I tell my trusted friends that I'm nonbinary, but it's only somewhat true. There's a deeper secret there, a scarier truth that feels hard to look at most days. I tell them I'm nonbinary and it feels like swallowing myself. Because, reader, I'm going to share a secret with you: I think I am transmasc. I've never said that to anyone. To be completely honest with you, I feel like I should delete it. But.. I think it's important to say. There's a catharsis to it. I remember being in my high school math class and writing a letter to myself detailing all the reasons I could not possibly be transgender. It felt awful to write and to read. I read it a lot. My journey would have been less painful if I had queer role models as a kid that loved themselves. My Gay-Straight Alliance club was shut down in school by "concerned parents," before I ever got to join. There was nobody on TV that I could see myself in. Queer people in Alabama were few and far between. It was a very lonely time of my life. It's still lonely, even all these years later. There are periods where I wish I could be cis, and it makes me feel such incredible dread, because I know being trans is a long and incredibly hard journey full of emotional challenges, social upheaval, and financial hardship. It took me years of college to even get to this point; I was adrift and aimless because I didn’t know who I was– drowning in a swamp of dysphoria I couldn’t name– and changed my major too many times to walk towards nebulous futures I couldn’t see myself in. As a result, I’m running low on funds to pay for my education, and it fills me with such anxiety. But.. I still want it. I want that beautiful future where I can look at myself in the mirror and like what I see. Where I like what people call me. The future where I can inspire trans kids who are confused and hurt. Wow, my hands are shaking as I write this! I’m attending the University of Alabama at Birmingham. And I’m now– after much soul searching– hoping to graduate with a Bachelor’s degree in Computer Science. My dream is to be a game designer. Stories are a powerful thing, and representation in those stories is so important. There are many examples of minority kids seeing themselves in characters on TV, and feeling inspired to chase their dreams with their entire being. “If they can do it, so can I,” is one of the world’s most impactful phrases. And it doesn’t even have to relate to financial success– self-love is such a valuable, precious feeling. Stories have so much power. Video games are stories that place you behind the driver’s wheel, and I want to make stories that help people. I want to write characters and narratives that could have comforted me as a kid. I want to learn how to use this knowledge of coding and programming to make nurturing art for people like me, who swallow parts of their soul when they introduce themselves to people. I didn’t have role models growing up. But I am going to change that for others. I want to make something bright and hopeful and uplifting for those queer teens in class that are scared of themselves-- who write letters about why they can’t be who they are. We all deserve happiness. I hope to help them learn that too.

My very best friend in the whole entire world is named Amy. Amy likes the color green, she hates coconut ice cream, and she is the most important person in my life. Amy lives 1,468 miles away from me. We live countries apart. Amy and I text and talk every day, sometimes for hours at a time, through online servers like Discord. It's always been this way for us-- we've never met in person-- but we've known each other for five years now. It's been some of the best five years of my life. I love her very, very much. She is so incredibly important to me. We make each other laugh, we comfort each other, we say nice things to make the other smile. But.. I won't deny that it can be a little lonely, having a best friend that you can only talk to through your phone. She felt that way too. It's hard in a way that nothing else is. We are thicker than thieves, but separated by distance. And then we started a Minecraft server together. It has changed our relationship for the better. Suddenly, we were next to each other in a way we've never been! Close in a way we've never been allowed to have. We made an awful looking house together in an odd little combination of the Mesa biome and a Bamboo Forest, the awful house now an awful home that we love very much. We fight mobs together, we mine together– we spent hours smelting stacks and stacks and stacks of copper into copper blocks! I stumbled upon the Deep Dark’s Ancient City, and we (fearfully) explored that together too. (I set off the warden and got her killed, sorry Amy!) There is a physicality to a game like this. When I play this game with Amy, it feels, in a way, like we are next to each other. It’s a feeling I really can’t exaggerate. It’s so special. Minecraft has given us more depth to our relationship, whether it’s by working hard together to farm Wither Skulls, or by listening to music discs and fishing quietly in the rain. We punch each other and play tag. Sometimes we spend entire sessions doing our own thing, and we’re still together– Amy trading with villagers while I tend to our farm… And that’s lovely too. My best friend and I are even known to talk about the lore, as silly as it sounds. One of my fondest memories is us standing in our awful, lovely home, and talking about what we think might have happened to those people from the Deep Dark, all that time ago. In my experience, when you play Minecraft by yourself, it can be an exercise in finding beauty in a lonely world. You’re the only thing like you in the entire world, left to pick up the pieces of civilizations from long before. There are villagers and illagers, sure, but it’s not the same. Playing it with someone else-- someone you love-- is… It’s like night and day. When Amy and I log onto our Minecraft server, the world comes alive. Every session is something new and exciting. And we experience it together, side by side, in a way we’ve never had before. Minecraft has given us a gift that I could never repay.. A closeness to bridge 1,468 miles.

Growing up was a series of realizations. Everything I heard from people around me, saw on television, or played in video games I obsessed over seemed to confirm a set of rules that I saw but couldn’t understand; a bias held within the world itself, it seemed, that told me the following: Rule number one, the most obvious to me and the most relevant to me at the time, was that, to the greater world, Biracial people didn’t exist in any meaningful way, and their stories weren’t worth being told. People couldn’t (and perhaps still can’t) relate to them, and so I never saw anybody that looked like me in the things my family watched, or in the games I played, and was never able to find a sense of community on either side of the ethnicities I’m made of. Rule number two I learned at the same time, but didn’t really understand until I was older— I saw it in the way my mother cringed and said “don’t use that word,” when I innocently used “Queer” to describe something strange, or the way a girl in my class told me I shouldn’t wear my favorite rainbow gloves because I didn’t want to be associated with *those* people. “I’m not,” I had told her at the time. “I just like my gloves.” I spent a lot of time during school feeling alienated and alone. And then I found the internet, and it blew my middle-school mind. Tumblr, YouTube, and yes, roleplaying sites, all introduced me to people, kind people, good people, who helped me discover who I am and helped me come out of my shell. After years of reading by myself at lunch tables and being the chronic “quiet one” to everyone around me, I found people who felt the same way I did, who could help me put names to the things I was feeling. When I cringed at the expectations that came with being a girl and felt real dread at people referring to me with she/her pronouns, my now-best friend told me I didn’t need to live like that; that I could use they/them pronouns instead. When I didn’t feel any attraction towards anyone my age, another very close friend told me I wasn’t broken, that I could be asexual and aromantic, and that it was normal. I now view myself as demisexual and demiromantic, but I wouldn’t have been able to reach that without help from the Queer community I found online. There’s been a recent growth in the representation of queer characters in media, I know, and there’s even been a smaller growth of biracial narratives being told too— but I feel like we could always use more. Queerness and the biracial experience are very alike in the way that they are both so incredibly varied. One size does not fit all. But I’ve chosen computer science as a major because I want to be able to make stories that might touch someone else the way I craved when I was younger. If we tell as many of our stories as we can, maybe we can connect with someone like us and tell them they’re not alone. One size doesn’t fit all, but that doesn’t matter as much if instead of making one size for all, we make all their own size.

From a young age, I have been captivated by the power of storytelling and the magic of artistic expression. Whether it was through reading my favorite fantasy novels, drawing for hours, or immersing myself in the realm of theatre and music, I always found solace and inspiration within the vast landscape of the arts. But it was when I discovered the world of video games that I realized the true potential of merging my artistic inclinations with the realm of technology. Video games, as a medium, have the unique ability to touch people's hearts in profound and memorable ways. Emotional video games like "Sky: Children of the Light" and "To the Moon" have left an undeniable mark on me, showcasing how storytelling, music, and gameplay can intertwine to create transformative experiences. These games have the power to evoke a wide range of emotions, from joy and awe to sorrow and introspection, all within the interactive framework of a virtual world. They have the power to make players feel like active participants in a captivating narrative, forging deep connections with characters and their journeys, as well as other players, forging lasting friendships that touch the rest of their lives. My very best friend in the world I met in this way, playing through the aforementioned "Sky," and I wouldn't trade those memories for anything. I'm so eager to explore the realm of computer science, specifically in the field of software engineering, as it offers a gateway to bringing this dream to life through game development. I'm excited to dive into the fascinating world of coding, design, and interactive storytelling, and through my studies and hands-on experiences, I hope to learn the technical skills necessary to create immersive and emotionally resonant narratives. I recognize the financial challenges that pursuing a computer science degree presents. With the scholarship's support, I could be able to focus more on my studies, research, and personal growth, knowing that my financial burden is alleviated. It could provide me with the resources and opportunities to gain practical experience, collaborate with like-minded individuals, and access the latest software engineering tools and technologies. In conclusion, I am immensely grateful for the opportunity to apply for this scholarship. It represents not only financial assistance but also a validation of my passion for combining artistry with technology. In applying for this, I feel humbled. Thank you for considering my application and for supporting aspiring artists in their pursuit of meaningful contributions to the world of computer science. Genuinely. Thank you.

I was diagnosed with ADHD last week. Last week. The journey hasn't been easy to get here, and now that I'm at the top of this proverbial mountain, medicated and experiencing what it's like to feel... okay, I think, okay, maybe, it makes me contemplative. While I'm relieved that I've reached this peak, I feel grief for the younger me that suffered in the not-knowing, because I was a hyperactive little girl who couldn't focus, and that was just.... normal. But now I know it wasn't normal-- my undiagnosed mental illness gave me depression when I couldn't function right, and severe, crippling anxiety that my future was over before it even began. Now, I can say that my mental illness did that to me, and I have a little folder of $900 papers to prove it. But... America IS facing a mental health crisis. We're experiencing a new age in many different ways; mental health, of course, being a very notable example. There are stigmas around mental health that debilitate those already suffering, and there is no support out there that can give back the safety, comfort, and optimism for the future that the world has taken from them. Yes, we are in a crisis. But that is not the end. Semicolons exist in lieu of periods for a reason; and so too does the phrase, "this is not over," to follow a grim story. At a national level, change is already happening. One can look at the way the conversation has shifted around mental illness over the last few years. It's not perfect, but people seem to care more than they used to. But, caring is not the only important aspect-- national funding of mental health services to specifically help those in need would be so crucial to help those who are struggling with mental health, and could lessen the social stigma that needing help is something to be ashamed of. At a state level, Alabama would need to implement or support affordable mental health services in areas with higher minority populations, as they are certainly underserved and, considering the nature of racism in not just America, but the South, they certainly deserve to have access to such a vital component of healthy living. School is tricky. It seems these days that anything too "woke" is shot down, and certainly, they might feel the same about any suggested mental health curriculums-- it would be hard to get it to practical stages. But.. Perhaps, just because something is hard, doesn't mean it's not worth doing. Maybe I wouldn't have needed to wait 21 years to feel okay with myself if I had known more about what I was struggling with. I am certain it would help other children with that, too. For community, family, even, we need only follow through on the promise of the name. Community. Having compassion for those around you. Building and fostering support networks for those who feel lost. We're so isolated these days-- I don't know my neighbor's names. And, perhaps similar could be said of our families; sometimes I'm afraid to tell them when I struggle. But what is family for if not to catch us when we stumble? I apologize to myself a lot. For things I say to myself now, and for things I say about my younger self, who didn't know any better. The world can be cruel, but we need not help it in this grim duty. Mental illness is not your fault. Try to treat yourself with the grace you would show your favorite person in the world.