A Million Angels by Kate Maryon. To be honest, it is not even a very good book. It has a wonderful story and character development, but it's a children's book all the same, with pretty basic writing skills and content. Despite all of that, however, it still stands out as an unknown book with very important lessons. A Million Angels is a story of a young military girl whose father is sent into action a month before her mother gives birth. At the same time, her grandmother gets sick and is unable to help her heavily pregnant mother around the house, resulting in Jemima, the girl, caring for everyone in the home. She tries to cope with the sudden burden of her entire family, but she often finds herself crying in her room, breaking objects, or yelling at her mother. She eventually reaches the point where the only thing that matters anymore is bringing her father home, at any cost. When an immediate family member of a deployed member is severely injured or dies, the deployed member is brought back to their family. Knowing this, Jemima starts Operation: Bring Dad Home. She resorts to creating bigger and bigger problems in an attempt to get the military to send her father home, opening gas lines and starting fires to faking deadly illnesses. She suddenly gets an idea: falling out of a fourth-story window would surely be enough to bring her dad home. As she tries to jump out of the window, another girl grabs onto her, calling her mad. When Jemima tries to shake her off, the girl falls, 4 stories down onto the concrete. The kids who were watching nearby blame it on Jemima, saying she pushed the girl off, causing even more problems at home and school. The point to me in all of this is disgustingly ugly and terrifying: grief is not pretty. Fear and desperation are ugly, and can result in a lot more manifestations than silence and tears. So many people wrap grief in this pretty bow of quiet and hidden tears, willing it away. In reality, it can be loud as a lion and as damaging as a car crash, deadly and violent in its anger. I hope that reading and feeling this story in its intensity allows others to understand the twisted desperation in grief that is so often ignored.

A big issue that I often deal with as an LGBTQIA+ student is gender. I am biologically female and was raised as such. However, I do not identify, or feel like, a girl in any way, shape, or form. My body feels like it was molded by someone else in my mind. On bad days, it makes me angry when I look at myself in the mirror, struggling to see how the person in front of me is supposed to be my body. Yet, I cannot deny it. I am female, and to many, I am a girl. It is maddening enough to be called such by my teachers, my parents, and even a few of my friends. At the same time, I have to be a girl. It is considered no other option for me in my family. I cannot help but think that if I felt like a boy, would I be allowed to be called as such? Why is it a privilege in the first place when so many other people get to have it right at birth? If I choose to wear a dress, why do I have to be a girl? When I wear pants, do I have to be a boy? Even if I can say with complete confidence that I am non-binary, agender, or genderqueer, and everyone would agree with me, I am still left with a disadvantage. College is hard enough, having to balance the fear of discrimination with my need for affirmation. Many colleges simply ask the question to fill a slot on their checklist, to brag about inclusivity. At the same time, the everyday staff can ignore, mistreat, or even berate LGBTQIA+ students for being open about themselves. Even scholarships can become harder if you are open about your gender or preferred pronouns. The only scholarships one can technically apply to are the ones with no limitations on gender, simply because there are close to none for those with non-binary genders. I often end up using my biological sex because of this, especially being in the STEM field. If I can graduate and not drown in debt or my insanity, I still have to face more challenges. Not only would I have to deal with employers who would treat me as female, but I would also have to deal with the occasional sexist person treating me as female. I wish to work in STEM, an originally masculine career where women were ostracized and ignored. If I am called a woman, I already feel wrong and lesser about myself. I have no authority over who I am. I feel helpless and childish, incapable of even the most basic of mental capacities. If I am called a woman and treated lesser for being thought of as such, it becomes not only an insult to me but also to every single woman that came before me and that stands around me. It is a double punishment for something I cannot even control. I want to teach others what is not often taught about gender and sex. I want to do it in a personal way, allowing someone room for mistakes and questions. This requires me to be comfortable in my own gender, something I am still working on, but it is my goal. Not only for myself but for those close to me who do not understand. I want others like me to be able to do the same and be comfortable in themselves and with others. I work towards it every day and one day I hope to see it become reality.

While neither of my parents have a focus in the sciences, many of their struggles came from a lack of its counterparts: research and medicine. Both my parents have genetic disorders that went undiagnosed, only being recognized in their late 30s. By then, there was major damage to their bodies and livelihoods, all preventable. My siblings and I were saved from that fate: surgeries and lifelong medication are not fun, but it was simple, and that was all it took. Meanwhile, our parents must suffer the effects of improper healthcare and information. I want to prevent that from happening to anyone else, no matter the background, status, or problem. No one deserves to be ignored, especially when what they are suffering from is preventable and treatable. I want to work in medical genomics and genetic therapies to prevent, treat, and improve the lives of those with genetic disorders. My enjoyment of molecular biology allows me to recognize changes in genes and their resulting proteins, and my understanding of proteins to figure out the symptoms of said genetic change. I enjoy creating ways nature overcomes problems, and ways nature creates problems in doing so. I want to learn ways of solving issues in the molecular biology of a person and if there is a way to prevent or even treat it. My name is Faith “Fae” Switzer and I am 18 years old, as of October 12. I enjoy reading, writing, and visual arts, where I create stories and drawings of a world others do not see or have lost the ability to see. I have always enjoyed learning and had a penchant for the sciences, ironic to my name. I am part of the Early College program at Montgomery College in Maryland, US for a chance to learn. I was accepted among 11 other students and started the program in the Fall of 2021. By the end of high school, I will have received an Associate in Biotechnology, and I will continue my studies at the University of Maryland Baltimore Campus. I plan on joining the US Armed Forces like much of my family has done. Eventually, when I retire, I want to use my skills at a non-profit organization such as CACNA1A or St. Jude. One day, I want to learn more than what is simply given to me: I want to conduct studies and discover new things about the world in ways others could never see. Despite my big plans and hopeful nature, I could not always dream as I can now. When I was younger, I was bullied and ignored by my classmates. While it seems minor to hear and even stupid to complain about, many seem to ignore the impacts that bullying has on a child so young. In elementary and even middle school, one's teachers, classmates, and family are one's entire world. Politics do not exist and the only things one must worry about are the issues that directly affect that tiny bubble, one's little world. So when a third of the world is hellbent on making one feel worthless, invalid, and small, it is drastic. I was ignored in group activities, yelled at for trying to talk, and even my belongings were stolen and destroyed. I was pushed off jungle gyms and laughed at when I cried. I only existed if I was helpful or useless, and that changed the way I saw myself. I thought that I was dumb and ugly, doomed to be ignored by society because of my faults being larger than my minuscule abilities. My crooked teeth were more noticeable than my soulful and brave smile; my overzealous nature overshadowed my honesty and trust. I could not recognize my ambition and love for life between the disdain and annoyance of my peers. Because the bad was easier to see, the good was simply overlooked. Eventually, I assumed that is all there was to me: a stupid, naïve child with a boisterous attitude and an obnoxious laugh. I spent years believing I was only worth something if I could prove to be helpful. My worth was tied to my ability to do work for others. My first friend was not even enough to change this, eleven years old was far too little, far too late. In reality, it took working myself to the point of illness for me to see what was happening. A semi-friend of mine needed help with a project, and despite me not being in her class or even having the same teacher, I agreed to help. We wrote an entire play. More accurately, I listened to her ideas and wrote the entire screenwrite, on top of my school work and extracurricular activities. In the end, I could not act in the play. I had stressed so much that I passed out before school, complete with a fever and a headache to match. I was unable to attend school for three days because I could not stand leaving someone's needs unmet. I was so scared to be left behind, to be considered worthless that I was willing to suffer to be wanted. While that exact moment never let me understand what I was doing, it was the first time that my loved ones could see a problem, enough for them to show me. Taking the credit for that change would simply be a lie, because without them there to love me, I would have never seen that I did not need to be helpful to be worthy of love. I could simply be loved as is, without the strain and suffering I was putting myself under. In reality, I was already worthy of love. Those with disdain for me just did not want that love back.

My name is Faith “Fae” Switzer and I am 18 years old, as of October 12. I have always enjoyed learning and had a desire for answers and proof, ironic to my name. School did not always fit this idea of learning for me, so at age 15, I applied to join the Early College program at Montgomery College in Maryland, US for a chance to learn. I was accepted among 11 other students and started the program in Fall of 2021. Through this program I will have an Associates of Applied Science in Biotechnology by the time I graduate high school. I will also complete an Associates of Science in Biological Science before attending UMBC (University of Maryland Baltimore Campus) for a Bachelor of Science in Biological Science. However, education is only part of the life I desire to create. As I continue in my academics, I plan to work in laboratory studies of all kinds, especially ones concerning genetics. Once I finish my Bachelors, I plan to join the Navy. My uncle served in Vietnam, my father in Iraq, my grandfather in both peace and war. Whether or not danger comes, and the US goes to war, I will do the same as my forebears and serve to the best of my ability. I plan to work in medical technologies, conducting blood tests and genealogy reports. While this is my preference, I also enjoy research and active studies. Wherever the US needs me is where I will go. After retirement, I intend to use my skills in research or medical nonprofits such as St. Jude and CACNA1A foundation. The skills I acquire through my education and years of service are invaluable and it would be shameful to retire while still able to help in areas where care is so desperately needed. I want to complete at least one major study on Familial Hemiplegic Migraine, as my sister and father both went undiagnosed for years, and very little is understood about the disease. The disorder is extremely rare and often overlooked, which only dooms the sufferers to years of misery. With the right medication, many of the problems of the disorder can be prevented, yet since the disorder is rarely diagnosed, the medicine the patients need can be ignored. My grandmother spent her entire life with the disorder completely overlooked, resulting in unnecessary suffering and brain damage. While it seems shallow to focus on such a small part of the population when I could help so much more, I never want to see anyone suffering like my baby sister, or slowly lose their ability to walk like my great-grandmother. I was lucky enough to be free from the burden of the disorder and to be given the skills I have in biotechnology and research. It is only fair to pay back that karma, that minuscule chance of life without the disorder, even if it never culminates as anything.

From birth, I was told the hardest part of life was college. I recently learned that this is false. By far, the hardest part of life is applying for college. Between personal essays, standardized testing, and long applications, college gives one a run for their money before even making any. Regardless of the difficulty, however, I find myself motivated to push past the awkwardness of personal essays and write about myself and my ambitions. My name is Faith “Fae” Switzer and I am 18 years old, as of October 12. I have always enjoyed learning and had a penchant for the sciences, ironic to my name. School did not fit this idea of learning for me, so at age 15, I applied to join the Early College program at Montgomery College in Maryland, US for a chance to learn. I was accepted among 11 other students and started the program in Fall of 2021. Through this program, I will have an Associates of Applied Science in Biotechnology by the time I graduate high school. I will also complete an Associates of Science in Biological Science before attending UMCP (University of Maryland College Park) for a Bachelor of Science in Biological Science. However, education is only part of the life I desire to create. As I continue in my academics, I plan to work in laboratory studies of all kinds, especially ones concerning genetics. Once I finish my Bachelors, I plan to join the Navy. My family has spent multiple generations serving in the Armed Forces, all the way to the Revolutionary War, WW1, and WW2. My great grandfather, Robert Aschenbrener, was a WW2 veteran downed in the Philippians, where he was saved by Huk guerrilla. They nursed him back to health over the course of two weeks and brought him back to a US base. My uncle served in Vietnam, my father in Iraq, my grandfather in both peace and war. Whether or not danger comes, and the US goes to war, I will do the same as my forebears and serve to the best of my ability. I plan to work in medical laboratory and technologies, conducting blood tests and genealogy reports. While this is my preference, I also enjoy research and active studies. Wherever the US needs me is where I will go. After retirement, I intend to use my skills in research or medical nonprofits such as St. Jude and CACNA1A foundation. The skills I acquire through my education and years of service are invaluable and it would be shameful to retire while still able to help in areas where care is so desperately needed.

The silence is almost suffocating, with how thick the unspoken words feel in the air. There are so many things to say yet saying them could break the grudging truce between the two of them. For them, breathing feels dangerous; any audible intake of breath could cause the other to speak. They do not want to hear the words, they do not want to feel the hatred, anger, and pain from someone so fragile. Instead, they sit there, disproving the idea of things must move in order to live. They are curled into the corner of the chair, pressed against the wall facing the door. She sits across from the room, staring at them, waiting for them to speak. They do not. The lack of communication killed them, their refusal to speak, their fear of being mocked, their experiences of repulsion. Now, their corpse is left to handle the mistakes of someone who chose the coward’s way out and left their family to suffer the aftermath. Despite the fact their body breathes, eats, and sleeps, they cannot truly let themself believe they are still alive. They need some reassurance that not everything they do is a failure, as twisted and stupid as it may seem. So instead, they pretend that their body was given to someone else, someone with a better heart and soul than them. As a result, the new soul prefers to forget what their host did. They feel shame if they linger too long, disgust at themselves for letting it go on for so long. Instead, they try to make up for it. They do not linger on thoughts of death and cowardice. It would be a waste of the second chance they were given, a waste of the love and trust placed in their character. They attend therapy to work through the mental and physical scars left on them, take their medicines as purposed, and maintain a healthy lifestyle. They don’t like talking to their parents still, it feels dangerous, but they do it if needed. Hiding things has only been proven to make their mental state worse. It’s strange to care about something that was deemed useless before. Perhaps things that have already been lost become even more valuable. They protect the shards of their mind, of their prior host’s mind, as some form of shrine to them. They are not alive anymore, but they can still be respected. They did horrible things, reckless and deadly things, but they also did beautiful ones. Their actions led to the birth of a new person, born into the life they once disrespected. Their errors became warnings, their mistakes became blockades to keep them safe. They do not forgive them for what they did, and they probably never will. But they respect their life and actions, their body and mind’s health, especially because they didn’t. The new soul owes it to their past self to grow their mind’s garden and shield it from harm, internal or external. Their mental state, their shards of glass that were once so fragile and painful to touch, no longer cut them when they tidy their garden. Now, they are pieces of softened sea glass, lining the roots of a plant, glimmering in the sun. They no longer serve their original purpose of fragile protection. Instead, they bring a little joy and color to the green garden, and the new soul finds themselves happy with that.