My ability to tell stories is what sets me apart. Ever since my mom got me my first journal in fourth grade, I’ve documented my entire life, whether it’s through writing or pictures. My friends have all gotten used to me randomly whipping out a camera, and I love looking back and writing about the way they interacted. Human connection has always fascinated me, and I love writing about it. Writing has always come easy to me, and I value the written word because of the lives I can live through it. I can create and experience entire universes while just laying on my bed or sitting at school, and I think that’s beautiful. My inspiration for my writing always comes from the media I consume. I read stories and poems constantly and watch movies that inspire me. I listen to the people around me and the things they say. I surround myself with the type of art that I want to create, and in this way, I gain inspiration. All of my work is influenced by the media I consume. When I write, the words flow out of my fingers. Also, I grew up in a bilingual immigrant household and am an immigrant myself. My parents always believed in the power of writing, and they instilled this into me as soon as I was able to string together letters. When I write, I write with the words of the three countries that raised me. I’ve seen the way writers from different places craft their stories, and I use such techniques in my own. I hear their voices in my head when I’m writing, and I see their legacies in subtle places in my writing. I believe writing to be one of the most crucial skills in our world. Every profession, every person, and every aspect of life requires the ability to write and to write well. I help people put their emotions and thoughts that they can’t fully express into words. I help teach younger people to write, and I help others edit their writing. In this way, I give back to my community now. I plan to continue doing this in the future and hopefully help more and more people the older and more experienced I get. But, even if I only truly ever help one person with my words, only reach one soul, only change one life, that would be more than enough. That is all I could hope to ask for.

Ever since I was a little girl, my mom would always talk to me about the presence of love in our universe. She would softly sing Russian lullabies about dancing bears and read me stories about old witches in forests. And every night, before she would tuck me in, she would always whisper into my ear and say, “no love is ever lost”. That saying stuck with me long after she stopped tucking me in goodnight, but I never fully grasped it until recently. My grandparents were lovers of all things beautiful. My grandpa obsessively collected books, filling any available space with as many words as he could until he was surrounded by piles of books that reached the stars. He was a lover of the written word, of the stories that could be told and the lives he could live through them. My grandma collected delicate jewelry and objects from her various travels around the world. She particularly loved elephants. She was a lover of all art, but especially art that told stories and spoke to her soul. My brother and I used to visit them every summer, and when we were in their home, it was like being transported into another universe, even though it was merely a trip across the ocean. Windchimes tinkled in front of the open windows, stained glass sent rainbow streaks across the rooms, and hanging plants tickled the tops of our heads as we walked through their little slice of heaven. I cherished their stories as if they were my own and loved their treasures as if I was the one to travel across the globe to collect them. I never knew the last visit was the last until several months later. The stockpiles of books that my grandpa amassed were donated to various local libraries, specifically ones that were underfunded and simply did not own enough books to stay afloat. His love for books transcends death and lives on in other forms and through other people. My grandma’s stunning treasures were dispersed among different relatives. While some may live in cardboard boxes under layers of dust, the ones in my possession don’t. They sit near my windows, refracting light the same way they did on her windowsills. They rest on any surface they can find. They adorn my bookshelf, where the different loves my grandparents nurtured combine into one. Their love for all things beautiful lives on in so many different parts of the world. There was an enormous rainstorm a few nights ago. The sky fed the earth all night long. Thunder shook houses while lightning lit up the insides of them. Rain washed away any stray leaves that the wind had not already taken care of, and storm drains overflowed due to the sheer amount of water falling from the sky. The full moon happened earlier that night before the storm began. Even though it doesn’t shine as brightly as the sun, it lit up the sky all the same, casting an ethereal glow over the snoring inhabitants of my sleepy suburb. The moon hadn’t shone that intensely in a while, and even the carpet of clouds that draped across the midnight sky was not enough to dim its glow. The moon shone through any sliver of space, and one of its rays illuminated a glass elephant that sits right next to my bed. In that moment of peace amidst the chaos of nature, I could feel the love that I had thought was lost when we lose people. In that moment, I finally understood what my mom meant when she had whispered that into my ear so many nights ago. Love may change forms. It may shift from human to human, and pass through countless societies. But in the end, love can never be destroyed. No love is ever lost. Experiencing both of these losses in such a short period of time was hard, but I want to use this to help other people get through any losses they experience. I want to fight to give others a piece of the abundant love present in this world. No matter what I spend the rest of my life doing, I just want to help people love and feel loved. The loss of my grandparents showed me the abundance of love in our universe and how little time we have with the people on this earth. And, above all, they showed me that no love is ever lost. Ever.

I went to see a foot specialist when I was six because my feet were crooked when I walked. There was not anything inherently wrong with a specific part of them, which was why the doctors we went to previously had told me to "walk it off". We were close to giving up and accepting it, but a family friend recommended us to a local specialist. The doctor immediately noticed a tiny difference in my foot structure, which he ultimately decided was the pain source. He was the first one to believe our story and believe my pain. The doctor that I saw did not just help me walk without pain, he helped me dance. He helped me fly. I had not even realized that it was possible to live life without feeling constant pain, and that one doctor's visit changed my whole outlook on life. I had never realized how much that nagging pain had affected me, and I had never realized how freeing it would be to be able to take a walk in the sunlight, or dance through sprinklers with my friends. This doctor had shown me how beautiful it is to help people have better days. After I learned that, I developed a love for medicine and the ways in which medical professionals heal people. I had always known on some baseline level that doctors help people, but after my first real experience with one, I realized how truly special these people were. And I realized, that more than anything else, I wanted to become one of them and I wanted to help other people dance through sprinklers. Because of this experience, I began pursuing medicine. I am in the biomedical pathway in my high school and I regularly volunteer at a pediatric special needs facility. I try to immerse myself in medicine and learn as much as I can about it. Last year (2022), I applied for and received a position at a local hospital as a type of nurse's assistant. I help the nurses with anything they need, whether it be restocking supplies or assisting them in cleaning patients. With every little task, I fall more and more in love with medicine. Even if I do not end up helping thousands of lives or making an impact on countless souls, it would be more than enough for me to just help one person. That is all I could hope to ask for.