Disability representation matters. Around a year ago, I read the Young Adult science fiction novel "Renegades." Opening the cover and immersing myself in the story, I expected to follow a mindless, fun adventure, but what I read instead inspired me to overcome any obstacles I wanted. One superhero, Oscar Silva (alias Smokescreen), creates smoke into the air to sneak up on his enemies. This is not the only trait that makes him unique. Oscar was born with a bone disease, and as a result, he has to support his balance on a cane to walk. While he may be limited physically, he was not limited in his ability to save his community. Oscar may be a fictional character, but he represents me. I was born with a disability due to a perinatal stroke. Ever since I have lived with weakness on the left side of my body. Oscar reminds me every day that even people with physical limitations can play a crucial part in society. No matter the situation, anyone can be capable of bringing their unique functions to change the world around them.

The Disability Act of 1990 did not save me from discrimination in the workplace. I am a perinatal stroke survivor. As a result of a stroke in the womb, my entire left side of the body contains weakness. I typically struggle with simple mobility tasks, such as tying my shoes and walking at a rapid pace. Despite my limits, I decided to apply for jobs that would accommodate my needs. Weeks flew by until I received a response from a local restaurant. When a manager told me that the company would provide necessary accommodations, a sigh of relief left my mouth. I had several deprecating experiences with school accommodations and was ready for a change. Walking into the first day on the job, I knew that it was too good to be true. A different manager confronted me, and I will never forget those words: "Are you sure you can do this?" Immediately, she started listing all of the tasks I could not complete rather than the ones I could. When I asked her if I could have accommodations, she denied my request. After telling me that accepting the position was my choice, I did not fall into the trap. I was manipulated to decline an opportunity that was never mine. I faced illegal discrimination. Months later, I still suffered from the pain. I felt like an iguana in a room full of chameleons. We may classify under the same genus, but I could never blend in. I now have a job as a barista at my local coffee shop. My bosses accommodate my every need, and I could not be more thankful. After the rejection, I learned that others see my heart and work ethic, not my disability. I learned to be proud of being an iguana.

I relate to the cartoon fish, Nemo. We were not even born yet when a tragedy caused our disabilities to occur. We struggle with our mobility, and the struggle led us astray from our content hearts and grateful mindsets. When I was a fetus in the womb, I had a stroke. As a result, the disability hemiplegia pervaded through the left side of my body. The doctors said that I would not be able to talk. Thousands of words flow out of my mouth. The doctors said that I would not be able to walk. Both of my legs supported my first steps shortly after my second birthday. Even after my miracles, weakness remains on my left side. Weakness reflects in employers' eyes as they see my stiff, limp hand. Weakness echoes through peers' words as they comment on my hobbling foot. Weakness invades the thoughts in my head as I reflect on reality. Throughout my life, I have tried to convince myself that God gave me the strength to have my disability for a reason. Recently, I discovered that my strengths came out of my weaknesses. Sympathy and determination now mirror my actions when I communicate with others. My disability gave me the ability to look deep inside people's emotions to see how they feel about themselves and their hardships. My left side allows me to perceive the right side of situations and help those in need of assistance physically or emotionally. Mobility is not the only quality to succeed in gaining relationships and trust. My main goal is to become a teacher. One day, I strive to stand in front of a classroom full of children on different paths of life. Not only would I guide students through their learning, but I would also guide them through their arduous complications, celebratory accomplishments, and small victories that mean the world to them. Through the Ace Spencer Rubin Scholarship, I can start preparing for my dream in a more affordable way. The scholarship will assist me in monetary value, but it will also encourage my affirmative values. By finding an opportunity that showcases my disability, my confidence ascends to the peak of my burdens because I know that my weakness does not define who I am. When the bell rings at the end of a school day, I will exit the comfort of my classroom and step over the threshold into the wide, mobile world. Even in my toughest moments, I will keep limping on. I relate to the cartoon fish, Nemo. We stood lost in the vast unknown but were found in the motivation to return home. From now on, we view our disabilities as a key to our internal qualities, not our external burdens.