I hyped myself up for the next wave of nausea that I was about to endure. "Only one more time" I whispered quietly to myself. When I felt myself retreating from the task, I thought about all the calories I consumed earlier that day. I closed my eyes and shoved my fingers in my mouth, only stopping when I felt my stomach heave. From the outside, I appeared extremely healthy. I was working out everyday, eating vegetables and nutritious foods, and spent my spare time outside, reading, or with my friends. I was passionate about obesity rates in America, and I devoted much of my time reading and researching fitness; however, I fell down the hole of misinformation, and my "research" quickly became obsessive. I developed an eating disorder when I was 14 years old; I started working out more due to sports, and I started to see changes in my body. I became leaner, and people began commenting about my attractiveness as I got skinnier. I became obsessed with working out, and I looked to fitness influencers for information. On every platform I learned that the way to get more toned and have abs was to eat less and exercise more, and I became conscious about what I was eating. My mother was still cooking dinner at this point, so I could not effectively count my calories in the way that I wanted; because of this, I started skipping breakfast and lunch to compensate. At one point, my mother asked me why I was not eating, and I simply lied by stating that I was not hungry; in reality, I was starving. Similar to addiction, my eating disorder consumed my life, and it altered my habits to align with its restrictions. My eating disorder reached its peak when I was in college. Suddenly I had complete freedom over my meals and exercise routine, and my eating disorder utilized this to its benefit. I started eating less than 1,000 calories a day, heavily exercising multiple times a day, and I started to purge; I was burning calories faster than I could eat, and my body started to show signs of this. My hair started to fall out, my nails were weak, my ribs were obscenely visible, and I had completely lost my period. I was never in a good mood, and I was constantly tired. My grades began to slip, but I blamed this on being a first-year student during a global pandemic. My body and mind were deteriorating, and I never saw it as a problem until my friends intervened. An eating disorder never fully goes away; I still see the numbers in food, but now it is not the only thing I see. I started to learn about balancing exercise and food, and I began to see significant changes in my mood as I started to eat again. I realized that my body is supposed to change with age, and I let go of the idea that I had to be a certain size. As I fell in love with food again, I fell in love with living. Being healthy means having balance in all aspects of life, and I am now happily a year into my recovery from my eating disorder. I love to workout because it makes me feel good, not because it will burn a certain amount of calories. I enjoy food based off its taste, not its caloric value. I was unhealthy despite having all the aspects that make a health lifestyle, and I have learned that health looks different for everyone.

Upon first impression, I am a wimp. I runaway when I see a snake, I shake when I am higher than 10 feet off the ground, and I cannot sit through a horror film. Although I unashamedly ruin movie nights because of these fears, I don't think that they make me weak or cowardly. True bravery is revealed when we face the fears that inwardly consume us, and acts of valor occur when we share our stories. Many people fail to recognize the all-consuming nature of having an eating disorder. I have struggled with an eating disorder since I was 14, but it peaked when I got to college. I started purging, overexercising, and eating less than 1,000 calories a day. Every piece of food was reduced to a number, and these numbers were my life. My friends were forced to host an intervention; my ribs were obscenely visible, my hair was falling out, I had lost my period, and I lacked the mental stamina to perform well in school. I was never brave enough to admit that I had a problem; there's a lot of guilt associated with having an eating disorder, and it took awhile to see the external factors encouraging my habits. In my world, I was the problem, and it took a long time to see myself as a survivor instead of a perpetrator. I still see the numbers in food, but now it isn't the only thing I see. An eating disorder never fully disappears, and it takes strength to ignore the thoughts encouraging the disorder. Although I lack the bravery to watch a scary movie, I possess the courage to continue fighting the thoughts that consumed my life, and I work to encourage others to continue to fight as well.

My frustration grew as I heard the sonic yelps coming from my dog. "Wash, PLEASE be quiet!" I screamed over his barks. My head continued to pound, and the barking persisted. My patience continued to be tested as he inched closer to me, ready to snap his tiny but powerful jaws at my ankle. I had simply come into the room to notify my mother that I was leaving, and I was met with a response that was headache inducing from my dog. This was a daily occurrence, and his response never seemed to falter. I left the room angry and tired, preparing myself for the aggressive response to my arrival home. We bought Wash when he was a puppy from a pet store. My family had never bought a dog before because we believe in adopting animals; however, my parents had a few too many alcoholic drinks at dinner, and this resulted in buying Wash from the local pet store next to the restaurant. We did no research on the breed, and we quickly learned that jack russell terriers were smart. He learned all the basic commands, and he was completely our outdoor obstacle courses in record time. Because he is so intelligent, he also gets bored very easily; unfortunately, we all had busy schedules and could not devote all our time to playing with the puppy. He grew restless, and his anxious tendencies began to emerge. He became protective over our mother, and we continued to hope that he would lose these tendencies as he grew older. The anxiety manifested into aggression. He started barking at anyone that neared my mother, and he started to snap at our ankles if we got too close. The aggression overtook everyone, and we all became increasingly frustrated with the dog. My father and brother were more aggressive than my sisters and I, and we started to question whether we should even keep the dog anymore. I looked at Wash and only saw his worst qualities, and I started to resent him for his behavior. All of my worst qualities emerged; I was impatient, mean, and short-tempered. I blamed Wash for his behavior, and I concluded that he was a bad dog. It was evident that I was wrong when my other dog died. Wash was left without a companion, and he quickly fell into a depressive episode. His high energy declined, and he seemed unwilling and unable to fight anymore. He spent his days sleeping, and it was clear that he needed love. I began devoting more time to Wash, and I quickly realized I had neglected to show him the love that he longed for. I began taking him on more walks, playing with him outside, and trying to keep his brain active. His mood slowly started to improve, and he did not seem as anxious as he used to be. The biting and barking stopped, and he was not nearly as grumpy as he used to be. I realized that he was so protective over my mother because she was the one he trusted. As I looked at Wash's behaviors, I noticed that his actions and demeanor mirrored mine. I have always been an impatient person, and I am known to get a bit snappy when I am distressed. I am protective over the ones I love, and I get nervous when others get too close to them. I need to be intellectually stimulated in order to feel grounded, and I have to stay active in order to feel like myself. All of these things were reflected in Wash's personality, and I knew that he could not be faulted for his acts of aggression. Instead of mirror his actions, I began to redirect his energy. He taught me to find solutions, not blame him for the problems. He taught me that living things need love, and oftentimes abnormal behavior is misunderstood. Wash and I now spend our time playing and cuddling. My mother is still his favorite member of the family, but he has opened up to everyone else in the family as we opened up for him. Although there are still times where he tests my patience, there is nothing that would make me give him up.

I gasped as I read the title of a local news article, "Fairfax pet store under police investigation for treatment of animals". My eyes quickly read through the article, absorbing the gruesome details of the local atrocity. I noticed a link to a video attached in the article, and the content made my stomach lurch. Images of dead rabbits in the freezer and injured puppies plagued my view. There were clips of workers stating their acceptance of the illnesses in the animals, revealing that they never take the animals to the vet when problems arise. The store shut down within the week of the video being released, but my shame and guilt remained. I had heard rumors of the local Petland mistreating their animals, but I assumed that they were just rumors. The Petland was a place where everyone went to spend time with animals, particularly puppies. If you asked a worker to look at one of the puppies, they were happy to allow you to play with the dog in the playpen. I had gone there several times with friends and family to play with a puppy, and my family even ended up purchasing one of the puppies from the store (a surprising and rare instance given our history of adopting all of our pets). For my sister's birthday, we purchased her a rabbit from the Petland, and it was the closest place to buy all of our pets' supplies. To us, this was a local business that we wanted to support, and the rumors were just rumors. The rumors increased shortly after we purchased our dog from Petland. People began to complain of the puppies having runny noses, and the rabbits all seemed to be fatigued. One of my friends told me that she saw the worker drop one of the rabbits, and he simply picked it up and placed it back in its pen; there was no consultation to see if the animal was okay, and there was no concern from any of the workers. The rumors began to get to me, and I recalled how the fish we bought from them carried a disease that killed the rest of our fish. My suspicions began to grow; then, the video came out. I knew which pet store was being shut down as soon as I read the headline. Although I chose to ignore the rumors, all of the information I heard consistently aligned with the mistreatment of their animals. I was happy that the pet store was shut down for their abuse; however, there was a part of me that was absorbed by guilt and shame. I had consistently gone to that pet store to play with their animals, and my dog was from there. The question of my personal contribution in keeping their business alive replayed in my head: was I partially responsible for the continued abuse of these animals? When I thought about animal abuse, I never thought that I would be connected to it in any way; however, this experience has shown me that the mistreatment of animals can occur anywhere. I now research every place before thinking of getting an animal, and I consistently stick to adopting. The animals in my local pet store were routinely abused, and it breaks my heart to think that my dog likely suffered the same mistreatment. When I look at my dog, I see the byproduct of a bad system, and I want to continue to advocate for all animals that have suffered similar abuse.

"You are definitely your father's child" I was told as I shoved another pile of spaghetti in my mouth. It was 9 am on a Saturday, and I sleepily heaped more cold meatballs on my plate. I savored the left-over meal as I pondered the statement, unaware of why I was always being told that. Throughout my life, I was encouraged by both my parents to pursue whatever career I wanted. They couldn't afford to go to college, and this pushed them into military service; for them, the military was the only option for an education, and I am forever grateful and privileged to have a family that is both dedicated and accepting. I grew up hearing the horror stories of their time serving, and it pushed me to try my hardest in school; in my mind, their sacrifice had to have been worth it, and I saw this being fulfilled by attending a good university in the future. "Man, you are just like your father" my mother cackled through the phone. I was spouting about my desire to stay in college and learn forever. I find solitude in reading, writing, and researching, and receiving a new essay prompt excites me. "Well he never did leave school" I retorted, and my mother replied with "and neither will you". I developed a passion for politics my freshman year of high school, and that resulted in a bittersweet reality for my father. He was excited to have a daughter that wanted to do work related to his field, but he also realized that he also had a strong-headed, passionate, and unapologetic daughter. Dinner conversations quickly turned into political debates, and my family served as the jury in our trial. He would talk to me as if I was one of his graduate students, and there were several occasions that led to tears being shed; however, these conversations made me realize my strengths and weaknesses in arguing, and it fueled my fire to want to pursue law and policy. They drove me to become more educated and knowledgable about world events as he drew upon his real-world experiences due to the military, and I fell more in love with politics as I did so. Although there were times where we left the dinner table feuding, my father pushed me to accept new perspectives, learn more about the world, and fueled the passions that he knew I had. "You get that from me" my father chuckled through the phone. I had procrastinated writing another paper, and it was due the next day at noon. He reluctantly agreed to read it over, making comments like "interesting theory" and "I wouldn't have argued this"; however, he always commented "nice paper" as his final remark. I have been told my entire life that I was like my father, and I unknowingly chose an academic path similar to his. I reached the conclusion that I wanted to be a lawyer on my own, but my dedication and drive seemed to be derived from my father. He knew he wanted to be a professor, but he had to undergo a hard career in the military in order to do so, and I have always been inspired by his ability to push through the work he did not want to do. My father has always been my inspiration, and I am proud to repeatedly be called 'my father's daughter'.

Science tells us that we are all the same. We all possess roughly the same genetic makeup, and sequencing the human genome has been a project undertaken by scientists for thirteen years. The only differences in our genetic makeup are a result of diseases, and that is a 0.1 percent difference. Recent years has significantly demonstrated that science is to be trusted, and I whole-heartedly believe that there is no difference between humans; however, ethical dilemmas arise when we just accept the science. Suddenly there are limitations on languages, spiritual and religious practices, art, and everything else that makes us people. Although science is fundamental to the progression and maintenance of our world, it limits us to strictly being humans, and the world suddenly becomes less beautiful. Culture is the beauty that livens the soul. Throughout my life, I have been shown videos, pictures, and been taught lessons on the importance of other cultures, but it was not until I physically encountered people from varying areas that I understood the importance of these differences. This past summer, I worked as a resident assistant at Yale for SummerSpringboard. The purpose of the program was to give high school students from around the world an opportunity to experience college. Going into the job, I was expecting to work with students of similar background; however, my assumptions were immediately proven wrong. There were kids from Italy, Spain, Brazil, Switzerland, Burma, and other places around the world, and they all possessed very different attitudes and habits than what I was used to. For example, we had to tell the Italians to arrive 20 minutes before we actually wanted them, and the Brazilians never ate dinner before 9 pm. Their lifestyle did not fit in well with our predetermined schedule, and we as a team had to learn how to accommodate for these differences. Although there were some aspects about the students' lifestyles that created problems, there were others that made me appreciate the beauty of the world. The students were very patient in teaching us the slang of their country in their language, and they introduced us to new music and entertainment that the entire camp loved. At the end of every session, we hosted a talent show for the students; all of the students were extremely excited to show off the dances, practices, and customs of their cultures, and everyone left with smiles on their faces. It was inspiring and heartwarming to see the kids accept each other so quickly, and we all left with pieces of the world in our hearts. The US has a cruel and vicious history of oppressing other nations, and we are historically known to be unaccepting of "outsiders". When looking at our history, it seems better to just accept science and unify on the basis of genetics; however, the students showed me the power of learning from each other. When asking the international students their least favorite things about America, they all mentioned healthcare, nutrition, and the overall education Americans possess. The US is currently struggling through several healthcare monstrosities, including the right to access abortions and menstrual care. Additionally, the US charges large amounts of money for healthy food, and several cities across the country lack resources to provide nutritious meals to their community. There are several social issues that we face as a country that others don't, including the obscene amount of mass shootings every year. Global exploration offers insights into art, music, and entertainment that showcase humanities best qualities; however, global exploration also provides knowledge and skills to address issues that currently plague us.

"No justice, no peace!" "No justice, no peace!" I looked around at the people surrounding me, syncing my chants with theirs. "Show me what democracy looks like!" "THIS is what democracy looks like!" Every person marching down the streets of Washington D.C. radiated the same energy; there was anger, frustration, and most of all, there was hope. The energy was infectious, and it truly felt like there was change brewing in the very streets that created the policies that threatened us. I looked over at my mother, a woman who had and would never have protested a day in her life, and thought about our conversation earlier. "You're the reason I am protesting today, I don't want you to ever feel like you don't have a voice". I smiled at all the women and feminists surrounding me, urging the country to continue to fight for our rights. I reached out for my mother, and we marched towards the capital hand in hand. From a young age I was outspoken. I routinely expressed my beliefs wholeheartedly, even when I wasn't quite sure what my beliefs were. When I started my freshman year of high school, my world of a comfortable suburban lifestyle shattered, and I was taught about the disheartening injustices faced in the US and around the world. My drive propelled me into educating myself, and I unabashedly spoke out for what I believed in. I began attending protests for a range of social issues, including the Women's March, the March for our Lives, and the Black Lives Matter protests in Washington DC. I contacted politicians and important officials in my county and state, and I urged others to do so. However, I realized that there were times where it was not my place to speak on such important topics. One of the most important lessons I learned through my self-education on social issues was the power of privilege. As a young white female, I hold a high level of privilege that requires moments of rest. Although I am passionate about helping and advocating for others, I learned that I did not have to be the face of a movement, and there is also power in listening. Listening quickly became a central tenant of my advocacy, and it was an important lesson that is applied to all parts of my life. Education and research is another central component of my journey of advocacy. I have enjoyed learning from a young age, and there was more than one occasion where I was upset to leave school due to illness. I want to continue learning for the rest of my life, and I am currently on the track to pursue a law degree. The love of learning has propelled me into this world of politics, and it continues to entrap me into hours of reading and listening. Although I enjoy a wide range of academic material, I decided to pursue Foreign Affairs and Global Public Health as my majors in college, and I hope to use this set of knowledge to form policy and work for organizations devoted to the morals I align myself with. When we reached the capital the day of the Women's March, the city seemed to hold a new personality. There were tears of happiness and sadness, and there was an aura of hope surrounding the area. The possibility of change continues to lead me down a path towards advocacy, and it is inspiring to see all those committed as well. The traits that propel my passions aren't just a component of my life, they are my life.