of different identities through the art I make. Now, with anti-trans legislation passing in Ohio putting my progress in jeopardy and my health at risk, I turn to something that could keep me safe. I turn to college. I dream of attaining a BFA at the School of Visual Arts in New York City, but need help funding tuition. If I’m selected as a recipient of this scholarship, I’ll be able to learn the skills I need for animated storytelling and fund living out of state. Representation and connection are vitally important for one to fully live, and connecting through stories is one of the most touching experiences that can influence that.

Liminal: The space between what is and what will happen next. Associated with feelings of surrealness, fear, nostalgia, or comfort. Those feelings were the strongest emotions I could make out as I was sitting on the side of a hospital bed on June 10, 2022. Holding a filled syringe and needle like a pencil above my thigh, my parents and doctor sitting to the side, I braced myself for what would come next. Reviewing what we had spent the last hour going over, I took a deep breath. First. Pinch the thigh. Second. Push the needle in as far as it’ll go. Third. Push the medicine in all the way. Fourth. Stop pinching. Last, fifth. Smoothly withdraw the needle from the leg. Re-cap it. Another breath. It was as if someone pressed pause on time itself. Pinch. In. Plunger. Unpinch. Out. Inhale, exhale. Finally, after what seemed like the longest moment of hesitation I’d ever experienced, I let go of enough anxiety to start the motions on my own. Before I knew it - Pinch. In. Plunger. Unpinch. Out - I had just administered my first testosterone shot, officially starting my journey on Hormone Replacement Therapy. The rest of the world fell away. All the uneasiness I felt before that moment stopped its torment on my brain. This felt surreal. Soon, I would be back home - with a band-aid on my thigh - going through the rest of my normal routine. I’ve known I was transgender and non-binary for half of my life. Before I started Hormone Replacement Therapy (HRT), I felt trapped in my own body. When I was younger I struggled with my mental health, having chronic anxiety, depression, and sensory processing issues. I had to cope with suicidal thoughts throughout my childhood. I’d done a lot of work on myself - meeting with a therapist and learning coping skills - but it wasn’t until I was sixteen, facing my nerves and giving myself testosterone shots, that my health significantly improved. I started taking care of myself more. Having to adapt to changes and a different mindset, HRT helped me find more strength to advocate for my needs. I felt comfortable within my own body. Now, with anti-trans legislation passing throughout the U.S. putting all my progress in jeopardy and my health at risk, I turn to something that has been a coping mechanism for me ever since I could pick up a pencil. I turn to art. My work combines digital illustration, traditional mediums, and time-based media to explore themes of human emotion, worldbuilding, liminality, and identity. The work of Hayao Miyazaki, Dana Terrace, Natasha Allegri, and Owen Dennis fuels many of my work's themes. They are known for their storytelling and intricate characters. I enjoy exploring unusual moments and feelings - things that fall into a sort of ‘in-between’. Those small moments in life when you stop and take a moment to ground yourself. As a Queer, Trans, and disabled person, my identities are what inspires me to work towards a life in animation. Through everything, I’ve learned what it means to advocate for myself. During as early as middle school, I’ve been an active part of the Queer community, single-handedly changing my school’s transphobic bathroom policies, making a mural to raise awareness and teaching people about the LGBTQ+ community, and taking time to learn the history and discrimination my communities have experienced. I want to make a lasting impact with the art I create, and I hope the safety I've found in my community inspires other people to seek the same.

The first time I truly watched a cartoon series was when I discovered the passion behind advocacy. The time was 9 p.m. on a Saturday. The screeching of birds outside my window was barely audible over the sound of rainfall through a screen. There I was, sitting in front of my desk, rewatching Netflix’s Bee and Puppycat for the 3rd time in the past year. I had just gotten to the part where Bee, an unemployed person in her early 20s, meets Puppycat, a dog-cat hybrid secretly running from his past. The two would go on to work fantastical temp jobs on different planets, with Bee and Puppycat questioning their worlds, the past, and everything they know and love. Cue the credits - and, for me, a meaningful contemplation of purpose and passion. As a Queer, Trans, Non-Binary, and disabled person, my identities and experiences are what inspire me to work towards a life in animation. Through everything, I’ve learned what it means to advocate for myself. Bee and Puppycat made me realize not a lot of people like me get representation through cartoons. The first time I heard of the transgender community was when I was 11, and I felt so frustrated for not learning who I truly was earlier. I became determined to advocate for artistic communities supporting LGBTQ+, transgender, and disabled rights. During as early as middle school, I’ve been an active part of the Queer and trans communities, single-handedly changing my school’s transphobic bathroom policies, making a mural to raise awareness and teaching people about the LGBTQ+ community, and taking time to learn the history and discrimination my communities have experienced. I have taken courses on advocacy through my local LGBTQ+ center, have run my school’s Gender Sexuality Alliance for the past two years, attended and volunteered at multiple peaceful demonstrations for marginalized communities (including PRIDE in the CLE and marching for reproductive rights), and actively participated in Student Council as a Visual Arts Representative. I volunteered for a variety of events in Cleveland's art scene this year, including the Waterloo Arts Festival, Ingenuity Fest, Pop-Up Small Business events at Cleveland School of the Arts, and Genghis Con (Cleveland's small press and indie comic con). I gained over 30 volunteer hours from this without a need for them to graduate. I also plan to volunteer at Lake Erie Ink's Kids Comic Con next February, help with Waterloo Arts events, and I'm currently helping organize a Disabled Support Group within my high school. I know what I want to achieve in my life. Telling stories. Making art. Things that show people they aren’t alone. People can make this world accepting and support everyone when they try to.

The first time I truly watched a Studio Ghibli movie was when I first discovered the passion behind my art. The time was 7 p.m. on a Saturday. A cacophony of crickets humming outside my living room window was barely audible over the artificial sound of crows shrieking through a television screen. There I was, sitting on my couch, rewatching Kiki’s Delivery Service on a 1990s VHS player for what was probably the 14th time. I had just gotten to the part where Kiki, a young witch trying to start her own business away from home, meets Ursula, a reclusive artist living in the woods. Little did Kiki know, soon she would be questioning her skills as a witch and what it takes to make a living. Que the credits, and for me, a meaningful contemplation of life, purpose, and passion sprouted. Kiki’s Delivery Service has been one of my long-time favorite movies on my yearly re-watch list, along with My Neighbor Totoro, Spider-Man: Into The Spider-Verse, and Song of the Sea. That day, as the autumn symphonies seeped through the windows, I fully realized just how powerful animation can be. Being able to feel just how much Kiki struggled through nothing but a screen made me wonder what it could be like to impact people on that same level. I had been creating and polishing a world of my own since I was 11, with characters who felt real to me. Sharing my experiences through storytelling, with mental health, chronic illness, being LGBTQ, and living as transgender, is how I can connect with others and bring representation to those who need it. The diversity that animation is capable of can help people feel seen and heard. I didn’t realize other people experienced burnout, too, until that Saturday, rewatching the movie. We don’t always stop to consider what meaning our entertainment holds. Sure, there are all sorts of animated sitcoms or comedies out there to watch when you can’t handle something deep. However, the gems that help people reflect on life are harder to find. Starting with a college degree in the arts and internships in the animation industry, I intend to add to and create meaningful stories. Artists and audiences alike deserve a space where they feel listened to. It’s something extraordinary for a film to have the power to change a life. Hayao Miyazaki as an individual artist created an entire studio, whose many films, including Kiki’s story, did that for me. Inner revelations, no matter how they’re sparked, are the first step towards transforming the world.

The first time I truly watched a Studio Ghibli movie was when I first discovered the passion behind my art. The time was 7 p.m. on a Saturday. A cacophony of crickets humming outside my living room window was barely audible over the artificial sound of crows shrieking through a television screen. There I was, sitting on my couch, rewatching Kiki’s Delivery Service on a 1990s VHS player for what was probably the 14th time. I had just gotten to the part where Kiki, a young witch trying to start her own business away from home, meets Ursula, a reclusive artist living in the woods. Little did Kiki know, soon she would be questioning her skills as a witch and what it takes to make a living. Que the credits, and for me, a meaningful contemplation of life, purpose, and passion sprouted. Kiki’s Delivery Service has been one of my long-time favorite movies on my yearly re-watch list, along with My Neighbor Totoro, Spider-Man: Into The Spider-Verse, and Song of the Sea. That day, as the autumn symphonies seeped through the windows, I fully realized just how powerful animation can be. Being able to feel just how much Kiki struggled through nothing but a screen made me wonder what it could be like to impact people on that same level. I had been creating and polishing a world of my own since I was 11, with characters who felt real to me. Sharing my experiences through storytelling, with mental health, chronic illness, being LGBTQ, and living as transgender, is how I can connect with others and bring representation to those who need it. The diversity that animation is capable of can help people feel seen and heard. I didn’t realize other people experienced burnout, too, until that Saturday, rewatching the movie. We don’t always stop to consider what meaning our entertainment holds. Sure, there are all sorts of animated sitcoms or comedies out there to watch when you can’t handle something deep. However, the gems that help people reflect on life are harder to find. Starting with a college degree in the arts and internships in the animation industry, I intend to add to and create meaningful stories. Artists and audiences alike deserve a space where they feel listened to. It’s something extraordinary for a film to have the power to change a life. Hayao Miyazaki as an individual artist created an entire studio, whose many films, including Kiki’s story, did that for me. Inner revelations, no matter how they’re sparked, are the first step towards transforming the world.

The first time I truly watched a Studio Ghibli movie was when I first discovered the passion behind my art. The time was 7 p.m. on a Saturday. A cacophony of crickets humming outside my living room window was barely audible over the artificial sound of crows shrieking through a television screen. There I was, sitting on my couch, rewatching Kiki’s Delivery Service on a 1990s VHS player for what was probably the 14th time. I had just gotten to the part where Kiki, a young witch trying to start her own business away from home, meets Ursula, a reclusive artist living in the woods. Little did Kiki know, soon she would be questioning her skills as a witch and what it takes to make a living. Que the credits, and for me, a meaningful contemplation of life, purpose, and passion sprouted. Kiki’s Delivery Service has been one of my long-time favorite movies on my yearly re-watch list, along with My Neighbor Totoro, Spider-Man: Into The Spider-Verse, and Song of the Sea. That day, as the autumn symphonies seeped through the windows, I fully realized just how powerful animation can be. Being able to feel just how much Kiki struggled through nothing but a screen made me wonder what it could be like to impact people on that same level. I had been creating and polishing a world of my own since I was 11, with characters who felt real to me. Sharing my experiences through storytelling, with mental health, chronic illness, being LGBTQ, and living as transgender, is how I can connect with others and bring representation to those who need it. The diversity that animation is capable of can help people feel seen and heard. I didn’t realize other people experienced burnout, too, until that Saturday, rewatching the movie. We don’t always stop to consider what meaning our entertainment holds. Sure, there are all sorts of animated sitcoms or comedies out there to watch when you can’t handle something deep. However, the gems that help people reflect on life are harder to find. Starting with a college degree in the arts and internships in the animation industry, I intend to add to and create meaningful stories. Artists and audiences alike deserve a space where they feel listened to. It’s something extraordinary for a film to have the power to change a life. Hayao Miyazaki as an individual artist created an entire studio, whose many films, including Kiki’s story, did that for me. Inner revelations, no matter how they’re sparked, are the first step towards transforming the world.

The first time I truly watched a Studio Ghibli movie was when I first discovered a true sense of connection. The time was 7 p.m. on a Saturday. A cacophony of crickets humming outside my living room window was barely audible over the artificial sound of crows shrieking through a television screen. There I was, sitting on my couch, rewatching Kiki’s Delivery Service on a 1990s VHS player for what was probably the 14th time. I had just gotten to the part where Kiki, a young witch trying to start her own business away from home, meets Ursula, a reclusive artist living in the woods. Little did Kiki know, soon she would be questioning her skills as a witch and be thrust into burnout. Que the credits, and for me, a meaningful contemplation of life, purpose, and passion sprouted. Kiki’s Delivery Service has been one of my long-time favorite movies on my yearly re-watch list, along with My Neighbor Totoro, Spider-Man: Into The Spider-Verse, and Song of the Sea. That day, as autumn symphonies seeped through the windows, I fully realized just how powerful animation can be. Growing up having chronic pain, asthma, anxiety, and sensory processing issues, I have always struggled with quick-onset burnout. Exhaustion would continue to compile every day I spent doing any form of work until it became unbearable. Instead of processing any of the invalidation I received from others when I reached out for help, I fell into the habit of maladaptive daydreaming. I used this to cope with living until I learned that stress doesn’t just vanish. When I started working with a therapist in middle school, I figured out the way I was coping wasn’t helping my anxiety or depression. I worked to develop new coping skills - ones that addressed the problems I faced instead of dismissing them. This hasn't made any problems go away - I still experience burnout, panic and anxiety attacks, and depressive episodes - I just have more help with managing them. When I decided it was right for me, I started taking anxiety medication. Even though it's been a rough journey, medication has helped me avoid overthinking, and I've been able to focus and feel more emotions. I could de-escalate my panic and anxiety attacks. I became a more resilient person, focusing on ways I could improve the present rather than just imagining them. I learned how to cope with burnout, just like Kiki. Feeling just how much Kiki struggled through nothing but a screen also made me wonder what it could be like to impact people on that same level. Through my own story, I realized that sharing my experiences with mental and physical health can be how I can connect with others and bring representation to those who need it. The diversity of animation can help people feel seen and heard. I didn’t realize other people experienced burnout, too, until I rewatched Kiki's Delivery Service. My illnesses and the years I've spent living with them have been hard to manage. It took a lot for me to ask for enough guidance to seek professional help. The care that I got from my therapist is not something that everyone else gets to experience- and even though I've received help for what I'm going through, that doesn't mean it just magically goes away. I still struggle to maintain communicative friendships and sometimes fall back into older coping mechanisms, but I believe that things do end up getting better, in one way or another. Self-care ultimately led me to stronger bonds and a new love for self-expression.

It is intrinsically human to tell stories and express one’s emotions using art. Throughout my childhood, I was captivated by how people tell stories through moving pictures. How could something be so captivating visually and resonate with my experiences so much? I could feel the emotions of the lines moving on-screen. This is what I want to do - and what I can see myself doing for the rest of my life - expressing stories through the medium of animation. I want to impact communities all over the world and truly make a difference. Representation and connection are so vitally important for one to fully live, and connecting through stories is one of the most touching experiences that can influence that. Starting with a college degree in animation and internships in the industry, I intend to add to and create meaningful stories. Artists and audiences alike deserve a space where they feel listened to. It’s something extraordinary for a film to have the power to change a life.

The first time I truly watched a Studio Ghibli movie was when I first discovered the passion behind my art. The time was 7 p.m. on a Saturday. A cacophony of crickets humming outside my living room window was barely audible over the artificial sound of crows shrieking through a television screen. There I was, sitting on my couch, rewatching Kiki’s Delivery Service on a 1990s VHS player for what was probably the 14th time. I had just gotten to the part where Kiki, a young witch trying to start her own business away from home, meets Ursula, a reclusive artist living in the woods. Little did Kiki know, soon she would be questioning her skills as a witch and what it takes to make a living. Que the credits, and for me, a meaningful contemplation of life, purpose, and passion sprouted. Kiki’s Delivery Service has been one of my long-time favorite movies on my yearly re-watch list, along with My Neighbor Totoro, Spider-Man: Into The Spider-Verse, and Song of the Sea. That day, as the autumn symphonies seeped through the windows, I fully realized just how powerful animation can be. Feeling just how much Kiki struggled through nothing but a screen also made me wonder what it could be like to impact people on that same level. Through my own story, I realized that sharing my experiences with mental health can be how I can connect with others and bring representation to those who need it. The diversity of animation can help people feel seen and heard. I didn’t realize other people experienced burnout, too, until I rewatched Kiki's Delivery Service. As a Queer, Trans, Non-Binary, and disabled person, my identities and experiences are what inspire me to work towards a life in animation. Through everything, I’ve learned what it means to advocate for myself. During as early as middle school, I’ve been an active part of the Queer community, single-handedly changing my school’s transphobic bathroom policies, making a mural to raise awareness and teaching people about the LGBTQ+ community, and taking time to learn the history and discrimination my communities have experienced. Kiki's Delivery Service made me realize not a lot of people like me get representation through cartoons. The first time I heard of the transgender community was when I was 11. I felt so frustrated for not learning who I truly was earlier. Since I realized that, I knew what I wanted to achieve in my life. Telling stories. Making art. Things that show people they aren’t alone. People can make this world accepting and supportive of everyone when they try to.

The first time I truly watched a Studio Ghibli movie was when I first discovered the passion behind my art. The time was 7 p.m. on a Saturday. A cacophony of crickets humming outside my living room window was barely audible over the artificial sound of crows shrieking through a television screen. There I was, sitting on my couch, rewatching Kiki’s Delivery Service on a 1990s VHS player for what was probably the 14th time. I had just gotten to the part where Kiki, a young witch trying to start her own business away from home, meets Ursula, a reclusive artist living in the woods. Little did Kiki know, soon she would be questioning her skills as a witch and what it takes to make a living. Que the credits, and for me, a meaningful contemplation of life, purpose, and passion sprouted. Kiki’s Delivery Service has been one of my long-time favorite movies on my yearly re-watch list, along with My Neighbor Totoro, Spider-Man: Into The Spider-Verse, and Song of the Sea. That day, as the autumn symphonies seeped through the windows, I fully realized just how powerful animation can be. From then on, I knew what I wanted in my life. I wanted to impact people. I wanted to tell stories. I wanted to make this kind of art. I had just one problem - I needed to figure out how I could pursue this field of expression. Luckily, I had help. Going to a high school for the arts provided me with a lot of practical resources and supportive mentors. Throughout all four years of my high school experience, my art teacher, Brittainy Quinn, had an extraordinary influence on who I am and how I think about life. She helped me figure out how to express myself through creativity, provided a safe space for me to be myself, supported me when I needed to talk, and always offered advice when I needed it. During my stressful transition into high school, she was my most supportive teacher. That helped cultivate my inspiration and motivation tenfold. She taught me to step back from perfection and tend to my health. She taught me that I can do anything. I became a better person and artist because of her validation. Sharing my experiences through storytelling, with mental health, chronic illness, being LGBTQ, and living as transgender, is how I can connect with others and bring representation to those who need it. However, nobody can do that alone. I had such a wonderful source of support from all of the teachers I've grown up with, and I'll remain eternally grateful for that.

The first time I truly watched a Studio Ghibli movie was when I first discovered a true sense of connection. The time was 7 p.m. on a Saturday. A cacophony of crickets humming outside my living room window was barely audible over the artificial sound of crows shrieking through a television screen. There I was, sitting on my couch, rewatching Kiki’s Delivery Service on a 1990s VHS player for what was probably the 14th time. I had just gotten to the part where Kiki, a young witch trying to start her own business away from home, meets Ursula, a reclusive artist living in the woods. Little did Kiki know, soon she would be questioning her skills as a witch and be thrust into burnout. Que the credits, and for me, a meaningful contemplation of life, purpose, and passion sprouted. Kiki’s Delivery Service has been one of my long-time favorite movies on my yearly re-watch list, along with My Neighbor Totoro, Spider-Man: Into The Spider-Verse, and Song of the Sea. That day, as autumn symphonies seeped through the windows, I fully realized just how powerful animation can be. Growing up being neurodivergent; and having chronic anxiety, depression, and sensory processing issues, I always struggled with burnout. Exhaustion would continue to compile every day I spent doing any form of work until it became unbearable. My grades didn't slip, but my health would. Instead of processing any of the invalidations I received from others when I reached out for help, I fell into the habit of isolating myself, self-harming, and dissociating. I used this to cope with living until I learned that stress doesn’t vanish. When I started working with a therapist in middle school, I figured out the way I was coping wasn’t helping my anxiety or depression. I worked to develop new coping skills - ones that addressed the problems I faced instead of dismissing them. This hasn't made any problems go away - I still experience burnout, panic and anxiety attacks, and depressive episodes - I just have more help with managing them. When I decided it was right for me, I started taking anxiety medication. I reached out for help from my school and worked to get a 504 plan. Even though it's been a rough journey, medication has helped me avoid overthinking. I've been able to focus and feel more emotions. I can de-escalate my panic and anxiety attacks. I'm becoming a more resilient person, focusing on ways I could improve the present rather than imagining them. I learned how to cope with burnout, just like Kiki. Feeling just how much Kiki struggled through nothing but a screen also made me wonder what it could be like to impact people on that same level. Through my own story, I realized that sharing my experiences with mental health can be how I can connect with others and bring representation to those who need it. The diversity of animation can help people feel seen and heard. I didn’t realize other people experienced burnout, too, until I rewatched Kiki's Delivery Service. My disabilities and the years I've spent living with them have been hard to manage. It took effort for me to ask for enough guidance to seek professional help - and even though I've received help for what I'm going through, that doesn't mean it just magically goes away. I still struggle to maintain friendships and sometimes fall back into older coping mechanisms, but I believe that things do end up getting better, one way or another. Self-care led me to stronger bonds and a new love for self-expression.

The first time I truly watched a Studio Ghibli movie was when I first discovered a true sense of connection. The time was 7 p.m. on a Saturday. A cacophony of crickets humming outside my living room window was barely audible over the artificial sound of crows shrieking through a television screen. There I was, sitting on my couch, rewatching Kiki’s Delivery Service on a 1990s VHS player for what was probably the 14th time. I had just gotten to the part where Kiki, a young witch trying to start her own business away from home, meets Ursula, a reclusive artist living in the woods. Little did Kiki know, soon she would be questioning her skills as a witch and be thrust into burnout. Que the credits, and for me, a meaningful contemplation of life, purpose, and passion sprouted. Kiki’s Delivery Service has been one of my long-time favorite movies on my yearly re-watch list, along with My Neighbor Totoro, Spider-Man: Into The Spider-Verse, and Song of the Sea. That day, as autumn symphonies seeped through the windows, I fully realized just how powerful animation can be. Growing up having chronic anxiety, depression, and sensory processing issues, I have always struggled with quick-onset burnout. Exhaustion would continue to compile every day I spent doing any form of work until it became unbearable. Instead of processing any of the invalidation I received from others when I reached out for help, I fell into the habit of maladaptive daydreaming. I used this to cope with living until I learned that stress doesn’t just vanish. When I started working with a therapist in middle school, I figured out the way I was coping wasn’t helping my anxiety or depression. I worked to develop new coping skills - ones that addressed the problems I faced instead of dismissing them. This hasn't made any problems go away - I still experience burnout, panic and anxiety attacks, and depressive episodes - I just have more help with managing them. When I decided it was right for me, I started taking anxiety medication. Even though it's been a rough journey, medication has helped me avoid overthinking, and I've been able to focus and feel more emotions. I could de-escalate my panic and anxiety attacks. I became a more resilient person, focusing on ways I could improve the present rather than just imagining them. I learned how to cope with burnout, just like Kiki. Feeling just how much Kiki struggled through nothing but a screen also made me wonder what it could be like to impact people on that same level. Through my own story, I realized that sharing my experiences with mental health can be how I can connect with others and bring representation to those who need it. The diversity of animation can help people feel seen and heard. I didn’t realize other people experienced burnout, too, until I rewatched Kiki's Delivery Service. My mental illnesses and the years I've spent living with them have been hard to manage. It took a lot for me to ask for enough guidance to seek professional help. The care that I got from my therapist is not something that everyone else gets to experience- and even though I've received help for what I'm going through, that doesn't mean it just magically goes away. I still struggle to maintain communicative friendships and sometimes fall back into older coping mechanisms, but I believe that things do end up getting better, in one way or another. Self-care ultimately led me to stronger bonds and a new love for self-expression.

The first time I truly watched a Studio Ghibli movie was when I first discovered a true sense of connection. The time was 7 p.m. on a Saturday. A cacophony of crickets humming outside my living room window was barely audible over the artificial sound of crows shrieking through a television screen. There I was, sitting on my couch, rewatching Kiki’s Delivery Service on a 1990s VHS player for what was probably the 14th time. I had just gotten to the part where Kiki, a young witch trying to start her own business away from home, meets Ursula, a reclusive artist living in the woods. Little did Kiki know, soon she would be questioning her skills as a witch and be thrust into burnout. Que the credits, and for me, a meaningful contemplation of life, purpose, and passion sprouted. Kiki’s Delivery Service has been one of my long-time favorite movies on my yearly re-watch list, along with My Neighbor Totoro, Spider-Man: Into The Spider-Verse, and Song of the Sea. That day, as autumn symphonies seeped through the windows, I fully realized just how powerful animation can be. Growing up having chronic anxiety, depression, and sensory processing issues, I have always struggled with quick-onset burnout. Exhaustion would continue to compile every day I spent doing any form of work until it became unbearable. Instead of processing any of the invalidation I received from others when I reached out for help, I fell into the habit of maladaptive daydreaming. I used this to cope with living until I learned that stress doesn’t just vanish. When I started working with a therapist in middle school, I figured out the way I was coping wasn’t helping my anxiety or depression. I worked to develop new coping skills - ones that addressed the problems I faced instead of dismissing them. This hasn't made any problems go away - I still experience burnout, panic and anxiety attacks, and depressive episodes - I just have more help with managing them. When I decided it was right for me, I started taking anxiety medication. Even though it's been a rough journey, medication has helped me avoid overthinking, and I've been able to focus and feel more emotions. I could de-escalate my panic and anxiety attacks. I became a more resilient person, focusing on ways I could improve the present rather than just imagining them. I learned how to cope with burnout, just like Kiki. Feeling just how much Kiki struggled through nothing but a screen also made me wonder what it could be like to impact people on that same level. Through my own story, I realized that sharing my experiences with mental health can be how I can connect with others and bring representation to those who need it. The diversity of animation can help people feel seen and heard. I didn’t realize other people experienced burnout, too, until I rewatched Kiki's Delivery Service. My mental illnesses and the years I've spent living with them have been hard to manage. It took a lot for me to ask for enough guidance to seek professional help. The care that I got from my therapist is not something that everyone else gets to experience- and even though I've received help for what I'm going through, that doesn't mean it just magically goes away. I still struggle to maintain communicative friendships and sometimes fall back into older coping mechanisms, but I believe that things do end up getting better, in one way or another. Self-care ultimately led me to stronger bonds and a new love for self-expression.

The first time I truly watched a cartoon series was when I discovered the passion behind my art. The time was 9 p.m. on a Saturday. The screeching of birds outside my window was barely audible over the sound of rainfall through a screen. There I was, sitting in front of my desk, rewatching Netflix’s Bee and Puppycat for the 3rd time in the past year. I had just gotten to the part where Bee, an unemployed person in her early 20s, meets Puppycat, a dog-cat hybrid who is secretly running from his past. The two would go on to work fantastical temp jobs on different planets, with Bee and Puppycat questioning their worlds, the past, and everything they know and love. Cue the credits - and, for me, a meaningful contemplation of purpose and passion. As a Queer, Trans, Non-Binary, and disabled person, my identities and experiences are what inspire me to work towards a life in animation. Before I started Hormone Replacement Therapy (HRT), I felt trapped in my own body. When I was younger I struggled with my mental health, having chronic anxiety, depression, and sensory processing issues. I had to cope with suicidal thoughts throughout middle and high school. I’d done a lot of work on myself - meeting with a therapist and learning coping skills - but it wasn’t until I was sixteen, facing my nerves and giving myself testosterone shots, that my health significantly improved. I started taking care of myself even more. I kept a skincare routine, focused more on my schoolwork, and I could hold conversations again without panicking about how people perceived me. Having to adapt to new changes and a different mindset, HRT helped me find more strength to advocate for my needs. I felt more comfortable within my own body. I became resilient, and I was able to experience the world in a more open-minded way. Through everything, I’ve learned what it means to advocate for myself. During as early as middle school, I’ve been an active part of the Queer community, single-handedly changing my school’s transphobic bathroom policies, making a mural to raise awareness and teaching people about the LGBTQ+ community, and taking time to learn the history and discrimination my communities have experienced. Bee and Puppycat made me realize not a lot of people like me get representation through cartoons. The first time I heard of the transgender community was when I was 11. I felt so frustrated for not learning who I truly was earlier. Since I realized that, I knew what I wanted to achieve in my life. Telling stories. Making art. Things that show people they aren’t alone. People can make this world accepting and supportive of everyone when they try to. Starting with a college degree in the arts and internships in the animation industry, I intend to add to and create meaningful stories. Artists and audiences alike deserve a space where they feel listened to. It’s something extraordinary for a series to have the power to change a life. Bee and Puppycat did that for me. Inner revelations, no matter how they’re sparked, are the first step towards transforming the world.

What would the world be like if life had a little more vibrance? OMORI, an indie horror game published in 2020, focuses on retreating into HEADSPACE, a vibrant, colorful, carefree world right inside your head. Secretly, though, HEADSPACE isn’t all that it’s cracked up to be. Keeping an endless cycle of escapism intact, the player eventually finds out that Sunny (the main character) uses HEADSPACE as a tool of isolation and an escape from reality. He would have no problems to confront, no painful memories to relive, and, most important of all, everything would be perfect. Forever. When I played through Sunny’s story in 2022, something about it deeply resonated with me. Growing up having chronic anxiety, I would often retreat into my imagination. I bottled up the stress brought on by chronic pain, depression, and transphobic bullying. Instead of processing any of it, I daydreamed about my characters and fantasy worlds all day. I used this to cope with living until I learned that stress doesn’t just vanish. Suppressed emotions collect until you can’t keep a lid on them anymore. Sunny realized this when haunting images of his repressed memories started showing up in HEADSPACE; the only place he thought he was safe. When I started working with a therapist in middle school, I figured out maladaptive daydreaming wasn’t helping my anxiety. I worked to develop new coping skills - ones that addressed the problems I faced instead of dismissing them. Since then, I’ve stopped isolating myself, started communicating with others much more, and took care of myself. Eventually, when my doctors and I decided it was right for me, I started taking anxiety medication. I learned how to become more resilient and open. I started focusing on ways I could improve the present rather than just imagining them. This wouldn't have happened a generation or two before Gen Z. I faced a lot of backlash and confusion from my parents and family because they didn't understand what I was going through. They didn't have the resources to understand when they were growing up. They only knew how to push problems away - which is exactly what I grew up learning from them. So when I discovered OMORI in 2022, I felt shaken up when I realized just how similar Sunny’s and my life were. We both experienced the isolation; the escapism… the repression. It felt intensely connecting to know that other people went through this too. From this understanding, I felt the need to connect with other people who were going through something similar. Instead of my closest friends and family being the only ones who knew what I was dealing with, I opened up to more people in the hopes we could help each other. Self-care led me to stronger bonds and a new love for self-expression.

The first time I truly watched a Studio Ghibli movie was when I first discovered the passion behind my art. The time was 7 p.m. on a Saturday. A cacophony of crickets humming outside my living room window was barely audible over the artificial sound of crows shrieking through a television screen. There I was, sitting on my couch, rewatching Kiki’s Delivery Service on a 1990s VHS player for what was probably the 14th time. I had just gotten to the part where Kiki, a young witch trying to start her own business away from home, meets Ursula, a reclusive artist living in the woods. Little did Kiki know, soon she would be questioning her skills as a witch and what it takes to make a living. Que the credits, and for me, a meaningful contemplation of life, purpose, and passion sprouted. Kiki’s Delivery Service has been one of my long-time favorite movies on my yearly re-watch list, along with My Neighbor Totoro, Spider-Man: Into The Spider-Verse, and Song of the Sea. That day, as the autumn symphonies seeped through the windows, I fully realized just how powerful animation can be. As a Queer, Trans, Non-Binary, and disabled person, my identities and experiences are what inspire me to work towards a life in animation. Through everything, I’ve learned what it means to advocate for myself. During as early as middle school, I’ve been an active part of the Queer community, single-handedly changing my school’s transphobic bathroom policies, making a mural to raise awareness and teaching people about the LGBTQ+ community, and taking time to learn the history and discrimination my communities have experienced. Bee and Puppycat made me realize not a lot of people like me get representation through cartoons. The first time I heard of the transgender community was when I was 11. I felt so frustrated for not learning who I truly was earlier. Since I realized that, I knew what I wanted to achieve in my life. Telling stories. Making art. Things that show people they aren’t alone. It is intrinsically human to tell stories and express one’s emotions using art. Throughout my childhood, I was captivated by how people tell stories through moving pictures. This is what I want to do - and what I can see myself doing for the rest of my life - expressing stories through the medium of animation. Starting with a college degree in the arts and internships in the animation industry, I intend to add to and create meaningful stories. Artists and audiences alike deserve a space where they feel listened to. It’s something extraordinary for a film to have the power to change a life. Hayao Miyazaki as an individual artist created an entire studio, whose many films, including Kiki’s story, did that for me. Representation and connection are so vitally important for one to fully live, and connecting through stories is one of the most touching experiences that can influence that.

The first time I truly watched a cartoon series was when I discovered the passion behind my art. The time was 9 p.m. on a Saturday. The screeching of birds outside my window was barely audible over the sound of rainfall through a screen. There I was, sitting in front of my desk, rewatching Netflix’s Bee and Puppycat for the 3rd time in the past year. I had just gotten to the part where Bee, an unemployed person in her early 20s, meets Puppycat, a dog-cat hybrid who is secretly running from his past. The two would go on to work fantastical temp jobs on different planets, with Bee and Puppycat questioning their worlds, the past, and everything they know and love. Cue the credits - and, for me, a meaningful contemplation of purpose and passion. As a Queer, Trans, Non-Binary, and disabled person, my identities and experiences are what inspire me to work towards a life in animation. Through everything, I’ve learned what it means to advocate for myself. During as early as middle school, I’ve been an active part of the Queer community, single-handedly changing my school’s transphobic bathroom policies, making a mural to raise awareness and teaching people about the LGBTQ+ community, and taking time to learn the history and discrimination my communities have experienced. Bee and Puppycat made me realize not a lot of people like me get representation through cartoons. The first time I heard of the transgender community was when I was 11. I felt so frustrated for not learning who I truly was earlier. Since I realized that, I knew what I wanted to achieve in my life. Telling stories. Making art. Things that show people they aren’t alone. People can make this world accepting and supportive of everyone when they try to. It is intrinsically human to tell stories and express one’s emotions using art. Throughout my childhood, I was captivated by how people tell stories through moving pictures. This is what I want to do - and what I can see myself doing for the rest of my life - expressing stories through the medium of animation. I want to impact communities all over the world and truly make a difference. Representation and connection are so vitally important for one to fully live, and connecting through stories is one of the most touching experiences that can influence that. Starting with a college degree in the arts and internships in the animation industry, I intend to add to and create meaningful stories. Artists and audiences alike deserve a space where they feel listened to. It’s something extraordinary for a series to have the power to change a life. Natasha Allegri, as an individual artist, created this intricate, down-to-earth commentary on life that changed my world. Inner revelations, no matter how they’re sparked, are the first step towards transforming the world.

The first time I truly watched a Studio Ghibli movie was when I first discovered a true sense of connection. The time was 7 p.m. on a Saturday. A cacophony of crickets humming outside my living room window was barely audible over the artificial sound of crows shrieking through a television screen. There I was, sitting on my couch, rewatching Kiki’s Delivery Service on a 1990s VHS player for what was probably the 14th time. I had just gotten to the part where Kiki, a young witch trying to start her own business away from home, meets Ursula, a reclusive artist living in the woods. Little did Kiki know, soon she would be questioning her skills as a witch and be thrust into burnout. Que the credits, and for me, a meaningful contemplation of life, purpose, and passion sprouted. Kiki’s Delivery Service has been one of my long-time favorite movies on my yearly re-watch list, along with My Neighbor Totoro, Spider-Man: Into The Spider-Verse, and Song of the Sea. That day, as autumn symphonies seeped through the windows, I fully realized just how powerful animation can be. Growing up having chronic anxiety, depression, and sensory processing issues, I have always struggled with quick-onset burnout. Exhaustion would continue to compile every day I spent doing any form of work until it became unbearable. Instead of processing any of the invalidation I received from others when I reached out for help, I fell into the habit of maladaptive daydreaming. I used this to cope with living until I learned that stress doesn’t just vanish. When I started working with a therapist in middle school, I figured out the way I was coping wasn’t helping my anxiety or depression. I worked to develop new coping skills - ones that addressed the problems I faced instead of dismissing them. This hasn't made any problems go away - I still experience burnout, panic and anxiety attacks, and depressive episodes - I just have more help with managing them. When I decided it was right for me, I started taking anxiety medication. Even though it's been a rough journey, medication has helped me avoid overthinking, and I've been able to focus and feel more emotions. I could de-escalate my panic and anxiety attacks. I became a more resilient person, focusing on ways I could improve the present rather than just imagining them. I learned how to cope with burnout, just like Kiki. Feeling just how much Kiki struggled through nothing but a screen also made me wonder what it could be like to impact people on that same level. Through my own story, I realized that sharing my experiences with mental health can be how I can connect with others and bring representation to those who need it. The diversity of animation can help people feel seen and heard. I didn’t realize other people experienced burnout, too, until I rewatched Kiki's Delivery Service. My mental illnesses and the years I've spent living with them have been hard to manage. It took a lot for me to ask for enough guidance to seek professional help. The care that I got from my therapist is not something that everyone else gets to experience- and even though I've received help for what I'm going through, that doesn't mean it just magically goes away. I still struggle to maintain communicative friendships and sometimes fall back into older coping mechanisms, but I believe that things do end up getting better, in one way or another. Self-care ultimately led me to stronger bonds and a new love for self-expression.

The first time I truly watched a Studio Ghibli movie was when I first discovered how animation cultivates connection. The time was 7 p.m. on a Saturday. A cacophony of crickets humming outside my living room window was barely audible over the artificial sound of crows shrieking through a television screen. There I was, sitting on my couch, rewatching Kiki’s Delivery Service on a 1990s VHS player for what was probably the 14th time. I had just gotten to the part where Kiki, a young witch trying to start her own business away from home, meets Ursula, a reclusive artist living in the woods. Little did Kiki know, soon she would be questioning her skills as a witch and be thrust into burnout. Que the credits, and for me, a meaningful contemplation of life, purpose, and passion sprouted. Kiki’s Delivery Service has been one of my long-time favorite movies on my yearly re-watch list, along with My Neighbor Totoro, Spider-Man: Into The Spider-Verse, and Song of the Sea. That day, as autumn symphonies seeped through the windows, I fully realized just how powerful animation can be. Growing up having chronic anxiety, depression, and sensory processing issues, I have always struggled with quick-onset burnout. Exhaustion would continue to compile every day I spent doing any form of work until it became unbearable. Instead of processing any of the invalidation I received from others when I reached out for help, I fell into the habit of maladaptive daydreaming. I used this to cope with living until I learned that stress doesn’t just vanish. When I started working with a therapist in middle school, I figured out the way I was coping wasn’t helping my anxiety or depression. I worked to develop new coping skills - ones that addressed the problems I faced instead of dismissing them. This hasn't made any problems go away - I still experience burnout, panic and anxiety attacks, and depressive episodes - I just have more help with managing them. When I decided it was right for me, I started taking anxiety medication. Even though it's been a rough journey, medication has helped me avoid overthinking, and I've been able to focus and feel more emotions. I could de-escalate my panic and anxiety attacks. I became a more resilient person, focusing on ways I could improve the present rather than just imagining them. I learned how to cope with burnout, just like Kiki. Feeling just how much Kiki struggled through nothing but a screen also made me wonder what it could be like to impact people on that same level. Through my own story, I realized that sharing my experiences with mental health can be how I can connect with others and bring representation to those who need it. The diversity of animation can help people feel seen and heard. I didn’t realize other people experienced burnout, too, until I rewatched Kiki's Delivery Service. My mental illnesses and the years I've spent living with them have been hard to manage. It took a lot for me to ask for enough guidance to seek professional help. The care that I got from my therapist is not something that everyone else gets to experience- and even though I've received help for what I'm going through, that doesn't mean everything just magically goes away. I still struggle to maintain communicative friendships and sometimes fall back into older coping mechanisms, but I believe that things do end up getting better, in one way or another. Self-care ultimately led me to stronger bonds and a new love for self-expression.

The liminal feelings of nostalgia and comfort were the strongest emotions I could make out as I was sitting on the side of a hospital bed on June 10, 2022. Holding a filled syringe and needle like a pencil above my thigh, my parents and doctor sitting to the side, I braced myself for what would come next. Reviewing what we had spent the last hour going over, I took a deep breath. First. Pinch the thigh. Second. Push the needle in as far as it’ll go. Third. Push the medicine in all the way. Fourth. Stop pinching. Last, fifth. Smoothly withdraw the needle from the leg. Re-cap it. Another breath. It was as if someone pressed pause on time itself. Pinch. In. Plunger. Unpinch. Out. Inhale, exhale. Finally, after what seemed like the longest moment of hesitation I’d ever experienced, I let go of enough anxiety to start the motions on my own. Before I knew it - Pinch. In. Plunger. Unpinch. Out - I had just administered my first testosterone shot, officially starting my journey on Hormone Replacement Therapy. It was during this experience that the rest of the world fell away. All the uneasiness I felt before that moment stopped its torment on my brain. This felt surreal. Soon, I would be back at home - with a patterned band-aid on my thigh - going through the rest of my normal, daily routine. I’ve known I was transgender and non-binary for half of my life. Before I started Hormone Replacement Therapy (HRT), I felt trapped in my own body. When I was younger I struggled with my mental health, having chronic anxiety, depression, and sensory processing issues. I had to cope with suicidal thoughts throughout middle and high school. I’d done a lot of work on myself - meeting with a therapist and learning coping skills - but it wasn’t until I was sixteen, facing my nerves and giving myself testosterone shots, that my health significantly improved. I started taking care of myself even more. I kept a skincare routine, focused more on my schoolwork, and I could hold conversations again without panicking about how people perceived me. Having to adapt to new changes and a different mindset, HRT helped me find more strength to advocate for my needs. I felt more comfortable within my own body. I became resilient, and I was able to experience the world in a more open-minded way. Before I went through the process of starting HRT, I officially changed the restroom policy and allowed trans students to use the family and teacher restrooms in eighth grade. In ninth grade, through months of coordinating with a lawyer and filling out scholarships for the cost, a judge formally approved my legal name change. I have shown leadership in my life through this self-advocacy. I am determined to feel as confident in my own body as I can be.