Eight and a half years ago, I had temporarily lost my ability to walk. Spinal surgery took a turn for the worse, and I missed half of my eighth-grade experience for weeks of physical therapy and confinement to a hospital bed. Although I worked hard to recover control over my lower body, I could not avoid feelings of helplessness and frustration. Distractions via television and reading did not quench my thirst to taste freedom and develop a creation not impaired by my limitations. I discovered this longed hobby when I sought to thank therapists for my recovery. Instead of offering them gifts of monetary value, I decided to draw my heroes as superheroes. The first one was comparable to Wonder Woman and armed with our favorite therapeutic tool. The second gift was inspired by her beautiful name and showed her capable of controlling nature and animal communication. I remember the hours I spent on these sketches, careful to add fine details of feathers and fur, thrilled to invite vibrant colors, and eager to experiment with phenomenal additions like glowing bracelets and chaotic wind. I had always appreciated art classes in elementary school, but this assignment meant more than a grade. My drawings were now a product of my own hands, completed without impediments from my condition. They became my escape from confinement and a source of peace, joy, freedom, and hope. After my newfound passion for drawing, I had heightened energy for drawing and craved to discover my technique. Recognizing my interest and its healing impact, my mother supported me through art classes. There, I learned how to expand my eye for detail, widen my range of artistic styles, and improve my skill. Those years became the most cherished in my life. After my classes, I completed three art projects with pride and growth: a charcoal portrait of a favorite Star Wars character, a wax pencil project portraying my religious role model, and an animated character of my creation in colored pencil and pen. The years following reached a dark period. My passion for drawing dwindled as cancer robbed my mother's health. I struggled to pursue the hopeful, exciting world of my imagination and artistic creations when reality threatened a doomed fate. It wasn't until after my mother's death and during Covid-19 quarantining that I decided to pursue drawing again. Since then, I have practiced my style through intricate, colorful digital projects and humble pencil sketches. The hobby of drawing is more than a method of recording and practicing style to me. It is my refuge from fear, hopelessness, and sorrow. Drawing is releasing my emotions from hand to pencil to paper. It is my method of honoring my mother's life and remembering her passion for guiding me to find mine. My artistic hobby has provided me with a place of peace, hope, and freedom, and it is my dream to use the gift to channel these feelings to others.