The LGBTQ+ community is vastly known for its pride. It’s hard not to bring up the idea when July is deemed Pride month, and LGBTQ+ iconography is proudly displayed in rainbow-themed events and products. However, the juxtaposition between pride and shame in the lives of these individuals is at large as well. “I was there when you were born. You are a girl, you can never be a boy even if you wanted to. You were born a girl, too bad” is what my father told me when we were discussing whether someone could be transgender during dinner. Unbeknownst to him at this time, I was hiding my identity as a transgender man from him. I was hiding because I was shameful of myself– a constantly reoccurring idea in the back of my mind that relentlessly pesters me from time to time. I was ashamed of how “abnormal” I was. My life would be dramatically easier if I was, and could be, the girl my father expected of me– but ultimately was not. I did eventually come out to my father about my identity, deciding to adopt pride in myself and who I was. He accepted the fact as best he could– even if our relationship nowadays is akward as a result. I was finally free to be myself then. I began hormone replacement therapy, taking testosterone gel daily. I started getting into fitness and delved into my schooling more– taking on dual enrollment during my senior year to assist my goal of going to law school. I have big dreams and am working towards building a life I can be proud of– but I still feel the shamefulness from time to time. I feel as though, however, it is hard not to feel that way as an LGBTQ+ community member– especially when people like the CPAC speaker call for transgender people to be “eradicated.” It is hard to have pride in yourself when it seems like at every corner you turn someone is out for your head- so shame sets in. It has made my life nearly bipolar. I go a week feeling euphoric about who I am after reaching a new point in my transition, but then the next I read a new headline or directly receive a transphobic comment and the shame comes back again. The LGBTQ+ identity is, no doubt, a prideful one. But it is one that is juxtaposed with the shame we feel at our “abnormality”, a feeling I have felt numerous times in my life as a transgender man. I genuinely want to reach my goals– I want to feel comfortable in my body and live my future the way I intend to live it. But the shame never fails to occasionally inhibit me.

Trespassing and Hobo Pee “C’mon, just a bit more and we will be to the top!” I cried to my friends behind me. At this slumber party, we four thirteen-year-old girls decided to scale the humongous, forested hill behind my house. At the top lay a mysterious land that we could not begin to even picture– hidden behind a curtain of possibilities that irked our simple childish curiosity. And satisfaction was soon within reach. I grabbed the last remnants of grass, fingers forming 90 degrees as I grasped the flat terrain that juxtaposed the steep angle of the hill. With one last huff of exasperation, I pulled myself up and behind the curtain to reveal the promised lands! My eyes feasted on what lay forward then– of course as I lay panting from our angled hike, my friends similar in their conditions at my side. The area was flat, a graveyard to our left that dotted off into the distance seemingly endless. To our right was a richly lavished property that my mind today equates similar only to Gatsby’s property. There was a pool, promising refreshments, and relief should we be bold enough to trespass– and we were considering it. But our considerations nulled, as the driveway that led to the mansion was soon inciting warnings of approach. The rumble of gravel reached our ears too late, however– as a glossy vehicle soon filed itself before the garage. And we booked it. All notions of soreness were forgotten as adrenaline filled our senses when an unfamiliar crossed our paths. “Friend or foe?” we would have likely asked if we donned knightly attire then and stood our ground– but stand our ground we did not. The hill was our only friend in that instance, concealing us from the man that exited his car and re-dominated his domain. Once his claim had been staked, we emerged from the hill’s motherly shadow and out into the open air once again. We decided the waters here in Gatsby’s kingdom had revealed sharks, and the drawbridge was up! So instead we decided to venture through the graveyard– our more exploratory option here. It was a well-kept graveyard, not a spooky one often pictured in movies and shows. There were no ghosts or ghouls here, just us. We were respectful despite our needless trespassing and age, no tombs were stepped on and an air of respect for the dead was held. We were quiet in case any mourning family was nearby. We found a hill in the back corner of the graveyard, and I wound up falling down it as though I were sledding. It just was that steep and long. It amused us, so up and down the hill we went repetitively. At the bottom, however, I found an old, discarded bottle of Yuengling beer. To impress my friends with my humor, I grabbed it. “Anyone want a swig?” I called out to them as they joined me in a crowd, tilting the bottle as though I were about to drink from it. Problem was that it was on the ground and had filled with rainwater– so the water I failed to notice poured over me. There were snails in the jar, so I was decorated and drenched due to my attempt at a joke. The water also had an odd smell to it, which my friends harped on in particular. “Celeste! You just spilled hobo pee on yourself!” is what one of my friends called out, resulting in a fond memory about how I spilled “hobo pee” on myself as a kid while trespassing.

“The notion of a neutral and moderate middle is a prejudice of people for whom the system is working, against those for whom it’s not” is how Rebecca Solnit decides to caption her article in “Stop glorifying ‘centrism’. It is an insidious bias favoring an unjust status quo”. What Solnit fails to understand is the idea that centrism is not an ideal “worldview,” but rather an acceptance that the world is not limited to my opinions. The world is a complex place, too complex for me to host any real opinions on how policies should be conducted– especially when these policies may evolve the system to work against minorities. Solnit heavily characterizes the middle-man in her article as too dull to draft an opinion and too blinded by the privilege they gain from the system to support the right side. I have gone through the prepubescent feeling of outright hatred for those who oppose my opinions. During this period of negligence, I would oftentimes turn a blind eye to the counterarguments. This was especially the case when I took into account any policies that denied my own human rights as a gay and transgender individual or the rights of others. It was an experience that I shared with these like-minded people– and like Rebecca Solnit. But I realized once I started opening up to counterarguments and other opinions, not everything is black and white. The gray parts take up the most space and must be acknowledged. But because they are gray, no opinion can really be formed about them– and that is okay. Being a centrist has become something I now pride myself on. I feel as though it brings a new and deeper understanding of others’ experiences– especially ones that I cannot experience the prejudice they face. I am enabled and encouraged by my centrist lens to explore all sides of an argument. There is no one right side to an argument, especially in politics and political science, my chosen major. I have even found my future career goal born from this crucial aspect: being an immigration lawyer. Being a middle-man will lead the way for me in helping others via immigration law. Why should I hold an opinion on how immigrants should immigrate and why? That is not my experience, nor my place to determine, especially when it is so complex. What would assist these people, however, is directly aiding them in seeking a new life in America without judgment and with an unopinionated, centrist lens. I will let them tell me how to help, not tell them what help they need-- which has been enabled only by my middleman personality.

I am– by no means– any sort of psychologist. I do not have any professional experience in the field of mental health, and I cannot recognize complex mental health issues in my peers. However, I am– by all means– someone who has dealt with social anxiety disorder for as long as I can remember. Communication has been an immense struggle throughout my life, as I have had to rediscover borderline basic communication and social skills due to my diagnosis. I can distinctly relate all the times I had a major panic attack because I had a runny nose, or because someone I did not know well was sitting with me in my bus seat, or because I thought someone would notice my clammy and anxious demeanor. These were all notably minute situations that any other person would rub off– but to me it was catastrophic! Not all my “social phobia incidents” were minute, however. I remember giving up dearly loved sports because of my recurrent panic attacks– my major one being competitive swimming. I remember I began to hate going to school because of my constant sessions of sitting in the bathroom to take a breather. I was simply unable to function outside the comforts of my own home and isolation. I could not communicate efficiently with other people during this time, and even the slightest social interaction with someone would lead to a snowball effect on my anxious thoughts. Communication– to me– is not as grand and important as others may find. It is not a presidential speech or a fine piece of art. Communication is a daily occurrence, one that I struggle with. While others may have an easier time speaking up for themselves, or conversing with others and making friends– I have struggled and still struggle today. Communication is almost conditional in my life due to my anxiety. I often find that I am only vocal when I am completely certain about what will happen after I speak. I must be confident in what I am about to say, or else I will not be able to without raising my anxiety and potentially having a panic attack. Funnily enough, my problem has been dismissed throughout my life– whenever I did relate my problems to others. Teenagers are usually categorized as shy and awkward– and while there is a ring of truth to it, hormones are by no means comparable to social phobia. When you are unable to speak up for yourself or simply participate in society without major stress and anxiety, there is more to it than just puberty. This idea was one of the major flashing light bulbs that led me to start therapy. I received my diagnosis three years ago from my therapist. And since then, it has gotten better and more manageable. While I still struggle in public, it is not as frequent or debilitating. I find that I have fewer panic attacks, especially ones that are tamer than the ones I used to experience at the start of my treatment. I am no longer treading towards agoraphobia and complete avoidance of public, social scenarios. Communication is such a crucial part of life, but it has impacted my life in a strange way due to my social anxiety disorder. Three years ago, or perhaps even a year ago, I was less able to communicate. But with help, I have been enabled to partake in daily communication I never would have been able to participate in previously.

I have been in therapy consistently for about three years. One of the major reasons for seeking help was because of how bad my social anxiety was. I can distinctly relate to all the times I had a panic attack because I had a runny nose, or because someone was sitting with me in my bus seat. I remember giving up dearly loved sports because of my recurrent panic attacks. I began to hate going to school because of my constant sessions of sitting in the bathroom to take a breather. I was simply unable to function outside the comforts of my own home and isolation. Staying home with no contact with others is not quite attainable as a high school student planning on attending college– at least, not happily. My therapist, therefore, helped me bring about coping skills to combat my social anxiety disorder and the panic attacks that came with it. For instance, a major part of our therapy included cognitive behavioral therapy. Together, we would outline comebacks to my frequent anxiety-filled thoughts. “If I get up to get a tissue, everyone will think I am gross” was combated with the fact that everyone gets sick, while “I am taking up the whole seat and breathing too loud and disturbing the person next to me” was opposed with the acknowledgment that they would soon get off the bus. However, a major rebuttal that my therapist and I came up with was “who cares?” Who cares that I am sick or taking up too much space in my bus seat– no one does. I was simply in my head again! An additional aid that helped immensely was coming up with an idea of how to calm me during a panic attack. One solution was naming three things I could see, three things I could hear, and three things I could feel. By taking my mind off whatever I was frantic over, I naturally began to calm down and could steady my breathing. In addition to this reality-cementing solution, I found that deep pressure therapy helped immensely. At home, I would lay under my weighted blanket and begin to be naturally calm. I have even trained my dog to perform the service to help ease myself. I have her certified as an emotional support animal by my therapist to be able to take her to college with me– fully equipping me with tools and tricks to fending off panic attacks. With all the help my therapist helped provided or helped me conclude, my life has certainly gotten easier. While I still struggle occasionally in public, it is not as frequent and debilitating. I have been enabled to partake in activities I never would have been able to participate in at the beginning of my venture to sociability. Just this year I began dual enrollment at a community college in my area– Butler Community College. Three years ago, or perhaps even a year ago, I would have skipped classes out of fear; however, I have perfect attendance! I sit in social spaces to work on school work with little to no worry because “who cares?” I am currently Art Director in the Math Club at my high school, directly working with other students to put out advertising. I find myself excited to experience the things I missed out on because of my social anxiety and even more excited to one day be able to be in public with no concern at all– free from panic attacks and anxiety.

When I was young, I grew up on the collection of classic Disney movies. I saw nearly all of them, but none stood out to me more than The Hunchback of Notre Dame. To this day, it is still my favorite Disney movie– it has good music, a good story line, and a really good villain. Judge Claude Frollo is my favorite Disney character due to the power and complexity of his character. The Hunchback of Notre Dame is one of the few serious and dark Disney movies out of the classics. Therefore, it comes with a serious and dark villain to match. Unlike other Disney villains, Frollo possesses a huge amount of power and poses a very real threat to the main cast. In Paris, he is the Minister of Justice, making him able to lead the army under his manipulative religious pretenses. He utilizes this position to enact a genocide against Paris’ Romani population, who he accuses of perverting Paris with their witchcraft. For instance, he kills Quasimodo’s Romani parents due to this view and later imprisons Quasimodo to protect him from the moral-less capital. This powerful position is not only terrifying due to its power, but also due to Frollo’s sense of justice. Frollo believes what he is doing is the correct thing, unlike other Disney villains where they acknowledge that they are downright evil. He believes himself to be a righteous man whose every action is justified in the eyes of god. Notably and even scarier, this is the only influence that will control him. For example, his desire and lust for Esmeralda– displayed in his breathtaking song ‘Hellfire’– is quenched by God’s supposed distaste for Esmeralda’s Romani witchcraft and perversion. Frollo’s means of motivation and his formidable power make him one of Disney’s scariest characters. However, not only is he scary, but he is also very real. This character is one that can be easily cemented in reality, as powerful people commonly enact violence out of their own beliefs. This situation, once again, is presented as complex through Frollo’s own justification of his actions– reminding the viewer of the central theme that Good vs. Evil is not so clean-cut. Frollo’s central position in The Hunchback of Notre Dame’s theme, as well as his power and complexity, make him one of my favorite Disney characters.

In 2021 alone, 11,454 people were permitted to enter the United States as refugees, as released in 2021’s annual flow report from the United State’s Department of Homeland Security. These refugees were from nations where they face persecution due to race, religion, nationality, et cetera. In this particular flow report, a majority were from the Republic of the Congo, Syria, and Afghanistan. I have lived a very privileged life in the United States in comparison to other countries. This is something that I have come to easily recognize and understand. Never have I had to face the fear of persecution for my gender or religion, and I am also able to have consistent potable running water, heat, and food on my table. In this country, Americans view these experiences as basic human rights and a lack of any one of these is unfathomable. Other countries, such as those referenced in the Homeland Security’s flow report, do not experience or view these as human rights. They are instead seen as a luxury that is often unattainable. Not only do immigrants come to the United States to escape persecution, governmental corruption, et cetera, but they also come to gain a drastically better standard of living. When I was making decisions about my career path, I felt drawn to understanding the plight of those in other countries who face these hardships. Interest in aiding these individuals in securing a safer home then became an interest in immigration law. Additionally, I also recognize that laws which regulate entry into our country have to assure mutual safety for current citizens, as well as those seeking entry. It was with all this in mind that my chosen career path has since become political sciences and law. I wish to obtain a degree in political science and later a masters in law, which will allow me to act on my desires in assisting those in unstable nations by becoming an immigration lawyer. I have already actively taken strides towards my goal of becoming a lawyer with a focus in immigration law. For instance, I have participated in various advanced placement courses with a focus on ones involving political science. AP Comparative Government and AP United States Government and Politics were among these courses; additionally, I have taken AP English Literature and Composition and AP English Language and Composition. Currently, I am attending a community college to gain general credits during my senior year. By the time I graduate from high school, I will already have two semesters of college completed. I have already put a tremendous amount of effort towards attaining my goal of becoming an immigration lawyer, and I am enthusiastic about continuing my academic pursuits.

Pomodoro is a long-used study method that helps accomplish goals effectively and efficiently. It was created with the idea that divided work can curb being overwhelmed or burned out by an assignment—and it has proved to be beneficial in numerous studies. As a student, this is a good study method to put into your toolbox. The way the Pomdomoro study method works is by first setting a goal. With that goal in mind, focus and begin to work on it for 25 minutes. Once those 25 minutes are up, shift to a different, non-school-related activity for 5 minutes. During this time, you could do some meditation, reading, exercising, etc.—anything enjoyable that keeps your mind awake. In order for it to be effective, it cannot be school-related. After those 5 minutes, go back to working on the assignment for another 25 minutes. This cycle will continue for 4 rounds (4 x 25 minutes, 3 x 5 minutes); however, on the last 5-minute break, take a 30-minute one instead. The Pomodoro method is truly something you should utilize, as doing so will narrow down your work and prevent the common burn-out and stress students get from school. Instagram: cec_ee.5 Phone #: 724-487-1441