I will always root for the villains. Well, in Pokémon, at least. Even though Ash Ketchum, our audience’s beloved eternal 10-year-old, is on his journey to becoming the very best, from the start, it was Team Rocket, our bad guys, that entranced me with their motto and personalities. Throughout Ash’s journey, I learned that justice wasn’t always black and white. Team Rocket, the supposed villains, often had protagonistic feelings. Their motto, self-written as well, were quite heroic, juxtaposing their shown evilness. Meanwhile, our protagonists sometimes made questionable choices without understanding the opposition. This blurring of lines taught me to look beyond the surface. How can we determine who’s entirely good or bad? Even though Team Rocket will forever lose, they have always felt ardent about their mission. Whether it be coming up with a new distinct contraption idea to kidnap Ash’s Pikachu or finding solutions to earn money to support themselves, they have never lost the motivation to carry out their original plans. Wavered? Sure. Fully quit? Never. Team Rocket taught me how our true strength lies in how we handle our defeats regardless of how unfair. These lessons didn’t become a passing thought—they became a part of me. Over the last few years, I’ve faced my own battles—maybe not with stealing Ash’s Pikachu, but with my real-world challenges: being the only ethnic Chinese in a predominately white town, extreme parental expectations, hiding my bisexuality, stage fright, still talking after almost becoming mute. Near the end of my freshmen year, I was given the opportunity to bring more awareness to human trafficking–an issue I was highly passionate about, yet I suddenly started uncontrollably sobbing. Have you ever felt crossed between 3 different worlds, never being able to fully belong to any of them? That was my entire life. After that moment, I found myself channeling Team Rocket’s resolute spirit. When I failed this time, I didn’t run away this time. I sought a different solution to challenge my speaking fear: Forensics. A literal public speaking in-a-nutshell. It should’ve been the Ash Ketchum to my Team Rocket. However, compared to Team Rocket’s constant fictional failures, this was reality. Winning is possible in reality. After one step, I managed to take another slow step into understanding how my differences weren’t barriers. They were bridges waiting for me to discover the other side. Forensics wasn’t just about standing in the front of the room and speaking; it was about discovering my voice. Every round, every shaky moment before a speech, and every award became proof that I could be seen and heard because of my differences. I learned how to exist unapologetically in all three worlds at once. I knew there had to be others like me, so I sought out a solution despite my limited leadership abilities. Nearing the middle of my Junior year, I brainstormed different approaches to public speaking. By the start of my Senior year, I developed a curriculum. Recognizing that there isn’t a one-size-fits-all solution to speaking, I ventured through the specifics of storytelling, debate activities, even acting to conjure diverse applicable methods, so anyone can learn to discover their voice slowly. Through that curriculum, I was able to assist over ten individuals with finding their voices as well. Today, I still root for the villains. Not because they always lost, but because they were human. Even though I’ve been watching Pokemon longer than I have known English, I’m still that child watching Pokemon, learning valuable life lessons. Only now, instead of constantly watching, I’m teaching them.