I fall to the floor coughing and wheezing. My nose burns from the pungent smell of gasoline in the air. As the room fills with clouds of smoke, I pull myself across the hardwood floor on my stomach. Laying on the floor, I watch Pinkalicious and Peterific on my grandparents’ old TV. Suddenly, a wave of uniformed police officers pour in through my front door, sweeping me up, and carrying me outside. Three years later I stand in front of my fourth-grade social studies class, giddy to share my presentation titled “All About Me.” I watch the room flood with shock as I recount the smoke-filled house I came from. With a blank expression, I share about my schizophrenic bio-father, my bipolar bio-mother, my short time in foster care, and the death of my grandparents. My face then lights up as I speak about moving in with my aunt, the cousins I now see every day, and the happy home I now live in. I look off dreamily imagining the day when I’m adopted, my aunt becomes my mom, my cousins become my siblings, and I become part of a real family. With wide eyes, my class begins to clap as my teacher motions me to sit down. I happily sit at my desk as the next student stands. At a young age, I learned that I could survive almost anything. I was proud of my past and shared it every chance I could. With kids my age, this earned their respect. When my best friend Madeline heard my story, she showed me off to all the other kids at recess. The smiling face telling my troubling backstory made me different, impressive, and tough. On the playground, I was praised as the happiest kid around who surprisingly had the saddest origin. Looking back on my past helps me realize that I was born into a world that never stood still. I’ve changed friends, families, houses, neighborhoods, schools, cities, regions, religions, languages, countries, and continents. Instead of shutting down and letting opportunities pass me by, I choose to take life's constant motion in stride. I choose to move forward, move on, and find comfort in the chaos of an ever-evolving world. Starting high school in a new town amid a global pandemic was difficult, but I knew I’d push through. In my sophomore year, I decided I wanted make a positive impact on other people, so I enrolled in a class called Principals of Human Services. This class led me to enroll in the Practicum of Human Services during my senior year and become a student intern with the school counselor at a local elementary school. There I mentor young kids in need of extra support and get the privilege of helping these students cope and grow and adjust. This experience is when I fell in love with becoming a social worker and dedicating my life to teaching others how to be resilient and persistent and proud of their stories, just like I am proud of mine.

In the middle of the dark room, our faces are illuminated only by the blue glow of my phone. I lean in, laying my head atop her shoulder. For hours we read online comics of teens looking for love. After she left I lay alone, tossing and turning as images flash in my head. I see scenes where we hold hands, kiss, and cuddle like the couples in the stories we read together. I turn onto my stomach, shoving my face into the soft pillow and forcing my eyes shut until frustrated tears escape. I imagine the news painting judgment across my loved ones’ faces and envision myself alone. All my life, I have struggled to feel accepted, desperately begging others to let me stay. In first grade, I was taken into foster care and passed between houses until landing in the guardianship of my adoptive mother. Despite knowing nothing of my Filipino culture, she took me in as her own, giving me six siblings. Over time, I became more and more comfortable with my new family. But while I started to accept others, I still fell short of accepting myself. That began to change when I discovered theater. Through the characters I create, I can see the world from different perspectives and explore emotions in newfound ways. Theater’s environment of acceptance and storytelling has taught me to embrace and express every facet of my character. Through the different identities I bring to life, I find the courage to tell the story of my ever-evolving identity. When studying the disciplines of theater and social work, I combine my love for self-expression with my drive to make a difference. In this way, I can help others find, express, and accept themselves on a journey to tell their stories. I fall to the floor coughing and wheezing. My nose burns from the pungent smell of gasoline in the air. As the room fills with clouds of smoke, I pull myself across the hardwood floor on my stomach. Laying on the floor, I watch Pinkalicious and Peterific on my grandparents’ old TV. Suddenly, a wave of uniformed police officers pour in through my front door, sweeping me up, and carrying me outside. Three years later I stand in front of my fourth-grade social studies class, giddy to share my presentation titled “All About Me.” I watch the room flood with shock as I recount the smoke-filled house I came from. With a blank expression, I share about my schizophrenic bio-father, my bipolar bio-mother, my short time in foster care, and the death of my grandparents. My face then lights up as I speak about moving in with my aunt, the cousins I now see every day, and the happy home I now live in. I look off dreamily imagining the day when I’m adopted, my aunt becomes my mom, my cousins become my siblings, and I become part of a real family. With wide eyes, my class begins to clap as my teacher motions me to sit down. I happily sit at my desk as the next student stands. At a young age, I learned that I could survive almost anything. I was proud of my past and shared it every chance I could. With kids my age, this earned their respect. When my best friend Madeline heard my story, she showed me off to all the other kids at recess. The smiling face telling my troubling backstory made me different, impressive, and tough. On the playground, I was praised as the happiest kid around who surprisingly had the saddest origin. Looking back on my past helps me realize that I was born into a world that never stood still. I’ve changed friends, families, houses, neighborhoods, schools, cities, regions, religions, languages, countries, and continents. Instead of shutting down and letting opportunities pass me by, I choose to take life's constant motion in stride. I choose to move forward, move on, and find comfort in the chaos of an ever-evolving world. Starting high school in a new town amid a global pandemic was difficult, but I knew I’d push through. In my sophomore year, I decided I wanted make a positive impact on other people, so I enrolled in a class called Principals of Human Services. This class led me to enroll in the Practicum of Human Services during my senior year and become a student intern with the school counselor at a local elementary school. There I mentor young kids in need of extra support and get the privilege of helping these students cope and grow and adjust. This experience is when I fell in love with becoming a social worker and dedicating my life to teaching others how to be resilient and persistent and proud of their stories, just like I am proud of mine.

I fall to the floor coughing and wheezing. My nose burns from the pungent smell of gasoline in the air. As the room fills with clouds of smoke, I pull myself across the hardwood floor on my stomach. Laying on the floor, I watch Pinkalicious and Peterific on my grandparents’ old TV. Suddenly, a wave of uniformed police officers pour in through my front door, sweeping me up, and carrying me outside. Three years later I stand in front of my fourth-grade social studies class, giddy to share my presentation titled “All About Me.” I watch the room flood with shock as I recount the smoke-filled house I came from. With a blank expression, I share about my schizophrenic bio-father, my bipolar bio-mother, my short time in foster care, and the death of my grandparents. My face then lights up as I speak about moving in with my aunt, the cousins I now see every day, and the happy home I now live in. I look off dreamily imagining the day when I’m adopted, my aunt becomes my mom, my cousins become my siblings, and I become part of a real family. With wide eyes, my class begins to clap as my teacher motions me to sit down. I happily sit at my desk as the next student stands. At a young age, I learned that I could survive almost anything. I was proud of my past and shared it every chance I could. With kids my age, this earned their respect. When my best friend Madeline heard my story, she showed me off to all the other kids at recess. The smiling face telling my troubling backstory made me different, impressive, and tough. On the playground, I was praised as the happiest kid around who surprisingly had the saddest origin. Looking back on my past helps me realize that I was born into a world that never stood still. I’ve changed friends, families, houses, neighborhoods, schools, cities, regions, religions, languages, countries, and continents. Instead of shutting down and letting opportunities pass me by, I choose to take life's constant motion in stride. I choose to move forward, move on, and find comfort in the chaos of an ever-evolving world. Starting high school in a new town amid a global pandemic was difficult, but I knew I’d push through. In my sophomore year, I decided I wanted make a positive impact on other people, so I enrolled in a class called Principals of Human Services. This class led me to enroll in the Practicum of Human Services during my senior year and become a student intern with the school counselor at a local elementary school. There I mentor young kids in need of extra support and get the privilege of helping these students cope and grow and adjust. This experience is when I fell in love with becoming a social worker and dedicating my life to teaching others how to be resilient and persistent and proud of their stories, just like I am proud of mine.

I fall to the floor coughing and wheezing. My nose burns from the pungent smell of gasoline in the air. As the room fills with clouds of smoke, I pull myself across the hardwood floor on my stomach. Laying on the floor, I watch Pinkalicious and Peterific on my grandparents’ old TV. Suddenly, a wave of uniformed police officers pour in through my front door, sweeping me up, and carrying me outside. Three years later I stand in front of my fourth-grade social studies class, giddy to share my presentation titled “All About Me.” I watch the room flood with shock as I recount the smoke-filled house I came from. With a blank expression, I share about my schizophrenic bio-father, my bipolar bio-mother, my short time in foster care, and the death of my grandparents. My face then lights up as I speak about moving in with my aunt, the cousins I now see every day, and the happy home I now live in. I look off dreamily imagining the day when I’m adopted, my aunt becomes my mom, my cousins become my siblings, and I become part of a real family. With wide eyes, my class begins to clap as my teacher motions me to sit down. I happily sit at my desk as the next student stands. At a young age, I learned that I could survive almost anything. I was proud of my past and shared it every chance I could. With kids my age, this earned their respect. When my best friend Madeline heard my story, she showed me off to all the other kids at recess. The smiling face telling my troubling backstory made me different, impressive, and tough. On the playground, I was praised as the happiest kid around who surprisingly had the saddest origin. Looking back on my past helps me realize that I was born into a world that never stood still. I’ve changed friends, families, houses, neighborhoods, schools, cities, regions, religions, languages, countries, and continents. Instead of shutting down and letting opportunities pass me by, I choose to take life's constant motion in stride. I choose to move forward, move on, and find comfort in the chaos of an ever-evolving world. Starting high school in a new town amid a global pandemic was difficult, but I knew I’d push through. In my sophomore year, I decided I wanted make a positive impact on other people, so I enrolled in a class called Principals of Human Services. This class led me to enroll in the Practicum of Human Services during my senior year and become a student intern with the school counselor at a local elementary school. There I mentor young kids in need of extra support and get the privilege of helping these students cope and grow and adjust. This experience is when I fell in love with becoming a social worker and dedicating my life to teaching others how to be resilient and persistent and proud of their stories, just like I am proud of mine.

I fall to the floor coughing and wheezing. My nose burns from the pungent smell of gasoline in the air. As the room fills with clouds of smoke, I pull myself across the hardwood floor on my stomach. Laying on the floor, I watch Pinkalicious and Peterific on my grandparents’ old TV. Suddenly, a wave of uniformed police officers pour in through my front door, sweeping me up, and carrying me outside. Three years later I stand in front of my fourth-grade social studies class, giddy to share my presentation titled “All About Me.” I watch the room flood with shock as I recount the smoke-filled house I came from. With a blank expression, I share about my schizophrenic bio-father, my bipolar bio-mother, my short time in foster care, and the death of my grandparents. My face then lights up as I speak about moving in with my aunt, the cousins I now see every day, and the happy home I now live in. I look off dreamily imagining the day when I’m adopted, my aunt becomes my mom, my cousins become my siblings, and I become part of a real family. With wide eyes, my class begins to clap as my teacher motions me to sit down. I happily sit at my desk as the next student stands. At a young age, I learned that I could survive almost anything. I was proud of my past and shared it every chance I could. With kids my age, this earned their respect. When my best friend Madeline heard my story, she showed me off to all the other kids at recess. The smiling face telling my troubling backstory made me different, impressive, and tough. On the playground, I was praised as the happiest kid around who surprisingly had the saddest origin. Looking back on my past helps me realize that I was born into a world that never stood still. I’ve changed friends, families, houses, neighborhoods, schools, cities, regions, religions, languages, countries, and continents. Instead of shutting down and letting opportunities pass me by, I choose to take life's constant motion in stride. I choose to move forward, move on, and find comfort in the chaos of an ever-evolving world. Starting high school in a new town amid a global pandemic was difficult, but I knew I’d push through. In my sophomore year, I decided I wanted make a positive impact on other people, so I enrolled in a class called Principals of Human Services. This class led me to enroll in the Practicum of Human Services during my senior year and become a student intern with the school counselor at a local elementary school. There I mentor young kids in need of extra support and get the privilege of helping these students cope and grow and adjust. This experience is when I fell in love with becoming a social worker and dedicating my life to teaching others how to be resilient and persistent and proud of their stories, just like I am proud of mine.

I fall to the floor coughing and wheezing. My nose burns from the pungent smell of gasoline in the air. As the room fills with clouds of smoke, I pull myself across the hardwood floor on my stomach. Laying on the floor, I watch Pinkalicious and Peterific on my grandparents’ old TV. Suddenly, a wave of uniformed police officers pour in through my front door, sweeping me up, and carrying me outside. Three years later I stand in front of my fourth-grade social studies class, giddy to share my presentation titled “All About Me.” I watch the room flood with shock as I recount the smoke-filled house I came from. With a blank expression, I share about my schizophrenic bio-father, my bipolar bio-mother, my short time in foster care, and the death of my grandparents. My face then lights up as I speak about moving in with my aunt, the cousins I now see every day, and the happy home I now live in. I look off dreamily imagining the day when I’m adopted, my aunt becomes my mom, my cousins become my siblings, and I become part of a real family. With wide eyes, my class begins to clap as my teacher motions me to sit down. I happily sit at my desk as the next student stands. At a young age, I learned that I could survive almost anything. I was proud of my past and shared it every chance I could. With kids my age, this earned their respect. When my best friend Madeline heard my story, she showed me off to all the other kids at recess. The smiling face telling my troubling backstory made me different, impressive, and tough. On the playground, I was praised as the happiest kid around who surprisingly had the saddest origin. Looking back on my past helps me realize that I was born into a world that never stood still. I’ve changed friends, families, houses, neighborhoods, schools, cities, regions, religions, languages, countries, and continents. Instead of shutting down and letting opportunities pass me by, I choose to take life's constant motion in stride. I choose to move forward, move on, and find comfort in the chaos of an ever-evolving world. Starting high school in a new town amid a global pandemic was difficult, but I knew I’d push through. In my sophomore year, I decided I wanted make a positive impact on other people, so I enrolled in a class called Principals of Human Services. This class led me to enroll in the Practicum of Human Services during my senior year and become a student intern with the school counselor at a local elementary school. There I mentor young kids in need of extra support and get the privilege of helping these students cope and grow and adjust. This experience is when I fell in love with becoming a social worker and dedicating my life to teaching others how to be resilient and persistent and proud of their stories, just like I am proud of mine.

I fall to the floor coughing and wheezing. My nose burns from the pungent smell of gasoline in the air. As the room fills with clouds of smoke, I pull myself across the hardwood floor on my stomach. Laying on the floor, I watch Pinkalicious and Peterific on my grandparents’ old TV. Suddenly, a wave of uniformed police officers pour in through my front door, sweeping me up, and carrying me outside. Three years later I stand in front of my fourth-grade social studies class, giddy to share my presentation titled “All About Me.” I watch the room flood with shock as I recount the smoke-filled house I came from. With a blank expression, I share about my schizophrenic bio-father, my bipolar bio-mother, my short time in foster care, and the death of my grandparents. My face then lights up as I speak about moving in with my aunt, the cousins I now see every day, and the happy home I now live in. I look off dreamily imagining the day when I’m adopted, my aunt becomes my mom, my cousins become my siblings, and I become part of a real family. With wide eyes, my class begins to clap as my teacher motions me to sit down. I happily sit at my desk as the next student stands. At a young age, I learned that I could survive almost anything. I was proud of my past and shared it every chance I could. With kids my age, this earned their respect. When my best friend Madeline heard my story, she showed me off to all the other kids at recess. The smiling face telling my troubling backstory made me different, impressive, and tough. On the playground, I was praised as the happiest kid around who surprisingly had the saddest origin. Looking back on my past helps me realize that I was born into a world that never stood still. I’ve changed friends, families, houses, neighborhoods, schools, cities, regions, religions, languages, countries, and continents. Instead of shutting down and letting opportunities pass me by, I choose to take life's constant motion in stride. I choose to move forward, move on, and find comfort in the chaos of an ever-evolving world. Starting high school in a new town amid a global pandemic was difficult, but I knew I’d push through. In my sophomore year, I decided I wanted make a positive impact on other people, so I enrolled in a class called Principals of Human Services. This class led me to enroll in the Practicum of Human Services during my senior year and become a student intern with the school counselor at a local elementary school. There I mentor young kids in need of extra support and get the privilege of helping these students cope and grow and adjust. This experience is when I fell in love with becoming a social worker and dedicating my life to teaching others how to be resilient and persistent and proud of their stories, just like I am proud of mine.

I fall to the floor coughing and wheezing. My nose burns from the pungent smell of gasoline in the air. As the room fills with clouds of smoke, I pull myself across the hardwood floor on my stomach. Laying on the floor, I watch Pinkalicious and Peterific on my grandparents’ old TV. Suddenly, a wave of uniformed police officers pour in through my front door, sweeping me up, and carrying me outside. Three years later I stand in front of my fourth-grade social studies class, giddy to share my presentation titled “All About Me.” I watch the room flood with shock as I recount the smoke-filled house I came from. With a blank expression, I share about my schizophrenic bio-father, my bipolar bio-mother, my short time in foster care, and the death of my grandparents. My face then lights up as I speak about moving in with my aunt, the cousins I now see every day, and the happy home I now live in. I look off dreamily imagining the day when I’m adopted, my aunt becomes my mom, my cousins become my siblings, and I become part of a real family. With wide eyes, my class begins to clap as my teacher motions me to sit down. I happily sit at my desk as the next student stands. At a young age, I learned that I could survive almost anything. I was proud of my past and shared it every chance I could. With kids my age, this earned their respect. When my best friend Madeline heard my story, she showed me off to all the other kids at recess. The smiling face telling my troubling backstory made me different, impressive, and tough. On the playground, I was praised as the happiest kid around who surprisingly had the saddest origin. Looking back on my past helps me realize that I was born into a world that never stood still. I’ve changed friends, families, houses, neighborhoods, schools, cities, regions, religions, languages, countries, and continents. Instead of shutting down and letting opportunities pass me by, I choose to take life's constant motion in stride. I choose to move forward, move on, and find comfort in the chaos of an ever-evolving world. Starting high school in a new town amid a global pandemic was difficult, but I knew I’d push through. In my sophomore year, I decided I wanted make a positive impact on other people, so I enrolled in a class called Principals of Human Services. This class led me to enroll in the Practicum of Human Services during my senior year and become a student intern with the school counselor at a local elementary school. There I mentor young kids in need of extra support and get the privilege of helping these students cope and grow and adjust. This experience is when I fell in love with becoming a social worker and dedicating my life to teaching others how to be resilient and persistent and proud of their stories, just like I am proud of mine.

I fall to the floor coughing and wheezing. My nose burns from the pungent smell of gasoline in the air. As the room fills with clouds of smoke, I pull myself across the hardwood floor on my stomach. Laying on the floor, I watch Pinkalicious and Peterific on my grandparents’ old TV. Suddenly, a wave of uniformed police officers pour in through my front door, sweeping me up, and carrying me outside. Three years later I stand in front of my fourth-grade social studies class, giddy to share my presentation titled “All About Me.” I watch the room flood with shock as I recount the smoke-filled house I came from. With a blank expression, I share about my schizophrenic bio-father, my bipolar bio-mother, my short time in foster care, and the death of my grandparents. My face then lights up as I speak about moving in with my aunt, the cousins I now see every day, and the happy home I now live in. I look off dreamily imagining the day when I’m adopted, my aunt becomes my mom, my cousins become my siblings, and I become part of a real family. With wide eyes, my class begins to clap as my teacher motions me to sit down. I happily sit at my desk as the next student stands. At a young age, I learned that I could survive almost anything. I was proud of my past and shared it every chance I could. With kids my age, this earned their respect. When my best friend Madeline heard my story, she showed me off to all the other kids at recess. The smiling face telling my troubling backstory made me different, impressive, and tough. On the playground, I was praised as the happiest kid around who surprisingly had the saddest origin. Looking back on my past helps me realize that I was born into a world that never stood still. I’ve changed friends, families, houses, neighborhoods, schools, cities, regions, religions, languages, countries, and continents. Instead of shutting down and letting opportunities pass me by, I choose to take life's constant motion in stride. I choose to move forward, move on, and find comfort in the chaos of an ever-evolving world. Starting high school in a new town amid a global pandemic was difficult, but I knew I’d push through. In my sophomore year, I decided I wanted make a positive impact on other people, so I enrolled in a class called Principals of Human Services. This class led me to enroll in the Practicum of Human Services during my senior year and become a student intern with the school counselor at a local elementary school. There I mentor young kids in need of extra support and get the privilege of helping these students cope and grow and adjust. This experience is when I fell in love with becoming a social worker and dedicating my life to teaching others how to be resilient and persistent and proud of their stories, just like I am proud of mine.

I fall to the floor coughing and wheezing. My nose burns from the pungent smell of gasoline in the air. As the room fills with clouds of smoke, I pull myself across the hardwood floor on my stomach. Laying on the floor, I watch Pinkalicious and Peterific on my grandparents’ old TV. Suddenly, a wave of uniformed police officers pour in through my front door, sweeping me up, and carrying me outside. Three years later I stand in front of my fourth-grade social studies class, giddy to share my presentation titled “All About Me.” I watch the room flood with shock as I recount the smoke-filled house I came from. With a blank expression, I share about my schizophrenic bio-father, my bipolar bio-mother, my short time in foster care, and the death of my grandparents. My face then lights up as I speak about moving in with my aunt, the cousins I now see every day, and the happy home I now live in. I look off dreamily imagining the day when I’m adopted, my aunt becomes my mom, my cousins become my siblings, and I become part of a real family. With wide eyes, my class begins to clap as my teacher motions me to sit down. I happily sit at my desk as the next student stands. At a young age, I learned that I could survive almost anything. I was proud of my past and shared it every chance I could. With kids my age, this earned their respect. When my best friend Madeline heard my story, she showed me off to all the other kids at recess. The smiling face telling my troubling backstory made me different, impressive, and tough. On the playground, I was praised as the happiest kid around who surprisingly had the saddest origin. Looking back on my past helps me realize that I was born into a world that never stood still. I’ve changed friends, families, houses, neighborhoods, schools, cities, regions, religions, languages, countries, and continents. Instead of shutting down and letting opportunities pass me by, I choose to take life's constant motion in stride. I choose to move forward, move on, and find comfort in the chaos of an ever-evolving world. Starting high school in a new town amid a global pandemic was difficult, but I knew I’d push through. In my sophomore year, I decided I wanted make a positive impact on other people, so I enrolled in a class called Principals of Human Services. This class led me to enroll in the Practicum of Human Services during my senior year and become a student intern with the school counselor at a local elementary school. There I mentor young kids in need of extra support and get the privilege of helping these students cope and grow and adjust. This experience is when I fell in love with becoming a social worker and dedicating my life to teaching others how to be resilient and persistent and proud of their stories, just like I am proud of mine.

In the middle of the dark room, our faces are illuminated only by the blue glow of my phone. I lean in, laying my head atop her shoulder. For hours we read online comics of teens looking for love. After she left I lay alone, tossing and turning as images flash in my head. I see scenes where we hold hands, kiss, and cuddle like the couples in the stories we read together. I turn onto my stomach, shoving my face into the soft pillow and forcing my eyes shut until frustrated tears escape. I imagine the news painting judgment across my loved ones’ faces and envision myself alone. All my life, I have struggled to feel accepted, desperately begging others to let me stay. In first grade, I was taken into foster care and passed between houses until landing in the guardianship of my adoptive mother. Despite knowing nothing of my Filipino culture, she took me in as her own, giving me six siblings. Over time, I became more and more comfortable with my new family. But while I started to accept others, I still fell short of accepting myself. That began to change when I discovered theater. Through the characters I create, I can see the world from different perspectives and explore emotions in newfound ways. Theater’s environment of acceptance and storytelling has taught me to embrace and express every facet of my character. Through the different identities I bring to life, I find the courage to tell the story of my ever-evolving identity. When studying the disciplines of theater and social work, I combine my love for self-expression with my drive to make a difference. In this way, I can help others find, express, and accept themselves on a journey to tell their stories.

I fall to the floor coughing and wheezing. My nose burns from the pungent smell of gasoline in the air. As the room fills with clouds of smoke, I pull myself across the hardwood floor on my stomach. Laying on the floor, I watch Pinkalicious and Peterific on my grandparents’ old TV. Suddenly, a wave of uniformed police officers pour in through my front door, sweeping me up, and carrying me outside. Three years later I stand in front of my fourth-grade social studies class, giddy to share my presentation titled “All About Me.” I watch the room flood with shock as I recount the smoke-filled house I came from. With a blank expression, I share about my schizophrenic bio-father, my bipolar bio-mother, my short time in foster care, and the death of my grandparents. My face then lights up as I speak about moving in with my aunt, the cousins I now see every day, and the happy home I now live in. I look off dreamily imagining the day when I’m adopted, my aunt becomes my mom, my cousins become my siblings, and I become part of a real family. With wide eyes, my class begins to clap as my teacher motions me to sit down. I happily sit at my desk as the next student stands. At a young age, I learned that I could survive almost anything. I was proud of my past and shared it every chance I could. With kids my age, this earned their respect. When my best friend Madeline heard my story, she showed me off to all the other kids at recess. The smiling face telling my troubling backstory made me different, impressive, and tough. On the playground, I was praised as the happiest kid around who surprisingly had the saddest origin. Looking back on my past helps me realize that I was born into a world that never stood still. I’ve changed friends, families, houses, neighborhoods, schools, cities, regions, religions, languages, countries, and continents. Instead of shutting down and letting opportunities pass me by, I choose to take life's constant motion in stride. I choose to move forward, move on, and find comfort in the chaos of an ever-evolving world. Starting high school in a new town amid a global pandemic was difficult, but I knew I’d push through. In my sophomore year, I decided I wanted make a positive impact on other people, so I enrolled in a class called Principals of Human Services. This class led me to enroll in the Practicum of Human Services during my senior year and become a student intern with the school counselor at a local elementary school. There I mentor young kids in need of extra support and get the privilege of helping these students cope and grow and adjust. This experience is when I fell in love with becoming a social worker and dedicating my life to teaching others how to be resilient and persistent and proud of their stories, just like I am proud of mine.

I fall to the floor coughing and wheezing. My nose burns from the pungent smell of gasoline in the air. As the room fills with clouds of smoke, I pull myself across the hardwood floor on my stomach. Laying on the floor, I watch Pinkalicious and Peterific on my grandparents’ old TV. Suddenly, a wave of uniformed police officers pour in through my front door, sweeping me up, and carrying me outside. Three years later I stand in front of my fourth-grade social studies class, giddy to share my presentation titled “All About Me.” I watch the room flood with shock as I recount the smoke-filled house I came from. With a blank expression, I share about my schizophrenic bio-father, my bipolar bio-mother, my short time in foster care, and the death of my grandparents. My face then lights up as I speak about moving in with my aunt, the cousins I now see every day, and the happy home I now live in. I look off dreamily imagining the day when I’m adopted, my aunt becomes my mom, my cousins become my siblings, and I become part of a real family. With wide eyes, my class begins to clap as my teacher motions me to sit down. I happily sit at my desk as the next student stands. At a young age, I learned that I could survive almost anything. I was proud of my past and shared it every chance I could. With kids my age, this earned their respect. When my best friend Madeline heard my story, she showed me off to all the other kids at recess. The smiling face telling my troubling backstory made me different, impressive, and tough. On the playground, I was praised as the happiest kid around who surprisingly had the saddest origin. Looking back on my past helps me realize that I was born into a world that never stood still. I’ve changed friends, families, houses, neighborhoods, schools, cities, regions, religions, languages, countries, and continents. Instead of shutting down and letting opportunities pass me by, I choose to take life's constant motion in stride. I choose to move forward, move on, and find comfort in the chaos of an ever-evolving world. Starting high school in a new town amid a global pandemic was difficult, but I knew I’d push through. In my sophomore year, I decided I wanted make a positive impact on other people, so I enrolled in a class called Principals of Human Services. This class led me to enroll in the Practicum of Human Services during my senior year and become a student intern with the school counselor at a local elementary school. There I mentor young kids in need of extra support and get the privilege of helping these students cope and grow and adjust. This experience is when I fell in love with becoming a social worker and dedicating my life to teaching others how to be resilient and persistent and proud of their stories, just like I am proud of mine.

I fall to the floor coughing and wheezing. My nose burns from the pungent smell of gasoline in the air. As the room fills with clouds of smoke, I pull myself across the hardwood floor on my stomach. Laying on the floor, I watch Pinkalicious and Peterific on my grandparents’ old TV. Suddenly, a wave of uniformed police officers pour in through my front door, sweeping me up, and carrying me outside. Three years later I stand in front of my fourth-grade social studies class, giddy to share my presentation titled “All About Me.” I watch the room flood with shock as I recount the smoke-filled house I came from. With a blank expression, I share about my schizophrenic bio-father, my bipolar bio-mother, my short time in foster care, and the death of my grandparents. My face then lights up as I speak about moving in with my aunt, the cousins I now see every day, and the happy home I now live in. I look off dreamily imagining the day when I’m adopted, my aunt becomes my mom, my cousins become my siblings, and I become part of a real family. With wide eyes, my class begins to clap as my teacher motions me to sit down. I happily sit at my desk as the next student stands. At a young age, I learned that I could survive almost anything. I was proud of my past and shared it every chance I could. With kids my age, this earned their respect. When my best friend Madeline heard my story, she showed me off to all the other kids at recess. The smiling face telling my troubling backstory made me different, impressive, and tough. On the playground, I was praised as the happiest kid around who surprisingly had the saddest origin. Looking back on my past helps me realize that I was born into a world that never stood still. I’ve changed friends, families, houses, neighborhoods, schools, cities, regions, religions, languages, countries, and continents. Instead of shutting down and letting opportunities pass me by, I choose to take life's constant motion in stride. I choose to move forward, move on, and find comfort in the chaos of an ever-evolving world. Starting high school in a new town amid a global pandemic was difficult, but I knew I’d push through. In my sophomore year, I decided I wanted make a positive impact on other people, so I enrolled in a class called Principals of Human Services. This class led me to enroll in the Practicum of Human Services during my senior year and become a student intern with the school counselor at a local elementary school. There I mentor young kids in need of extra support and get the privilege of helping these students cope and grow and adjust. This experience is when I fell in love with becoming a social worker and dedicating my life to teaching others how to be resilient and persistent and proud of their stories, just like I am proud of mine.

I fall to the floor coughing and wheezing. My nose burns from the pungent smell of gasoline in the air. As the room fills with clouds of smoke, I pull myself across the hardwood floor on my stomach. Laying on the floor, I watch Pinkalicious and Peterific on my grandparents’ old TV. Suddenly, a wave of uniformed police officers pour in through my front door, sweeping me up, and carrying me outside. Three years later I stand in front of my fourth-grade social studies class, giddy to share my presentation titled “All About Me.” I watch the room flood with shock as I recount the smoke-filled house I came from. With a blank expression, I share about my schizophrenic bio-father, my bipolar bio-mother, my short time in foster care, and the death of my grandparents. My face then lights up as I speak about moving in with my aunt, the cousins I now see every day, and the happy home I now live in. I look off dreamily imagining the day when I’m adopted, my aunt becomes my mom, my cousins become my siblings, and I become part of a real family. With wide eyes, my class begins to clap as my teacher motions me to sit down. I happily sit at my desk as the next student stands. At a young age, I learned that I could survive almost anything. I was proud of my past and shared it every chance I could. With kids my age, this earned their respect. When my best friend Madeline heard my story, she showed me off to all the other kids at recess. The smiling face telling my troubling backstory made me different, impressive, and tough. On the playground, I was praised as the happiest kid around who surprisingly had the saddest origin. Looking back on my past helps me realize that I was born into a world that never stood still. I’ve changed friends, families, houses, neighborhoods, schools, cities, regions, religions, languages, countries, and continents. Instead of shutting down and letting opportunities pass me by, I choose to take life's constant motion in stride. I choose to move forward, move on, and find comfort in the chaos of an ever-evolving world. Starting high school in a new town amid a global pandemic was difficult, but I knew I’d push through. In my sophomore year, I decided I wanted make a positive impact on other people, so I enrolled in a class called Principals of Human Services. This class led me to enroll in the Practicum of Human Services during my senior year and become a student intern with the school counselor at a local elementary school. There I mentor young kids in need of extra support and get the privilege of helping these students cope and grow and adjust. This experience is when I fell in love with becoming a social worker and dedicating my life to teaching others how to be resilient and persistent and proud of their stories, just like I am proud of mine.

I fall to the floor coughing and wheezing. My nose burns from the pungent smell of gasoline in the air. As the room fills with clouds of smoke, I pull myself across the hardwood floor on my stomach. Laying on the floor, I watch Pinkalicious and Peterific on my grandparents’ old TV. Suddenly, a wave of uniformed police officers pour in through my front door, sweeping me up, and carrying me outside. Three years later I stand in front of my fourth-grade social studies class, giddy to share my presentation titled “All About Me.” I watch the room flood with shock as I recount the smoke-filled house I came from. With a blank expression, I share about my schizophrenic bio-father, my bipolar bio-mother, my short time in foster care, and the death of my grandparents. My face then lights up as I speak about moving in with my aunt, the cousins I now see every day, and the happy home I now live in. I look off dreamily imagining the day when I’m adopted, my aunt becomes my mom, my cousins become my siblings, and I become part of a real family. With wide eyes, my class begins to clap as my teacher motions me to sit down. I happily sit at my desk as the next student stands. At a young age, I learned that I could survive almost anything. I was proud of my past and shared it every chance I could. With kids my age, this earned their respect. When my best friend Madeline heard my story, she showed me off to all the other kids at recess. The smiling face telling my troubling backstory made me different, impressive, and tough. On the playground, I was praised as the happiest kid around who surprisingly had the saddest origin. Looking back on my past helps me realize that I was born into a world that never stood still. I’ve changed friends, families, houses, neighborhoods, schools, cities, regions, religions, languages, countries, and continents. Instead of shutting down and letting opportunities pass me by, I choose to take life's constant motion in stride. I choose to move forward, move on, and find comfort in the chaos of an ever-evolving world. Starting high school in a new town amid a global pandemic was difficult, but I knew I’d push through. In my sophomore year, I decided I wanted make a positive impact on other people, so I enrolled in a class called Principals of Human Services. This class led me to enroll in the Practicum of Human Services during my senior year and become a student intern with the school counselor at a local elementary school. There I mentor young kids in need of extra support and get the privilege of helping these students cope and grow and adjust. This experience is when I fell in love with becoming a social worker and dedicating my life to teaching others how to be resilient and persistent and proud of their stories, just like I am proud of mine.

I fall to the floor coughing and wheezing. My nose burns from the pungent smell of gasoline in the air. As the room fills with clouds of smoke, I pull myself across the hardwood floor on my stomach. Laying on the floor, I watch Pinkalicious and Peterific on my grandparents’ old TV. Suddenly, a wave of uniformed police officers pour in through my front door, sweeping me up, and carrying me outside. Three years later I stand in front of my fourth-grade social studies class, giddy to share my presentation titled “All About Me.” I watch the room flood with shock as I recount the smoke-filled house I came from. With a blank expression, I share about my schizophrenic bio-father, my bipolar bio-mother, my short time in foster care, and the death of my grandparents. My face then lights up as I speak about moving in with my aunt, the cousins I now see every day, and the happy home I now live in. I look off dreamily imagining the day when I’m adopted, my aunt becomes my mom, my cousins become my siblings, and I become part of a real family. With wide eyes, my class begins to clap as my teacher motions me to sit down. I happily sit at my desk as the next student stands. At a young age, I learned that I could survive almost anything. I was proud of my past and shared it every chance I could. With kids my age, this earned their respect. When my best friend Madeline heard my story, she showed me off to all the other kids at recess. The smiling face telling my troubling backstory made me different, impressive, and tough. On the playground, I was praised as the happiest kid around who surprisingly had the saddest origin. Looking back on my past helps me realize that I was born into a world that never stood still. I’ve changed friends, families, houses, neighborhoods, schools, cities, regions, religions, languages, countries, and continents. Instead of shutting down and letting opportunities pass me by, I choose to take life's constant motion in stride. I choose to move forward, move on, and find comfort in the chaos of an ever-evolving world. Starting high school in a new town amid a global pandemic was difficult, but I knew I’d push through. In my sophomore year, I decided I wanted make a positive impact on other people, so I enrolled in a class called Principals of Human Services. This class led me to enroll in the Practicum of Human Services during my senior year and become a student intern with the school counselor at a local elementary school. There I mentor young kids in need of extra support and get the privilege of helping these students cope and grow and adjust. This experience is when I fell in love with becoming a social worker and dedicating my life to teaching others how to be resilient and persistent and proud of their stories, just like I am proud of mine.

I fall to the floor coughing and wheezing. My nose burns from the pungent smell of gasoline in the air. As the room fills with clouds of smoke, I pull myself across the hardwood floor on my stomach. Laying on the floor, I watch Pinkalicious and Peterific on my grandparents’ old TV. Suddenly, a wave of uniformed police officers pour in through my front door, sweeping me up, and carrying me outside. Three years later I stand in front of my fourth-grade social studies class, giddy to share my presentation titled “All About Me.” I watch the room flood with shock as I recount the smoke-filled house I came from. With a blank expression, I share about my schizophrenic bio-father, my bipolar bio-mother, my short time in foster care, and the death of my grandparents. My face then lights up as I speak about moving in with my aunt, the cousins I now see every day, and the happy home I now live in. I look off dreamily imagining the day when I’m adopted, my aunt becomes my mom, my cousins become my siblings, and I become part of a real family. With wide eyes, my class begins to clap as my teacher motions me to sit down. I happily sit at my desk as the next student stands. At a young age, I learned that I could survive almost anything. I was proud of my past and shared it every chance I could. With kids my age, this earned their respect. When my best friend Madeline heard my story, she showed me off to all the other kids at recess. The smiling face telling my troubling backstory made me different, impressive, and tough. On the playground, I was praised as the happiest kid around who surprisingly had the saddest origin. Looking back on my past helps me realize that I was born into a world that never stood still. I’ve changed friends, families, houses, neighborhoods, schools, cities, regions, religions, languages, countries, and continents. Instead of shutting down and letting opportunities pass me by, I choose to take life's constant motion in stride. I choose to move forward, move on, and find comfort in the chaos of an ever-evolving world. Starting high school in a new town amid a global pandemic was difficult, but I knew I’d push through. In my sophomore year, I decided I wanted make a positive impact on other people, so I enrolled in a class called Principals of Human Services. This class led me to enroll in the Practicum of Human Services during my senior year and become a student intern with the school counselor at a local elementary school. There I mentor young kids in need of extra support and get the privilege of helping these students cope and grow and adjust. This experience is when I fell in love with becoming a social worker and dedicating my life to teaching others how to be resilient and persistent and proud of their stories, just like I am proud of mine.

I fall to the floor coughing and wheezing. My nose burns from the pungent smell of gasoline in the air. As the room fills with clouds of smoke, I pull myself across the hardwood floor on my stomach. Laying on the floor, I watch Pinkalicious and Peterific on my grandparents’ old TV. Suddenly, a wave of uniformed police officers pour in through my front door, sweeping me up, and carrying me outside. Three years later I stand in front of my fourth-grade social studies class, giddy to share my presentation titled “All About Me.” I watch the room flood with shock as I recount the smoke-filled house I came from. With a blank expression, I share about my schizophrenic bio-father, my bipolar bio-mother, my short time in foster care, and the death of my grandparents. My face then lights up as I speak about moving in with my aunt, the cousins I now see every day, and the happy home I now live in. I look off dreamily imagining the day when I’m adopted, my aunt becomes my mom, my cousins become my siblings, and I become part of a real family. With wide eyes, my class begins to clap as my teacher motions me to sit down. I happily sit at my desk as the next student stands. At a young age, I learned that I could survive almost anything. I was proud of my past and shared it every chance I could. With kids my age, this earned their respect. When my best friend Madeline heard my story, she showed me off to all the other kids at recess. The smiling face telling my troubling backstory made me different, impressive, and tough. On the playground, I was praised as the happiest kid around who surprisingly had the saddest origin. Looking back on my past helps me realize that I was born into a world that never stood still. I’ve changed friends, families, houses, neighborhoods, schools, cities, regions, religions, languages, countries, and continents. Instead of shutting down and letting opportunities pass me by, I choose to take life's constant motion in stride. I choose to move forward, move on, and find comfort in the chaos of an ever-evolving world. Starting high school in a new town amid a global pandemic was difficult, but I knew I’d push through. In my sophomore year, I decided I wanted make a positive impact on other people, so I enrolled in a class called Principals of Human Services. This class led me to enroll in the Practicum of Human Services during my senior year and become a student intern with the school counselor at a local elementary school. There I mentor young kids in need of extra support and get the privilege of helping these students cope and grow and adjust. This experience is when I fell in love with becoming a social worker and dedicating my life to teaching others how to be resilient and persistent and proud of their stories, just like I am proud of mine.

I fall to the floor coughing and wheezing. My nose burns from the pungent smell of gasoline in the air. As the room fills with clouds of smoke, I pull myself across the hardwood floor on my stomach. Laying on the floor, I watch Pinkalicious and Peterific on my grandparents’ old TV. Suddenly, a wave of uniformed police officers pour in through my front door, sweeping me up, and carrying me outside. Three years later I stand in front of my fourth-grade social studies class, giddy to share my presentation titled “All About Me.” I watch the room flood with shock as I recount the smoke-filled house I came from. With a blank expression, I share about my schizophrenic bio-father, my bipolar bio-mother, my short time in foster care, and the death of my grandparents. My face then lights up as I speak about moving in with my aunt, the cousins I now see every day, and the happy home I now live in. I look off dreamily imagining the day when I’m adopted, my aunt becomes my mom, my cousins become my siblings, and I become part of a real family. With wide eyes, my class begins to clap as my teacher motions me to sit down. I happily sit at my desk as the next student stands. At a young age, I learned that I could survive almost anything. I was proud of my past and shared it every chance I could. With kids my age, this earned their respect. When my best friend Madeline heard my story, she showed me off to all the other kids at recess. The smiling face telling my troubling backstory made me different, impressive, and tough. On the playground, I was praised as the happiest kid around who surprisingly had the saddest origin. Looking back on my past helps me realize that I was born into a world that never stood still. I’ve changed friends, families, houses, neighborhoods, schools, cities, regions, religions, languages, countries, and continents. Instead of shutting down and letting opportunities pass me by, I choose to take life's constant motion in stride. I choose to move forward, move on, and find comfort in the chaos of an ever-evolving world. Starting high school in a new town amid a global pandemic was difficult, but I knew I’d push through. In my sophomore year, I decided I wanted make a positive impact on other people, so I enrolled in a class called Principals of Human Services. This class led me to enroll in the Practicum of Human Services during my senior year and become a student intern with the school counselor at a local elementary school. There I mentor young kids in need of extra support and get the privilege of helping these students cope and grow and adjust. This experience is when I fell in love with becoming a social worker and dedicating my life to teaching others how to be resilient and persistent and proud of their stories, just like I am proud of mine.

I fall to the floor coughing and wheezing. My nose burns from the pungent smell of gasoline in the air. As the room fills with clouds of smoke, I pull myself across the hardwood floor on my stomach. Laying on the floor, I watch Pinkalicious and Peterific on my grandparents’ old TV. Suddenly, a wave of uniformed police officers pour in through my front door, sweeping me up, and carrying me outside. Three years later I stand in front of my fourth-grade social studies class, giddy to share my presentation titled “All About Me.” I watch the room flood with shock as I recount the smoke-filled house I came from. With a blank expression, I share about my schizophrenic bio-father, my bipolar bio-mother, my short time in foster care, and the death of my grandparents. My face then lights up as I speak about moving in with my aunt, the cousins I now see every day, and the happy home I now live in. I look off dreamily imagining the day when I’m adopted, my aunt becomes my mom, my cousins become my siblings, and I become part of a real family. With wide eyes, my class begins to clap as my teacher motions me to sit down. I happily sit at my desk as the next student stands. At a young age, I learned that I could survive almost anything. I was proud of my past and shared it every chance I could. With kids my age, this earned their respect. When my best friend Madeline heard my story, she showed me off to all the other kids at recess. The smiling face telling my troubling backstory made me different, impressive, and tough. On the playground, I was praised as the happiest kid around who surprisingly had the saddest origin. Looking back on my past helps me realize that I was born into a world that never stood still. I’ve changed friends, families, houses, neighborhoods, schools, cities, regions, religions, languages, countries, and continents. Instead of shutting down and letting opportunities pass me by, I choose to take life's constant motion in stride. I choose to move forward, move on, and find comfort in the chaos of an ever-evolving world. Starting high school in a new town amid a global pandemic was difficult, but I knew I’d push through. In my sophomore year, I decided I wanted make a positive impact on other people, so I enrolled in a class called Principals of Human Services. This class led me to enroll in the Practicum of Human Services during my senior year and become a student intern with the school counselor at a local elementary school. There I mentor young kids in need of extra support and get the privilege of helping these students cope and grow and adjust. This experience is when I fell in love with becoming a social worker and dedicating my life to teaching others how to be resilient and persistent and proud of their stories, just like I am proud of mine.

In the middle of the dark room, our faces are illuminated only by the blue glow of my phone. I lean in, laying my head atop her shoulder. For hours we read online comics of teens looking for love. After she left I lay alone, tossing and turning as images flash in my head. I see scenes where we hold hands, kiss, and cuddle like the couples in the stories we read together. I turn onto my stomach, shoving my face into the soft pillow and forcing my eyes shut until frustrated tears escape. I imagine the news painting judgment across my loved ones’ faces and envision myself alone. All my life, I have struggled to feel accepted, desperately begging others to let me stay. In first grade, I was taken into foster care and passed between houses until landing in the guardianship of my adoptive mother. Despite knowing nothing of my Filipino culture, she took me in as her own, giving me six siblings. Over time, I became more and more comfortable with my new family. But while I started to accept others, I still fell short of accepting myself. That began to change when I discovered theater. Through the characters I create, I can see the world from different perspectives and explore emotions in newfound ways. Theater’s environment of acceptance and storytelling has taught me to embrace and express every facet of my character. Through the different identities I bring to life, I find the courage to tell the story of my ever-evolving identity. When studying the disciplines of theater and social work, I combine my love for self-expression with my drive to make a difference. In this way, I can help others find, express, and accept themselves on a journey to tell their stories. I fall to the floor coughing and wheezing. My nose burns from the pungent smell of gasoline in the air. As the room fills with clouds of smoke, I pull myself across the hardwood floor on my stomach. Laying on the floor, I watch Pinkalicious and Peterific on my grandparents’ old TV. Suddenly, a wave of uniformed police officers pour in through my front door, sweeping me up, and carrying me outside. Three years later I stand in front of my fourth-grade social studies class, giddy to share my presentation titled “All About Me.” I watch the room flood with shock as I recount the smoke-filled house I came from. With a blank expression, I share about my schizophrenic bio-father, my bipolar bio-mother, my short time in foster care, and the death of my grandparents. My face then lights up as I speak about moving in with my aunt, the cousins I now see every day, and the happy home I now live in. I look off dreamily imagining the day when I’m adopted, my aunt becomes my mom, my cousins become my siblings, and I become part of a real family. With wide eyes, my class begins to clap as my teacher motions me to sit down. I happily sit at my desk as the next student stands. At a young age, I learned that I could survive almost anything. I was proud of my past and shared it every chance I could. With kids my age, this earned their respect. When my best friend Madeline heard my story, she showed me off to all the other kids at recess. The smiling face telling my troubling backstory made me different, impressive, and tough. On the playground, I was praised as the happiest kid around who surprisingly had the saddest origin. Looking back on my past helps me realize that I was born into a world that never stood still. I’ve changed friends, families, houses, neighborhoods, schools, cities, regions, religions, languages, countries, and continents. Instead of shutting down and letting opportunities pass me by, I choose to take life's constant motion in stride. I choose to move forward, move on, and find comfort in the chaos of an ever-evolving world. Starting high school in a new town amid a global pandemic was difficult, but I knew I’d push through. In my sophomore year, I decided I wanted make a positive impact on other people, so I enrolled in a class called Principals of Human Services. This class led me to enroll in the Practicum of Human Services during my senior year and become a student intern with the school counselor at a local elementary school. There I mentor young kids in need of extra support and get the privilege of helping these students cope and grow and adjust. This experience is when I fell in love with becoming a social worker and dedicating my life to teaching others how to be resilient and persistent and proud of their stories, just like I am proud of mine.

I fall to the floor coughing and wheezing. My nose burns from the pungent smell of gasoline in the air. As the room fills with clouds of smoke, I pull myself across the hardwood floor on my stomach. Laying on the floor, I watch Pinkalicious and Peterific on my grandparents’ old TV. Suddenly, a wave of uniformed police officers pour in through my front door, sweeping me up, and carrying me outside. Three years later I stand in front of my fourth-grade social studies class, giddy to share my presentation titled “All About Me.” I watch the room flood with shock as I recount the smoke-filled house I came from. With a blank expression, I share about my schizophrenic bio-father, my bipolar bio-mother, my short time in foster care, and the death of my grandparents. My face then lights up as I speak about moving in with my aunt, the cousins I now see every day, and the happy home I now live in. I look off dreamily imagining the day when I’m adopted, my aunt becomes my mom, my cousins become my siblings, and I become part of a real family. With wide eyes, my class begins to clap as my teacher motions me to sit down. I happily sit at my desk as the next student stands. At a young age, I learned that I could survive almost anything. I was proud of my past and shared it every chance I could. With kids my age, this earned their respect. When my best friend Madeline heard my story, she showed me off to all the other kids at recess. The smiling face telling my troubling backstory made me different, impressive, and tough. On the playground, I was praised as the happiest kid around who surprisingly had the saddest origin. Looking back on my past helps me realize that I was born into a world that never stood still. I’ve changed friends, families, houses, neighborhoods, schools, cities, regions, religions, languages, countries, and continents. Instead of shutting down and letting opportunities pass me by, I choose to take life's constant motion in stride. I choose to move forward, move on, and find comfort in the chaos of an ever-evolving world. Starting high school in a new town amid a global pandemic was difficult, but I knew I’d push through. In my sophomore year, I decided I wanted make a positive impact on other people, so I enrolled in a class called Principals of Human Services. This class led me to enroll in the Practicum of Human Services during my senior year and become a student intern with the school counselor at a local elementary school. There I mentor young kids in need of extra support and get the privilege of helping these students cope and grow and adjust. This experience is when I fell in love with becoming a social worker and dedicating my life to teaching others how to be resilient and persistent and proud of their stories, just like I am proud of mine.

I fall to the floor coughing and wheezing. My nose burns from the pungent smell of gasoline in the air. As the room fills with clouds of smoke, I pull myself across the hardwood floor on my stomach. Laying on the floor, I watch Pinkalicious and Peterific on my grandparents’ old TV. Suddenly, a wave of uniformed police officers pour in through my front door, sweeping me up, and carrying me outside. Three years later I stand in front of my fourth-grade social studies class, giddy to share my presentation titled “All About Me.” I watch the room flood with shock as I recount the smoke-filled house I came from. With a blank expression, I share about my schizophrenic bio-father, my bipolar bio-mother, my short time in foster care, and the death of my grandparents. My face then lights up as I speak about moving in with my aunt, the cousins I now see every day, and the happy home I now live in. I look off dreamily imagining the day when I’m adopted, my aunt becomes my mom, my cousins become my siblings, and I become part of a real family. With wide eyes, my class begins to clap as my teacher motions me to sit down. I happily sit at my desk as the next student stands. At a young age, I learned that I could survive almost anything. I was proud of my past and shared it every chance I could. With kids my age, this earned their respect. When my best friend Madeline heard my story, she showed me off to all the other kids at recess. The smiling face telling my troubling backstory made me different, impressive, and tough. On the playground, I was praised as the happiest kid around who surprisingly had the saddest origin. Looking back on my past helps me realize that I was born into a world that never stood still. I’ve changed friends, families, houses, neighborhoods, schools, cities, regions, religions, languages, countries, and continents. Instead of shutting down and letting opportunities pass me by, I choose to take life's constant motion in stride. I choose to move forward, move on, and find comfort in the chaos of an ever-evolving world. Starting high school in a new town amid a global pandemic was difficult, but I knew I’d push through. In my sophomore year, I decided I wanted make a positive impact on other people, so I enrolled in a class called Principals of Human Services. This class led me to enroll in the Practicum of Human Services during my senior year and become a student intern with the school counselor at a local elementary school. There I mentor young kids in need of extra support and get the privilege of helping these students cope and grow and adjust. This experience is when I fell in love with becoming a social worker and dedicating my life to teaching others how to be resilient and persistent and proud of their stories, just like I am proud of mine.

I fall to the floor coughing and wheezing. My nose burns from the pungent smell of gasoline in the air. As the room fills with clouds of smoke, I pull myself across the hardwood floor on my stomach. Laying on the floor, I watch Pinkalicious and Peterific on my grandparents’ old TV. Suddenly, a wave of uniformed police officers pour in through my front door, sweeping me up, and carrying me outside. Three years later I stand in front of my fourth-grade social studies class, giddy to share my presentation titled “All About Me.” I watch the room flood with shock as I recount the smoke-filled house I came from. With a blank expression, I share about my schizophrenic bio-father, my bipolar bio-mother, my short time in foster care, and the death of my grandparents. My face then lights up as I speak about moving in with my aunt, the cousins I now see every day, and the happy home I now live in. I look off dreamily imagining the day when I’m adopted, my aunt becomes my mom, my cousins become my siblings, and I become part of a real family. With wide eyes, my class begins to clap as my teacher motions me to sit down. I happily sit at my desk as the next student stands. At a young age, I learned that I could survive almost anything. I was proud of my past and shared it every chance I could. With kids my age, this earned their respect. When my best friend Madeline heard my story, she showed me off to all the other kids at recess. The smiling face telling my troubling backstory made me different, impressive, and tough. On the playground, I was praised as the happiest kid around who surprisingly had the saddest origin. Looking back on my past helps me realize that I was born into a world that never stood still. I’ve changed friends, families, houses, neighborhoods, schools, cities, regions, religions, languages, countries, and continents. Instead of shutting down and letting opportunities pass me by, I choose to take life's constant motion in stride. I choose to move forward, move on, and find comfort in the chaos of an ever-evolving world. Starting high school in a new town amid a global pandemic was difficult, but I knew I’d push through. In my sophomore year, I decided I wanted make a positive impact on other people, so I enrolled in a class called Principals of Human Services. This class led me to enroll in the Practicum of Human Services during my senior year and become a student intern with the school counselor at a local elementary school. There I mentor young kids in need of extra support and get the privilege of helping these students cope and grow and adjust. This experience is when I fell in love with becoming a social worker and dedicating my life to teaching others how to be resilient and persistent and proud of their stories, just like I am proud of mine.

I fall to the floor coughing and wheezing. My nose burns from the pungent smell of gasoline in the air. As the room fills with clouds of smoke, I pull myself across the hardwood floor on my stomach. Laying on the floor, I watch Pinkalicious and Peterific on my grandparents’ old TV. Suddenly, a wave of uniformed police officers pour in through my front door, sweeping me up, and carrying me outside. Three years later I stand in front of my fourth-grade social studies class, giddy to share my presentation titled “All About Me.” I watch the room flood with shock as I recount the smoke-filled house I came from. With a blank expression, I share about my schizophrenic bio-father, my bipolar bio-mother, my short time in foster care, and the death of my grandparents. My face then lights up as I speak about moving in with my aunt, the cousins I now see every day, and the happy home I now live in. I look off dreamily imagining the day when I’m adopted, my aunt becomes my mom, my cousins become my siblings, and I become part of a real family. With wide eyes, my class begins to clap as my teacher motions me to sit down. I happily sit at my desk as the next student stands. At a young age, I learned that I could survive almost anything. I was proud of my past and shared it every chance I could. With kids my age, this earned their respect. When my best friend Madeline heard my story, she showed me off to all the other kids at recess. The smiling face telling my troubling backstory made me different, impressive, and tough. On the playground, I was praised as the happiest kid around who surprisingly had the saddest origin. Looking back on my past helps me realize that I was born into a world that never stood still. I’ve changed friends, families, houses, neighborhoods, schools, cities, regions, religions, languages, countries, and continents. Instead of shutting down and letting opportunities pass me by, I choose to take life's constant motion in stride. I choose to move forward, move on, and find comfort in the chaos of an ever-evolving world. Starting high school in a new town amid a global pandemic was difficult, but I knew I’d push through. In my sophomore year, I decided I wanted make a positive impact on other people, so I enrolled in a class called Principals of Human Services. This class led me to enroll in the Practicum of Human Services during my senior year and become a student intern with the school counselor at a local elementary school. There I mentor young kids in need of extra support and get the privilege of helping these students cope and grow and adjust. This experience is when I fell in love with becoming a social worker and dedicating my life to teaching others how to be resilient and persistent and proud of their stories, just like I am proud of mine.

I fall to the floor coughing and wheezing. My nose burns from the pungent smell of gasoline in the air. As the room fills with clouds of smoke, I pull myself across the hardwood floor on my stomach. Laying on the floor, I watch Pinkalicious and Peterific on my grandparents’ old TV. Suddenly, a wave of uniformed police officers pour in through my front door, sweeping me up, and carrying me outside. Three years later I stand in front of my fourth-grade social studies class, giddy to share my presentation titled “All About Me.” I watch the room flood with shock as I recount the smoke-filled house I came from. With a blank expression, I share about my schizophrenic bio-father, my bipolar bio-mother, my short time in foster care, and the death of my grandparents. My face then lights up as I speak about moving in with my aunt, the cousins I now see every day, and the happy home I now live in. I look off dreamily imagining the day when I’m adopted, my aunt becomes my mom, my cousins become my siblings, and I become part of a real family. With wide eyes, my class begins to clap as my teacher motions me to sit down. I happily sit at my desk as the next student stands. At a young age, I learned that I could survive almost anything. I was proud of my past and shared it every chance I could. With kids my age, this earned their respect. When my best friend Madeline heard my story, she showed me off to all the other kids at recess. The smiling face telling my troubling backstory made me different, impressive, and tough. On the playground, I was praised as the happiest kid around who surprisingly had the saddest origin. Looking back on my past helps me realize that I was born into a world that never stood still. I’ve changed friends, families, houses, neighborhoods, schools, cities, regions, religions, languages, countries, and continents. Instead of shutting down and letting opportunities pass me by, I choose to take life's constant motion in stride. I choose to move forward, move on, and find comfort in the chaos of an ever-evolving world. Starting high school in a new town amid a global pandemic was difficult, but I knew I’d push through. In my sophomore year, I decided I wanted make a positive impact on other people, so I enrolled in a class called Principals of Human Services. This class led me to enroll in the Practicum of Human Services during my senior year and become a student intern with the school counselor at a local elementary school. There I mentor young kids in need of extra support and get the privilege of helping these students cope and grow and adjust. This experience is when I fell in love with becoming a social worker and dedicating my life to teaching others how to be resilient and persistent and proud of their stories, just like I am proud of mine.

I fall to the floor coughing and wheezing. My nose burns from the pungent smell of gasoline in the air. As the room fills with clouds of smoke, I pull myself across the hardwood floor on my stomach. Laying on the floor, I watch Pinkalicious and Peterific on my grandparents’ old TV. Suddenly, a wave of uniformed police officers pour in through my front door, sweeping me up, and carrying me outside. Three years later I stand in front of my fourth-grade social studies class, giddy to share my presentation titled “All About Me.” I watch the room flood with shock as I recount the smoke-filled house I came from. With a blank expression, I share about my schizophrenic bio-father, my bipolar bio-mother, my short time in foster care, and the death of my grandparents. My face then lights up as I speak about moving in with my aunt, the cousins I now see every day, and the happy home I now live in. I look off dreamily imagining the day when I’m adopted, my aunt becomes my mom, my cousins become my siblings, and I become part of a real family. With wide eyes, my class begins to clap as my teacher motions me to sit down. I happily sit at my desk as the next student stands. At a young age, I learned that I could survive almost anything. I was proud of my past and shared it every chance I could. With kids my age, this earned their respect. When my best friend Madeline heard my story, she showed me off to all the other kids at recess. The smiling face telling my troubling backstory made me different, impressive, and tough. On the playground, I was praised as the happiest kid around who surprisingly had the saddest origin. Looking back on my past helps me realize that I was born into a world that never stood still. I’ve changed friends, families, houses, neighborhoods, schools, cities, regions, religions, languages, countries, and continents. Instead of shutting down and letting opportunities pass me by, I choose to take life's constant motion in stride. I choose to move forward, move on, and find comfort in the chaos of an ever-evolving world. Starting high school in a new town amid a global pandemic was difficult, but I knew I’d push through. In my sophomore year, I decided I wanted make a positive impact on other people, so I enrolled in a class called Principals of Human Services. This class led me to enroll in the Practicum of Human Services during my senior year and become a student intern with the school counselor at a local elementary school. There I mentor young kids in need of extra support and get the privilege of helping these students cope and grow and adjust. This experience is when I fell in love with becoming a social worker and dedicating my life to teaching others how to be resilient and persistent and proud of their stories, just like I am proud of mine.

I fall to the floor coughing and wheezing. My nose burns from the pungent smell of gasoline in the air. As the room fills with clouds of smoke, I pull myself across the hardwood floor on my stomach. Laying on the floor, I watch Pinkalicious and Peterific on my grandparents’ old TV. Suddenly, a wave of uniformed police officers pour in through my front door, sweeping me up, and carrying me outside. Three years later I stand in front of my fourth-grade social studies class, giddy to share my presentation titled “All About Me.” I watch the room flood with shock as I recount the smoke-filled house I came from. With a blank expression, I share about my schizophrenic bio-father who's anti-psychotic medication gives him crippling diabetes, my bipolar bio-mother who has never been medicated a day in her life, my short time in foster care with a foster parent who did not speak my language, and respectively losing my grandmother and grandfather to metatstatic cancer and a baseball-sized brain tumor. My face then lights up as I speak about moving in with my aunt, the cousins I now see every day, and the happy home I now live in. I look off dreamily imagining the day when I’m adopted, my aunt becomes my mom, my cousins become my siblings, and I become part of a real family. With wide eyes, my class begins to clap as my teacher motions me to sit down. I happily sit at my desk as the next student stands. At a young age, I learned that I could survive almost anything. I was proud of my past and shared it every chance I could. With kids my age, this earned their respect. When my best friend Madeline heard my story, she showed me off to all the other kids at recess. The smiling face telling my troubling backstory made me different, impressive, and tough. On the playground, I was praised as the happiest kid around who surprisingly had the saddest origin. Looking back on my past helps me realize that I was born into a world that never stood still. I’ve changed friends, families, houses, neighborhoods, schools, cities, regions, religions, languages, countries, and continents. Instead of shutting down and letting opportunities pass me by, I choose to take life's constant motion in stride. I choose to move forward, move on, and find comfort in the chaos of an ever-evolving world. Starting high school in a new town amid a global pandemic was difficult, but I knew I’d push through. In my sophomore year, I decided I wanted make a positive impact on other people, so I enrolled in a class called Principals of Human Services. This class led me to enroll in the Practicum of Human Services during my senior year and become a student intern with the school counselor at a local elementary school. There I mentor young kids in need of extra support and get the privilege of helping these students cope and grow and adjust. This experience is when I fell in love with becoming a social worker and dedicating my life to teaching others how to be resilient and persistent and proud of their stories, just like I am proud of mine.

I fall to the floor coughing and wheezing. My nose burns from the pungent smell of gasoline in the air. As the room fills with clouds of smoke, I pull myself across the hardwood floor on my stomach. Laying on the floor, I watch Pinkalicious and Peterific on my grandparents’ old TV. Suddenly, a wave of uniformed police officers pour in through my front door, sweeping me up, and carrying me outside. Three years later I stand in front of my fourth-grade social studies class, giddy to share my presentation titled “All About Me.” I watch the room flood with shock as I recount the smoke-filled house I came from. With a blank expression, I share about my schizophrenic bio-father, my bipolar bio-mother, my short time in foster care, and the death of my grandparents. My face then lights up as I speak about moving in with my aunt, the cousins I now see every day, and the happy home I now live in. I look off dreamily imagining the day when I’m adopted, my aunt becomes my mom, my cousins become my siblings, and I become part of a real family. With wide eyes, my class begins to clap as my teacher motions me to sit down. I happily sit at my desk as the next student stands. At a young age, I learned that I could survive almost anything. I was proud of my past and shared it every chance I could. With kids my age, this earned their respect. When my best friend Madeline heard my story, she showed me off to all the other kids at recess. The smiling face telling my troubling backstory made me different, impressive, and tough. On the playground, I was praised as the happiest kid around who surprisingly had the saddest origin. Looking back on my past helps me realize that I was born into a world that never stood still. I’ve changed friends, families, houses, neighborhoods, schools, cities, regions, religions, languages, countries, and continents. Instead of shutting down and letting opportunities pass me by, I choose to take life's constant motion in stride. I choose to move forward, move on, and find comfort in the chaos of an ever-evolving world. Starting high school in a new town amid a global pandemic was difficult, but I knew I’d push through. In my sophomore year, I decided I wanted make a positive impact on other people, so I enrolled in a class called Principals of Human Services. This is when I met Mrs. Angela Bolton, who became somewhat of a second mother to me as she has been a constant source of support and empowerment. This class led me to enroll in the Practicum of Human Services, another one of Mrs. Bolton's classes, during my senior year and become a student intern with the school counselor at the local elementary school. There I mentor young kids in need of extra support and get the privilege of helping these students cope and grow and adjust. This experience is when I fell in love with becoming a social worker and dedicating my life to teaching others how to be resilient and persistent and proud of their stories, just like I am proud of mine.

I fall to the floor coughing and wheezing. My nose burns from the pungent smell of gasoline in the air. As the room fills with clouds of smoke, I pull myself across the hardwood floor on my stomach. Laying on the floor, I watch Pinkalicious and Peterific on my grandparents’ old TV. Suddenly, a wave of uniformed police officers pour in through my front door, sweeping me up, and carrying me outside. Three years later I stand in front of my fourth-grade social studies class, giddy to share my presentation titled “All About Me.” I watch the room flood with shock as I recount the smoke-filled house I came from. With a blank expression, I share about my schizophrenic bio-father, my bipolar bio-mother, my short time in foster care, and the death of my grandparents. My face then lights up as I speak about moving in with my aunt, the cousins I now see every day, and the happy home I now live in. I look off dreamily imagining the day when I’m adopted, my aunt becomes my mom, my cousins become my siblings, and I become part of a real family. With wide eyes, my class begins to clap as my teacher motions me to sit down. I happily sit at my desk as the next student stands. At a young age, I learned that I could survive almost anything. I was proud of my past and shared it every chance I could. With kids my age, this earned their respect. When my best friend Madeline heard my story, she showed me off to all the other kids at recess. The smiling face telling my troubling backstory made me different, impressive, and tough. On the playground, I was praised as the happiest kid around who surprisingly had the saddest origin. Looking back on my past helps me realize that I was born into a world that never stood still. I’ve changed friends, families, houses, neighborhoods, schools, cities, regions, religions, languages, countries, and continents. Instead of shutting down and letting opportunities pass me by, I choose to take life's constant motion in stride. I choose to move forward, move on, and find comfort in the chaos of an ever-evolving world. Starting high school in a new town amid a global pandemic was difficult, but I knew I’d push through. In my sophomore year, I decided I wanted make a positive impact on other people, so I enrolled in a class called Principals of Human Services. This class led me to enroll in the Practicum of Human Services during my senior year and become a student intern with the school counselor at a local elementary school. There I mentor young kids in need of extra support and get the privilege of helping these students cope and grow and adjust. This experience is when I fell in love with becoming a social worker and dedicating my life to teaching others how to be resilient and persistent and proud of their stories, just like I am proud of mine.

I fall to the floor coughing and wheezing. My nose burns from the pungent smell of gasoline in the air. As the room fills with clouds of smoke, I pull myself across the hardwood floor on my stomach. Laying on the floor, I watch Pinkalicious and Peterific on my grandparents’ old TV. Suddenly, a wave of uniformed police officers pour in through my front door, sweeping me up, and carrying me outside. Three years later I stand in front of my fourth-grade social studies class, giddy to share my presentation titled “All About Me.” I watch the room flood with shock as I recount the smoke-filled house I came from. With a blank expression, I share about my schizophrenic bio-father, my bipolar bio-mother, my short time in foster care, and the death of my grandparents. My face then lights up as I speak about moving in with my aunt, the cousins I now see every day, and the happy home I now live in. I look off dreamily imagining the day when I’m adopted, my aunt becomes my mom, my cousins become my siblings, and I become part of a real family. With wide eyes, my class begins to clap as my teacher motions me to sit down. I happily sit at my desk as the next student stands. At a young age, I learned that I could survive almost anything. I was proud of my past and shared it every chance I could. With kids my age, this earned their respect. When my best friend Madeline heard my story, she showed me off to all the other kids at recess. The smiling face telling my troubling backstory made me different, impressive, and tough. On the playground, I was praised as the happiest kid around who surprisingly had the saddest origin. Looking back on my past helps me realize that I was born into a world that never stood still. I’ve changed friends, families, houses, neighborhoods, schools, cities, regions, religions, languages, countries, and continents. Instead of shutting down and letting opportunities pass me by, I choose to take life's constant motion in stride. I choose to move forward, move on, and find comfort in the chaos of an ever-evolving world. Starting high school in a new town amid a global pandemic was difficult, but I knew I’d push through. In my sophomore year, I decided I wanted make a positive impact on other people, so I enrolled in a class called Principals of Human Services. This class led me to enroll in the Practicum of Human Services during my senior year and become a student intern with the school counselor at a local elementary school. There I mentor young kids in need of extra support and get the privilege of helping these students cope and grow and adjust. This experience is when I fell in love with becoming a social worker and dedicating my life to teaching others how to be resilient and persistent and proud of their stories, just like I am proud of mine.

I fall to the floor coughing and wheezing. My nose burns from the pungent smell of gasoline in the air. As the room fills with clouds of smoke, I pull myself across the hardwood floor on my stomach. Laying on the floor, I watch Pinkalicious and Peterific on my grandparents’ old TV. Suddenly, a wave of uniformed police officers pour in through my front door, sweeping me up, and carrying me outside. Three years later I stand in front of my fourth-grade social studies class, giddy to share my presentation titled “All About Me.” I watch the room flood with shock as I recount the smoke-filled house I came from. With a blank expression, I share about my schizophrenic bio-father, my bipolar bio-mother, my short time in foster care, and the death of my grandparents. My face then lights up as I speak about moving in with my aunt, the cousins I now see every day, and the happy home I now live in. I look off dreamily imagining the day when I’m adopted, my aunt becomes my mom, my cousins become my siblings, and I become part of a real family. With wide eyes, my class begins to clap as my teacher motions me to sit down. I happily sit at my desk as the next student stands. At a young age, I learned that I could survive almost anything. I was proud of my past and shared it every chance I could. With kids my age, this earned their respect. When my best friend Madeline heard my story, she showed me off to all the other kids at recess. The smiling face telling my troubling backstory made me different, impressive, and tough. On the playground, I was praised as the happiest kid around who surprisingly had the saddest origin. Looking back on my past helps me realize that I was born into a world that never stood still. I’ve changed friends, families, houses, neighborhoods, schools, cities, regions, religions, languages, countries, and continents. Instead of shutting down and letting opportunities pass me by, I choose to take life's constant motion in stride. I choose to move forward, move on, and find comfort in the chaos of an ever-evolving world. Starting high school in a new town amid a global pandemic was difficult, but I knew I’d push through. In my sophomore year, I decided I wanted make a positive impact on other people, so I enrolled in a class called Principals of Human Services. This class led me to enroll in the Practicum of Human Services during my senior year and become a student intern with the school counselor at a local elementary school. There I mentor young kids in need of extra support and get the privilege of helping these students cope and grow and adjust. This experience is when I fell in love with becoming a social worker and dedicating my life to teaching others how to be resilient and persistent and proud of their stories, just like I am proud of mine.

I fall to the floor coughing and wheezing. My nose burns from the pungent smell of gasoline in the air. As the room fills with clouds of smoke, I pull myself across the hardwood floor on my stomach. Laying on the floor, I watch Pinkalicious and Peterific on my grandparents’ old TV. Suddenly, a wave of uniformed police officers pour in through my front door, sweeping me up, and carrying me outside. Three years later I stand in front of my fourth-grade social studies class, giddy to share my presentation titled “All About Me.” I watch the room flood with shock as I recount the smoke-filled house I came from. With a blank expression, I share about my schizophrenic bio-father, my bipolar bio-mother, my short time in foster care, and the death of my grandparents. My face then lights up as I speak about moving in with my aunt, the cousins I now see every day, and the happy home I now live in. I look off dreamily imagining the day when I’m adopted, my aunt becomes my mom, my cousins become my siblings, and I become part of a real family. With wide eyes, my class begins to clap as my teacher motions me to sit down. I happily sit at my desk as the next student stands. At a young age, I learned that I could survive almost anything. I was proud of my past and shared it every chance I could. With kids my age, this earned their respect. When my best friend Madeline heard my story, she showed me off to all the other kids at recess. The smiling face telling my troubling backstory made me different, impressive, and tough. On the playground, I was praised as the happiest kid around who surprisingly had the saddest origin. Looking back on my past helps me realize that I was born into a world that never stood still. I’ve changed friends, families, houses, neighborhoods, schools, cities, regions, religions, languages, countries, and continents. Instead of shutting down and letting opportunities pass me by, I choose to take life's constant motion in stride. I choose to move forward, move on, and find comfort in the chaos of an ever-evolving world. Starting high school in a new town amid a global pandemic was difficult, but I knew I’d push through. In my sophomore year, I decided I wanted make a positive impact on other people, so I enrolled in a class called Principals of Human Services. This class led me to enroll in the Practicum of Human Services during my senior year and become a student intern with the school counselor at a local elementary school. There I mentor young kids in need of extra support and get the privilege of helping these students cope and grow and adjust. This experience is when I fell in love with becoming a social worker and dedicating my life to teaching others how to be resilient and persistent and proud of their stories, just like I am proud of mine.

I fall to the floor coughing and wheezing. My nose burns from the pungent smell of gasoline in the air. As the room fills with clouds of smoke, I pull myself across the hardwood floor on my stomach. Laying on the floor, I watch Pinkalicious and Peterific on my grandparents’ old TV. Suddenly, a wave of uniformed police officers pour in through my front door, sweeping me up, and carrying me outside. Three years later I stand in front of my fourth-grade social studies class, giddy to share my presentation titled “All About Me.” I watch the room flood with shock as I recount the smoke-filled house I came from. With a blank expression, I share about my schizophrenic bio-father, my bipolar bio-mother, my short time in foster care, and the death of my grandparents. My face then lights up as I speak about moving in with my aunt, the cousins I now see every day, and the happy home I now live in. I look off dreamily imagining the day when I’m adopted, my aunt becomes my mom, my cousins become my siblings, and I become part of a real family. With wide eyes, my class begins to clap as my teacher motions me to sit down. I happily sit at my desk as the next student stands. At a young age, I learned that I could survive almost anything. I was proud of my past and shared it every chance I could. With kids my age, this earned their respect. When my best friend Madeline heard my story, she showed me off to all the other kids at recess. The smiling face telling my troubling backstory made me different, impressive, and tough. On the playground, I was praised as the happiest kid around who surprisingly had the saddest origin. Looking back on my past helps me realize that I was born into a world that never stood still. I’ve changed friends, families, houses, neighborhoods, schools, cities, regions, religions, languages, countries, and continents. Instead of shutting down and letting opportunities pass me by, I choose to take life's constant motion in stride. I choose to move forward, move on, and find comfort in the chaos of an ever-evolving world. Starting high school in a new town amid a global pandemic was difficult, but I knew I’d push through. In my sophomore year, I decided I wanted make a positive impact on other people, so I enrolled in a class called Principals of Human Services. This class led me to enroll in the Practicum of Human Services during my senior year and become a student intern with the school counselor at a local elementary school. There I mentor young kids in need of extra support and get the privilege of helping these students cope and grow and adjust. This experience is when I fell in love with becoming a social worker and dedicating my life to teaching others how to be resilient and persistent and proud of their stories, just like I am proud of mine.

I fall to the floor coughing and wheezing. My nose burns from the pungent smell of gasoline in the air. As the room fills with clouds of smoke, I pull myself across the hardwood floor on my stomach. Laying on the floor, I watch Pinkalicious and Peterific on my grandparents’ old TV. Suddenly, a wave of uniformed police officers pour in through my front door, sweeping me up, and carrying me outside. Three years later I stand in front of my fourth-grade social studies class, giddy to share my presentation titled “All About Me.” I watch the room flood with shock as I recount the smoke-filled house I came from. With a blank expression, I share about my schizophrenic bio-father, my bipolar bio-mother, my short time in foster care, and the death of my grandparents. My face then lights up as I speak about moving in with my aunt, the cousins I now see every day, and the happy home I now live in. I look off dreamily imagining the day when I’m adopted, my aunt becomes my mom, my cousins become my siblings, and I become part of a real family. With wide eyes, my class begins to clap as my teacher motions me to sit down. I happily sit at my desk as the next student stands. At a young age, I learned that I could survive almost anything. I was proud of my past and shared it every chance I could. With kids my age, this earned their respect. When my best friend Madeline heard my story, she showed me off to all the other kids at recess. The smiling face telling my troubling backstory made me different, impressive, and tough. On the playground, I was praised as the happiest kid around who surprisingly had the saddest origin. Looking back on my past helps me realize that I was born into a world that never stood still. I’ve changed friends, families, houses, neighborhoods, schools, cities, regions, religions, languages, countries, and continents. Instead of shutting down and letting opportunities pass me by, I choose to take life's constant motion in stride. I choose to move forward, move on, and find comfort in the chaos of an ever-evolving world. Starting high school in a new town amid a global pandemic was difficult, but I knew I’d push through. In my sophomore year, I decided I wanted make a positive impact on other people, so I enrolled in a class called Principals of Human Services. This class led me to enroll in the Practicum of Human Services during my senior year and become a student intern with the school counselor at a local elementary school. There I mentor young kids in need of extra support and get the privilege of helping these students cope and grow and adjust. This experience is when I fell in love with becoming a social worker and dedicating my life to teaching others how to be resilient and persistent and proud of their stories, just like I am proud of mine.

I fall to the floor coughing and wheezing. My nose burns from the pungent smell of gasoline in the air. As the room fills with clouds of smoke, I pull myself across the hardwood floor on my stomach. Laying on the floor, I watch Pinkalicious and Peterific on my grandparents’ old TV. Suddenly, a wave of uniformed police officers pour in through my front door, sweeping me up, and carrying me outside. Three years later I stand in front of my fourth-grade social studies class, giddy to share my presentation titled “All About Me.” I watch the room flood with shock as I recount the smoke-filled house I came from. With a blank expression, I share about my schizophrenic bio-father, my bipolar bio-mother, my short time in foster care, and the death of my grandparents. My face then lights up as I speak about moving in with my aunt, the cousins I now see every day, and the happy home I now live in. I look off dreamily imagining the day when I’m adopted, my aunt becomes my mom, my cousins become my siblings, and I become part of a real family. With wide eyes, my class begins to clap as my teacher motions me to sit down. I happily sit at my desk as the next student stands. At a young age, I learned that I could survive almost anything. I was proud of my past and shared it every chance I could. With kids my age, this earned their respect. When my best friend Madeline heard my story, she showed me off to all the other kids at recess. The smiling face telling my troubling backstory made me different, impressive, and tough. On the playground, I was praised as the happiest kid around who surprisingly had the saddest origin. Looking back on my past helps me realize that I was born into a world that never stood still. I’ve changed friends, families, houses, neighborhoods, schools, cities, regions, religions, languages, countries, and continents. Instead of shutting down and letting opportunities pass me by, I choose to take life's constant motion in stride. I choose to move forward, move on, and find comfort in the chaos of an ever-evolving world. Starting high school in a new town amid a global pandemic was difficult, but I knew I’d push through. In my sophomore year, I decided I wanted make a positive impact on other people, so I enrolled in a class called Principals of Human Services. This class led me to enroll in the Practicum of Human Services during my senior year and become a student intern with the school counselor at a local elementary school. There I mentor young kids in need of extra support and get the privilege of helping these students cope and grow and adjust. This experience is when I fell in love with becoming a social worker and dedicating my life to teaching others how to be resilient and persistent and proud of their stories, just like I am proud of mine.

I fall to the floor coughing and wheezing. My nose burns from the pungent smell of gasoline in the air. As the room fills with clouds of smoke, I pull myself across the hardwood floor on my stomach. Laying on the floor, I watch Pinkalicious and Peterific on my grandparents’ old TV. Suddenly, a wave of uniformed police officers pour in through my front door, sweeping me up, and carrying me outside. Three years later I stand in front of my fourth-grade social studies class, giddy to share my presentation titled “All About Me.” I watch the room flood with shock as I recount the smoke-filled house I came from. With a blank expression, I share about my schizophrenic bio-father, my bipolar bio-mother, my short time in foster care, and the death of my grandparents. My face then lights up as I speak about moving in with my aunt, the cousins I now see every day, and the happy home I now live in. I look off dreamily imagining the day when I’m adopted, my aunt becomes my mom, my cousins become my siblings, and I become part of a real family. With wide eyes, my class begins to clap as my teacher motions me to sit down. I happily sit at my desk as the next student stands. At a young age, I learned that I could survive almost anything. I was proud of my past and shared it every chance I could. With kids my age, this earned their respect. When my best friend Madeline heard my story, she showed me off to all the other kids at recess. The smiling face telling my troubling backstory made me different, impressive, and tough. On the playground, I was praised as the happiest kid around who surprisingly had the saddest origin. Looking back on my past helps me realize that I was born into a world that never stood still. I’ve changed friends, families, houses, neighborhoods, schools, cities, regions, religions, languages, countries, and continents. Instead of shutting down and letting opportunities pass me by, I choose to take life's constant motion in stride. I choose to move forward, move on, and find comfort in the chaos of an ever-evolving world. Starting high school in a new town amid a global pandemic was difficult, but I knew I’d push through. In my sophomore year, I decided I wanted make a positive impact on other people, so I enrolled in a class called Principals of Human Services. This class led me to enroll in the Practicum of Human Services during my senior year and become a student intern with the school counselor at a local elementary school. There I mentor young kids in need of extra support and get the privilege of helping these students cope and grow and adjust. This experience is when I fell in love with becoming a social worker and dedicating my life to teaching others how to be resilient and persistent and proud of their stories, just like I am proud of mine.

I fall to the floor coughing and wheezing. My nose burns from the pungent smell of gasoline in the air. As the room fills with clouds of smoke, I pull myself across the hardwood floor on my stomach. Laying on the floor, I watch Pinkalicious and Peterific on my grandparents’ old TV. Suddenly, a wave of uniformed police officers pour in through my front door, sweeping me up, and carrying me outside. Three years later I stand in front of my fourth-grade social studies class, giddy to share my presentation titled “All About Me.” I watch the room flood with shock as I recount the smoke-filled house I came from. With a blank expression, I share about my schizophrenic bio-father, my bipolar bio-mother, my short time in foster care, and the death of my grandparents. My face then lights up as I speak about moving in with my aunt, the cousins I now see every day, and the happy home I now live in. I look off dreamily imagining the day when I’m adopted, my aunt becomes my mom, my cousins become my siblings, and I become part of a real family. With wide eyes, my class begins to clap as my teacher motions me to sit down. I happily sit at my desk as the next student stands. At a young age, I learned that I could survive almost anything. I was proud of my past and shared it every chance I could. With kids my age, this earned their respect. When my best friend Madeline heard my story, she showed me off to all the other kids at recess. The smiling face telling my troubling backstory made me different, impressive, and tough. On the playground, I was praised as the happiest kid around who surprisingly had the saddest origin. Looking back on my past helps me realize that I was born into a world that never stood still. I’ve changed friends, families, houses, neighborhoods, schools, cities, regions, religions, languages, countries, and continents. Instead of shutting down and letting opportunities pass me by, I choose to take life's constant motion in stride. I choose to move forward, move on, and find comfort in the chaos of an ever-evolving world. Starting high school in a new town amid a global pandemic was difficult, but I knew I’d push through. In my sophomore year, I decided I wanted make a positive impact on other people, so I enrolled in a class called Principals of Human Services. This class led me to enroll in the Practicum of Human Services during my senior year and become a student intern with the school counselor at a local elementary school. There I mentor young kids in need of extra support and get the privilege of helping these students cope and grow and adjust. This experience is when I fell in love with becoming a social worker and dedicating my life to teaching others how to be resilient and persistent and proud of their stories, just like I am proud of mine.

I fall to the floor coughing and wheezing. My nose burns from the pungent smell of gasoline in the air. As the room fills with clouds of smoke, I pull myself across the hardwood floor on my stomach. Laying on the floor, I watch Pinkalicious and Peterific on my grandparents’ old TV. Suddenly, a wave of uniformed police officers pour in through my front door, sweeping me up, and carrying me outside. Three years later I stand in front of my fourth-grade social studies class, giddy to share my presentation titled “All About Me.” I watch the room flood with shock as I recount the smoke-filled house I came from. With a blank expression, I share about my schizophrenic bio-father, my bipolar bio-mother, my short time in foster care, and the death of my grandparents. My face then lights up as I speak about moving in with my aunt, the cousins I now see every day, and the happy home I now live in. I look off dreamily imagining the day when I’m adopted, my aunt becomes my mom, my cousins become my siblings, and I become part of a real family. With wide eyes, my class begins to clap as my teacher motions me to sit down. I happily sit at my desk as the next student stands. At a young age, I learned that I could survive almost anything. I was proud of my past and shared it every chance I could. With kids my age, this earned their respect. When my best friend Madeline heard my story, she showed me off to all the other kids at recess. The smiling face telling my troubling backstory made me different, impressive, and tough. On the playground, I was praised as the happiest kid around who surprisingly had the saddest origin. Looking back on my past helps me realize that I was born into a world that never stood still. I’ve changed friends, families, houses, neighborhoods, schools, cities, regions, religions, languages, countries, and continents. Instead of shutting down and letting opportunities pass me by, I choose to take life's constant motion in stride. I choose to move forward, move on, and find comfort in the chaos of an ever-evolving world. Starting high school in a new town amid a global pandemic was difficult, but I knew I’d push through. In my sophomore year, I decided I wanted make a positive impact on other people, so I enrolled in a class called Principals of Human Services. This class led me to enroll in the Practicum of Human Services during my senior year and become a student intern with the school counselor at a local elementary school. There I mentor young kids in need of extra support and get the privilege of helping these students cope and grow and adjust. This experience is when I fell in love with becoming a social worker and dedicating my life to teaching others how to be resilient and persistent and proud of their stories, just like I am proud of mine.

I fall to the floor coughing and wheezing. My nose burns from the pungent smell of gasoline in the air. As the room fills with clouds of smoke, I pull myself across the hardwood floor on my stomach. Laying on the floor, I watch Pinkalicious and Peterific on my grandparents’ old TV. Suddenly, a wave of uniformed police officers pour in through my front door, sweeping me up, and carrying me outside. Three years later I stand in front of my fourth-grade social studies class, giddy to share my presentation titled “All About Me.” I watch the room flood with shock as I recount the smoke-filled house I came from. With a blank expression, I share about my schizophrenic bio-father, my bipolar bio-mother, my short time in foster care, and the death of my grandparents. My face then lights up as I speak about moving in with my aunt, the cousins I now see every day, and the happy home I now live in. I look off dreamily imagining the day when I’m adopted, my aunt becomes my mom, my cousins become my siblings, and I become part of a real family. With wide eyes, my class begins to clap as my teacher motions me to sit down. I happily sit at my desk as the next student stands. At a young age, I learned that I could survive almost anything. I was proud of my past and shared it every chance I could. With kids my age, this earned their respect. When my best friend Madeline heard my story, she showed me off to all the other kids at recess. The smiling face telling my troubling backstory made me different, impressive, and tough. On the playground, I was praised as the happiest kid around who surprisingly had the saddest origin. Remembering my past helps me realize that I was born into a world that never stood still. I’ve changed families, houses, schools, cities, religions, languages, and countries. Instead of shutting down and letting opportunities pass me by, I choose to take life's constant motion in stride. I choose to move forward, move on, and find comfort in the chaos of an ever-evolving world. Starting high school in a new town amid a global pandemic was difficult, but I knew I’d push through. In my sophomore year, I decided I wanted make a positive impact on other people, so I enrolled in a class called Principals of Human Services. This class led me to enroll in the Practicum of Human Services during my senior year and become a student intern with the school counselor at a local elementary school. There I mentor young kids in need of extra support and get the privilege of helping these students cope and grow and adjust. This experience is when I fell in love with becoming a social worker and dedicating my life to teaching others how to be resilient and persistent and proud of their stories, just like I am proud of mine.

I fall to the floor coughing and wheezing. My nose burns from the pungent smell of gasoline in the air. As the room fills with clouds of smoke, I pull myself across the hardwood floor on my stomach. Laying on the floor, I watch Pinkalicious and Peterific on my grandparents’ old TV. Suddenly, a wave of uniformed police officers pour in through my front door, sweeping me up, and carrying me outside. Three years later I stand in front of my fourth-grade social studies class, giddy to share my presentation titled “All About Me.” I watch the room flood with shock as I recount the smoke-filled house I came from. With a blank expression, I share about my schizophrenic bio-father, my bipolar bio-mother, my short time in foster care, and the death of my grandparents. My face then lights up as I speak about moving in with my aunt, the cousins I now see every day, and the happy home I now live in. I look off dreamily imagining the day when I’m adopted, my aunt becomes my mom, my cousins become my siblings, and I become part of a real family. With wide eyes, my class begins to clap as my teacher motions me to sit down. I happily sit at my desk as the next student stands. At a young age, I learned that I could survive almost anything. I was proud of my past and shared it every chance I could. With kids my age, this earned their respect. When my best friend Madeline heard my story, she showed me off to all the other kids at recess. The smiling face telling my troubling backstory made me different, impressive, and tough. On the playground, I was praised as the happiest kid around who surprisingly had the saddest origin. Looking back on my past helps me realize that I was born into a world that never stood still. I’ve changed friends, families, houses, neighborhoods, schools, cities, regions, religions, languages, countries, and continents. Instead of shutting down and letting opportunities pass me by, I choose to take life's constant motion in stride. I choose to move forward, move on, and find comfort in the chaos of an ever-evolving world. Starting high school in a new town amid a global pandemic was difficult, but I knew I’d push through. In my sophomore year, I decided I wanted make a positive impact on other people, so I enrolled in a class called Principals of Human Services. This class led me to enroll in the Practicum of Human Services during my senior year and become a student intern with the school counselor at a local elementary school. There I mentor young kids in need of extra support and get the privilege of helping these students cope and grow and adjust. This experience is when I fell in love with becoming a social worker and dedicating my life to teaching others how to be resilient and persistent and proud of their stories, just like I am proud of mine.

I fall to the floor coughing and wheezing. My nose burns from the pungent smell of gasoline in the air. As the room fills with clouds of smoke, I pull myself across the hardwood floor on my stomach. Laying on the floor, I watch Pinkalicious and Peterific on my grandparents’ old TV. Suddenly, a wave of uniformed police officers pour in through my front door, sweeping me up, and carrying me outside. Three years later I stand in front of my fourth-grade social studies class, giddy to share my presentation titled “All About Me.” I watch the room flood with shock as I recount the smoke-filled house I came from. With a blank expression, I share about my schizophrenic bio-father, my bipolar bio-mother, my short time in foster care, and the death of my grandparents. My face then lights up as I speak about moving in with my aunt, the cousins I now see every day, and the happy home I now live in. I look off dreamily imagining the day when I’m adopted, my aunt becomes my mom, my cousins become my siblings, and I become part of a real family. With wide eyes, my class begins to clap as my teacher motions me to sit down. I happily sit at my desk as the next student stands. At a young age, I learned that I could survive almost anything. I was proud of my past and shared it every chance I could. With kids my age, this earned their respect. When my best friend Madeline heard my story, she showed me off to all the other kids at recess. The smiling face telling my troubling backstory made me different, impressive, and tough. On the playground, I was praised as the happiest kid around who surprisingly had the saddest origin. Looking back on my past helps me realize that I was born into a world that never stood still. I’ve changed friends, families, houses, neighborhoods, schools, cities, regions, religions, languages, countries, and continents. Instead of shutting down and letting opportunities pass me by, I choose to take life's constant motion in stride. I choose to move forward, move on, and find comfort in the chaos of an ever-evolving world. Starting high school in a new town amid a global pandemic was difficult, but I knew I’d push through. In my sophomore year, I decided I wanted make a positive impact on other people, so I enrolled in a class called Principals of Human Services. This class led me to enroll in the Practicum of Human Services during my senior year and become a student intern with the school counselor at a local elementary school. There I mentor young kids in need of extra support and get the privilege of helping these students cope and grow and adjust. This experience is when I fell in love with becoming a social worker and dedicating my life to teaching others how to be resilient and persistent and proud of their stories, just like I am proud of mine.

I fall to the floor coughing and wheezing. My nose burns from the pungent smell of gasoline in the air. As the room fills with clouds of smoke, I pull myself across the hardwood floor on my stomach. Laying on the floor, I watch Pinkalicious and Peterific on my grandparents’ old TV. Suddenly, a wave of uniformed police officers pour in through my front door, sweeping me up, and carrying me outside. Three years later I stand in front of my fourth-grade social studies class, giddy to share my presentation titled “All About Me.” I watch the room flood with shock as I recount the smoke-filled house I came from. With a blank expression, I share about my schizophrenic bio-father, my bipolar bio-mother, my short time in foster care, and the death of my grandparents. My face then lights up as I speak about moving in with my aunt, the cousins I now see every day, and the happy home I now live in. I look off dreamily imagining the day when I’m adopted, my aunt becomes my mom, my cousins become my siblings, and I become part of a real family. With wide eyes, my class begins to clap as my teacher motions me to sit down. I happily sit at my desk as the next student stands. At a young age, I learned that I could survive almost anything. I was proud of my past and shared it every chance I could. With kids my age, this earned their respect. When my best friend Madeline heard my story, she showed me off to all the other kids at recess. The smiling face telling my troubling backstory made me different, impressive, and tough. On the playground, I was praised as the happiest kid around who surprisingly had the saddest origin. Looking back on my past helps me realize that I was born into a world that never stood still. I’ve changed friends, families, houses, neighborhoods, schools, cities, regions, religions, languages, countries, and continents. Instead of shutting down and letting opportunities pass me by, I choose to take life's constant motion in stride. I choose to move forward, move on, and find comfort in the chaos of an ever-evolving world. Starting high school in a new town amid a global pandemic was difficult, but I knew I’d push through. In my sophomore year, I decided I wanted make a positive impact on other people, so I enrolled in a class called Principals of Human Services. This class led me to enroll in the Practicum of Human Services during my senior year and become a student intern with the school counselor at a local elementary school. There I mentor young kids in need of extra support and get the privilege of helping these students cope and grow and adjust. This experience is when I fell in love with becoming a social worker and dedicating my life to teaching others how to be resilient and persistent and proud of their stories, just like I am proud of mine.

I fall to the floor coughing and wheezing. My nose burns from the pungent smell of gasoline in the air. As the room fills with clouds of smoke, I pull myself across the hardwood floor on my stomach. Laying on the floor, I watch Pinkalicious and Peterific on my grandparents’ old TV. Suddenly, a wave of uniformed police officers pour in through my front door, sweeping me up, and carrying me outside. Three years later I stand in front of my fourth-grade social studies class, giddy to share my presentation titled “All About Me.” I watch the room flood with shock as I recount the smoke-filled house I came from. With a blank expression, I share about my schizophrenic bio-father, my bipolar bio-mother, my short time in foster care, and the death of my grandparents. My face then lights up as I speak about moving in with my aunt, the cousins I now see every day, and the happy home I now live in. I look off dreamily imagining the day when I’m adopted, my aunt becomes my mom, my cousins become my siblings, and I become part of a real family. With wide eyes, my class begins to clap as my teacher motions me to sit down. I happily sit at my desk as the next student stands. At a young age, I learned that I could survive almost anything. I was proud of my past and shared it every chance I could. With kids my age, this earned their respect. When my best friend Madeline heard my story, she showed me off to all the other kids at recess. The smiling face telling my troubling backstory made me different, impressive, and tough. On the playground, I was praised as the happiest kid around who surprisingly had the saddest origin. Looking back on my past helps me realize that I was born into a world that never stood still. I’ve changed friends, families, houses, neighborhoods, schools, cities, regions, religions, languages, countries, and continents. Instead of shutting down and letting opportunities pass me by, I choose to take life's constant motion in stride. I choose to move forward, move on, and find comfort in the chaos of an ever-evolving world. Starting high school in a new town amid a global pandemic was difficult, but I knew I’d push through. In my sophomore year, I decided I wanted make a positive impact on other people, so I enrolled in a class called Principals of Human Services. This class led me to enroll in the Practicum of Human Services during my senior year and become a student intern with the school counselor at a local elementary school. There I mentor young kids in need of extra support and get the privilege of helping these students cope and grow and adjust. This experience is when I fell in love with becoming a social worker and dedicating my life to teaching others how to be resilient and persistent and proud of their stories, just like I am proud of mine.

I fall to the floor coughing and wheezing. My nose burns from the pungent smell of gasoline in the air. As the room fills with clouds of smoke, I pull myself across the hardwood floor on my stomach. Laying on the floor, I watch Pinkalicious and Peterific on my grandparents’ old TV. Suddenly, a wave of uniformed police officers pour in through my front door, sweeping me up, and carrying me outside. Three years later I stand in front of my fourth-grade social studies class, giddy to share my presentation titled “All About Me.” I watch the room flood with shock as I recount the smoke-filled house I came from. With a blank expression, I share about my schizophrenic bio-father, my bipolar bio-mother, my short time in foster care, and losing both grandparents to terminal cancer. My face then lights up as I speak about moving in with my aunt, the cousins I now see every day, and the happy home I now live in. I look off dreamily imagining the day when I’m adopted, my aunt becomes my mom, my cousins become my siblings, and I become part of a real family. With wide eyes, my class begins to clap as my teacher motions me to sit down. I happily sit at my desk as the next student stands. At a young age, I learned that I could survive almost anything. I was proud of my past and shared it every chance I could. With kids my age, this earned their respect. When my best friend Madeline heard my story, she showed me off to all the other kids at recess. The smiling face telling my troubling backstory made me different, impressive, and tough. On the playground, I was praised as the happiest kid around who surprisingly had the saddest origin. Looking back on my past helps me realize that I was born into a world that never stood still. I’ve changed friends, families, houses, neighborhoods, schools, cities, regions, religions, languages, countries, and continents. Instead of shutting down and letting opportunities pass me by, I choose to take life's constant motion in stride. I choose to move forward, move on, and find comfort in the chaos of an ever-evolving world. Starting high school in a new town amid a global pandemic was difficult, but I knew I’d push through. In my sophomore year, I decided I wanted make a positive impact on other people, so I enrolled in a class called Principals of Human Services. This class led me to enroll in the Practicum of Human Services during my senior year and become a student intern with the school counselor at a local elementary school. There I mentor young kids in need of extra support and get the privilege of helping these students cope and grow and adjust. This experience is when I fell in love with becoming a social worker and dedicating my life to teaching others how to be resilient and persistent and proud of their stories, just like I am proud of mine.

I fall to the floor coughing and wheezing. My nose burns from the pungent smell of gasoline in the air. As the room fills with clouds of smoke, I pull myself across the hardwood floor on my stomach. Laying on the floor, I watch Pinkalicious and Peterific on my grandparents’ old TV. Suddenly, a wave of uniformed police officers pour in through my front door, sweeping me up, and carrying me outside. Three years later I stand in front of my fourth-grade social studies class, giddy to share my presentation titled “All About Me.” I watch the room flood with shock as I recount the smoke-filled house I came from. With a blank expression, I share about my schizophrenic bio-father, my bipolar bio-mother, my short time in foster care, and the death of my grandparents. My face then lights up as I speak about moving in with my aunt, the cousins I now see every day, and the happy home I now live in. I look off dreamily imagining the day when I’m adopted, my aunt becomes my mom, my cousins become my siblings, and I become part of a real family. With wide eyes, my class begins to clap as my teacher motions me to sit down. I happily sit at my desk as the next student stands. At a young age, I learned that I could survive almost anything. I was proud of my past and shared it every chance I could. With kids my age, this earned their respect. When my best friend Madeline heard my story, she showed me off to all the other kids at recess. The smiling face telling my troubling backstory made me different, impressive, and tough. On the playground, I was praised as the happiest kid around who surprisingly had the saddest origin. Looking back on my past helps me realize that I was born into a world that never stood still. I’ve changed friends, families, houses, neighborhoods, schools, cities, regions, religions, languages, countries, and continents. Instead of shutting down and letting opportunities pass me by, I choose to take life's constant motion in stride. I choose to move forward, move on, and find comfort in the chaos of an ever-evolving world. Starting high school in a new town amid a global pandemic was difficult, but I knew I’d push through. In my sophomore year, I decided I wanted make a positive impact on other people, so I enrolled in a class called Principals of Human Services. This class led me to enroll in the Practicum of Human Services during my senior year and become a student intern with the school counselor at a local elementary school. There I mentor young kids in need of extra support and get the privilege of helping these students cope and grow and adjust. This experience is when I fell in love with becoming a social worker and dedicating my life to teaching others how to be resilient and persistent and proud of their stories, just like I am proud of mine.

I fall to the floor coughing and wheezing. My nose burns from the pungent smell of gasoline in the air. As the room fills with clouds of smoke, I pull myself across the hardwood floor on my stomach. Laying on the floor, I watch Pinkalicious and Peterific on my grandparents’ old TV. Suddenly, a wave of uniformed police officers pour in through my front door, sweeping me up, and carrying me outside. Three years later I stand in front of my fourth-grade social studies class, giddy to share my presentation titled “All About Me.” I watch the room flood with shock as I recount the smoke-filled house I came from. With a blank expression, I share about my schizophrenic bio-father, my bipolar bio-mother, my short time in foster care, and the death of my grandparents. My face then lights up as I speak about moving in with my aunt, the cousins I now see every day, and the happy home I now live in. I look off dreamily imagining the day when I’m adopted, my aunt becomes my mom, my cousins become my siblings, and I become part of a real family. With wide eyes, my class begins to clap as my teacher motions me to sit down. I happily sit at my desk as the next student stands. At a young age, I learned that I could survive almost anything. I was proud of my past and shared it every chance I could. With kids my age, this earned their respect. When my best friend Madeline heard my story, she showed me off to all the other kids at recess. The smiling face telling my troubling backstory made me different, impressive, and tough. On the playground, I was praised as the happiest kid around who surprisingly had the saddest origin. Looking back on my past helps me realize that I was born into a world that never stood still. I’ve changed friends, families, houses, neighborhoods, schools, cities, regions, religions, languages, countries, and continents. Instead of shutting down and letting opportunities pass me by, I choose to take life's constant motion in stride. I choose to move forward, move on, and find comfort in the chaos of an ever-evolving world. Starting high school in a new town amid a global pandemic was difficult, but I knew I’d push through. In my sophomore year, I decided I wanted make a positive impact on other people, so I enrolled in a class called Principals of Human Services. This class led me to enroll in the Practicum of Human Services during my senior year and become a student intern with the school counselor at a local elementary school. There I mentor young kids in need of extra support and get the privilege of helping these students cope and grow and adjust. This experience is when I fell in love with becoming a social worker and dedicating my life to teaching others how to be resilient and persistent and proud of their stories, just like I am proud of mine.

I fall to the floor coughing and wheezing. My nose burns from the pungent smell of gasoline in the air. As the room fills with clouds of smoke, I pull myself across the hardwood floor on my stomach. Laying on the floor, I watch Pinkalicious and Peterific on my grandparents’ old TV. Suddenly, a wave of uniformed police officers pour in through my front door, sweeping me up, and carrying me outside. Three years later I stand in front of my fourth-grade social studies class, giddy to share my presentation titled “All About Me.” I watch the room flood with shock as I recount the smoke-filled house I came from. With a blank expression, I share about my schizophrenic bio-father, my bipolar bio-mother, my short time in foster care, and the death of my grandparents. My face then lights up as I speak about moving in with my aunt, the cousins I now see every day, and the happy home I now live in. I look off dreamily imagining the day when I’m adopted, my aunt becomes my mom, my cousins become my siblings, and I become part of a real family. With wide eyes, my class begins to clap as my teacher motions me to sit down. I happily sit at my desk as the next student stands. At a young age, I learned that I could survive almost anything. I was proud of my past and shared it every chance I could. With kids my age, this earned their respect. When my best friend Madeline heard my story, she showed me off to all the other kids at recess. The smiling face telling my troubling backstory made me different, impressive, and tough. On the playground, I was praised as the happiest kid around who surprisingly had the saddest origin. Looking back on my past helps me realize that I was born into a world that never stood still. I’ve changed friends, families, houses, neighborhoods, schools, cities, regions, religions, languages, countries, and continents. Instead of shutting down and letting opportunities pass me by, I choose to take life's constant motion in stride. I choose to move forward, move on, and find comfort in the chaos of an ever-evolving world. Starting high school in a new town amid a global pandemic was difficult, but I knew I’d push through. In my sophomore year, I decided I wanted make a positive impact on other people, so I enrolled in a class called Principals of Human Services. This class led me to enroll in the Practicum of Human Services during my senior year and become a student intern with the school counselor at a local elementary school. There I mentor young kids in need of extra support and get the privilege of helping these students cope and grow and adjust. This experience is when I fell in love with becoming a social worker and dedicating my life to teaching others how to be resilient and persistent and proud of their stories, just like I am proud of mine.

I fall to the floor coughing and wheezing. My nose burns from the pungent smell of gasoline in the air. As the room fills with clouds of smoke, I pull myself across the hardwood floor on my stomach. Laying on the floor, I watch Pinkalicious and Peterific on my grandparents’ old TV. Suddenly, a wave of uniformed police officers pour in through my front door, sweeping me up, and carrying me outside. Three years later I stand in front of my fourth-grade social studies class, giddy to share my presentation titled “All About Me.” I watch the room flood with shock as I recount the smoke-filled house I came from. With a blank expression, I share about my schizophrenic bio-father, my bipolar bio-mother, my short time in foster care, and the death of my grandparents. My face then lights up as I speak about moving in with my aunt, the cousins I now see every day, and the happy home I now live in. I look off dreamily imagining the day when I’m adopted, my aunt becomes my mom, my cousins become my siblings, and I become part of a real family. With wide eyes, my class begins to clap as my teacher motions me to sit down. I happily sit at my desk as the next student stands. At a young age, I learned that I could survive almost anything. I was proud of my past and shared it every chance I could. With kids my age, this earned their respect. When my best friend Madeline heard my story, she showed me off to all the other kids at recess. The smiling face telling my troubling backstory made me different, impressive, and tough. On the playground, I was praised as the happiest kid around who surprisingly had the saddest origin. Looking back on my past helps me realize that I was born into a world that never stood still. I’ve changed friends, families, houses, neighborhoods, schools, cities, regions, religions, languages, countries, and continents. Instead of shutting down and letting opportunities pass me by, I choose to take life's constant motion in stride. I choose to move forward, move on, and find comfort in the chaos of an ever-evolving world. Starting high school in a new town amid a global pandemic was difficult, but I knew I’d push through. In my sophomore year, I decided I wanted make a positive impact on other people, so I enrolled in a class called Principals of Human Services. This class led me to enroll in the Practicum of Human Services during my senior year and become a student intern with the school counselor at a local elementary school. There I mentor young kids in need of extra support and get the privilege of helping these students cope and grow and adjust. This experience is when I fell in love with becoming a social worker and dedicating my life to teaching others how to be resilient and persistent and proud of their stories, just like I am proud of mine.

I fall to the floor coughing and wheezing. My nose burns from the pungent smell of gasoline in the air. As the room fills with clouds of smoke, I pull myself across the hardwood floor on my stomach. Laying on the floor, I watch Pinkalicious and Peterific on my grandparents’ old TV. Suddenly, a wave of uniformed police officers pour in through my front door, sweeping me up, and carrying me outside. Three years later I stand in front of my fourth-grade social studies class, giddy to share my presentation titled “All About Me.” I watch the room flood with shock as I recount the smoke-filled house I came from. With a blank expression, I share about my schizophrenic bio-father, my bipolar bio-mother, my short time in foster care, and the death of my grandparents. My face then lights up as I speak about moving in with my aunt, the cousins I now see every day, and the happy home I now live in. I look off dreamily imagining the day when I’m adopted, my aunt becomes my mom, my cousins become my siblings, and I become part of a real family. With wide eyes, my class begins to clap as my teacher motions me to sit down. I happily sit at my desk as the next student stands. At a young age, I learned that I could survive almost anything. I was proud of my past and shared it every chance I could. With kids my age, this earned their respect. When my best friend Madeline heard my story, she showed me off to all the other kids at recess. The smiling face telling my troubling backstory made me different, impressive, and tough. On the playground, I was praised as the happiest kid around who surprisingly had the saddest origin. Looking back on my past helps me realize that I was born into a world that never stood still. I’ve changed friends, families, houses, neighborhoods, schools, cities, regions, religions, languages, countries, and continents. Instead of shutting down and letting opportunities pass me by, I choose to take life's constant motion in stride. I choose to move forward, move on, and find comfort in the chaos of an ever-evolving world. Starting high school in a new town amid a global pandemic was difficult, but I knew I’d push through. In my sophomore year, I decided I wanted make a positive impact on other people, so I enrolled in a class called Principals of Human Services. This class led me to enroll in the Practicum of Human Services during my senior year and become a student intern with the school counselor at a local elementary school. There I mentor young kids in need of extra support and get the privilege of helping these students cope and grow and adjust. This experience is when I fell in love with becoming a social worker and dedicating my life to teaching others how to be resilient and persistent and proud of their stories, just like I am proud of mine.

I fall to the floor coughing and wheezing. My nose burns from the pungent smell of gasoline in the air. As the room fills with clouds of smoke, I pull myself across the hardwood floor on my stomach. Laying on the floor, I watch Pinkalicious and Peterific on my grandparents’ old TV. Suddenly, a wave of uniformed police officers pour in through my front door, sweeping me up, and carrying me outside. Three years later I stand in front of my fourth-grade social studies class, giddy to share my presentation titled “All About Me.” I watch the room flood with shock as I recount the smoke-filled house I came from. With a blank expression, I share about my schizophrenic bio-father, my bipolar bio-mother, my short time in foster care, and the death of my grandparents. My face then lights up as I speak about moving in with my aunt, the cousins I now see every day, and the happy home I now live in. I look off dreamily imagining the day when I’m adopted, my aunt becomes my mom, my cousins become my siblings, and I become part of a real family. With wide eyes, my class begins to clap as my teacher motions me to sit down. I happily sit at my desk as the next student stands. At a young age, I learned that I could survive almost anything. I was proud of my past and shared it every chance I could. With kids my age, this earned their respect. When my best friend Madeline heard my story, she showed me off to all the other kids at recess. The smiling face telling my troubling backstory made me different, impressive, and tough. On the playground, I was praised as the happiest kid around who surprisingly had the saddest origin. Looking back on my past helps me realize that I was born into a world that never stood still. I’ve changed friends, families, houses, neighborhoods, schools, cities, regions, religions, languages, countries, and continents. Instead of shutting down and letting opportunities pass me by, I choose to take life's constant motion in stride. I choose to move forward, move on, and find comfort in the chaos of an ever-evolving world. Starting high school in a new town amid a global pandemic was difficult, but I knew I’d push through. In my sophomore year, I decided I wanted make a positive impact on other people, so I enrolled in a class called Principals of Human Services. This class led me to enroll in the Practicum of Human Services during my senior year and become a student intern with the school counselor at a local elementary school. There I mentor young kids in need of extra support and get the privilege of helping these students cope and grow and adjust. This experience is when I fell in love with becoming a social worker and dedicating my life to teaching others how to be resilient and persistent and proud of their stories, just like I am proud of mine.

I fall to the floor coughing and wheezing. My nose burns from the pungent smell of gasoline in the air. As the room fills with clouds of smoke, I pull myself across the hardwood floor on my stomach. Laying on the floor, I watch Pinkalicious and Peterific on my grandparents’ old TV. Suddenly, a wave of uniformed police officers pour in through my front door, sweeping me up, and carrying me outside. Three years later I stand in front of my fourth-grade social studies class, giddy to share my presentation titled “All About Me.” I watch the room flood with shock as I recount the smoke-filled house I came from. With a blank expression, I share about my schizophrenic bio-father, my bipolar bio-mother, my short time in foster care, and the death of my grandparents. My face then lights up as I speak about moving in with my aunt, the cousins I now see every day, and the happy home I now live in. I look off dreamily imagining the day when I’m adopted, my aunt becomes my mom, my cousins become my siblings, and I become part of a real family. With wide eyes, my class begins to clap as my teacher motions me to sit down. I happily sit at my desk as the next student stands. At a young age, I learned that I could survive almost anything. I was proud of my past and shared it every chance I could. With kids my age, this earned their respect. When my best friend Madeline heard my story, she showed me off to all the other kids at recess. The smiling face telling my troubling backstory made me different, impressive, and tough. On the playground, I was praised as the happiest kid around who surprisingly had the saddest origin. Looking back on my past helps me realize that I was born into a world that never stood still. I’ve changed friends, families, houses, neighborhoods, schools, cities, regions, religions, languages, countries, and continents. Instead of shutting down and letting opportunities pass me by, I choose to take life's constant motion in stride. I choose to move forward, move on, and find comfort in the chaos of an ever-evolving world. Starting high school in a new town amid a global pandemic was difficult, but I knew I’d push through. In my sophomore year, I decided I wanted make a positive impact on other people, so I enrolled in a class called Principals of Human Services. This class led me to enroll in the Practicum of Human Services during my senior year and become a student intern with the school counselor at a local elementary school. There I mentor young kids in need of extra support and get the privilege of helping these students cope and grow and adjust. This experience is when I fell in love with becoming a social worker and dedicating my life to teaching others how to be resilient and persistent and proud of their stories, just like I am proud of mine.

I fall to the floor coughing and wheezing. My nose burns from the pungent smell of gasoline in the air. As the room fills with clouds of smoke, I pull myself across the hardwood floor on my stomach. Laying on the floor, I watch Pinkalicious and Peterific on my grandparents’ old TV. Suddenly, a wave of uniformed police officers pour in through my front door, sweeping me up, and carrying me outside. Three years later I stand in front of my fourth-grade social studies class, giddy to share my presentation titled “All About Me.” I watch the room flood with shock as I recount the smoke-filled house I came from. With a blank expression, I share about my schizophrenic bio-father, my bipolar bio-mother, my short time in foster care, and the death of my grandparents. My face then lights up as I speak about moving in with my aunt, the cousins I now see every day, and the happy home I now live in. I look off dreamily imagining the day when I’m adopted, my aunt becomes my mom, my cousins become my siblings, and I become part of a real family. With wide eyes, my class begins to clap as my teacher motions me to sit down. I happily sit at my desk as the next student stands. At a young age, I learned that I could survive almost anything. I was proud of my past and shared it every chance I could. With kids my age, this earned their respect. When my best friend Madeline heard my story, she showed me off to all the other kids at recess. The smiling face telling my troubling backstory made me different, impressive, and tough. On the playground, I was praised as the happiest kid around who surprisingly had the saddest origin. Looking back on my past helps me realize that I was born into a world that never stood still. I’ve changed friends, families, houses, neighborhoods, schools, cities, regions, religions, languages, countries, and continents. Instead of shutting down and letting opportunities pass me by, I choose to take life's constant motion in stride. I choose to move forward, move on, and find comfort in the chaos of an ever-evolving world. Starting high school in a new town amid a global pandemic was difficult, but I knew I’d push through. In my sophomore year, I decided I wanted make a positive impact on other people, so I enrolled in a class called Principals of Human Services. This class led me to enroll in the Practicum of Human Services during my senior year and become a student intern with the school counselor at a local elementary school. There I mentor young kids in need of extra support and get the privilege of helping these students cope and grow and adjust. This experience is when I fell in love with becoming a social worker and dedicating my life to teaching others how to be resilient and persistent and proud of their stories, just like I am proud of mine.

I fall to the floor coughing and wheezing. My nose burns from the pungent smell of gasoline in the air. As the room fills with clouds of smoke, I pull myself across the hardwood floor on my stomach. Laying on the floor, I watch Pinkalicious and Peterific on my grandparents’ old TV. Suddenly, a wave of uniformed police officers pour in through my front door, sweeping me up, and carrying me outside. Three years later I stand in front of my fourth-grade social studies class, giddy to share my presentation titled “All About Me.” I watch the room flood with shock as I recount the smoke-filled house I came from. With a blank expression, I share about my schizophrenic bio-father, my bipolar bio-mother, my short time in foster care, and the death of my grandparents. My face then lights up as I speak about moving in with my aunt, the cousins I now see every day, and the happy home I now live in. I look off dreamily imagining the day when I’m adopted, my aunt becomes my mom, my cousins become my siblings, and I become part of a real family. With wide eyes, my class begins to clap as my teacher motions me to sit down. I happily sit at my desk as the next student stands. At a young age, I learned that I could survive almost anything. I was proud of my past and shared it every chance I could. With kids my age, this earned their respect. When my best friend Madeline heard my story, she showed me off to all the other kids at recess. The smiling face telling my troubling backstory made me different, impressive, and tough. On the playground, I was praised as the happiest kid around who surprisingly had the saddest origin. Looking back on my past helps me realize that I was born into a world that never stood still. I’ve changed friends, families, houses, neighborhoods, schools, cities, regions, religions, languages, countries, and continents. Instead of shutting down and letting opportunities pass me by, I choose to take life's constant motion in stride. I choose to move forward, move on, and find comfort in the chaos of an ever-evolving world. Starting high school in a new town amid a global pandemic was difficult, but I knew I’d push through. In my sophomore year, I decided I wanted make a positive impact on other people, so I enrolled in a class called Principals of Human Services. This class led me to enroll in the Practicum of Human Services during my senior year and become a student intern with the school counselor at a local elementary school. There I mentor young kids in need of extra support and get the privilege of helping these students cope and grow and adjust. This experience is when I fell in love with becoming a social worker and dedicating my life to teaching others how to be resilient and persistent and proud of their stories, just like I am proud of mine.

I fall to the floor coughing and wheezing. My nose burns from the pungent smell of gasoline in the air. As the room fills with clouds of smoke, I pull myself across the hardwood floor on my stomach. Laying on the floor, I watch Pinkalicious and Peterific on my grandparents’ old TV. Suddenly, a wave of uniformed police officers pour in through my front door, sweeping me up, and carrying me outside. Three years later I stand in front of my fourth-grade social studies class, giddy to share my presentation titled “All About Me.” I watch the room flood with shock as I recount the smoke-filled house I came from. With a blank expression, I share about my schizophrenic bio-father, my bipolar bio-mother, my short time in foster care, and the death of my grandparents. My face then lights up as I speak about moving in with my aunt, the cousins I now see every day, and the happy home I now live in. I look off dreamily imagining the day when I’m adopted, my aunt becomes my mom, my cousins become my siblings, and I become part of a real family. With wide eyes, my class begins to clap as my teacher motions me to sit down. I happily sit at my desk as the next student stands. At a young age, I learned that I could survive almost anything. I was proud of my past and shared it every chance I could. With kids my age, this earned their respect. When my best friend Madeline heard my story, she showed me off to all the other kids at recess. The smiling face telling my troubling backstory made me different, impressive, and tough. On the playground, I was praised as the happiest kid around who surprisingly had the saddest origin. Looking back on my past helps me realize that I was born into a world that never stood still. I’ve changed friends, families, houses, neighborhoods, schools, cities, regions, religions, languages, countries, and continents. Instead of shutting down and letting opportunities pass me by, I choose to take life's constant motion in stride. I choose to move forward, move on, and find comfort in the chaos of an ever-evolving world. Starting high school in a new town amid a global pandemic was difficult, but I knew I’d push through. In my sophomore year, I decided I wanted make a positive impact on other people, so I enrolled in a class called Principals of Human Services. This class led me to enroll in the Practicum of Human Services during my senior year and become a student intern with the school counselor at a local elementary school. There I mentor young kids in need of extra support and get the privilege of helping these students cope and grow and adjust. This experience is when I fell in love with becoming a social worker and dedicating my life to teaching others how to be resilient and persistent and proud of their stories, just like I am proud of mine.

I fall to the floor coughing and wheezing. My nose burns from the pungent smell of gasoline in the air. As the room fills with clouds of smoke, I pull myself across the hardwood floor on my stomach. Laying on the floor, I watch Pinkalicious and Peterific on my grandparents’ old TV. Suddenly, a wave of uniformed police officers pour in through my front door, sweeping me up, and carrying me outside. Three years later I stand in front of my fourth-grade social studies class, giddy to share my presentation titled “All About Me.” I watch the room flood with shock as I recount the smoke-filled house I came from. With a blank expression, I share about my schizophrenic bio-father, my bipolar bio-mother, my short time in foster care, and the death of my grandparents. My face then lights up as I speak about moving in with my aunt, the cousins I now see every day, and the happy home I now live in. I look off dreamily imagining the day when I’m adopted, my aunt becomes my mom, my cousins become my siblings, and I become part of a real family. With wide eyes, my class begins to clap as my teacher motions me to sit down. I happily sit at my desk as the next student stands. At a young age, I learned that I could survive almost anything. I was proud of my past and shared it every chance I could. With kids my age, this earned their respect. When my best friend Madeline heard my story, she showed me off to all the other kids at recess. The smiling face telling my troubling backstory made me different, impressive, and tough. On the playground, I was praised as the happiest kid around who surprisingly had the saddest origin. Looking back on my past helps me realize that I was born into a world that never stood still. I’ve changed friends, families, houses, neighborhoods, schools, cities, regions, religions, languages, countries, and continents. Instead of shutting down and letting opportunities pass me by, I choose to take life's constant motion in stride. I choose to move forward, move on, and find comfort in the chaos of an ever-evolving world. Starting high school in a new town amid a global pandemic was difficult, but I knew I’d push through. In my sophomore year, I decided I wanted make a positive impact on other people, so I enrolled in a class called Principals of Human Services. This class led me to enroll in the Practicum of Human Services during my senior year and become a student intern with the school counselor at a local elementary school. There I mentor young kids in need of extra support and get the privilege of helping these students cope and grow and adjust. This experience is when I fell in love with becoming a social worker and dedicating my life to teaching others how to be resilient and persistent and proud of their stories, just like I am proud of mine.

I fall to the floor coughing and wheezing. My nose burns from the pungent smell of gasoline in the air. As the room fills with clouds of smoke, I pull myself across the hardwood floor on my stomach. Laying on the floor, I watch Pinkalicious and Peterific on my grandparents’ old TV. Suddenly, a wave of uniformed police officers pour in through my front door, sweeping me up, and carrying me outside. Three years later I stand in front of my fourth-grade social studies class, giddy to share my presentation titled “All About Me.” I watch the room flood with shock as I recount the smoke-filled house I came from. With a blank expression, I share about my schizophrenic bio-father, my bipolar bio-mother, my short time in foster care, and the death of my grandparents. My face then lights up as I speak about moving in with my aunt, the cousins I now see every day, and the happy home I now live in. I look off dreamily imagining the day when I’m adopted, my aunt becomes my mom, my cousins become my siblings, and I become part of a real family. With wide eyes, my class begins to clap as my teacher motions me to sit down. I happily sit at my desk as the next student stands. At a young age, I learned that I could survive almost anything. I was proud of my past and shared it every chance I could. With kids my age, this earned their respect. When my best friend Madeline heard my story, she showed me off to all the other kids at recess. The smiling face telling my troubling backstory made me different, impressive, and tough. On the playground, I was praised as the happiest kid around who surprisingly had the saddest origin. Looking back on my past helps me realize that I was born into a world that never stood still. I’ve changed friends, families, houses, neighborhoods, schools, cities, regions, religions, languages, countries, and continents. Instead of shutting down and letting opportunities pass me by, I choose to take life's constant motion in stride. I choose to move forward, move on, and find comfort in the chaos of an ever-evolving world. Starting high school in a new town amid a global pandemic was difficult, but I knew I’d push through. In my sophomore year, I decided I wanted make a positive impact on other people, so I enrolled in a class called Principals of Human Services. This class led me to enroll in the Practicum of Human Services during my senior year and become a student intern with the school counselor at a local elementary school. There I mentor young kids in need of extra support and get the privilege of helping these students cope and grow and adjust. This experience is when I fell in love with becoming a social worker and dedicating my life to teaching others how to be resilient and persistent and proud of their stories, just like I am proud of mine.

I fall to the floor coughing and wheezing. My nose burns from the pungent smell of gasoline in the air. As the room fills with clouds of smoke, I pull myself across the hardwood floor on my stomach. Laying on the floor, I watch Pinkalicious and Peterific on my grandparents’ old TV. Suddenly, a wave of uniformed police officers pour in through my front door, sweeping me up, and carrying me outside. Three years later I stand in front of my fourth-grade social studies class, giddy to share my presentation titled “All About Me.” I watch the room flood with shock as I recount the smoke-filled house I came from. With a blank expression, I share about my schizophrenic bio-father, my bipolar bio-mother, my short time in foster care, and the death of my grandparents. My face then lights up as I speak about moving in with my aunt, the cousins I now see every day, and the happy home I now live in. I look off dreamily imagining the day when I’m adopted, my aunt becomes my mom, my cousins become my siblings, and I become part of a real family. With wide eyes, my class begins to clap as my teacher motions me to sit down. I happily sit at my desk as the next student stands. At a young age, I learned that I could survive almost anything. I was proud of my past and shared it every chance I could. With kids my age, this earned their respect. When my best friend Madeline heard my story, she showed me off to all the other kids at recess. The smiling face telling my troubling backstory made me different, impressive, and tough. On the playground, I was praised as the happiest kid around who surprisingly had the saddest origin. Looking back on my past helps me realize that I was born into a world that never stood still. I’ve changed friends, families, houses, neighborhoods, schools, cities, regions, religions, languages, countries, and continents. Instead of shutting down and letting opportunities pass me by, I choose to take life's constant motion in stride. I choose to move forward, move on, and find comfort in the chaos of an ever-evolving world. Starting high school in a new town amid a global pandemic was difficult, but I knew I’d push through. In my sophomore year, I decided I wanted make a positive impact on other people, so I enrolled in a class called Principals of Human Services. This class led me to enroll in the Practicum of Human Services during my senior year and become a student intern with the school counselor at a local elementary school. There I mentor young kids in need of extra support and get the privilege of helping these students cope and grow and adjust. This experience is when I fell in love with becoming a social worker and dedicating my life to teaching others how to be resilient and persistent and proud of their stories, just like I am proud of mine.

I fall to the floor coughing and wheezing. My nose burns from the pungent smell of gasoline in the air. As the room fills with clouds of smoke, I pull myself across the hardwood floor on my stomach. Laying on the floor, I watch Pinkalicious and Peterific on my grandparents’ old TV. Suddenly, a wave of uniformed police officers pour in through my front door, sweeping me up, and carrying me outside. Three years later I stand in front of my fourth-grade social studies class, giddy to share my presentation titled “All About Me.” I watch the room flood with shock as I recount the smoke-filled house I came from. With a blank expression, I share about my schizophrenic bio-father, my bipolar bio-mother, my short time in foster care, and the death of my grandparents. My face then lights up as I speak about moving in with my aunt, the cousins I now see every day, and the happy home I now live in. I look off dreamily imagining the day when I’m adopted, my aunt becomes my mom, my cousins become my siblings, and I become part of a real family. With wide eyes, my class begins to clap as my teacher motions me to sit down. I happily sit at my desk as the next student stands. At a young age, I learned that I could survive almost anything. I was proud of my past and shared it every chance I could. With kids my age, this earned their respect. When my best friend Madeline heard my story, she showed me off to all the other kids at recess. The smiling face telling my troubling backstory made me different, impressive, and tough. On the playground, I was praised as the happiest kid around who surprisingly had the saddest origin. Looking back on my past helps me realize that I was born into a world that never stood still. I’ve changed friends, families, houses, neighborhoods, schools, cities, regions, religions, languages, countries, and continents. Instead of shutting down and letting opportunities pass me by, I choose to take life's constant motion in stride. I choose to move forward, move on, and find comfort in the chaos of an ever-evolving world. Starting high school in a new town amid a global pandemic was difficult, but I knew I’d push through. In my sophomore year, I decided I wanted make a positive impact on other people, so I enrolled in a class called Principals of Human Services. This class led me to enroll in the Practicum of Human Services during my senior year and become a student intern with the school counselor at a local elementary school. There I mentor young kids in need of extra support and get the privilege of helping these students cope and grow and adjust. This experience is when I fell in love with becoming a social worker and dedicating my life to teaching others how to be resilient and persistent and proud of their stories, just like I am proud of mine.

I fall to the floor coughing and wheezing. My nose burns from the pungent smell of gasoline in the air. As the room fills with clouds of smoke, I pull myself across the hardwood floor on my stomach. Laying on the floor, I watch Pinkalicious and Peterific on my grandparents’ old TV. Suddenly, a wave of uniformed police officers pour in through my front door, sweeping me up, and carrying me outside. Three years later I stand in front of my fourth-grade social studies class, giddy to share my presentation titled “All About Me.” I watch the room flood with shock as I recount the smoke-filled house I came from. With a blank expression, I share about my schizophrenic bio-father, my bipolar bio-mother, my short time in foster care, and the death of my grandparents. My face then lights up as I speak about moving in with my aunt, the cousins I now see every day, and the happy home I now live in. I look off dreamily imagining the day when I’m adopted, my aunt becomes my mom, my cousins become my siblings, and I become part of a real family. With wide eyes, my class begins to clap as my teacher motions me to sit down. I happily sit at my desk as the next student stands. At a young age, I learned that I could survive almost anything. I was proud of my past and shared it every chance I could. With kids my age, this earned their respect. When my best friend Madeline heard my story, she showed me off to all the other kids at recess. The smiling face telling my troubling backstory made me different, impressive, and tough. On the playground, I was praised as the happiest kid around who surprisingly had the saddest origin. Looking back on my past helps me realize that I was born into a world that never stood still. I’ve changed friends, families, houses, neighborhoods, schools, cities, regions, religions, languages, countries, and continents. Instead of shutting down and letting opportunities pass me by, I choose to take life's constant motion in stride. I choose to move forward, move on, and find comfort in the chaos of an ever-evolving world. Starting high school in a new town amid a global pandemic was difficult, but I knew I’d push through. In my sophomore year, I decided I wanted make a positive impact on other people, so I enrolled in a class called Principals of Human Services. This class led me to enroll in the Practicum of Human Services during my senior year and become a student intern with the school counselor at a local elementary school. There I mentor young kids in need of extra support and get the privilege of helping these students cope and grow and adjust. This experience is when I fell in love with becoming a social worker and dedicating my life to teaching others how to be resilient and persistent and proud of their stories, just like I am proud of mine.

Me and my friend Mya are huddled together on my fluffy pink bed. In the middle of the dark room, our faces are illuminated only by the blue glow of my phone. I lean in so we can both see the screen equally, laying my head atop her warm shoulder. For hours we read online comics of teens looking for love in all the wrong places. After she left I lay alone, tossing and turning as images flash in my mind. I see scenes where we hold hands, kiss, and cuddle like the couples in the comics we read together. I turn onto my stomach, shoving my face into the soft pillow and forcing my eyes shut until frustrated tears escape. I imagine the news painting judgment across my loved ones’ faces and envision myself alone. I have struggled to feel accepted all my life, desperately pushing others to love me and let me stay. At age six I was forcibly taken into foster care for thirty days. Within those thirty days, I was moved between three different households full of three different groups of strangers. After thirty days had passed, I was placed in the safe care and guardianship of my biological aunt. She would later become my adoptive mother when I was eleven. Despite being in a safe home, I anxiously expected danger and abandonment at every turn. Growing up, I wanted to be invisible and helplessly feared rejection. I guarded my true self by putting on the appearance of a perfectly usual little girl. I shut the world out, putting up a stone front around my vulnerability. These walls slowly fell as I realized they were trapping me, preventing me from making meaningful connections, and imprisoning me inside my fears. I became kinder and began to let others in. While the time I spent adjusting to life’s changes improved my ability to accept others, I still fell short of accepting myself. That began to change when I discovered my love for theater. Through the characters I created, I could see the world from different perspectives and explore emotions in newfound ways. Theater’s environment of acceptance partnered with the community’s shared goal of storytelling clearly explains why the population is so widely queer. Through the different identities I bring to life, I find the courage to advocate for myself and tell the story of my ever-evolving identity. I want to grow my knowledge about the science of theater and the art of social work. By combining my love for theater with my drive to make a difference, I can help others find, express, and accept themselves on a journey to tell their stories.

Me and my friend Mya sit huddled together on my fluffy pink bed. In the middle of the dark room, our faces are illuminated only by the blue glow of my phone. I lean in so that we can both see the screen equally, laying my head atop her warm shoulder. For hours we read online comics of teens looking for love in all the wrong places. After she left I lay alone, tossing and turning as images flash in my mind. I see scenes where we hold hands, kiss, and cuddle like the couples in the comics we read together. I turn onto my stomach, shoving my face into the soft pillow and forcing my eyes shut until frustrated tears escape. I imagine the news painting judgment across my loved ones’ faces and envision myself alone. I have struggled to feel accepted all my life, desperately pushing others to love me and let me stay. At age six I was forcibly taken into foster care for thirty days. Within those thirty days, I was moved between three different households full of three different groups of strangers. After thirty days had passed, I was placed in the safe care and guardianship of my biological aunt. She would later become my adoptive mother when I was eleven. Despite being in a safe home, I anxiously expected danger and abandonment at every turn. Growing up, I wanted to be perfectly invisible, and I helplessly feared rejection of any sort. I guarded my true self by putting on the appearance of a perfectly usual little girl. To protect myself, I shut the world out, putting up a stone front around my vulnerability. These walls slowly fell as I realized they were trapping me, preventing me from making meaningful connections and imprisoning me inside my fears. I became kinder and began to let others in. While the time I spent adjusting to life’s changes improved my ability to accept others, I still fell short of accepting myself. That began to change when I discovered my love for theater. Through the characters I created, I could see the world from different perspectives and explore emotions in newfound ways. Theater’s environment of acceptance partnered with the community’s shared goal of storytelling clearly explains why the population is so widely queer. Through the different identities I bring to life, I find the courage to advocate for myself and tell the story of my ever-evolving identity. I want to grow my knowledge about the science of theater and the art of social work. By combining my love for theater with my drive to make a difference, I can help others find, express, and accept themselves on a journey to tell their stories.

Me and my friend Mya sit huddled together on my fluffy pink bed. In the middle of the dark room, our faces are illuminated only by the blue glow of my phone. I lean in so that we can both see the screen equally, laying my head atop her warm shoulder. For hours we read online comics of teens looking for love in all the wrong places. After she left I lay alone, tossing and turning as images flash in my mind. I see scenes where we hold hands, kiss, and cuddle like the couples in the comics we read together. I turn onto my stomach, shoving my face into the soft pillow and forcing my eyes shut until frustrated tears escape. I imagine the news painting judgment across my loved ones’ faces and envision myself alone. I have struggled to feel accepted all my life, desperately pushing others to love me and let me stay. At age six I was forcibly taken into foster care for thirty days. Within those thirty days, I was moved between three different households full of three different groups of strangers. After thirty days had passed, I was placed in the safe care and guardianship of my biological aunt. She would later become my adoptive mother when I was eleven. Despite being in a safe home, I anxiously expected danger and abandonment at every turn. Growing up, I wanted to be perfectly invisible, and I helplessly feared rejection of any sort. I guarded my true self by putting on the appearance of a perfectly usual little girl. To protect myself, I shut the world out, putting up a stone front around my vulnerability. These walls slowly fell as I realized they were trapping me, preventing me from making meaningful connections and imprisoning me inside my fears. I became kinder and began to let others in. While the time I spent adjusting to life’s changes improved my ability to accept others, I still fell short of accepting myself. That began to change when I discovered my love for theater. Through the characters I created, I could see the world from different perspectives and explore emotions in newfound ways. Theater’s environment of acceptance partnered with the community’s shared goal of storytelling clearly explains why the population is so widely queer. Through the different identities I bring to life, I find the courage to advocate for myself and tell the story of my ever-evolving identity. I want to grow my knowledge about the science of theater and the art of social work. By combining my love for theater with my drive to make a difference, I can help others find, express, and accept themselves on a journey to tell their stories.

Me and my friend Mya sit huddled together on my fluffy pink bed. In the middle of the dark room, our faces are illuminated only by the blue glow of my phone. I lean in so that we can both see the screen equally, laying my head atop her warm shoulder. For hours we read online comics of teens looking for love in all the wrong places. After she left I lay alone, tossing and turning as images flash in my mind. I see scenes where we hold hands, kiss, and cuddle like the couples in the comics we read together. I turn onto my stomach, shoving my face into the soft pillow and forcing my eyes shut until frustrated tears escape. I imagine the news painting judgment across my loved ones’ faces and envision myself alone. I have struggled to feel accepted all my life, desperately pushing others to love me and let me stay. At age six I was forcibly taken into foster care for thirty days. Within those thirty days, I was moved between three different households full of three different groups of strangers. After thirty days had passed, I was placed in the safe care and guardianship of my biological aunt. She would later become my adoptive mother when I was eleven. Despite being in a safe home, I anxiously expected danger and abandonment at every turn. Growing up, I wanted to be perfectly invisible, and I helplessly feared rejection of any sort. I guarded my true self by putting on the appearance of a perfectly usual little girl. To protect myself, I shut the world out, putting up a stone front around my vulnerability. These walls slowly fell as I realized they were trapping me, preventing me from making meaningful connections and imprisoning me inside my fears. I became kinder and began to let others in. While the time I spent adjusting to life’s changes improved my ability to accept others, I still fell short of accepting myself. That began to change when I discovered my love for theater. Through the characters I created, I could see the world from different perspectives and explore emotions in newfound ways. Theater’s environment of acceptance partnered with the community’s shared goal of storytelling clearly explains why the population is so widely queer. Through the different identities I bring to life, I find the courage to advocate for myself and tell the story of my ever-evolving identity. I want to grow my knowledge about the science of theater and the art of social work. By combining my love for theater with my drive to make a difference, I can help others find, express, and accept themselves on a journey to tell their stories.

Me and my friend Mya sit huddled together on my fluffy pink bed. In the middle of the dark room, our faces are illuminated only by the blue glow of my phone. I lean in so that we can both see the screen equally, laying my head atop her warm shoulder. For hours we read online comics of teens looking for love in all the wrong places. After she left I lay alone, tossing and turning as images flash in my mind. I see scenes where we hold hands, kiss, and cuddle like the couples in the comics we read together. I turn onto my stomach, shoving my face into the soft pillow and forcing my eyes shut until frustrated tears escape. I imagine the news painting judgment across my loved ones’ faces and envision myself alone. I have struggled to feel accepted all my life, desperately pushing others to love me and let me stay. At age six I was forcibly taken into foster care for thirty days. Within those thirty days, I was moved between three different households full of three different groups of strangers. After thirty days had passed, I was placed in the safe care and guardianship of my biological aunt. She would later become my adoptive mother when I was eleven. Despite being in a safe home, I anxiously expected danger and abandonment at every turn. Growing up, I wanted to be perfectly invisible, and I helplessly feared rejection of any sort. I guarded my true self by putting on the appearance of a perfectly usual little girl. To protect myself, I shut the world out, putting up a stone front around my vulnerability. These walls slowly fell as I realized they were trapping me, preventing me from making meaningful connections and imprisoning me inside my fears. I became kinder and began to let others in. While the time I spent adjusting to life’s changes improved my ability to accept others, I still fell short of accepting myself. That began to change when I discovered my love for theater. Through the characters I created, I could see the world from different perspectives and explore emotions in newfound ways. Theater’s environment of acceptance partnered with the community’s shared goal of storytelling clearly explains why the population is so widely queer. Through the different identities I bring to life, I find the courage to advocate for myself and tell the story of my ever-evolving identity. I want to grow my knowledge about the science of theater and the art of social work. By combining my love for theater with my drive to make a difference, I can help others find, express, and accept themselves on a journey to tell their stories.

Me and my friend Mya sit huddled together on my fluffy pink bed. In the middle of the dark room, our faces are illuminated only by the blue glow of my phone. I lean in so that we can both see the screen equally, laying my head atop her warm shoulder. For hours we read online comics of teens looking for love in all the wrong places. After she left I lay alone, tossing and turning as images flash in my mind. I see scenes where we hold hands, kiss, and cuddle like the couples in the comics we read together. I turn onto my stomach, shoving my face into the soft pillow and forcing my eyes shut until frustrated tears escape. I imagine the news painting judgment across my loved ones’ faces and envision myself alone. I have struggled to feel accepted all my life, desperately pushing others to love me and let me stay. At age six I was forcibly taken into foster care for thirty days. Within those thirty days, I was moved between three different households full of three different groups of strangers. After thirty days had passed, I was placed in the safe care and guardianship of my biological aunt. She would later become my adoptive mother when I was eleven. Despite being in a safe home, I anxiously expected danger and abandonment at every turn. Growing up, I wanted to be perfectly invisible, and I helplessly feared rejection of any sort. I guarded my true self by putting on the appearance of a perfectly usual little girl. To protect myself, I shut the world out, putting up a stone front around my vulnerability. These walls slowly fell as I realized they were trapping me, preventing me from making meaningful connections and imprisoning me inside my fears. I became kinder and began to let others in. While the time I spent adjusting to life’s changes improved my ability to accept others, I still fell short of accepting myself. That began to change when I discovered my love for theater. Through the characters I created, I could see the world from different perspectives and explore emotions in newfound ways. Theater’s environment of acceptance partnered with the community’s shared goal of storytelling clearly explains why the population is so widely queer. Through the different identities I bring to life, I find the courage to advocate for myself and tell the story of my ever-evolving identity. I want to grow my knowledge about the science of theater and the art of social work. By combining my love for theater with my drive to make a difference, I can help others find, express, and accept themselves on a journey to tell their stories.

Me and my friend Mya sit huddled together on my fluffy pink bed. In the middle of the dark room, our faces are illuminated only by the blue glow of my phone. I lean in so that we can both see the screen equally, laying my head atop her warm shoulder. For hours we read online comics of teens looking for love in all the wrong places. After she left I lay alone, tossing and turning as images flash in my mind. I see scenes where we hold hands, kiss, and cuddle like the couples in the comics we read together. I turn onto my stomach, shoving my face into the soft pillow and forcing my eyes shut until frustrated tears escape. I imagine the news painting judgment across my loved ones’ faces and envision myself alone. I have struggled to feel accepted all my life, desperately pushing others to love me and let me stay. At age six I was forcibly taken into foster care for thirty days. Within those thirty days, I was moved between three different households full of three different groups of strangers. After thirty days had passed, I was placed in the safe care and guardianship of my biological aunt. She would later become my adoptive mother when I was eleven. Despite being in a safe home, I anxiously expected danger and abandonment at every turn. Growing up, I wanted to be perfectly invisible, and I helplessly feared rejection of any sort. I guarded my true self by putting on the appearance of a perfectly usual little girl. To protect myself, I shut the world out, putting up a stone front around my vulnerability. These walls slowly fell as I realized they were trapping me, preventing me from making meaningful connections and imprisoning me inside my fears. I became kinder and began to let others in. While the time I spent adjusting to life’s changes improved my ability to accept others, I still fell short of accepting myself. That began to change when I discovered my love for theater. Through the characters I created, I could see the world from different perspectives and explore emotions in newfound ways. Theater’s environment of acceptance partnered with the community’s shared goal of storytelling clearly explains why the population is so widely queer. Through the different identities I bring to life, I find the courage to advocate for myself and tell the story of my ever-evolving identity. I want to grow my knowledge about the science of theater and the art of social work. By combining my love for theater with my drive to make a difference, I can help others find, express, and accept themselves on a journey to tell their stories.

Me and my friend Mya sit huddled together on my fluffy pink bed. In the middle of the dark room, our faces are illuminated only by the blue glow of my phone. I lean in so that we can both see the screen equally, laying my head atop her warm shoulder. For hours we read online comics of teens looking for love in all the wrong places. After she left I lay alone, tossing and turning as images flash in my mind. I see scenes where we hold hands, kiss, and cuddle like the couples in the comics we read together. I turn onto my stomach, shoving my face into the soft pillow and forcing my eyes shut until frustrated tears escape. I imagine the news painting judgment across my loved ones’ faces and envision myself alone. I have struggled to feel accepted all my life, desperately pushing others to love me and let me stay. At age six I was forcibly taken into foster care for thirty days. Within those thirty days, I was moved between three different households full of three different groups of strangers. After thirty days had passed, I was placed in the safe care and guardianship of my biological aunt. She would later become my adoptive mother when I was eleven. Despite being in a safe home, I anxiously expected danger and abandonment at every turn. Growing up, I wanted to be perfectly invisible, and I helplessly feared rejection of any sort. I guarded my true self by putting on the appearance of a perfectly usual little girl. To protect myself, I shut the world out, putting up a stone front around my vulnerability. These walls slowly fell as I realized they were trapping me, preventing me from making meaningful connections and imprisoning me inside my fears. I became kinder and began to let others in. While the time I spent adjusting to life’s changes improved my ability to accept others, I still fell short of accepting myself. That began to change when I discovered my love for theater. Through the characters I created, I could see the world from different perspectives and explore emotions in newfound ways. Theater’s environment of acceptance partnered with the community’s shared goal of storytelling clearly explains why the population is so widely queer. Through the different identities I bring to life, I find the courage to advocate for myself and tell the story of my ever-evolving identity. I want to grow my knowledge about the science of theater and the art of social work. By combining my love for theater with my drive to make a difference, I can help others find, express, and accept themselves on a journey to tell their stories.

Me and my friend Mya sit huddled together on my fluffy pink bed. In the middle of the dark room, our faces are illuminated only by the blue glow of my phone. I lean in so that we can both see the screen equally, laying my head atop her warm shoulder. For hours we read online comics of teens looking for love in all the wrong places. After she left I lay alone, tossing and turning as images flash in my mind. I see scenes where we hold hands, kiss, and cuddle like the couples in the comics we read together. I turn onto my stomach, shoving my face into the soft pillow and forcing my eyes shut until frustrated tears escape. I imagine the news painting judgment across my loved ones’ faces and envision myself alone. I have struggled to feel accepted all my life, desperately pushing others to love me and let me stay. At age six I was forcibly taken into foster care for thirty days. Within those thirty days, I was moved between three different households full of three different groups of strangers. After thirty days had passed, I was placed in the safe care and guardianship of my biological aunt. She would later become my adoptive mother when I was eleven. Despite being in a safe home, I anxiously expected danger and abandonment at every turn. Growing up, I wanted to be perfectly invisible, and I helplessly feared rejection of any sort. I guarded my true self by putting on the appearance of a perfectly usual little girl. To protect myself, I shut the world out, putting up a stone front around my vulnerability. These walls slowly fell as I realized they were trapping me, preventing me from making meaningful connections and imprisoning me inside my fears. I became kinder and began to let others in. While the time I spent adjusting to life’s changes improved my ability to accept others, I still fell short of accepting myself. That began to change when I discovered my love for theater. Through the characters I created, I could see the world from different perspectives and explore emotions in newfound ways. Theater’s environment of acceptance partnered with the community’s shared goal of storytelling clearly explains why the population is so widely queer. Through the different identities I bring to life, I find the courage to advocate for myself and tell the story of my ever-evolving identity. I want to grow my knowledge about the science of theater and the art of social work. By combining my love for theater with my drive to make a difference, I can help others find, express, and accept themselves on a journey to tell their stories.

Me and my friend Mya sit huddled together on my fluffy pink bed. In the middle of the dark room, our faces are illuminated only by the blue glow of my phone. I lean in so that we can both see the screen equally, laying my head atop her warm shoulder. For hours we read online comics of teens looking for love in all the wrong places. After she left I lay alone, tossing and turning as images flash in my mind. I see scenes where we hold hands, kiss, and cuddle like the couples in the comics we read together. I turn onto my stomach, shoving my face into the soft pillow and forcing my eyes shut until frustrated tears escape. I imagine the news painting judgment across my loved ones’ faces and envision myself alone. I have struggled to feel accepted all my life, desperately pushing others to love me and let me stay. At age six I was forcibly taken into foster care for thirty days. Within those thirty days, I was moved between three different households full of three different groups of strangers. After thirty days had passed, I was placed in the safe care and guardianship of my biological aunt. She would later become my adoptive mother when I was eleven. Despite being in a safe home, I anxiously expected danger and abandonment at every turn. Growing up, I wanted to be perfectly invisible, and I helplessly feared rejection of any sort. I guarded my true self by putting on the appearance of a perfectly usual little girl. To protect myself, I shut the world out, putting up a stone front around my vulnerability. These walls slowly fell as I realized they were trapping me, preventing me from making meaningful connections and imprisoning me inside my fears. I became kinder and began to let others in. While the time I spent adjusting to life’s changes improved my ability to accept others, I still fell short of accepting myself. That began to change when I discovered my love for theater. Through the characters I created, I could see the world from different perspectives and explore emotions in newfound ways. Theater’s environment of acceptance partnered with the community’s shared goal of storytelling clearly explains why the population is so widely queer. Through the different identities I bring to life, I find the courage to advocate for myself and tell the story of my ever-evolving identity. I want to grow my knowledge about the science of theater and the art of social work. By combining my love for theater with my drive to make a difference, I can help others find, express, and accept themselves on a journey to tell their stories.

Me and my friend Mya sit huddled together on my fluffy pink bed. In the middle of the dark room, our faces are illuminated only by the blue glow of my phone. I lean in so that we can both see the screen equally, laying my head atop her warm shoulder. For hours we read online comics of teens looking for love in all the wrong places. After she left I lay alone, tossing and turning as images flash in my mind. I see scenes where we hold hands, kiss, and cuddle like the couples in the comics we read together. I turn onto my stomach, shoving my face into the soft pillow and forcing my eyes shut until frustrated tears escape. I imagine the news painting judgment across my loved ones’ faces and envision myself alone. I have struggled to feel accepted all my life, desperately pushing others to love me and let me stay. At age six I was forcibly taken into foster care for thirty days. Within those thirty days, I was moved between three different households full of three different groups of strangers. After thirty days had passed, I was placed in the safe care and guardianship of my biological aunt. She would later become my adoptive mother when I was eleven. Despite being in a safe home, I anxiously expected danger and abandonment at every turn. Growing up, I wanted to be perfectly invisible, and I helplessly feared rejection of any sort. I guarded my true self by putting on the appearance of a perfectly usual little girl. To protect myself, I shut the world out, putting up a stone front around my vulnerability. These walls slowly fell as I realized they were trapping me, preventing me from making meaningful connections and imprisoning me inside my fears. I became kinder and began to let others in. While the time I spent adjusting to life’s changes improved my ability to accept others, I still fell short of accepting myself. That began to change when I discovered my love for theater. Through the characters I created, I could see the world from different perspectives and explore emotions in newfound ways. Theater’s environment of acceptance partnered with the community’s shared goal of storytelling clearly explains why the population is so widely queer. Through the different identities I bring to life, I find the courage to advocate for myself and tell the story of my ever-evolving identity. I want to grow my knowledge about the science of theater and the art of social work. By combining my love for theater with my drive to make a difference, I can help others find, express, and accept themselves on a journey to tell their stories.

Me and my friend Mya sit huddled together on my fluffy pink bed. In the middle of the dark room, our faces are illuminated only by the blue glow of my phone. I lean in so that we can both see the screen equally, laying my head atop her warm shoulder. For hours we read online comics of teens looking for love in all the wrong places. After she left I lay alone, tossing and turning as images flash in my mind. I see scenes where we hold hands, kiss, and cuddle like the couples in the comics we read together. I turn onto my stomach, shoving my face into the soft pillow and forcing my eyes shut until frustrated tears escape. I imagine the news painting judgment across my loved ones’ faces and envision myself alone. I have struggled to feel accepted all my life, desperately pushing others to love me and let me stay. At age six I was forcibly taken into foster care for thirty days. Within those thirty days, I was moved between three different households full of three different groups of strangers. After thirty days had passed, I was placed in the safe care and guardianship of my biological aunt. She would later become my adoptive mother when I was eleven. Despite being in a safe home, I anxiously expected danger and abandonment at every turn. Growing up, I wanted to be perfectly invisible, and I helplessly feared rejection of any sort. I guarded my true self by putting on the appearance of a perfectly usual little girl. To protect myself, I shut the world out, putting up a stone front around my vulnerability. These walls slowly fell as I realized they were trapping me, preventing me from making meaningful connections and imprisoning me inside my fears. I became kinder and began to let others in. While the time I spent adjusting to life’s changes improved my ability to accept others, I still fell short of accepting myself. That began to change when I discovered my love for theater. Through the characters I created, I could see the world from different perspectives and explore emotions in newfound ways. Theater’s environment of acceptance partnered with the community’s shared goal of storytelling clearly explains why the population is so widely queer. Through the different identities I bring to life, I find the courage to advocate for myself and tell the story of my ever-evolving identity. I want to grow my knowledge about the science of theater and the art of social work. By combining my love for theater with my drive to make a difference, I can help others find, express, and accept themselves on a journey to tell their stories.

Me and my friend Mya sit huddled together on my fluffy pink bed. In the middle of the dark room, our faces are illuminated only by the blue glow of my phone. I lean in so that we can both see the screen equally, laying my head atop her warm shoulder. For hours we read online comics of teens looking for love in all the wrong places. After she left I lay alone, tossing and turning as images flash in my mind. I see scenes where we hold hands, kiss, and cuddle like the couples in the comics we read together. I turn onto my stomach, shoving my face into the soft pillow and forcing my eyes shut until frustrated tears escape. I imagine the news painting judgment across my loved ones’ faces and envision myself alone. I have struggled to feel accepted all my life, desperately pushing others to love me and let me stay. At age six I was forcibly taken into foster care for thirty days. Within those thirty days, I was moved between three different households full of three different groups of strangers. After thirty days had passed, I was placed in the safe care and guardianship of my biological aunt. She would later become my adoptive mother when I was eleven. Despite being in a safe home, I anxiously expected danger and abandonment at every turn. Growing up, I wanted to be perfectly invisible, and I helplessly feared rejection of any sort. I guarded my true self by putting on the appearance of a perfectly usual little girl. To protect myself, I shut the world out, putting up a stone front around my vulnerability. These walls slowly fell as I realized they were trapping me, preventing me from making meaningful connections and imprisoning me inside my fears. I became kinder and began to let others in. While the time I spent adjusting to life’s changes improved my ability to accept others, I still fell short of accepting myself. That began to change when I discovered my love for theater. Through the characters I created, I could see the world from different perspectives and explore emotions in newfound ways. Theater’s environment of acceptance partnered with the community’s shared goal of storytelling clearly explains why the population is so widely queer. Through the different identities I bring to life, I find the courage to advocate for myself and tell the story of my ever-evolving identity. I plan on getting a Bachelor's of social work and a minor in theater. I want to grow my knowledge about the science of theater and the art of social work. By combining my love for theater with my drive to make a difference, I can help others find, express, and accept themselves on a journey to tell their stories.

Me and my friend Mya sit huddled together on my fluffy pink bed. In the middle of the dark room, our faces are illuminated only by the blue glow of my phone. I lean in so that we can both see the screen equally, laying my head atop her warm shoulder. For hours we read online comics of teens looking for love in all the wrong places. After she left I lay alone, tossing and turning as images flash in my mind. I see scenes where we hold hands, kiss, and cuddle like the couples in the comics we read together. I turn onto my stomach, shoving my face into the soft pillow and forcing my eyes shut until frustrated tears escape. I imagine the news painting judgment across my loved ones’ faces and envision myself alone. I have struggled to feel accepted all my life, desperately pushing others to love me and let me stay. At age six I was forcibly taken into foster care for thirty days. Within those thirty days, I was moved between three different households full of three different groups of strangers. After thirty days had passed, I was placed in the safe care and guardianship of my biological aunt. She would later become my adoptive mother when I was eleven. Despite being in a safe home, I anxiously expected danger and abandonment at every turn. Growing up, I wanted to be perfectly invisible, and I helplessly feared rejection of any sort. I guarded my true self by putting on the appearance of a perfectly usual little girl. To protect myself, I shut the world out, putting up a stone front around my vulnerability. These walls slowly fell as I realized they were trapping me, preventing me from making meaningful connections and imprisoning me inside my fears. I became kinder and began to let others in. While the time I spent adjusting to life’s changes improved my ability to accept others, I still fell short of accepting myself. That began to change when I discovered my love for theater. Through the characters I created, I could see the world from different perspectives and explore emotions in newfound ways. Theater’s environment of acceptance partnered with the community’s shared goal of storytelling clearly explains why the population is so widely queer. Through the different identities I bring to life, I find the courage to advocate for myself and tell the story of my ever-evolving identity. I want to grow my knowledge about the science of theater and the art of social work. By combining my love for theater with my drive to make a difference, I can help others find, express, and accept themselves on a journey to tell their stories.

Me and my friend Mya sit huddled together on my fluffy pink bed. In the middle of the dark room, our faces are illuminated only by the blue glow of my phone. I lean in so that we can both see the screen equally, laying my head atop her warm shoulder. For hours we read online comics of teens looking for love in all the wrong places. After she left I lay alone, tossing and turning as images flash in my mind. I see scenes where we hold hands, kiss, and cuddle like the couples in the comics we read together. I turn onto my stomach, shoving my face into the soft pillow and forcing my eyes shut until frustrated tears escape. I imagine the news painting judgment across my loved ones’ faces and envision myself alone. I have struggled to feel accepted all my life, desperately pushing others to love me and let me stay. At age six I was forcibly taken into foster care for thirty days. Within those thirty days, I was moved between three different households full of three different groups of strangers. After thirty days had passed, I was placed in the safe care and guardianship of my biological aunt. She would later become my adoptive mother when I was eleven. Despite being in a safe home, I anxiously expected danger and abandonment at every turn. Growing up, I wanted to be perfectly invisible, and I helplessly feared rejection of any sort. I guarded my true self by putting on the appearance of a perfectly usual little girl. To protect myself, I shut the world out, putting up a stone front around my vulnerability. These walls slowly fell as I realized they were trapping me, preventing me from making meaningful connections and imprisoning me inside my fears. I became kinder and began to let others in. While the time I spent adjusting to life’s changes improved my ability to accept others, I still fell short of accepting myself. That began to change when I discovered my love for theater. Through the characters I created, I could see the world from different perspectives and explore emotions in newfound ways. Theater’s environment of acceptance partnered with the community’s shared goal of storytelling clearly explains why the population is so widely queer. Through the different identities I bring to life, I find the courage to advocate for myself and tell the story of my ever-evolving identity. I want to grow my knowledge about the science of theater and the art of social work. By combining my love for theater with my drive to make a difference, I can help others find, express, and accept themselves on a journey to tell their stories.