If I had a dime for every single time anxiety or depression affected some aspect of my life, or in this case affected my beliefs, relationships, and career aspirations, I would still have nothing. By then, my anxiety would cripple my ability to process certain thoughts, and my depression would convince me that I deserve nothing but dirt and oxygen. It's a Domino Effect, an endless toxic cycle. A certain word will be said, or a certain action will be done, and somehow my brain will take it and turn it into the worst possible scenario. What’s even more disappointing is that every single bone, organ, and atom in my body will convince me that I had some sort of fault in everything, and that whatever happens afterward is entirely my fault. That’s my battle with mental health, and it’s not an easy journey. For some, mental health is a rollercoaster of emotions and feelings. For me, mental health is the whole theme park, where the rides vary, the prizes are scarce, and all that’s left is a higher chance of something flying off a ride and into the distance, ruining everybody else’s experience. Just how there are machines that have pieces that serve a specific function, my mind is one cog that shifts from one direction to the other. It has affected my perceptions on life, myself, and how I’m supposed to move forward in the future. I know there’s a ride or booth that awaits me, but there’s always some sort of distraction. Whether that’s too many people around me, too many temptations that try to veer me off my path, or just not enough space to move and breathe, my mental health does what my brain tells it to do, and in this case, it tells me to just enjoy the ride. However, over time, I realized that my mind may be in control of my mental health, but I am in control of my mind. My experiences with poor mental health motivate me to provide a space for others to control their own rides of life, such as my nonprofit My Words for My Worth. It’s not the latest attraction, but it does show teenagers like me how to have fun, even when faced with fear. Never in a million years would I want someone to feel the way I’ve felt for years, where darkness consumes the mind and all you can think of is the negatives in your life. Those experiences also taught me to trust myself as a person and not just believe in my abilities, but my capabilities. Whether it’s through a minor in Psychology, or through pure observation and understanding, I want to give myself and other people a chance to overcome their fear of experience by making sure my own self-esteem and self-worth is up to code; demolishing negative thoughts, renovating my unique traits, and encouraging people to stop by and see who I am as an individual, not another number within the world’s population. It’s not an easy journey, and it won’t be my last. However, I know to be smart about what rides I go on, determining if they’re a challenge I can face or if they’re a one way ticket to my mental downfall.

To most, community service is providing necessities that are impossible for certain people to obtain. Whether that’s food, shelter, clothing, or anything of the sort, community service helps people get through tough times, low morale, or even just a 24-hour time period. However, through my eyes, it’s more than just giving a homeless person a brown paper bag filled with a PB&J sandwich, a bottle of water, and some potato chips to help them make it through the night. It’s about giving people hope, more so for a brighter tomorrow than a brighter future, and that’s when I realized that there’s a difference between community service and serving your community. The question then becomes, “How can a simple volunteer like me implement both?” On paper, I do community service through food packaging and package distribution. Food Bagging and Food Distribution days proceed as if the opera and the circus gather as one entity to entertain the masses. As I walk in to fulfill my duty as a high school-student volunteer, I would see a symphony of other locals: young, old, tall, short, and in all different shades like various notes on sheet music. We separate, bag, breakdown, check, and double-check different produce and frozen items into small portions, or “splits” as SHARE Food Network would call them. In doing this, the staff separates us for each item or pair of items, which is why at first glance it would be hard to tell which station to assist. In other words, you’d feel like a child wondering which act to keep your eyes on; the firebreather, weighing potatoes, the trapeze artists, or unboxing frozen fish? There are even times where I place myself in the staff directory and take charge on Food Distribution days, guiding different groups of volunteers and checking to make sure they fill orders correctly, along with loading food onto the trucks of churches, charities, and any locals in need of sustainable and affordable ingredients to feed themselves and their families. That’s what I put on paper, as well as my MobileServe account when I log my hours. In reality, it’s an experience, a different tale, but told by the same narrator and written by the same author. I step into a room filled with a mixture of cool air generated by the huge, metal-doored freezers on the side, and the cool 5:17 AM wind created by God. The people who work there are already getting produce stations setup for the volunteers, or at least in my case, the rest of the volunteers. It’s because I’ve signed up for so many shifts over my high school career, I would consider myself a mini veteran of food bagging and leadership. Volunteering at SHARE made me realize I wasn’t just placing one potato or one apple after the other in a plastic, SHARE Food Network branded bag. With each item, I was putting an ounce of hope and care for whoever was in need, so by the time it was full, I'd created a product that said, “I see you, I’m here, and I’m willing to help in any way I can.” Community service is not the same as serving the community, but the two can coexist. Remembering why you volunteer at a certain charity, or recognizing why you volunteer at all, is the key to understanding what it means to do your part. Since I plan to major in Psychology, as well as minor in Spanish, using my degree will broaden my perspective in giving back, emphasizing how community service uplifts the physical and mental wellbeing of the individual.

Most parents around the world can agree that the one thing they want their child or children to do is succeed. Whether that’s through a certain profession, or just wanting them to be in good financial standing, parents and guardians dream of their kids having a life where worries, fears, and concerns are slim to none. However, that dream does come with consequences, mostly involving the child or children in question. In my generation, Gen Z, we don’t promote the idea of needing money in order to be happy, nor do we approve of forcing certain positions and obligations just to stay out of debt or to keep up a certain image that may not always affect the individual’s reputation, but their family’s reputation instead. That’s why the subject of college is so tricky now. It’s not for everyone, and not for every occupation, but I know in my heart that college is for me. Going to college means education for my desired field of study, experience within a supportive community, memories made from the good and bad times, and valuable lessons that life teaches better than any 3rd Edition textbook ever could. I picture a campus full of concrete sidewalks, flag poles containing the school colors, and so many buildings that could either be academic, residential, or commercial. People, mainly with backpacks or work satchels, roam around, sitting in groups of four having a picnic, or in groups of five to eight studying for an upcoming exam. I then look beyond the bigger picture, and focus on the little details. At the corner of a coffee shop is a band, drumming, singing, and inviting others to join in and dance. Over by a fountain lies a bench, most likely named after a historical figure that’s essential to the campus’s history, or possibly an alum who contributed to the campus’s ongoing success. There stands a group of students, protesting for change, equality, and justice for the world. They continue to chant and shout, sharing the message of the need to fight in order to be heard. Imagining all of this, a place where you can relax, advocate, learn, network and create all at once, fills me with purpose and certainty, assuring me that this is where I belong. Going to college gives me a chance to showcase my intelligence and personality to the rest of the world, or in this case the community surrounding it. Being a student that thrives on self-sufficiency and a strong work ethic means I need an environment that promotes decision making, carving different paths, and discovering one’s self through a series of opportunities to excel. What I desire the most is getting the chance to use what I know and learn to better myself, and eventually network with others so that we can help better our community, like a sports team united under a shared love and dedication to the team and to the sport.

When it comes to black leaders, the only one I feel that I can relate to the most is none other than Maya Angelou. I consider her a leader because she fought against racism and her own personal demons, regardless of the obstacles put ahead of her. Angelou went through physical, emotional, and mental trauma as a child, teen, and adult, but she did not allow that to stop her from sharing her voice and her way with words. To me, she is the embodiment of the black literary arts, where words have the power to change minds, perspectives, and ultimately the world. Last year, I read half of Maya Angelou's book "I Know Why the Caged Bird Sings," and from the very first page, I was reeled in to her story of adversity and heartache. As a child, she wanted attention from her mother, but never received it. It especially didn't help that she grew up in a racist neighborhood, where black people were very cognoscente about how they talked and acted around white people. Because of this, even though she still had her little brother with her, Angelou felt isolated, unloved, and unwanted. Following that, Angelou received a bit of inappropriate attention from her stepfather, but she thought it was her only way of feeling loved and appreciated by her family. This, however, lead to Angelou's stepfather sexually assaulting her, and later on when he should've face the consequences for his actions, he was killed. For a long time, Angelou felt as though it was her fault that this whole situation happened, from the minute she raped to the minute where her stepfather was killed. As a result, she went silent, not daring to utter a single word to anyone about anything. However, as she grew older, Maya started to find her voice again, especially through literature. From this, Maya Angelou used her pain and experiences to write beautiful poetry that touched the hearts of many, especially mine. As I reflect on her experiences and her pain, I feel a deep connection to Angelou, and in some ways I can relate to what she went through. There were times in my life where I felt as though it was best that I didn't say anything. It was me thinking either it did not matter how I felt or that people wouldn't care about what I had to say. However, when I write my thoughts, feelings, and emotions down on paper, I feel a weight being lifted off of my shoulders. I feel like I can breath again, taking in all the air my burdens and negative thoughts blocked from me. That's when I started turning my pain into poetry, letting everything flow from my body to the page in front of me. That's why I respect and honor Maya Angelou. Even when it seemed as though the world was against her, she held on to her gift and continued to stay true to who she truly was, even if people didn't want to acknowledge it.