As I stared into the mirror with my gel-covered hands and slick Bantu Knots, I contemplated disassembling the work of art. “Will people stare at me?” “I hope no one comments on it.” I pushed away my thoughts while sliding on my flowery silk bonnet. After all, I was embracing the style for girls lacking the courage to. My natural curls are the bed in which I cradle my self-love. It honed the knowledge of my heritage. Coming from a mixed background, it was hard living away from the black side of my family. I was left to fend for myself in middle school, battling with never-ending tangles and broken hair ties. Even though it instilled a great sense of independence, I had a poor perception of my hair. I disregarded my family’s or classmates' unconscious comments. Comments such as: “You finally brushed your hair” or questions if it was all real. Due to my insecurity, I hardly corrected them. It wasn’t until a confrontation with my soccer coach that my attitude shifted. I laughed at the word “loofah” disguising my uneasiness. It was “so coarse”, she pointed out. Her tone hinting towards an insult, rather than a compliment. Inside, I was bothered, convinced I would now forever second-guess my typical bun style. On the outside, I smiled, continuing to practice. My differences were belittled in a space I assumed they wouldn't matter. After practice, my coach’s chat with her younger team caught my attention. Staring up at her, a younger black girl with a blue scrunchie wrapped around her bun. Soon after, I realized that my differences do matter. Celebration should replace criticism. I decided learning about my hair’s heritage would encourage my appreciation. My sophomore year project was based on embracing natural hair. I researched the background of eight different hairstyles and created a Youtube tutorial for them. Where I showcased West African Fulani braids, mentioning how they symbolized age, marital status, and social status. During my demonstration of tying a Habesha head chain (hair jewelry for special occasions), I spoke about Ethiopian braids' drying and maintenance properties in tropical climates. I shared how African-American women changed the negative narrative of head wraps during slavery, as I wore my colorful one to now represent our cultural identity. However, while I valued my newfound knowledge, my journey transformed my confidence. My project pushed me to showcase my hairstyles in uncomfortable places. Bantu knots or beads at soccer practice. Box braids at dances and cheer. Big curls at my branding and design competitions. I fell so deeply in love with my identity that future comments from coaches didn’t phase me. Even the ones somehow referencing me to Michael Jackson. Anyway, a couple of months after my project, my soccer team held a meeting to discuss my former coach’s many issues. I spoke up about my feelings towards her comments and proper ways to address future players. My coach was let go, but more importantly, my club began the Diversion and Inclusion Program. A program that trains coaches on inclusive treatment and hosts festivals for each heritage month. I’ve found my form of self-expression. My curls welcome my creativity. It teaches me patience for myself and others. It allows me to teach my younger siblings and cousins that what makes you different is what makes you beautiful. It’s the reason my excitement peaks when the Sims update their natural hair packs, including laid edges. It is my art. In the future, I will continue to inspire and uplift others to embrace their very own differences.

As I stared into the mirror with my gel-covered hands and slick Bantu Knots, I contemplated disassembling the work of art. “Will people stare at me?” “I hope no one comments on it.” I pushed away my thoughts while sliding on my flowery silk bonnet. After all, I was embracing the style for girls lacking the courage to. My natural curls are the bed in which I cradle my self-love. It honed the knowledge of my heritage. Coming from a mixed background, it was hard living away from the black side of my family. I was left to fend for myself in middle school, battling with never-ending tangles and broken hair ties. Even though it instilled a great sense of independence, I had a poor perception of my hair. I disregarded my family’s or classmates' unconscious comments. Comments such as: “You finally brushed your hair” or questions if it was all real. Due to my insecurity, I hardly corrected them. It wasn’t until a confrontation with my soccer coach that my attitude shifted. I laughed at the word “loofah” disguising my uneasiness. It was “so coarse”, she pointed out. Her tone hinting towards an insult, rather than a compliment. Inside, I was bothered, convinced I would now forever second-guess my typical bun style. On the outside, I smiled, continuing to practice. My differences were belittled in a space I assumed they wouldn't matter. After practice, my coach’s chat with her younger team caught my attention. Staring up at her, a younger black girl with a blue scrunchie wrapped around her bun. Soon after, I realized that my differences do matter. Celebration should replace criticism. I decided learning about my hair’s heritage would encourage my appreciation. My sophomore year project was based on embracing natural hair. I researched the background of eight different hairstyles and created a Youtube tutorial for them. Where I showcased West African Fulani braids, mentioning how they symbolized age, marital status, and social status. During my demonstration of tying a Habesha head chain (hair jewelry for special occasions), I spoke about Ethiopian braids' drying and maintenance properties in tropical climates. I shared how African-American women changed the negative narrative of head wraps during slavery, as I wore my colorful one to now represent our cultural identity. However, while I valued my newfound knowledge, my journey transformed my confidence. My project pushed me to showcase my hairstyles in uncomfortable places. Bantu knots or beads at soccer practice. Box braids at dances and cheer. Big curls at my branding and design competitions. I fell so deeply in love with my identity that future comments from coaches didn’t phase me. Even the ones somehow referencing me to Michael Jackson. Anyway, a couple of months after my project, my soccer team held a meeting to discuss my former coach’s many issues. I spoke up about my feelings towards her comments and proper ways to address future players. My coach was let go, but more importantly, my club began the Diversion and Inclusion Program. A program that trains coaches on inclusive treatment and hosts festivals for each heritage month. I’ve found my form of self-expression. My curls welcome my creativity. It teaches me patience for myself and others. It allows me to teach my younger siblings and cousins that what makes you different is what makes you beautiful. It’s the reason my excitement peaks when the Sims update their natural hair packs, including laid edges. It is my art.

As I stared into the mirror with my gel-covered hands and slick Bantu Knots, I contemplated disassembling the work of art. “Will people stare at me?” “I hope no one comments on it.” I pushed away my thoughts while sliding on my flowery silk bonnet. After all, I was embracing the style for girls lacking the courage to. My natural curls are the bed in which I cradle my self-love. It honed the knowledge of my heritage. Coming from a mixed background, it was hard living away from the black side of my family. I was left to fend for myself in middle school, battling with never-ending tangles and broken hair ties. Even though it instilled a great sense of independence, I had a poor perception of my hair. I disregarded my family’s or classmates' unconscious comments. Comments such as: “You finally brushed your hair” or questions if it was all real. Due to my insecurity, I hardly corrected them. It wasn’t until a confrontation with my soccer coach that my attitude shifted. I laughed at the word “loofah” disguising my uneasiness. It was “so coarse”, she pointed out. Her tone hinting towards an insult, rather than a compliment. Inside, I was bothered, convinced I would now forever second-guess my typical bun style. On the outside, I smiled, continuing to practice. My differences were belittled in a space I assumed they wouldn't matter. After practice, my coach’s chat with her younger team caught my attention. Staring up at her, a younger black girl with a blue scrunchie wrapped around her bun. Soon after, I came to the realization that my differences do matter. Celebration should replace criticism. I decided learning about my hair’s heritage would encourage my appreciation. My sophomore year project was based around embracing natural hair. I researched the background of eight different hairstyles and created a Youtube tutorial for them. Where I showcased West African Fulani braids, mentioning how they symbolized age, marital status, and social status. During my demonstration of tying a Habesha head chain (hair jewelry for special occasions), I spoke about Ethiopian braids' drying and maintenance properties in tropical climates. I shared how African-American women changed the negative narrative of head wraps during slavery, as I wore my colorful one to now represent our cultural identity. However, while I valued my newfound knowledge, my journey transformed my confidence. My project pushed me to showcase my hairstyles in uncomfortable places. Bantu knots or beads at soccer practice. Box braids at dances and cheer. Big curls at my branding and design competitions. I fell so deeply in love with my identity that future comments from coaches didn’t phase me. Even the ones somehow referencing me to Michael Jackson. Anyway, a couple of months after my project, my soccer team held a meeting discussing my former coach’s many issues. I spoke up about my feelings towards her comments and proper ways to address future players. My coach was let go, but more importantly, my club began the Diversion and Inclusion Program. A program that trains coaches on inclusive treatment and hosts festivals for each heritage month. I’ve found my form of self-expression. My curls welcome my creativity. It teaches me patience for myself and others. It allows me to teach my younger siblings and cousins that what makes you different is what makes you beautiful. It’s the reason my excitement peaks when the Sims update their natural hair packs, including laid edges. It is my art.

Out of the million and one feelings, I fear helplessness. The anxiety of another disappointing message that my father can’t make this trip or the calls listening to him being searched, praying that he didn’t make a wrong move. The Love Project 404 (non-profit) turns their prayers into action. Each of their initiatives sparked my community contributions, exposure, and self-love. After experiencing a jailed parent, I immediately connected to the organization’s bailouts. The bailouts provide for individuals with minor non-violent offenses and unaffordable bonds. Oftentimes, their incarceration is longer than the accused crime’s sentence, due to their ever-changing court date. I raised funds and curated care packages for these individuals or families in need. The minority teen mentorship initiative provided priceless guidance and exposure to thriving professionals in any field. Each night I engaged, asked questions, and was inspired by people who looked like me. I was given the chance to interview one of the few female African-American architects, Zakiya Wiggins. By listening to the weekly advice, I curated my résumé and read books like Rich Dad Poor Dad or Agent You. Although once intimidated by the driven talented girls in the program, my confidence ultimately blossomed. The shy girl who never raised her hand grew into a young lady relaying the perfect thirty-sec elevator pitch (before accepting her second scholarship). Plus, the busiest leaders happen to have the most advice for your mental health. It has been the most significant investment into my future. Volunteering makes you realize that anyone could be struggling with something and the simplest tasks goes a long way. Along with the Love Project, I serve as an ambassador for Operation Feed, an organization fighting against hunger in the Atlanta Public School community. As an ambassador, I raised about $1000 through a bake sale for the organization. Typically when donating it's difficult to envision the families you're directly impacting. However, my counselor later informed me that a family lost their home to a neighborhood fire. To think that baking cookies could support a family in even a small way makes it all worthwhile. As a student with a single mother and a younger sibling, I face significant financial challenges in paying for my education. My father does not provide any financial support, so it is up to me to cover the costs of tuition and other expenses. During college, I will work almost every day, which takes away from the time and energy I can devote to my studies. Receiving a scholarship would be a great help in bridging the financial gap and enabling me to focus more on my education. It would alleviate some of the stress on my family and allow me to pursue my academic goals without worrying about money. I am a disciplined and hardworking student committed to making the most of every opportunity. By awarding me a scholarship, you would invest in my future success and support me in achieving my dreams.

As feasible as my listed ambitions are now, I didn’t always view them as such. I was the token black student. The student who was lucky to be there instead of deserving. I’m a first generation mixed-race woman raised by a single mother. Growing up I showered myself in crafts, experiments, and potions curated from any plants outside. Funny enough, I didn’t have a backyard, I was "gifted" cement. In school, my favored classes included math and science. It wasn’t until later on that I discovered that I possessed the familial knack for drawing. However, I struggled piecing together my passion for STEM with my creativity. My 9th-grade graphic design class was the catalyst for my love of architecture. Our daily drawings from one and two point perspectives gave me a new outlook. All of my objects were unfinished buildings, as they were missing a key detail: community. During my 11th-grade mentorship, The Love Project, I met Zakiya Wiggins. In addition to inspiring me to add to the small fraction of black female architects, she highlighted the importance of sculpting the space around the occupants. This lesson carried over into my unwavering promise: to transform any lifeless rubble into a sustainable stone, serving a future purpose. With our growing population, sustainability and gentrification are rising threats. At one of the many schools I’ve been accepted to, including Georgia Tech, Howard, and the University of Southern California, I plan on majoring in Architecture with a minor in Sustainability. I’ll dive deeper into studying ecological solutions by directly producing biotic materials and energy-efficient technology. Additionally, entrepreneurial courses will be incorporated into my schedule with the plan of beginning my own firm. I’ll take advantage of the direct relationship with the design economy by fabricating healthy low-cost alternatives, which will trickle into affordable housing. When I begin my research into increasing renewable energy and low-carbon materials in underserved communities, I envision crossing between urbanism, the global climate, and future landscape research. As an architect’s world outlook is vital, I also intend to participate in student fellowships in Asia, Europe, and Africa. During school, I plan on contributing to better built learning environments. Unfortunately, school shootings are a prominent threat in the country. Instead of retreating to fortress-style approaches that resemble prisons rather than schools, architects can contribute to structural solutions. Objects that appear minor can be manipulated to save lives. For instance, schools can install shorter hallways with quicker access to exits. Partition additions near doors can reduce the angle of sight in classrooms. Along with radial organizations of hallways and classrooms. I will work with schools and spread the word to implement these designs into renovations. As well as the materials, color theory, and classroom set-ups that can subconsciously influence productivity and emotional state. For example, cooler tones lead to lower stress and increased student focus. As for my career, my own architectural firm will take on projects like this and many others devoted to our future environment.

As feasible as my listed ambitions are now, I didn’t always view them as such. I was the token black student. The student who was lucky to be there instead of deserving. I’m a first generation mixed-race woman raised by a single mother. Growing up I showered myself in crafts, experiments, and potions curated from any plants outside. Funny enough, I didn’t have a backyard, I was gifted cement. In school, my favored classes included math and science. It wasn’t until later on that I discovered that I possessed the familial knack for drawing. However, I struggled piecing together my passion for STEM with my creativity. My 9th-grade graphic design class was the catalyst for my love of architecture. Our daily drawings from one and two point perspectives gave me a new outlook. All of my objects were unfinished buildings, as they were missing a key detail: community. During my 11th-grade mentorship, The Love Project, I met Zakiya Wiggins. In addition to inspiring me to add to the small fraction of black female architects, she highlighted the importance of sculpting the space around the occupants. This lesson carried over into my unwavering promise: to transform any lifeless rubble into a sustainable stone, serving a future purpose. With our growing population, sustainability and gentrification are rising threats. At one of the many schools I’ve been accepted to, including Georgia Tech, Howard, and the University of Southern California, I plan on majoring in Architecture with a minor in Sustainability. I’ll dive deeper into studying ecological solutions by directly producing biotic materials and energy-efficient technology. Additionally, entrepreneurial courses will be incorporated into my schedule with the plan of beginning my own firm. I’ll take advantage of the direct relationship with the design economy by fabricating healthy low-cost alternatives, which will trickle into affordable housing. When I begin my research into increasing renewable energy and low-carbon materials in underserved communities, I envision crossing between urbanism, the global climate, and future landscape research. As an architect’s world outlook is vital, I also intend to participate in student fellowships in Asia, Europe, and Africa. During school, I plan on contributing to better built learning environments. Unfortunately, school shootings are a prominent threat in the country. Instead of retreating to fortress-style approaches that resemble prisons rather than schools, architects can contribute to structural solutions. Objects that appear minor can be manipulated to save lives. For instance, schools can install shorter hallways with quicker access to exits. Partition additions near doors can reduce the angle of sight in classrooms. Along with radial organizations of hallways and classrooms. I will work with schools and spread the word to implement these designs into renovations. As well as the materials, color theory, and classroom set-ups that can subconsciously influence productivity and emotional state. For example, cooler tones lead to lower stress and increased student focus. As for my career, my own architectural firm will take on projects like this and many others devoted to our future environment.

My 9th-grade graphic design class was the catalyst for my love of architecture. Our daily drawings from one and two point perspectives gave me a new outlook. All of my objects were unfinished buildings, as they were missing a key detail: community. During my 11th-grade mentorship, The Love Project, I met Zakiya Wiggins. In addition to inspiring me to add to the small fraction of black female architects, she highlighted the importance of sculpting the space around the occupants. This lesson carried over into my unwavering promise: to transform any lifeless rubble into a sustainable stone, serving a future purpose. With our growing population, sustainability and gentrification are rising threats. At one of the many schools I’ve been accepted to, including Georgia Tech, Howard, and the University of Southern California, I plan on majoring in Architecture with a minor in Sustainability. I’ll dive deeper into studying ecological solutions by directly producing biotic materials and energy-efficient technology. Additionally, entrepreneurial courses will be incorporated into my schedule with the plan of beginning my own firm. I’ll take advantage of the direct relationship with the design economy by fabricating healthy low-cost alternatives, which will trickle into affordable housing. When I begin my research into increasing renewable energy and low-carbon materials in underserved communities, I envision crossing between urbanism, the global climate, and future landscape research. As an architect’s world outlook is vital, I also intend to participate in studying abroad. During school, I plan on contributing to better built learning environments. Unfortunately, school shootings are a prominent threat in the country. Instead of retreating to fortress-style approaches that resemble prisons rather than schools, architects can contribute to structural solutions. Objects that appear minor can be manipulated to save lives. For instance, schools can install shorter hallways with quicker access to exits. Partition additions near doors can reduce the angle of sight in classrooms. Along with radial organizations of hallways and classrooms. I will work with schools and spread the word to implement these designs into renovations. As well as the materials, color theory, and classroom set-ups that can subconsciously influence productivity and emotional state. For example, cooler tones lead to lower stress and increased student focus. As feasible as these ambitions are now, I didn’t always view them as such. I was the token black student. The student who was lucky to be there instead of deserving. Recently, I was invited to the Admitted Black Student Gala at Georgia Tech. The eloquence the upperclassmen developed over their short time studying was inspiring. As impressive and intelligent as the students and alumni were, I still felt connected to them. My prior insecurity washed away in that room. I was confident and proud to be a part of that community. It was organizations like this that helped me realize I wasn’t an oddity. It wasn’t only my dreams that made me feel like an outsider. Before, I always struggled accepting my natural hair and ignoring unconscious comments. Unfortunately, I’ve experienced former coaches belittling my differences during practices. Due to this, I began a project showcasing eight different hairstyles to teach myself and others about the beauty and resourcefulness of our hair. Actually, a couple of months after my project, my soccer team held a meeting discussing my former coach’s actions. I spoke up about my feelings towards her comments and proper ways to address future players. My coach was let go, but more importantly, my club began the Diversion and Inclusion Program. A program that trains coaches on inclusive treatment and hosts festivals for each heritage month, because what makes you different, makes you beautiful.

What is the true definition of art? According to Oxford Dictionary, art is “the expression or application of human creative skill and imagination”. With that meaning in mind, almost everything in this world is considered art. I aspire to showcase my art through architecture. Not through cookie cutter sprawls of homes, but with striking structures that encourage people to take a deeper look. Eco-friendly and sustainable spaces are going to be a major factor of my builds. I want to find new ways to incorporate green building materials such as bamboo, cordwood, recycled steel, solar panels, and etc. India has already begun building beautiful structures with plants and trees covering the walls. Eco-friendly architecture enhances biodiversity, reduces waste, and promotes air and water quality. My goal is to expand this construction around the world and not only make it sustainable, but also artistic. Another passion of mine is discovering ways to help others in need. There’s more than 500,000 people who are homeless on a given night in America. I want to begin a tiny-home project and big-city project to house anyone in need. It’ll additionally focus in on landing a job, furthering their education, modes of transportation, and mental safe zones (art rooms). I want to take groups of teens or adults to start murals around the city that showcases their community and background. I believe it'll add light to the city and others will strongly connect to it. I’m currently in art and graphic design classes. I hope you enjoy some of my pieces, one of them is inspired by another piece.