When my cousin died a few years ago, I was in the room when he heartbeat went flat. I saw the pain of my grieving family members and the way doctors were able to help as much as they could, while I just stayed seated, silently, with no emotions or tears. Later that night, I cried myself to sleep with the burden of not being able to help and be a light for my family when they needed one most. When my mother went in for a partial hysterectomy, her surgery was a success. However, her after care by white nurses and doctors led her wounds to be opened back up and caused her immense amounts of pain. On that recovery bed, that was the third time in all of my life that I had seen my mother break down into tears. But that's not the end to these stories. When the hospital tried to bill my mother for parking while she was still in tears from my cousin's death, I took care of the registration that had to be done to ensure she wasn't billed when she wasn't fully coherent. When my mother told me about her experience, I was able to guide her through what happened and help her file a complaint. When my cousin passed on, the doctors were prepared to help with the grieving process by calling in the right people. My mother's pain was finally recognized when a nurse of color took her complaints seriously, and helped her recover from the damages that were placed on her. In both of these cases, I was taught something vital to me; I am a person of color, a person of many capabilities, and in the medical field, I could serve so many other people like me. With my medical career, I don't want my work to stop at providing safe healthcare in the system I'm in, I want to fully advocate for equitable healthcare across the U.S. and the world. I want to be that face in and out of the medical field that people (especially people of color) trust and know is in their corner, and is ready to help fight the battle against unfair healthcare systems and issues. I aspire to be a person who can help all types of people of color, and I'm already working towards that. I have started learning basic level Spanish, so that I can communicate with non-English speaking patients. I have joined a program at my college where we spend a semester exploring indigenous and non-native struggles across the world. I want to have enough knowledge to protect and advocate for people of all colors. When my mother finally got comfortable with the nurse of color who helped her, she was able to calm down, and trust the rest of the care she got after her surgery. Without racial diversity, my mother and several other people of color alike wouldn't be able to feel safe in medical environments. Feeling unsafe or ignored in settings like these lead to less confidence in the healthcare system, and therefore, the habit of avoiding it entirely. Not only is the image important for trust reasons, but also for aspiration. In a world where people of color are so often told that they can't be in places of power, seeing racially diverse settings in important settings such as healthcare is an image that will lift up and encourage members of different communities.

When I was a little kid, I used to have bad dreams, which caused me to not be able to sleep. Since I went to church as a kid, I thought that I could find relief in the church, but I didn’t. I only was able to sleep peacefully when I created my own relationship with god. This song is about that journey and all the emotions that came with it, being hurt, feeling neglected, and finding relief among them.

As I scroll down the list of endless sounds, pianos, toys and drumming beats, I look for the sounds that call to me. Sounds that make my heart sing, and my songwriting gears start turning. In my head, I can see the chosen sound as the base of a new drawing, representing yet another small piece of my mind and life. The beats I create, paired with my own melodies and lyrics, make the fruit of my struggles, determination and inspiration, known to the outside world. To be an artist means to have a creative channel when life gets hard, or when life gets good. The art of ones own soul, the only drug that you can indulge in without limits, simply makes life easier. When life is easier, you get this feeling that is so incredible, you want to share with those who haven’t experienced it yet, and so, you share it. You use the channels that make your life easier, to make other’s life easier as well. In other terms, to be an artist is to be like a flower, planting deep roots that inspire others to grow, and pollinating the earth with a new reason to continue, to keep going. When I have a beat that creates a lively home for unspoken melodies and organized poetry, what proceeds is the recording process. When your imagination and creative ideas come to life, it’s unlike any feeling known to man. We try to use words like overjoyed, inspired, and content, but they do the emotions no justice. Over and over again, you rephrase and re-record each line until it sits exactly the way you want it in a bar, but the feeling doesn’t fade, but grows with each perfected line. When I write music, my mind finds the melodies, and then words somehow fill them in. While it seems like a random and distant practice, it couldn’t be more intimate. The words and phrases that find their way into a melody are words so close to the Heart, that your active mind couldn’t find them. They’re the most true, honest feelings you possess, and when you write without limits, these are the ones that find themselves on paper. They are, simply put, who you are, and how you feel. When I find myself in a tough situation, especially one with conflicting or heavy emotions involved, I write into predestined melodies to find out what emotions are the strongest. The music I write drives me to discover more of myself than I had before. After I write a song, I don’t immediately remember the lyrics, since they are not familiar with me. Like any other song, I must continue to listen until the words and emotions are stuck in my head. When I memorize them, they become more of myself, as I am allowed to reason in my head swirling with emotions who and why I am the way I am. When the recording is done, it’s the only thing you can listen to. Though it’s your creation, it takes a while to grow on you, and those who listen. One thing about the arts, is that regardless of how the present plays out, they will remain in the future. When people in future generations find my music, I want them to know not only who I am as a person, but what it means to have music as an outlet. As they explore the many genres of my music, I want them to understand the power of art through my displayed emotions.

I can’t stop moving. As I sat at my fifth grade graduation, my hands and feet continued to shift back and forth in swift motions. I didn’t know why, or what, but I knew that if I stopped moving it would happen. Paroxysmal Kinesigenic Dyskinesia. Caused by a mutation in your DNA, this lifelong condition gives a person seizure-like episodes that are triggered by movement. I’ve had it since birth, of course, but there was a problem. It wasn’t diagnosed until four years ago. As a child, I knew something was wrong, but didn’t know how to explain it, or how to show it to anyone. Instead, I developed coping strategies to make sure no one knew it was happening at all. As I made sure that I was the last person to stand up and leave the classroom, I found myself always alone, always too busy hiding ‘that thing’ to talk to anyone. My peers as examples, I quickly realized that with trouble came attention, and made sure I was always doing what I should. With less interaction with my peers, I forgot how to communicate with people, and especially, how to ask for help when I needed it. I knew that I loved music, something about singing and playing instruments calmed me. But, with a fear of stages and performing, I lost the serenity that kept me sane. Putting together that it happened whenever I moved, I adopted a constant twitching of the feet and hands that only got worse when I was nervous. Up to my eighth grade year, this was my normal. Regardless of anything, I knew I had to keep moving. Exiting my mother’s car, I felt the sensation of losing control, the beginning to a long treatment process. After bringing it to my doctor’s attention, I had spent several days in the hospital , until they could find the diagnosis. I remember calling it PKD, because I didn’t know how to pronounce it. With my doctors speedy action, I became the only patient in the Yale neurology center to have a full diagnosis, a treatment that would solve all side effects without causing any extra, on a medicine that had a low dosage. A few days after, I attended my eighth grade graduation without a single episode. Still, out of habit, I continued to twitch the whole ceremony. I had finally realized that I was always moving. Going into highschool, I finally noticed all the coping strategies I had developed, and how alone and withdrawn I was. However, going into a new setting, I also was able to see how much opportunity I had in changing that. From then on, I worked hard to reintroduce myself to life. The first step was making the internal decision to bring myself back to music when I enrolled into my school’s choir class. Looking back as a senior still involved in choir, I don’t know how I could suppress the natural love for music that always ran through me. After a test I didn’t do so well on, I found myself willingly attending office hours, a sign that I was learning how to ask for help. I learned how to raise my hand, and handle the pressure that came with having a little attention on myself. And finally, I could leave the classroom with my friends instead of hiding behind the crowd. I was learning to slow down. As a senior, I have a job that teaches me how to interact with people, a group of friends that I can talk to anytime, and an instagram account fully dedicated to letting others hear my musical gifts. I realize that it’s ok to take a moment, and create a life around me. Finally, I learned how to stop. With a major in biology, I plan to continue on to medical school to become an emergency room doctor. I can confidently say that my experience with my doctors during this diagnosis and treatment was an eye opener for what I wanted in my future career. I can’t wait to see the look on a patients face when heavy weight that’s bothered them for a lifetime is suddenly lifted, all while knowing deep down exactly the feeling they were experiencing. Now I can assure myself that even when I get to college and beyond, I will continue to move, but understand how to stop.

From a young age, I’ve always been watched. Whether it’s singing on a stage, playing a sport, or simply listening to me shout words of self written poetry, I have a history of eyes commonly being on me. I didn’t mind. If people find a blessing or reassurance in my presence, let them stare. There was just a slight problem with that. From a young age, I’ve always been obese. When I was age 8 and younger, I wasn’t socially aware enough to care that my belly hung out from under my shirt, that my face held a deeper level of fat, or that my fingers were the same size as my older brothers. But when I started middle school, I developed a crushing insecurity that made the eyes constantly on me feel like sniper lasers ready to fire off judgement at any moment. As I took myself out of view from the world, I lay at night crying for the people who may have been healed by my presence. When I enrolled in High school, I took a chance with a class, choir. If I’ve never been grateful for anything else in my life, it was the decision to enroll in choir. In that class, I found a community that didn’t judge me for my appearance, but valued me for my talent and presence. When we held free concerts for the community, I was again welcomed by the cheers of the audience and the eyes that were awestruck with my performance. It was such a feeling, that I found myself even more in the spotlight by getting back into my favorite activities, like cheerleading and poem writing. Nothing in my journey of self love compared to the rejuvenated feeling of again being able to help and heal others, all with my presence alone. It was in this period of my life that I found my love for helping people. Combining this feeling with my love for biology helped me realize my future as a doctor. When I became a junior, I realized the amount of influence I had on younger grades looking to find their own presence. I begin to train sophomores and freshmen in the arts, and giving them their own stages by setting up events for them to shine. I’ve grown to understand that I love sharing my existence just as much as I love seeing others explore their own. Often, I use the events created to show others’ talents to display to those who may have insecurities with their appearances that no fact about oneself has to stop the love ones favorite things, no matter where that may be, and how they may appear in life.

I can remember this time period in my life as clear as day. Around the age of eight, I not only went to church regularly, but was also the lead singer in our choir(a start that would lead to a lifetime of love for anything music). As many Christians will know, it’s not simply the action of going to church that gives you a serene trust in god, but the individual relationship you build with god through church. At eight, I lacked a connection to god, similar to having a diet plan, but not sticking to it. Every night, nightmare after nightmare would wreck havoc on my sleeping schedule. After waking up in the middle of the night, I was too scared to continue sleeping and was left awake till morning. The worst part, is that I was alone. I didn’t have a relationship with my pastor, and I didn’t think my mom would believe me, so I continued to suffer in silence. That was until god made it known to me that I was ignoring him all the same. The nightmares started turning into dreams about not being good enough, not pure enough to sit with god. They made me feel unholy to the upmost extent, a feeling I will always remember. I got the hint that god was upset with me, and decided it was time to have a chat. At the age of eight, I began to pray to god to ask for forgiveness and give him praise, and as though they never existed, the nightmares came to a complete stop. This was the start of a new life for me, one where I knew Jesus, and found sleep almost instantly, not waking up till morning. To this day, god is always the last conversation I have before I sleep. I’ve gotten through so many rough patches since then, but they were bearable because god was with me. The best part is, I was never alone after that. God was always there to listen to my problems, and help me through them. In the beginning, it was hard to fully trust him. I trusted him with my last thoughts of the day, but never anything else. I wasn’t used to sharing myself with anyone, so I can imagine that when I started talking with god, I was a very closed off person. But over time, as I got more comfortable explaining my pain to him, I found that there was no better remedies to my problems. Needless to say, I’ve never been close to a perfect person. The flaws I could see in myself made me feel as though I wasn’t worthy of talking to god, and of having such a strong relationship with him. But this thought was always put to rest when I felt my mind wander back to the state of those nightmares, and I forced myself to love myself through god, so that I could never be without him. I’ve come a long way. Every night, I tell god about whatever I feel, with no feelings held back, and then proceed to praise for being who he is, regardless of the way my day turned out. Looking back, I can thank the church for introducing me to god and fostering an environment where I could learn on my own who he is. I’ve never been in a better state in my life than now, when I fully trust his guide and vision, and that’s all thanks to where it started, an eight year old kid learning to pray.

At the first read of the prompt, so many things come to mind. The first thing you have to consider is what in society is sponsored by monetary needs. The answer: Everything The next thing to consider is if the money portion were taken away, what would be available? The answer: Also everything. The possibilities are endless! And so, for this print, I have to focus on my passions, since those are without doubt the things I would pursue if I could do anything I wanted. One of the most prevalent thoughts and answers to this question would be to become a musician. When I think about what I like to do, this makes a lot of sense. I love singing, songwriting, playing instruments, and beat making. I also love fast paced environments, traveling, and the smile on peoples faces when they are happy, and enjoying themselves. It’s not hard to imagine moving from tour to tour, seeing people genuinely happy about seeing an artist they like without worrying if they will be able to afford next months rent, sharing my passions and emotions with them, and exploring the world. While I have already mentioned this, I feel it’s a topic that needs expansion. If money wasn’t an issue, the happiness that others get from seeing me perform would be a large part of my own content in life. In today’s world, everyday life is a struggle due to monetary needs. You can’t do what you want, but are forced to do what you need. Today’s artist have to limit seats, up ticket prices, and visit only the most popular places to make a profit, making it that much harder for everyday people to see artists they like. If the world didn’t run on money, I could be an artist who performs where I want to, however many times I want, and always find the most honest, happy faces in the crowd. That would(quite literally) be a dream come true. Now, this is only one way to interpret the question. You could assume the world stopped running on money, hence why you yourself has no financial needs, or you could interpret this as only you having enough money to do anything you want. To address the send interpretation, my job wouldn’t change. I would still want to be an artist who lives to create smiles on other people. However, I would structure this job differently. While I would still use artist tactics such as high ticket prices, I would create a banking plan that steadily over time continues to pour into communities that need the most help. While it’s unrealistic to think that if I had all the money I needed to survive I wouldn’t use common moves made by any artists in the industry today, where that money goes would be placed in a different direction, so that maybe those who are forced to do what they need can be able to stabilize themselves while enjoying fun activities like being at one of my concerts. In the end, how I was able to get rid of or never have my money problems plays only a small role on what I would be doing. I would still be spending my time as an artist trying to see the happiness of an easier life in my followers, no matter where they come from, or who they are.

I remember watching my dad play the piano in the main hall of our house. I was never allowed to touch it, but it always fascinated me. When he left, I saw his backside as he left with no regrets, and a now-empty seat at the piano as if the ripped cushions of the chair were luring me to it. This was my first encounter. I had played random notes on the piano every day since then, not playing songs but just enjoying the sound. I Never knew whether I loved to play, or just enjoyed the possibilities of a restricted area. This continued until it was time to move, away from New Haven, and from the piano. As soon as we moved to Waterbury, my mind was occupied with all the experiences that came with moving. Meeting new people, starting at a new school, and setting the dinner table with one less stained glass plate than usual. As a kid, I couldn’t comprehend this change, and found myself listening to the sound that the spoon made as it tapped the plate, instead of mourning his absence. Looking back, it wasn’t until middle school that I would realize how much this had shattered my own glass. Not only was it at home, but it was everywhere. My eyes stayed trained on the guitarists’ fingers as he plucked rhythms during church, like I was studying how his aura lit up when he played. I realized that it wasn’t the piano, but the sound, the rhythm, and the goose-bump rising feeling of listening to every unique creation. I never had to mourn my father’s leaving, because his very essence in my child-like mind was in the music and teachings he left behind. Walking around downtown New Haven with my mother, everyone displayed shock at how much I had grown to look like my father, but nothing made them gasp harder than finding out my parents had. Instead of seeing music when I thought of my father, I saw an absent parent, a presence that left a gaping hole in my confidence and sense of self. This deep emptiness that I felt when hearing about my father was transferred to my love for music, and suddenly, the music that had resounded in me from my childhood turned into a frequency I couldn’t recognize. The shattering image of my father was too ingrained in the sound of music for it to be my cure, so it became my poison. Without my love for music, I was not only alone, but silent. But as music had saved me from worlds of hurt as a child, it protected me from the feeling that I wasn’t enough. Instead of using music to express how I felt, I turned to writing. As I poured my heart into the stories and poems filled with my own emotions, they slowly slipped their way into my voice. Carried on a delicate sound, the passionate words of my emotions became a sound of my own, just as goose-bump rising as the sound I depended on as a child. Finally, I realized that music wasn’t the problem, it was the idea and source that the music had come from. Separating the image of my father’s absence from my idea of music, and replacing it with the image of me being complete, I understood that I would forever have music by my side to help myself and through me, others. I know I can trust the melodies and tones of music to remind me of my strength, and the endless possibilities that I hold.