It's kind of hard to describe what loss actually feels like and how it affects you until you experience it yourself. For me personally, I lost my grandfather last December. and what hurt and still hurts about it was that it was completely unexpected. He didn't have COVID or any underlying condition that he openly displayed. He apparently got up to his normal routine and unfortunately was not able to complete the task. When it happened, I didn't really know how to process it. Now looking back on the last few months, it was only recently that I began to feel like myself again. I had been going through life as a zombie, trying to restitch whatever was left of me that I think left along with him. I never really talked about my grandfather's passing to anyone really. Not even my therapist until months had passed. I think my mind kind of told me that It was selfish or immature to open up about things like that. He was my only living grandfather, but somehow I burdened myself with the thought that I should cry or be sad over him. I'd seen my grandmother in tears at his wake and again at his funeral. Every time I broke down crying for her and what she had lost. He honestly was her life, her everything. She witnessed his death and I couldn't help but think about how that must have felt for her. I think that me not actually being there contributed to me disarming any feelings of remorse. i just felt guilty. Guilty because I never did enough. But what else could I have done? I even replayed the last conversation I had with him, which was unfortunately over the phone, for the first few weeks after he passed. It was so ordinary, so normal. And I think that's what made loosing him so hard for me. And then a month of so after that one of my dogs was discovered to have developed kidney disease and we had to put him down. These situations really opened my eyes to how precious life actually is and how much we waste of it. I was diagnosed with clinical depression and anxiety last year and I had been on antidepressants for the past few months. When you're on those pills you tend to not feel like yourself and more like a person watching you partake in your daily tasks and actions. So when all this came about I wasn't really able to process things right away. I stopped taking then in the last 4 months because I actually ran out of them and weirdly I was able to see a lot fo things in a new light. Depression deals a lot with your sense of purpose and how you perceive your future. I had felt really hopeless before taking then and those feelings rushed back to me when I stopped. But somehow with some journaling and honestly start to believing in. spirituality and trusting my intuition, I began to see a sort of path that was laid out of me and I am now able to use this tactic every time I start to feel hopeless. It even still feels selfish of em to say but loosing him, them actually, made sustain one and only one goal for myself, to be happy. I haven't felt content with life for a long time and I aspire to made this year about me. I've been looking out for myself emotionally, journalling a lot more, and staying grounded in these thoughts and who I want to be. When my grandfather passed, I started a self portrait of him and I think I want to finish it and give it to my grandmother as a gift. she's been through so much it's the least I can do So to answer you question, how has loss allowed me to focus on what matters most to me? Loss and loosing my grandfather has allowed me to focus on what I'm truly passionate about and what should always come first, your wellbeing. It's crazy that I'm 18 year old brain and neglected something so pertinent for going on 5 years now. And Im glad I'm staring to learn my lesson now instead of later. And I completely owe it to my grandfather and what his passing taught me about myself. It sounds selfish to say but I really owe everything to this loss I have experienced. I vow never to take anything, most importantly myself, for granted again.

In the past year, I’ve taken the time to learn a lot about the word sonder. Merriam Webster’s definition states that it’s “the realization that each random passerby is living a life as vivid and complex as your own”. I think that as humans we naturally tend to get bogged down by the mediocrity that we experience in every day activities and unfortunately don’t get to appreciate our abundance’s as we should. As a black women who grew up in PWI’s and predominantly white communities for most her developmental years, I not only developed a disregard for others but for my well-being as well. Once I finally analyzed the micro aggressions that had been displayed over my childhood years, I honestly got depressed about how I let others treat me and how I treated myself. Coupled with my egotistical tendency to view myself as an other, I thought I failed. Failed at something that you cannot fail at. More importantly, even as a child aspired to be something or someone that made a difference whether that be social, philosophically or even in the medical field. I even aspired to be president one day which, after our last one, I’m not that adverse to now. So when I started to look down on myself and categorize my being as an other or as a failure, I sort of lost my sense of purpose. In this past year, with the time I’ve had out of school and with myself I was allowed the time to find myself again and come to several conclusions. The first had to do with sonder itself and that whilst caring for myself and healing from racial trauma I needed to ground myself and realize that everyone is the byproduct of their own experience. Secondly I realized, well more of remembered, that my goal for a long time has been to help people in any way shape or form. Dealing with my lack and self-esteem altering experiences sexism and racism at its prime, I feel like I had a better understanding of how other people were also dealing with shit too. It’s not just me that got dealt the bad card and honestly, I was also not subject to the worst of it. So lastly, in this tedious and descriptive way to answer you question of why I want to become a nurse, it’s for a multitude of reasons. One being sonder and realizing that one of the best ways of humbling ourselves and the collective is to actually listen and help others. Secondly, which applies to the field I’m interested in, I want to go into gynecology or neonatal studies. One of the biggest and disregarded forms of medical racism happen when black women are giving birth at a hospital. In this past year I saw multiple posts about families loosing their mothers to disregard if their needs after bringing lives into the world. I think that going into this field especially would encompass the idea of sonder and suffice my desire to help people (especially my people) in any way that I can. So please take the time to consider me for this scholarship because I am attending Spelman College and the nursing field of gynecology needs more black women to take care of their own.

Coming back home is always the worst part of a preeminent day. The train is almost silent at this time of the evening. Everyone is either asleep or in their own daydreams. I, unfortunately, was the only exception. My mind was in dire need of a distraction, so I watched as my train car emerged from the hollows of the underground to reveal a starry night sky. Suddenly, my attention was drawn to the seat beside me. There it was, in its dark red glory and all. My head moved to rest on its shoulder as I started to tell it about my week. First, I described the melancholy that comes with living amongst an intense racial barrier. I told it about the girl that had called me a slur in the midst of a simple argument and the jokes that were made about my deep, lucious, and history-filled skin. The skin that absorbs the warm of gleaming rays which light bounces off of, effortlessly, onto everything around it. The skin that brings life but is never acknowledged; forever tied with the constant feeling of being unwanted by all and the loneliness that comes with being a black girl in an unrelenting world. I had gone out that day for the purpose of calming my mind. l. Sometimes the best decisions for yourself hurt the most. I’ve been making a lot of those decisions lately. As my head rested on its perfected crafted red throne, the sorrows that had built up in my soul, were brought into the light. Although these thoughts consumed me, it felt euphoric when the weight started to slowly lift off my chest. I tend to get confused about how much you should give of yourself to the ones around you. This constantly manifested in the way I take care of the abundance of plants that fill the corners of my living room. I overwater them, unsure if they are satisfied or need more of my time and attention. They die and although I feel comfort in the way I treated them, why am I still not satisfied? As I came back into reality I looked at the figure whose red light had brought my subconscious into a self-critical dimension. Again, its warmth comforted me, but at what cost. Do I deserve to feel this way about myself? Am I not worthy of all that I give? More importantly why do I reside in two dimensions? One knows the power I hold within my soul while the other seems to be a feeble being of its own making. As I asked the red entity these questions, I realized I wasn't confiding in something or even someone coherent. My melancholy was festered into a fiery and persistent form, pulling me to the edge that I was ever so close to. I blinked and realized I was alone, on a moving train, with only the woeful words that consumed my frontal lobe.

Coming back home is always the worst part of a preeminent day. The train is almost silent at this time of the evening. Everyone is either asleep or in their own daydreams. I, unfortunately, was the only exception. My mind was in dire need of a distraction, so I watched as my train car emerged from the hollows of the underground to reveal a starry night sky. Tonight, my surroundings seemed exceptionally beautiful. The wind slightly blew against the trees, almost making them appear to be swaying. The stars were so bright and numerous that they almost blinded me. Suddenly, my attention was drawn to the seat beside me. There it was, in its dark red glory and all. My head moved to rest on its shoulder as I started to tell it about my week. First, I described the melancholy that comes with living amongst an intense racial barrier. I told it about the girl that had called me a slur in the midst of a simple argument and the jokes that were made about my deep, lucious, and history-filled skin. The skin that absorbs the warm of gleaming rays which light bounces off of, effortlessly, onto everything around it. The skin that brings life but is never acknowledged; forever tied with the constant feeling of being unwanted by all and the loneliness that comes with being a black girl in an unrelenting world. It’s shoulder comforted me as it then helped my sorrows from the day sink down into my soul, preparing for the moment they would be able to break free and eviscerate me. I had gone out that day for the purpose of calming my mind. I had just cut ties with a close friend of mine and to my expected shock, I wasn’t handling it too well. Sometimes the best decisions for yourself hurt the most. I’ve been making a lot of those decisions lately. As my head rested on its perfected crafted red throne, the sorrows that had built up in my soul, were brought into the light. Although these thoughts consumed me, it felt euphoric when the weight started to slowly lift off my chest. I tend to get confused about how much you should give of yourself to the ones around you. This constantly manifested in the way I take care of the abundance of plants that fill the corners of my living room. I overwater them, unsure if they are satisfied or need more of my time and attention. They die and although I feel comfort in the way I treated them, why am I still not satisfied? As I came back into reality I looked at the figure whose red light had brought my subconscious into a self-critical dimension. Again, its warmth comforted me, but at what cost. Do I deserve to feel this way about myself? Am I not worthy of all that I give? More importantly why do I reside in two dimensions? One knows the power I hold within my soul while the other seems to be a feeble being of its own making. As I asked the red entity these questions, I realized I wasn't confiding in something or even someone coherent. My melancholy was festered into a fiery and persistent form, pulling me to the edge that I was ever so close to. I blinked and realized I was alone, on a moving train, with only the woeful words that consumed my frontal lobe. The red entity is a manifestation of my depression and anxiety, not a person but a space my mind creates to cope with my everyday dilemmas. My faults, my conflicts, my stresses are constantly amplified everyday, no matter how small. Some days I don’t even know how I manage to fight them and get up every morning, but I always do. I might be a victim but, I’m also a survivor.

Coming back home is always the worst part of a preeminent day. The train is almost silent at this time of the evening. Everyone is either asleep or in their own daydreams. I, unfortunately, was the only exception. My mind was in dire need of a distraction, so I watched as my train car emerged from the hollows of the underground to reveal a starry night sky. Tonight, my surroundings seemed exceptionally beautiful. The wind slightly blew against the trees, almost making them appear to be swaying. The stars were so bright and numerous that they almost blinded me. Suddenly, my attention was drawn to the seat beside me. There it was, in its dark red glory and all. My head moved to rest on its shoulder as I started to tell it about my week. First, I described the melancholy that comes with living amongst an intense racial barrier. I told it about the girl that had called me a slur in the midst of a simple argument and the jokes that were made about my deep, lucious, and history-filled skin. The skin that absorbs the warm of gleaming rays which light bounces off of, effortlessly, onto everything around it. The skin that brings life but is never acknowledged; forever tied with the constant feeling of being unwanted by all and the loneliness that comes with being a black girl in an unrelenting world. It’s shoulder comforted me as it then helped my sorrows from the day sink down into my soul, preparing for the moment they would be able to break free and eviscerate me. I had gone out that day for the purpose of calming my mind. I had just cut ties with a close friend of mine and to my expected shock, I wasn’t handling it too well. Sometimes the best decisions for yourself hurt the most. I’ve been making a lot of those decisions lately. As my head rested on its perfected crafted red throne, the sorrows that had built up in my soul, were brought into the light. Although these thoughts consumed me, it felt euphoric when the weight started to slowly lift off my chest. I tend to get confused about how much you should give of yourself to the ones around you. This constantly manifested in the way I take care of the abundance of plants that fill the corners of my living room. I overwater them, unsure if they are satisfied or need more of my time and attention. They die and although I feel comfort in the way I treated them, why am I still not satisfied? As I came back into reality I looked at the figure whose red light had brought my subconscious into a self-critical dimension. Again, its warmth comforted me, but at what cost. Do I deserve to feel this way about myself? Am I not worthy of all that I give? More importantly why do I reside in two dimensions? One knows the power I hold within my soul while the other seems to be a feeble being of its own making. As I asked the red entity these questions, I realized I wasn't confiding in something or even someone coherent. My melancholy was festered into a fiery and persistent form, pulling me to the edge that I was ever so close to. I blinked and realized I was alone, on a moving train, with only the woeful words that consumed my frontal lobe. The red entity is a manifestation of my depression and anxiety, not a person but a space my mind creates to cope with my everyday dilemmas. My faults, my conflicts, my stresses are constantly amplified everyday, no matter how small. Some days I don’t even know how I manage to fight them and get up every morning, but I always do. I might be a victim but, I’m also a survivor.

Coming back home is always the worst part of a preeminent day. The train is almost silent at this time of the evening. Everyone is either asleep or in their own daydreams. I, unfortunately, was the only exception. My mind was in dire need of a distraction, so I watched as my train car emerged from the hollows of the underground to reveal a starry night sky. Tonight, my surroundings seemed exceptionally beautiful. The wind slightly blew against the trees, almost making them appear to be swaying. The stars were so bright and numerous that they almost blinded me. Suddenly, my attention was drawn to the seat beside me. There it was, in its dark red glory and all. My head moved to rest on its shoulder as I started to tell it about my week. First, I described the melancholy that comes with living amongst an intense racial barrier. I told it about the girl that had called me a slur in the midst of a simple argument and the jokes that were made about my deep, lucious, and history-filled skin. The skin that absorbs the warm of gleaming rays which light bounces off of, effortlessly, onto everything around it. The skin that brings life but is never acknowledged; forever tied with the constant feeling of being unwanted by all and the loneliness that comes with being a black girl in an unrelenting world. It’s shoulder comforted me as it then helped my sorrows from the day sink down into my soul, preparing for the moment they would be able to break free and eviscerate me. I had gone out that day for the purpose of calming my mind. I had just cut ties with a close friend of mine and to my expected shock, I wasn’t handling it too well. Sometimes the best decisions for yourself hurt the most. I’ve been making a lot of those decisions lately. As my head rested on its perfected crafted red throne, the sorrows that had built up in my soul, were brought into the light. Although these thoughts consumed me, it felt euphoric when the weight started to slowly lift off my chest. I tend to get confused about how much you should give of yourself to the ones around you. This constantly manifested in the way I take care of the abundance of plants that fill the corners of my living room. I overwater them, unsure if they are satisfied or need more of my time and attention. They die and although I feel comfort in the way I treated them, why am I still not satisfied? As I came back into reality I looked at the figure whose red light had brought my subconscious into a self-critical dimension. Again, its warmth comforted me, but at what cost. Do I deserve to feel this way about myself? Am I not worthy of all that I give? More importantly why do I reside in two dimensions? One knows the power I hold within my soul while the other seems to be a feeble being of its own making. As I asked the red entity these questions, I realized I wasn't confiding in something or even someone coherent. My melancholy was festered into a fiery and persistent form, pulling me to the edge that I was ever so close to. I blinked and realized I was alone, on a moving train, with only the woeful words that consumed my frontal lobe. The red entity is a manifestation of my depression and anxiety, not a person but a space my mind creates to cope with my everyday dilemmas. My faults, my conflicts, my stresses are constantly amplified everyday, no matter how small. Some days I don’t even know how I manage to fight them and get up every morning, but I always do. I might be a victim but, I’m also a survivor.

Coming back home is always the worst part of a preeminent day. The train is almost silent at this time of the evening. Everyone is either asleep or in their own daydreams. I, unfortunately, was the only exception. Suddenly, my attention was drawn to the seat beside me. There it was, in its dark red glory and all. My head moved to rest on its shoulder as I started to tell it about my week. It’s shoulder comforted me as it then helped my sorrows from the day sink down into my soul, preparing for the moment they would be able to break free and eviscerate me. As I came back into reality I looked at the figure whose red light had brought my subconscious into a self-critical dimension. Again, its warmth comforted me, but at what cost. Do I deserve to feel this way about myself? Am I not worthy of all that I give? More importantly why do I reside in two dimensions? One knows the power I hold within my soul while the other seems to be a feeble being of its own making. As I asked the red entity these questions, I realized I wasn't confiding in something or even someone coherent. My melancholy was festered into a fiery and persistent form, pulling me to the edge that I was ever so close to. I blinked and realized I was alone, on a moving train, with only the woeful words that consumed my frontal lobe. The red entity is a manifestation of my depression and anxiety, not a person but a space my mind creates to cope with my everyday dilemmas. My faults, my conflicts, my stresses are constantly amplified everyday, no matter how small. Some days I don’t even know how I manage to fight them and get up every morning, but I always do. I might be a victim but, I’m also a survivor.

Coming back home is always the worst part of a preeminent day. The train is almost silent at this time of the evening. Everyone is either asleep or in their own daydreams. I, unfortunately, was the only exception. My mind was in dire need of a distraction, so I watched as my train car emerged from the hollows of the underground to reveal a starry night sky. Tonight, my surroundings seemed exceptionally beautiful. The wind slightly blew against the trees, almost making them appear to be swaying. The stars were so bright and numerous that they almost blinded me. Suddenly, my attention was drawn to the seat beside me. There it was, in its dark red glory and all. My head moved to rest on its shoulder as I started to tell it about my week. First, I described the melancholy that comes with living amongst an intense racial barrier. I told it about the girl that had called me a slur in the midst of a simple argument and the jokes that were made about my deep, lucious, and history-filled skin. The skin that absorbs the warm of gleaming rays which light bounces off of, effortlessly, onto everything around it. The skin that brings life but is never acknowledged; forever tied with the constant feeling of being unwanted by all and the loneliness that comes with being a black girl in an unrelenting world. It’s shoulder comforted me as it then helped my sorrows from the day sink down into my soul, preparing for the moment they would be able to break free and eviscerate me. I had gone out that day for the purpose of calming my mind. I had just cut ties with a close friend of mine and to my expected shock, I wasn’t handling it too well. Sometimes the best decisions for yourself hurt the most. I’ve been making a lot of those decisions lately. As my head rested on its perfected crafted red throne, the sorrows that had built up in my soul, were brought into the light. Although these thoughts consumed me, it felt euphoric when the weight started to slowly lift off my chest. I tend to get confused about how much you should give of yourself to the ones around you. This constantly manifested in the way I take care of the abundance of plants that fill the corners of my living room. I overwater them, unsure if they are satisfied or need more of my time and attention. They die and although I feel comfort in the way I treated them, why am I still not satisfied? As I came back into reality I looked at the figure whose red light had brought my subconscious into a self-critical dimension. Again, its warmth comforted me, but at what cost. Do I deserve to feel this way about myself? Am I not worthy of all that I give? More importantly why do I reside in two dimensions? One knows the power I hold within my soul while the other seems to be a feeble being of its own making. As I asked the red entity these questions, I realized I wasn't confiding in something or even someone coherent. My melancholy was festered into a fiery and persistent form, pulling me to the edge that I was ever so close to. I blinked and realized I was alone, on a moving train, with only the woeful words that consumed my frontal lobe. The red entity is a manifestation of my depression and anxiety, not a person but a space my mind creates to cope with my everyday dilemmas. My faults, my conflicts, my stresses are constantly amplified everyday, no matter how small. Some days I don’t even know how I manage to fight them and get up every morning, but I always do. I might be a victim but, I’m also a survivor.

Coming back home is always the worst part of a preeminent day. The train is almost silent at this time of the evening. Everyone is either asleep or in their own daydreams. I, unfortunately, was the only exception. My mind was in dire need of a distraction, so I watched as my train car emerged from the hollows of the underground to reveal a starry night sky. Tonight, my surroundings seemed exceptionally beautiful. The wind slightly blew against the trees, almost making them appear to be swaying. The stars were so bright and numerous that they almost blinded me. Suddenly, my attention was drawn to the seat beside me. There it was, in its dark red glory and all. My head moved to rest on its shoulder as I started to tell it about my week. First, I described the melancholy that comes with living amongst an intense racial barrier. I told it about the girl that had called me a slur in the midst of a simple argument and the jokes that were made about my deep, lucious, and history-filled skin. The skin that absorbs the warm of gleaming rays which light bounces off of, effortlessly, onto everything around it. The skin that brings life but is never acknowledged; forever tied with the constant feeling of being unwanted by all and the loneliness that comes with being a black girl in an unrelenting world. It’s shoulder comforted me as it then helped my sorrows from the day sink down into my soul, preparing for the moment they would be able to break free and eviscerate me. I had gone out that day for the purpose of calming my mind. I had just cut ties with a close friend of mine and to my expected shock, I wasn’t handling it too well. Sometimes the best decisions for yourself hurt the most. I’ve been making a lot of those decisions lately. As my head rested on its perfected crafted red throne, the sorrows that had built up in my soul, were brought into the light. Although these thoughts consumed me, it felt euphoric when the weight started to slowly lift off my chest. I tend to get confused about how much you should give of yourself to the ones around you. This constantly manifested in the way I take care of the abundance of plants that fill the corners of my living room. I overwater them, unsure if they are satisfied or need more of my time and attention. They die and although I feel comfort in the way I treated them, why am I still not satisfied? As I came back into reality I looked at the figure whose red light had brought my subconscious into a self-critical dimension. Again, its warmth comforted me, but at what cost. Do I deserve to feel this way about myself? Am I not worthy of all that I give? More importantly why do I reside in two dimensions? One knows the power I hold within my soul while the other seems to be a feeble being of its own making. As I asked the red entity these questions, I realized I wasn't confiding in something or even someone coherent. My melancholy was festered into a fiery and persistent form, pulling me to the edge that I was ever so close to. I blinked and realized I was alone, on a moving train, with only the woeful words that consumed my frontal lobe. The red entity is a manifestation of my depression and anxiety, not a person but a space my mind creates to cope with my everyday dilemmas. My faults, my conflicts, my stresses are constantly amplified everyday, no matter how small. Some days I don’t even know how I manage to fight them and get up every morning, but I always do. I might be a victim but, I’m also a survivor.