My future self has not stopped working to acheive our dreams.

My family's journey to the United States is filled with courage and sacrifice. My parents immigrated here from Haiti shortly before I was born, seeking greater opportunities for their future children. While the transition was difficult, leaving behind family and friends, they persevered through hard work and determination. Growing up, I learned about my family's roots and the struggles they faced to provide a better life for me. Hearing their stories has instilled in me a deep sense of gratitude and motivation. I understand the privilege I have to be one of the first in my family to pursue higher education, thanks to their bold decision to start a new life here. In my academic journey, my family's experience constantly motivates me to achieve my full potential. Their example of overcoming impossible odds drives me to embrace challenges and defy expectations. Haiti was born from an island of slaves who revolted against the global superpower of France and took back their freedom. Had these slaves thought realistically, they wouldn’t have fought such a large country alone. As Haitians, impossible odds are our friend. My ancestors came to America aboard a packed supply ship, using voodoo to appear as plantains and evade authorities. Had my family decided to think realistically, I would lack the opportunities I have now. As a Haitian, my values of liberty and perseverance won’t allow failure to restrain me. I challenge myself constantly, striving to improve through academics, athletics, and the arts. As I head to college double majoring in Theatre and Political Science, I do not approach life realistically. My Haitian heritage has taught me to work hard and dream harder, because only those who dare can truly achieve. I carry my ancestors’ persevering spirit with me as I pursue my studies and aspirations without limits.

Coming from a devoutly Seventh-Day Adventist Haitian family, my father being a pastor doesn’t mean the same thing it normally would. Rather than maybe every Sunday in its entirety spent at church for a regular pastor’s kid, from a very young age I was in church Saturdays, Fridays, Sundays, and Wednesdays. And rather than a regular church where members congregate to listen to the word of God, my father's religious philosophy was centered around praise and worship. So, with a live band, every Saturday would consist of at least two hours of music followed by a sermon from my father. The choir’s beautiful vocals accompanied by the bass, piano, and drums of the church musicians ran through my mind all week until I could go back. I was infatuated with music. The rhythms of the drums and the harmonies of the piano were euphoric, to the point that I’d take my father’s tape recorder and try to make my own music. Wanting to be like my father, I grew an aptitude for performing as well. My father can’t sing for the life of him, but as a pastor, his preaching inspired congregations weekly. Modeling myself after him, I began to preach too. Sitting in the front pew every Saturday my dad’s way of speaking became my new obsession. Practicing in my room, I would try to copy intonations, pauses, and his demeanor on stage. This progressed to nights practicing preaching to my mom and dad before they went to sleep. Eventually, besides my regular sermons for the other kids my father would let me preach to the whole church once a month during a special children's service. By age 12 I loved being on stage and performing for my community. Despite this background revolving around music and performing, I never thought I could make a career out of it. Every introduction of the idea of even pursuing music or theatre in college was met with the sound of my mother sucking her teeth and an aggressive reminder that I am “not one of these white people”. The goal of my Haitian parents was simply to come to America and make enough money to live safely. Things like passions or hobbies all took a backseat to that goal. So, when these parents were raising me they told me I had three options, lawyer, doctor, or engineer. Meaning, albeit out of love, I was taught to ignore my passions and dreams. With never seeing anybody who looked like me in plays or musicals and growing up in a predominantly white area, no one ever taught me the opposite. To decide to defy this and pursue my passions in higher learning was the hardest decision I’ve had to make. I plan to use my education, to display to all of the children of poverty that the world needs their passions. Of course, it’s true that I love theatre and wish to study musical theatre in order to make a career out of a passion of mine. Yet, I yearn to make a change in the world around me with my passions and my talents, ultimately showing kids like me that they can chase their dreams. By entering the space of musical theatre I can tell the stories of my Haitian heritage, creating a role model for children in similar situations regardless of their heritage. I have always loved music, but I haven’t always known I could love music. Through my career, I’ll teach the generations to come that it’s okay to pursue their passions.

Coming from a devoutly Seventh-Day Adventist Haitian family, my father being a pastor doesn’t mean the same thing it normally would. Rather than maybe every Sunday in its entirety spent at church for a regular pastor’s kid, from a very young age I was in church Saturdays, Fridays, Sundays, and Wednesdays. And rather than a regular church where members congregate to listen to the word of God, my father's religious philosophy was centered around praise and worship. So, with a live band, every Saturday would consist of at least two hours of music followed by a sermon from my father. The choir’s beautiful vocals accompanied by the bass, piano, and drums of the church musicians ran through my mind all week until I could go back. I was infatuated with music. The rhythms of the drums and the harmonies of the piano were euphoric, to the point that I’d take my father’s tape recorder and try to make my own music. I begged my parents for piano lessons at every opportunity, wanting to recreate the joyful melodies I heard every week, but couldn’t ever get them. Wanting to be like my father, I grew an aptitude for performing as well. My father can’t sing for the life of him, but as a pastor, his preaching inspired congregations weekly. Modeling myself after him, I began to preach too. Sitting in the front pew every Saturday my dad’s way of speaking became my new obsession. Practicing in my room, I would try to copy his intonations, pauses, and his demeanor on stage. This progressed to nights practicing preaching to my mom and dad before they went to sleep. Eventually, besides my regular sermons for the other kids my father would let me preach to the whole church once a month during a special children's service. By age 9 I loved being on stage and making speeches. Despite this background revolving around music and performing, I never thought I could make a career out of it. The goal of my Haitian parents was simply to come to America and make enough money to live safely. Things like passions or hobbies all took a backseat to that goal. So, when these parents were raising me they told me I had three options, lawyer, doctor, or engineer. Meaning, albeit out of love, I was taught to ignore my passions and dreams. With never seeing anybody who looked like me in plays or musicals and growing up in a predominantly white area, no one ever taught me the opposite. This is what I plan to achieve with my education, to display this “opposite”. Of course, it’s true that I love theatre and wish to study musical theatre in order to make a career out of a passion of mine. Yet I yearn to make a change in the world around me and with my passions and my talents I will show kids like me that they can chase their dreams. By entering the space of musical theatre I can tell the stories of my Haitian heritage, creating a role model for children in similar situations regardless of their heritage. I have always loved music, but I haven’t always known I could love music. Through my career, I’ll teach the generations to come that it’s okay to pursue their passions.

From a very young age, I was infatuated with music. This was mainly due to the fact that every Saturday at church would be at least two hours of music followed by a sermon from my father, the pastor. The choir’s beautiful vocals accompanied by the bass, piano, and drums of the church musicians ran through my mind all week until I could go back. The rhythms of the drums and the harmonies of the piano were euphoric, to the point that I’d take my father’s tape recorder and try to make my own music. I begged my parents for piano lessons at every opportunity, wishing to recreate those joyful melodies I heard every week. Wanting to be like my father, I grew an aptitude for performing. My father can’t sing for the life of him, but as a pastor, his preaching inspired congregations. Modeling myself after him, I preached too. Practicing in my room, I would copy his intonations, pauses, and demeanor on stage. This progressed to nights practicing preaching to my family in our kitchen. By age 9 I loved being on stage and talking to people. As I grew older it all felt forced. My father and mother divorced and we went to church less and less. Eventually, I didn’t want to go to piano lessons or choir practice anymore. The ambient sounds throughout my home of me playing piano dwindled and singing went from on stages to in the shower. This continued for 5 years until the holiday season of 2021. My sister’s youth church, taking place every Saturday over video calls, got me back into preaching. Months later, she decided to do a Christmas musical. With pressure from my sister and the necessity of another male lead, I took the role of Joseph. Singing and acting felt foreign to me and the process involved learning lines and a song on the piano that I had to sing as I played. Due to COVID, the musical never got to happen. Something inside me awakened though, and I wanted to make sure that the production wouldn't be my last. After school resumed, I tried out for my high school production and received a role. With the pressures of being in a random production and acting I rejected the role thinking I'd move on and forget it ever happened. Yet I yearned to be on stage. My mistake of not accepting the role taught me words that I live my life by today; Fear regret more than failure. Fearing the regret of never being in another production, I auditioned for my school’s musical that same year. I received a role and accepted it, debuting on stage and appearing in future productions. After that year, I decided to fear regret more than failure and major in musical theatre. Theatre was something I knew I enjoyed and yet was scared to embrace. The regret I felt after listening to those fears taught me that the things we desire are worth pursuing. This lesson followed not only into performances but into my academic career and my social life. Theatre allows us to express ourselves which is something the world often suppresses. By getting out of my comfort zone and exploring what I wanted to, I’m now able to go into the world with the same vigor. Theatre has given me confidence, work ethic, and passion I repressed without knowing. Theatre has changed my life as through choosing to love theatre, I inadvertently chose to love myself.

Coming from a devoutly Seventh-Day Adventist Haitian family, my father being a pastor doesn’t mean the same thing it normally would. Rather than maybe every Sunday in its entirety spent at church for a regular pastor’s kid, from a very young age I was in church Saturdays, Fridays, Sundays, and Wednesdays. And rather than a regular church where members congregate to listen to the word of God, my father's religious philosophy was centered around praise and worship. So, with a live band, every Saturday would consist of at least two hours of music followed by a sermon from my father. The choir’s beautiful vocals accompanied by the bass, piano, and drums of the church musicians ran through my mind all week until I could go back. I was infatuated with music. The rhythms of the drums and the harmonies of the piano were euphoric, to the point that I’d take my father’s tape recorder and try to make my own music. I begged my parents for piano lessons at every opportunity, wanting to recreate the joyful melodies I heard every week, but couldn’t ever get them. Wanting to be like my father, I grew an aptitude for performing as well. My father can’t sing for the life of him, but as pastor, his preaching inspired congregations weekly. Modeling myself after him, I began to preach too. Sitting in the front pew every Saturday my dad’s way of speaking became my new obsession. Practicing in my room, I would try to copy his intonations, pauses, and his demeanor on stage. This progressed to nights practicing preaching to my mom and dad before they went to sleep. Eventually, besides my regular sermons for the other kids my father would let me preach to the whole church once a month during a special children's service. By age 9 I loved being on stage and talking to audiences. Despite this background revolving around music and performing, I never thought I could make a career out of it. The goal of my Haitian parents was simply to come to America and make enough money to live safely. Things like passions or hobbies all took a backseat to that goal. So, when these parents were raising me they told me I had three options, lawyer, doctor, or engineer. Meaning, albeit out of love, I was taught to ignore my passions and dreams. With never seeing anybody who looked like me in plays or musicals and growing up in a predominantly white area, no one ever taught me the opposite. This is what I plan to achieve with my education, to display this “opposite”. Of course, it’s true that I love theatre and wish to study musical theatre in order to make a career out of a passion of mine. Yet I yearn to make a change in the world around me and with my passions and my talents I will show kids like me that they can chase their dreams. By entering the space of musical theatre I can tell the stories of my Haitian heritage, creating a role model for children in similar situations regardless of their heritage. I have always loved music, but I haven’t always known I could love music. Through my career, I’ll teach the generations to come that it’s okay to pursue their passions.

From a very young age, I was infatuated with music. This was mainly due to the fact that every Saturday at church would be at least two hours of music followed by a sermon from my father, the pastor. The choir’s beautiful vocals accompanied by the bass, piano, and drums of the church musicians ran through my mind all week until I could go back. The rhythms of the drums and the harmonies of the piano were euphoric, to the point that I’d take my father’s tape recorder and try to make my own music. I begged my parents for piano lessons at every opportunity, wishing to recreate those joyful melodies I heard every week. Wanting to be like my father, I grew an aptitude for performing. My father can’t sing for the life of him, but as a pastor, his preaching inspired congregations. Modeling myself after him, I preached too. Practicing in my room, I would copy his intonations, pauses, and demeanor on stage. This progressed to nights practicing preaching to my family in our kitchen. By age 9 I loved being on stage and talking to people. As I grew older it all felt forced. My father and mother divorced and we went to church less and less. Eventually, I didn’t want to go to piano lessons or choir practice anymore. The ambient sounds throughout my home of me playing piano dwindled and singing went from on stages to in the shower. This continued for 5 years until the holiday season of 2021. My sister’s youth church, taking place every Saturday over video calls, got me back into preaching. Months later, she decided to do a Christmas musical. With pressure from my sister and the necessity of another male lead, I took the role of Joseph. Singing and acting felt foreign to me and the process involved learning lines and a song on the piano that I had to sing as I played. Due to COVID, the musical never got to happen. Something inside me awakened though, and I wanted to make sure that the production wouldn't be my last. After school resumed, I tried out for my high school production and received a role. With the pressures of being in a random production and acting I rejected the role thinking I'd move on and forget it ever happened. Yet I yearned to be on stage. My mistake of not accepting the role taught me words that I live my life by today; Fear regret more than failure. Fearing the regret of never being in another production, I auditioned for my school’s musical that same year. I received a role and accepted it, debuting on stage and appearing in future productions. After that year, I decided to fear regret more than failure and major in musical theatre. Theatre was something I knew I enjoyed and yet was scared to embrace. The regret I felt after listening to those fears taught me that the things we desire are worth pursuing. This lesson followed not only into performances but into my academic career and my social life. Theatre allows us to express ourselves which is something the world often suppresses. By getting out of my comfort zone and exploring what I wanted to, I’m now able to go into the world with the same vigor. Theatre has given me confidence, work ethic, and passion I repressed without knowing. Theatre has changed my life as through choosing to love theatre, I inadvertently chose to love myself.

A year ago, during my junior year of high school, I’d be able to say my life was on track. Along with being president of my local Architecture Club and planning to major in civil engineering, I had already been in talks with pretty prestigious universities. That life was everything my parents had ever wanted and so they of course were so proud of me. One day, however, as I sat in my club room making a 3-D Model of a building and I thought to myself, “THIS IS ALL SO BORING”. I had come to the realization that everything I had been doing was everything my parents had ever wanted me to do and nothing I had wanted to do. My attempts to ignore this revelation only made me feel worse. So, on a whim, I auditioned for my school’s musical. I was cast in a lead role and was blown away by the experience of musical theatre. I was so immersed in the production that the crisis I was facing slipped my mind. After the production, however, I was reminded that I hated the life I had built for myself and I hated myself for building it. My unhappiness with my path made me feel like life was pointless, driving me into a deep depression. At my very lowest, a voice in the back of my head asked “How dare you? How dare you say that there is no point in living when you haven’t even tried to change your life?” So I decided to try to live a life I would enjoy, regardless of the consequences because doing otherwise was making me miserable. From that moment half a year ago, I’ve been trying to be happy. I picked up a phrase, a new mantra, that I choose to live my life by; Fear regret more than failure. In doing that I’ve decided to major in musical theatre and take every opportunity to be consumed in the world of music regardless of outside pressure to do otherwise. From making songs with my brother, joining chorus, getting the lead in the school musical this year, singing the national anthem at school events, teaching workshops about musical theatre to children, offering a singing telegram service for Valentine’s day at my school, to getting a vocal coach, I’ve been taking every opportunity to express my passion. Music was something I knew I enjoyed and yet was scared to embrace. The regret I felt when I listened to those fears taught me that the things we desire are worth pursuing. This lesson followed not only into music and performing but into my academic career and my social life. Music allows me to express myself truly which is something the world often suppresses. By being able to get out of my comfort zone and explore what I wanted to, I’m now able to go out into the world with the same vigor. Delving into my passion for music has given me confidence, a work ethic, and a passion I was repressing without knowing. It has changed my life as through choosing to love music and everything that came with it, I inadvertently chose to love myself. Music isn’t just a part of my life, it’s the start of a new one.

It all frustrates me so much. The tears people are crying from issues we can fix. My talents must make the change.

I feel like you should know I hate you Anytime I'm tying a tie Anytime I'm driving a car Every hour the minutes pass by I hate you I don't know how to shave Although I'm not a coward You never taught me to be brave I hate you You never taught me how to iron a shirt And all I can do to cope with this hurt Is utter I hate you

As a child whose father is a pastor, I’d be at church every week whether I liked it or not. I loved it, however. The choir’s beautiful vocals accompanied by the bass, piano, and drums of the church musicians ran through my mind all week until I could go back. I was addicted to the rhythms and harmonies of the piano, to the point that I’d steal my father’s tape recorder and try to make my own music chasing the same euphoria. I begged my parents for piano lessons at every opportunity, wanting to recreate the joyful melodies I heard every week. And when I got the lessons, I begged my teacher to teach me songs beyond the basics. 10 years later, playing the piano has become what feels like an outlet for my expression. When my mother’s birthday arrived, I was scared. I’d be described by most as a monotone person. I’m not a big fan of hugs and kisses and I don’t have money to buy her flowers and expensive perfume. I didn’t know how to express my gratitude in a comfortable way. The night before, the piano called out to me. A melody was playing in my mind and I was desperate to hear it played. I sat down in front of the piano and ended up writing a song for my mother to the melody. And when my grandma died, my family took a road trip down to Florida for her funeral. After my speech at the service, I saw the empty piano next to her casket and couldn’t help myself. I sat down in front of the piano next to my grandma in the eyes of all the grieving people in that church and tears ran down my face. I didn’t know what I was going to play but music came out nonetheless. I sang her a song to say goodbye the best I knew how. As my fingers ran across the keys I heard my aunt break out into tears next to me. Her screams for her dead mother echoed through the church but I kept playing. My tears fell on the piano as I was singing but I kept playing. When I sat back down next to my mother, I felt peace despite the streams of sorrow running down my face. The piano brings me peace, through grief, confusion, or boredom. When I play, I feel like myself. It’s not only the most artistic thing about me but the most expressive part about me as well, making it the perfect hobby for me.

Being born in Florida, I had to move 12 times before I found anything I could call a community. Having been ripped away from anywhere I lived as a child I was at first hesitant to even make friends at the new apartment we moved into and so, I didn't. But one fateful day I was talking back home from the bus stop and another kid in my grade, Josh, asked to play outside. He showed me, love, even though I hadn't spoken a word to him at all. 7 years later, I give that same love back to my community. Hightstown, New Jersey may not sound like a place in danger, yet, I see it everywhere. I'm concerned for the increased elderly population who have been scared to go outside and tend to their lawns during the pandemic, I'm concerned for students in the community who can't pay attention in school because they have to watch their younger siblings, for those who relied on school lunches for food yet find themselves stuck at home. I see danger everywhere. I see neighbors who don't smile as much anymore, I see businesses closing down on main street, and I see students suffering from depression and anxiety after being stuck in their homes. So for the elderly who can't leave their homes, I spend Thursdays mowing their lawns. For the neighbors who feel isolated, I leave notes and gifts to remind them I care. For those who can't get school lunches, I spend time distributing canned and bagged goods with Beersheba Adventist Church. For the students depressed and lonely in the midst of a pandemic, I offer an ear and a (virtual) shoulder to lean on. I've spread smiles, my legacy itself is smiles. This is what I leave my community. A bond it didn't have before. Once I'm gone the smiles, the joy, will still be here. On the street corner, with the neighbor I planted petunias for the joy will reside. Across the street, the neighbor whose lawn I mowed throughout the pandemic will carry kindness rather than resentment. Next door the neighbor whose dog I walk daily will remember me with a smile rather than a frown, The connections I've made with my community won't be forgotten, and therefore the kindness, the hardships that we survived won't be forgotten either. We were there for each other through isolation, depression, and hunger. Hightstown, New Jersey is here to stay because we stood together when we needed each other.

“In a time of destruction, create something.”― Maxine Hong Kingston. In a life of what has seemed like destruction after destruction, crisis after crisis, and never-ending stress, I’ve found solace in creation. When my mom and dad would scream at each other for what felt like hours on end, I found solace in making bacon egg, and cheese bagels. When my new passion(football) had been cut short with a heart disease diagnosis, I graduated on to mac and cheese. I spent Saturdays at church downstairs in the kitchen cooking with the Grandmas because I didn’t fit in with the other kids. Today, stress ceases, perhaps it will cease forever, yet I will cope. When I turn on the fire under my cast iron skillet polished with grapeseed oil there are no AP exams to worry about. When I sharpen my cleaver and take out my stained white plastic cutting board the idea of having to pay for college doesn’t plague me. When I’m in the kitchen, my mind is filled with the sizzling of bell peppers and mushrooms rather than the thoughts and stresses of the generations above me. I want to create for the rest of my life and share my joy with others. My goal is to get my own restaurant where people don't have to worry either.

Being born in Florida, I had to move 12 times before I found anything I could call a community. Having been ripped away from anywhere I lived as a child I was at first hesitant to even make friends at the new apartment we moved into and so, I didn't. But one fateful day I was talking back home from the bus stop and another kid in my grade, Josh, asked to play outside. He showed me, love, even though I hadn't spoken a word to him at all. 7 years later, I give that same love back to my community. Hightstown, New Jersey may not sound like a place in danger, yet, I see it everywhere. I'm concerned for the increased elderly population who have been scared to go outside and tend to their lawns during the pandemic, I'm concerned for students in the community who can't pay attention in school because they have to watch their younger siblings, for those who relied on school lunches for food yet find themselves stuck at home. I see danger everywhere. I see neighbors who don't smile as much anymore, I see businesses closing down on main street, and I see students suffering from depression and anxiety after being stuck in their homes. So for the elderly who can't leave their homes, I spend Thursdays mowing their lawns. For the neighbors who feel isolated, I leave notes and gifts to remind them I care. For those who can't get school lunches, I spend time distributing canned and bagged goods with the charity RISE. For the students depressed and lonely in the midst of a pandemic, I offer an ear and a (virtual) shoulder to lean on. I've spread smiles, my legacy itself is smiles. This is what I leave my community. A bond it didn't have before. Once I'm gone the smiles, the joy, will still be here. On the street corner, with the neighbor I planted petunias for the joy will reside. Across the street, the neighbor whose lawn I mowed throughout the pandemic will carry kindness rather than resentment. Next door the neighbor whose dog I walk daily will remember me with a smile rather than a frown, The connections I've made with my community won't be forgotten, and therefore the kindness, the hardships that we survived won't be forgotten either. We were there for each other through isolation, depression, and hunger. Hightstown, New Jersey is here to stay because we stood together when we needed each other.

Iron Man is a film about trauma and guilt. It revolves around a genius inventor named Tony Stark. At first Tony is an arrogant millionaire military contractor. When he's attacked in the very place he sells his weapons, for the first time in his life, he's in danger. Things change. because in the battle he looks up and sees his own name on the things attacking him. He realizes that his entire life's work, his legacy has only brought people the trauma he now feels. and he couldn't live with that. Operating under the persona Iron Man, Tony put his weapons expertise into making a metal suit that gives him the ability to stop injustice in the world. When Tony puts on his suit, he's not doing it for the thrill, he’s not doing it for the prestige or the girls. He's doing it because he's angry, because he has to do something to set things right, because he has to make up for what he's done. When he puts on that suit, when he becomes Iron Man it's not about proving to people that he's a hero, it's about proving to himself that he is not the villain. Iron Man is my favorite movie because it's an inspirational story that teaches me that the weight of our mistakes is never heavier than the determination under our feet.

“Hold up, that shit’s heat!” My brother confessed through a laugh across the room. When he walked into his bedroom, the last thing he expected to see was his little brother on his MacBook with GarageBand open. Yet there I was, playing the beat I had found on YouTube writing down lyrics for the song I wanted to record. My brother rolled another chair next to mine and we rapped. We showed our song to friends and family and they always ask the same question, “Why don’t you release this?”. The answer was best explained by philosopher Bill Beteet when he said, “Produce content with the ones you love because soon they’ll be gone and all you’ll be left with is memories.”