Sometimes, you have to expect the unexpected. I moved to Pennsylvania after my freshman year of high school. During sophomore year, I begged my parents to move me to a different school because of the disgusting treatment both teachers and students alike would treat me. I felt dehumanized and I spent lunch in the staircase in fear of seeing other people. My parents saw how the school took a toll on me after two suicide attempts, a few rounds to the psychologist, and when anorexia and bulimia started taking their toll on me. My parents kept their promise and I was accepted to a school that made me feel like I wasn't wasting my potential. I joined as many clubs and organizations as I could and befriended many wonderful individuals. I had the opportunity to win an AAUW Writing award for my poetry, volunteer at a few of my club's events, and even write articles for my school's news site. However, just as I was getting suspicious of my consistent happiness, life threw many obstacles at me. My mother often fought with me and told me I needed to get a job because she was in debt. She took all of my money to repay her debt, but it worsened when the pandemic struck. Both my parents became unemployed and I had to go back to attending my previous school from sophomore year. We all had to start working together as a family to financially support ourselves. Even a quarter on the sidewalk meant a lot to us. Due to the stress, I went back to my anorexic lifestyle and got so sick I had to go to a clinic to get treatment. I had a dangerously low heartbeat and the doctor was shocked at how I was still alive. I was immediately sent to an inpatient facility, no questions asked. In the clinic, I was bedbound. During the 9 days of my hospital stay, my parents came to the sudden realization that money isn't everything. However, I felt trapped in my own home. One day I packed only essentials and all of my money I saved up to escape to a covenant home. My mother noticed something was off and caught me in the act. She tied my hands and feet and drove me to a hospital, holding me down throughout the ride. The hospital filed a case and told me a mental hospital was the best place for me to go for placement. Two weeks passed without any response to where I was going. I was scared. After 2 weeks, my parents were allowed to pick me up after weeks of not being able to contact me. My parents promised that they would change and they told me to hold on because it was only a few more months until I turned 18 and was able to fulfill my lifelong dream - going to college. I am trying my best because I don't want to let my younger and future self down. I aspire to become a scriptwriter for a late-night show host because I developed a passion for writing and making people laugh. Seeing others laugh at my jokes brings me enough joy to wash all of the pain I've endured away.

Although a human out of seven billion may not have any major impact, an impact is still an impact regardless. I am aware that I am unable to fix the world, but I want to leave a dent in it and I am satisfied with the work I have done in order to preserve this land we call home. No matter your size or insignificant you think your voice is, the first step to establishing change is by changing yourself. At times I ask myself, am I really doing all I can to help my community, and what I can do to be more helpful. By being considerate and showing compassion to others, it helped me become a better and kinder person day by day. I enjoy giving people positive encouragement and helping them because I want to, not because I want to get something in return. I volunteer at Manna on Main Street, a non-profit organization committed to ending hunger in the North Penn region by providing food, fulfilling social service and education needs, and conducting community outreach. My role is making and distributing food to those in need. It isn’t an easy task, however, being able to interact with these people and give them everything they need to survive fills my heart. Nothing could ever replicate the warmth of seeing a satisfied customer smile at me and leave not only with a full stomach but a bag full of groceries. However, just volunteering doesn’t satisfy me, therefore I make sure to leave an as little carbon footprint as possible. I do this by going vegetarian and vegan a few years ago along with recycling and walking or using public transportation as much as I can. Instead of shopping in fast fashion, I go thrifting and I even started growing my own plants in my own miniature garden. During my junior year of high school, I attended ENACT, an environmental club that promotes environmental behavior and focuses on raising environmental awareness about the issues that affect the earth so we can better preserve it. The club’s activities consisted of cleaning the park near our school, technology recycling, and planting new plants in our school’s garden. Because of our similarities, we would often share eco-friendly advice with each other and would introduce information I never knew before. To channel my curiosity even further, I decided to subscribe to sustainable living blogs and channels to keep up with any new environmentally friendly products such as zero waste products and composting advice. Helping the environment is not the only key to a successful environment, but helping one another. By reaching out to others and being there for one another, it establishes an indestructible community. Because every green thumb needs a lending hand to sprout from.v

Happy children make me envious. I know it’s an irrational thought, but it reminds me of the childhood I never had. As the first-generation child in my immigrant family, I was neglected from the first day I was born. I never got to see my parents until the age of three due to my parents living in poverty in the slums of New York. Once we reunited, I was their punching bag. Nothing I did was ever good enough and I had to be the replacement of what was initially expected of my mother, a successful woman. Because of my mother’s fascination with success, she spent most of her money on afterschool programs. I abided by what she told me to do in fear of what will happen if I didn’t, therefore I was living a life for someone else. I felt like I was wasting my youth on becoming the person my mother wanted to be. My insecurities led me to self-harm by burning my own skin. I hid in my room all day and would go weeks without eating. I made excuses to never go out because I felt I was doing everyone a favor by hiding my worthless, incapable self that wasn’t worth presenting. However, during my freshman year of high school, I met people who were willing to listen; who were willing to care. After fourteen years of shame and embarrassment for who I was, I came to the realization that I am worthy of being around other people. I figured that I enjoyed making the people around me happy and that it was something I wanted to dedicate my entire life to. After moving from New York to the suburbs in Pennsylvania, I developed an eating disorder which I was hospitalized in a clinic for. When my mom saw my limp body next to the fatally low heart monitor, she couldn’t help but cry. Ashamed, she told me that she was sorry for everything and promised to change for the better. Seeing her in tears made me realize that I need to live for myself, not for my mother. I patted her hand and forgave her. Shortly after I was transferred to a mental hospital for two weeks and after my return, I was met with a hug. “I’m sorry I never hugged you when you were a child,” she said, “to make it up for those years, I will hug you until you’ve had your fill.” My mother was like a completely different person; her harsh demeanor was no longer. Years ago she never gave me her consent to a psychologist and encouraged my own death, but now she has come a long way. She now encourages me to take my antidepressants on time, accompanies me to my psychiatrist and hospital check-ups, and she finally treats me like her daughter. But as she is changing, so am I.

Sometimes, you have to expect the unexpected. I moved to Pennsylvania after my freshman year of high school. During my sophomore year, I begged my parents to move me to a different school. Both teachers and students alike would look at me with disgust and treat me disrespectfully. I felt dehumanized and I spent lunch in the staircase in fear of seeing other people. My parents saw how the school took a toll on me after two suicide attempts, a few rounds to the psychologist, and when my anorexia and bulimia started taking their toll on my body. My parents kept their promise and I was accepted to a school with a more diverse student demographic and once in such a long time I felt at home. I felt cherished as an individual and felt that I wasn't wasting my potential and youth away. I joined as many clubs and organizations as I could and befriended many wonderful individuals. I had the opportunity to win an AAUW Writing award for my poetry, volunteer at a few of my club's events, and even write articles for my school's news site. However, just as I was getting suspicious of my consistent happiness, life threw many obstacles at me. My mother often fought with me and told me I needed to get a job because she was in debt. She took all of my money to repay her debt, but it worsened when the pandemic struck. Both my parents became unemployed and I had to go back to attending my previous school from sophomore year. We all had to start working together as a family to financially support ourselves. Even a quarter on the sidewalk meant a lot to us. Due to the stress, I went back to my anorexic lifestyle and got so sick I had to go to a clinic to get treatment. I had a dangerously low heartbeat and the doctor was shocked at how I was still alive. I was immediately sent to an inpatient facility, no questions asked. In the clinic I was bedbound and not allowed to walk, therefore I had to use a wheelchair to get from place to place within the vicinity of the clinic. I had hospital staff watch over me every single second of the day to ensure that I was alive. My parents were in utter disbelief to see me laying lifeless in the hospital bed for 9 days straight. They promised to change for the better so I can get the support I need to fully recover from my mental illness. It was then and there that my parents came to the sudden realization that money isn't everything. I felt trapped even in my own home. One day, my parents argued and got physical with me so I decided I had enough. I packed only the essentials and all of my money I saved up to escape to a covenant home. However, my mother noticed something was off. Because of this, she tied my hands and feet and drove me to a hospital, holding me down through the course of the ride. The hospital filed a case and told me that a mental hospital was the best place for me to go for placement. Two weeks passed and I heard no response on where I was to go. I was scared. After two weeks, my parents came and they hugged me. They promised that they would change and they told me to hold on because it was only a few more months until I turned 18 and was able to fulfill my lifelong dream - going to college. Until then, I need a place to live in, therefore even through the ups and downs of life, I continue to brace everything that has come in my path. It still is very hard, but I am trying my best because I don't want to let my younger and future self down. Throughout my journey, I have learned that I am an individual capable of anything I put my mind to and that I am a person who is deserving of love and respect. Sometimes the world can knock you down hard, but after everything, you must keep going. Yes, there are difficult obstacles that the world can throw at you, but it's your choice to get up and fight the hard fight or if you lie down in fear. Even if I lack armor and a sword, I will persist in doing the best I can to fulfill my dream.

Sometimes, you have to expect the unexpected. I moved to Pennsylvania after my freshman year of high school. During my sophomore year, I begged my parents to move me to a different school. Both teachers and students alike would look at me with disgust and treat me disrespectfully. I felt dehumanized and I spent lunch in the staircase in fear of seeing other people. My parents saw how the school took a toll on me after two suicide attempts, a few rounds to the psychologist, and when my anorexia and bulimia started taking their toll on my body. My parents kept their promise and I was accepted to a school with a more diverse student demographic and once in such a long time I felt at home. I felt cherished as an individual and felt that I wasn't wasting my potential and youth away. I joined as many clubs and organizations as I could and befriended many wonderful individuals. I had the opportunity to win an AAUW Writing award for my poetry, volunteer at a few of my club's events, and even write articles for my school's news site. However, just as I was getting suspicious of my consistent happiness, life threw many obstacles at me. My mother often fought with me and told me I needed to get a job because she was in debt. She took all of my money to repay her debt, but it worsened when the pandemic struck. Both my parents became unemployed and I had to go back to attending my previous school from sophomore year. We all had to start working together as a family to financially support ourselves. Even a quarter on the sidewalk meant a lot to us. Due to the stress, I went back to my anorexic lifestyle and got so sick I had to go to a clinic to get treatment. I had a dangerously low heartbeat and the doctor was shocked at how I was still alive. I was immediately sent to an inpatient facility, no questions asked. In the clinic I was bedbound and not allowed to walk, therefore I had to use a wheelchair to get from place to place within the vicinity of the clinic. I had hospital staff watch over me every single second of the day to ensure that I was alive. My parents were in utter disbelief to see me laying lifeless in the hospital bed for 9 days straight. They promised to change for the better so I can get the support I need to fully recover from my mental illness. It was then and there that my parents came to the sudden realization that money isn't everything. Months pass and during the outpatient program, I hated how I was always being monitored. I felt suffocated by all of the eyes constantly watching me. I wasn't even allowed to go to the bathroom by myself and I was always held by a secure grip whenever I did have the rare opportunity of going outside. I had a security camera constantly monitoring my every move, I was forced to download an app that tells my parents of my whereabouts at all times despite not being able to leave the house, all of my doorknobs were taken out of their place, I had to sleep in my parents' bedroom, and the door to the basement and even the fridge were locked. I felt trapped even in my own home. One day, my parents argued and got physical with me so I decided I had enough. I packed only the essentials and all of my money I saved up to escape to a covenant home. I placed my textbooks, clothes, and toiletries in my school bag and anything else that couldn't fit in a plastic bag. The next day came and instead of perfect weather as it broadcasted on every weather channel, it rained the entire day. The day after that, it rained again. All of my belongings were soaked. My mother noticed something was off and caught me in the act. Because of this, she tied my hands and feet and drove me to a hospital, holding me down through the course of the ride. The hospital filed a case and told me that a mental hospital was the best place for me to go for placement. Two weeks passed and I heard no response on where I was to go. I was scared. After 13 days passed, I requested the social worker working at the facility to just send me home because I felt that there was more to lose than gain in the situation I was in. At first, she refused, but after some convincing she allowed my parents to pick me up after weeks of not being able to contact me. The next day, my parents came and they hugged me. They promised that they would change and they told me to hold on because it was only a few more months until I turned 18 and was able to fulfill my lifelong dream - going to college. Until then, I need a place to live in, therefore even through the ups and downs of life, I continue to brace everything that has come in my path. It still is very hard, but I am trying my best because I don't want to let my younger and future self down. Throughout my journey, I have learned that I am an individual capable of anything I put my mind to and that I am a person who is deserving of love and respect. Sometimes the world can knock you down hard, but after everything, you must keep going. Yes, there are difficult obstacles that the world can throw at you, but it's your choice to get up and fight the hard fight or if you lie down in fear. Even if I lack armor and a sword, I will persist in doing the best I can to fulfill my dream.

Sometimes, you have to expect the unexpected. I moved to Pennsylvania after my freshman year of high school. During sophomore year, I begged my parents to move me to a different school because of the disgusting treatment both teachers and students alike would treat me. I felt dehumanized and I spent lunch in the staircase in fear of seeing other people. My parents saw how the school took a toll on me after two suicide attempts, a few rounds to the psychologist, and when anorexia and bulimia started taking their toll on me. My parents kept their promise and I was accepted to a school with a more diverse student demographic and once in such a long time I felt at home. I felt cherished as an individual and felt that I wasn't wasting my potential and youth away. I joined as many clubs and organizations as I could and befriended many wonderful individuals. I had the opportunity to win an AAUW Writing award for my poetry, volunteer at a few of my club's events, and even write articles for my school's news site. However, just as I was getting suspicious of my consistent happiness, life threw many obstacles at me. My mother often fought with me and told me I needed to get a job because she was in debt. She took all of my money to repay her debt, but it worsened when the pandemic struck. Both my parents became unemployed and I had to go back to attending my previous school from sophomore year. We all had to start working together as a family to financially support ourselves. Even a quarter on the sidewalk meant a lot to us. Due to the stress, I went back to my anorexic lifestyle and got so sick I had to go to a clinic to get treatment. I had a dangerously low heartbeat and the doctor was shocked at how I was still alive. I was immediately sent to an inpatient facility, no questions asked. In the clinic, I was bedbound. During the 9 days of my hospital stay, my parents came to the sudden realization that money isn't everything. However, I hated how I was always being monitored afterward. I wasn't allowed to go to the bathroom by myself, a security camera constantly monitored me, an app told my parents of my whereabouts despite not being able to leave the house, all of my doorknobs were taken, I had to sleep in my parents' bedroom, and the door to the basement and even the fridge were locked. I felt trapped in my own home. One day, my parents physically argued with me so I decided I had enough. I packed only essentials and all of my money I saved up to escape to a covenant home. The next day came and instead of perfect weather as it broadcasted on every weather channel, it rained the entire day. The day after that, it rained again. All of my belongings were soaked. My mother noticed something was off and caught me in the act. She tied my hands and feet and drove me to a hospital, holding me down throughout the ride. The hospital filed a case and told me a mental hospital was the best place for me to go for placement. Two weeks passed without any response to where I was going. I was scared. After 2 weeks, I requested the social worker working at the facility to just send me home because I felt that there was more to lose than gain in the situation I was in. At first, she refused, but after some convincing she allowed my parents to pick me up after weeks of not being able to contact me. The next day, my parents promised that they would change and they told me to hold on because it was only a few more months until I turned 18 and was able to fulfill my lifelong dream - going to college. Until then, I need a place to live in, therefore even through the ups and downs of life, I continue to brace everything that has come in my path. It still is very hard, but I am trying my best because I don't want to let my younger and future self down. Throughout my journey, I have learned that I am an individual capable of anything I put my mind to and that I am a person who is deserving of love and respect.

Sometimes, you have to expect the unexpected. I moved to Pennsylvania after my freshman year of high school. During my sophomore year, I begged my parents to move me to a different school. Both teachers and students alike would look at me with disgust and treat me disrespectfully. I felt dehumanized and I spent lunch in the staircase in fear of seeing other people. My parents saw how the school took a toll on me after two suicide attempts, a few rounds to the psychologist, and when my anorexia and bulimia started taking their toll on my body. My parents kept their promise and I was accepted to a school with a more diverse student demographic and once in such a long time I felt at home. I felt cherished as an individual and felt that I wasn't wasting my potential and youth away. I joined as many clubs and organizations as I could and befriended many wonderful individuals. I had the opportunity to win an AAUW Writing award for my poetry, volunteer at a few of my club's events, and even write articles for my school's news site. However, just as I was getting suspicious of my consistent happiness, life threw many obstacles at me. My mother often fought with me and told me I needed to get a job because she was in debt. She took all of my money to repay her debt, but it worsened when the pandemic struck. Both my parents became unemployed and I had to go back to attending my previous school from sophomore year. We all had to start working together as a family to financially support ourselves. Even a quarter on the sidewalk meant a lot to us. Due to the stress, I went back to my anorexic lifestyle and got so sick I had to go to a clinic to get treatment. I had a dangerously low heartbeat and the doctor was shocked at how I was still alive. I was immediately sent to an inpatient facility, no questions asked. In the clinic I was bedbound and not allowed to walk, therefore I had to use a wheelchair to get from place to place within the vicinity of the clinic. I had hospital staff watch over me every single second of the day to ensure that I was alive. My parents were in utter disbelief to see me laying lifeless in the hospital bed for 9 days straight. They promised to change for the better so I can get the support I need to fully recover from my mental illness. It was then and there that my parents came to the sudden realization that money isn't everything. Months pass and during the outpatient program, I hated how I was always being monitored. I felt suffocated by all of the eyes constantly watching me. I wasn't even allowed to go to the bathroom by myself and I was always held by a secure grip whenever I did have the rare opportunity of going outside. I had a security camera constantly monitoring my every move, I was forced to download an app that tells my parents of my whereabouts at all times despite not being able to leave the house, all of my doorknobs were taken out of their place, I had to sleep in my parents' bedroom, and the door to the basement and even the fridge were locked. I felt trapped even in my own home. One day, my parents argued and got physical with me so I decided I had enough. I packed only the essentials and all of my money I saved up to escape to a covenant home. I placed my textbooks, clothes, and toiletries in my school bag and anything else that couldn't fit in a plastic bag. The next day came and instead of perfect weather as it broadcasted on every weather channel, it rained the entire day. The day after that, it rained again. All of my belongings were soaked. My mother noticed something was off and caught me in the act. Because of this, she tied my hands and feet and drove me to a hospital, holding me down through the course of the ride. The hospital filed a case and told me that a mental hospital was the best place for me to go for placement. Two weeks passed and I heard no response on where I was to go. I was scared. After 13 days passed, I requested the social worker working at the facility to just send me home because I felt that there was more to lose than gain in the situation I was in. At first, she refused, but after some convincing she allowed my parents to pick me up after weeks of not being able to contact me. The next day, my parents came and they hugged me. They promised that they would change and they told me to hold on because it was only a few more months until I turned 18 and was able to fulfill my lifelong dream - going to college. Until then, I need a place to live in, therefore even through the ups and downs of life, I continue to brace everything that has come in my path. It still is very hard, but I am trying my best because I don't want to let my younger and future self down. Throughout my journey, I have learned that I am an individual capable of anything I put my mind to and that I am a person who is deserving of love and respect. Sometimes the world can knock you down hard, but after everything, you must keep going. Yes, there are difficult obstacles that the world can throw at you, but it's your choice to get up and fight the hard fight or if you lie down in fear. Even if I lack armor and a sword, I will persist in doing the best I can to fulfill my dream.

I want to make people happy. Although it sounds simple, people often oversimplify this task, making it much easier than it seems. It’s a common myth that people believe that happiness is supposed to be felt all the time and certainly isn’t something that you can buy, trade, or exchange. Our obsession with the personal nature of happiness caused the general populace confusion on happiness, especially the root of said happiness. Being raised to expect life to make us feel good and avoid pain, we have been taught that negative feelings are not meant to be felt; that our lack of happiness is abnormal. In actuality happiness is difficult to define because it has a different meaning to each person. Therefore, I strive to make other people happy through my comedy. Laughter has been deemed the best medicine for decades. Afterall, nothing feels better than having your sides hurt from laughing too much at a joke. Laughter makes you feel good and this positive feeling remains with you even after the laughter subsides. Even in the most difficult of times, a laugh–or even a smile–can go a long way toward making you feel better. And laughter is contagious—just hearing laughter readies you to smile. I was known as the class clown and my jokes were met with praise from both teachers and students alike. Nothing gave me more joy than seeing people laugh at my jokes or seeing them smile. After years of being degraded and taken advantage of, I was able to see my worth as a person that everyone not only respects but enjoys being around. I saw this opportunity as a way to voice my humor and I used it as a coping mechanism and an essential social tool to climb my way up from the depths of the social ladder. Eventually, I grew more confident in my communication skills and comedy writing to the point where I started expressing myself through prose. The people who view my work tell me they need to see more and even consider it a “work of art.” Teachers I look up to would tell me that they can’t find my writing anywhere else. Because of their kind words, it gave me the confidence to start running my own blog, saynonym, to have an outlet for my written works. Although it is still in the making, I get satisfaction from knowing that I have a place that I can publicly display my work for the public to see. It brings me joy knowing that people enjoy my works and I, as the diligent writer I am, have no choice but to keep up with their requests. I love to give back to my community and by doing so, I volunteer at Manna on Main Street, a non-profit organization committed to ending hunger in the North Penn region by providing food and conducting community outreach. My role is making and distributing food to those in need. It isn’t an easy task, however being able to interact with these people and give them everything they need to survive fills my heart. Nothing could ever replicate the warmth of seeing a satisfied customer smile at me and leave not only with a full stomach, but a bag full of groceries. However, just volunteering doesn’t satisfy me, therefore I make sure to leave as little carbon footprint as possible. I do this by going vegetarian and vegan a few years ago along with recycling and walking or using public transportation as much as I can. Instead of shopping in fast fashion, I went thrifting and I even started growing my own plants in my own miniature garden. During my junior year of highschool I attended ENACT, an environmental club that promotes environmental behavior and focuses on raising environmental awareness about the issues that affect the earth so we can better preserve it. The club’s activities consisted of cleaning the park near our school, technology recycling, and planting new plants in our school’s garden. To channel my curiosity even further, I decided to subscribe to sustainable living blogs and channels to keep up with any new environmentally friendly products such as zero waste products and composting advice. Although a human out of seven billion may not have any major impact, an impact is still an impact regardless. I am aware that I am unable to fix the world, but I want to leave a dent in it and I am satisfied with the work I have done in order to preserve this land we call home. No matter your size or insignificant you think your voice is, the first step to establish change is by changing yourself. At times I ask myself, am I really doing all I can to help my community, and what I can do to be more helpful. By being considerate and showing compassion to others, it helped me become a better and kinder person day by day. I enjoy giving people positive encouragement and helping them because I want to, not because I want to get something in return. I plan to continue doing what I love most, helping others and setting a good example for others in my community. I find volunteering fun and something I can see myself doing for the rest of my life, however I do want to improve my way of life. Recently I have started conserving water by only running the washing machine and dishwasher when you have a full load and using a low flow shower head and faucet aerators. I would like to start implementing more biodegradable materials into my lifestyle such as zero waste toothpaste and toilet paper made out of wood pulp. However, helping the environment is not the only key to a successful environment, but helping one another. By reaching out to others and being there for one another, it establishes an indestructible community. Because every green thumb needs a lending hand to sprout from.

Although a human out of seven billion may not have any major impact, an impact is still an impact regardless. I am aware that I am unable to fix the world, but I want to leave a dent in it and I am satisfied with the work I have done in order to preserve this land we call home. No matter your size or insignificant you think your voice is, the first step to establish change is by changing yourself. At times I ask myself, am I really doing all I can to help my community, and what I can do to be more helpful. By being considerate and showing compassion to others, it helped me become a better and kinder person day by day. I enjoy giving people positive encouragement and helping them because I want to, not because I want to get something in return. I volunteer at Manna on Main Street, a non-profit organization committed to ending hunger in the North Penn region by providing food, fulfilling social service and education needs, and conducting community outreach. My role is making and distributing food to those in need. It isn’t an easy task, however being able to interact with these people and give them everything they need to survive fills my heart. Nothing could ever replicate the warmth of seeing a satisfied customer smile at me and leave not only with a full stomach, but a bag full of groceries. However, just volunteering doesn’t satisfy me, therefore I make sure to leave as little carbon footprint as possible. I do this by going vegetarian and vegan a few years ago along with recycling and walking or using public transportation as much as I can. Instead of shopping in fast fashion, I go thrifting and I even started growing my own plants in my own miniature garden. During my junior year of highschool I attended ENACT, an environmental club that promotes environmental behavior and focuses on raising environmental awareness about the issues that affect the earth so we can better preserve it. The club’s activities consisted of cleaning the park near our school, technology recycling, and planting new plants in our school’s garden. Because of our similarities, we would often share eco-friendly advice with each other and would introduce information I never knew before. To channel my curiosity even further, I decided to subscribe to sustainable living blogs and channels to keep up with any new environmentally friendly products such as zero waste products and composting advice. Helping the environment is not the only key to a successful environment, but helping one another. By reaching out to others and being there for one another, it establishes an indestructible community. Because every green thumb needs a lending hand to sprout from.

I want to make people happy. Although it sounds simple, people often oversimplify this task, making it much easier than it seems. It’s a common myth that people believe that happiness is supposed to be felt all the time and certainly isn’t something that you can buy, trade, or exchange. Our obsession with the personal nature of happiness caused the general populace confusion on happiness, especially the root of said happiness. Being raised to expect life to make us feel good and avoid pain, we have been taught that negative feelings are not meant to be felt; that our lack of happiness is abnormal. In actuality happiness is difficult to define because it has a different meaning to each person. Therefore, I strive to make other people happy through my comedy. Laughter has been deemed the best medicine for decades. Afterall, nothing feels better than having your sides hurt from laughing too much at a joke. Laughter makes you feel good and this positive feeling remains with you even after the laughter subsides. Even in the most difficult of times, a laugh–or even a smile–can go a long way toward making you feel better. And laughter is contagious—just hearing laughter readies you to smile. I was known as the class clown and my jokes were met with praise from both teachers and students alike. Nothing gave me more joy than seeing people laugh at my jokes or seeing them smile. After years of being degraded and taken advantage of, I was able to see my worth as a person that everyone not only respects but enjoys being around. I saw this opportunity as a way to voice my humor and I used it as a coping mechanism and an essential social tool to climb my way up from the depths of the social ladder. Eventually, I grew more confident in my communication skills and comedy writing to the point where I started expressing myself through prose. The people who view my work tell me they need to see more and even consider it a “work of art.” Teachers I look up to would tell me that they can’t find my writing anywhere else. Because of their kind words, it gave me the confidence to start running my own blog, saynonym, to have an outlet for my written works. Although it is still in the making, I get satisfaction from knowing that I have a place that I can publicly display my work for the public to see. It brings me joy knowing that people enjoy my works and I, as the diligent writer I am, have no choice but to keep up with their requests. I love to give back to my community and by doing so, I volunteer at Manna on Main Street, a non-profit organization committed to ending hunger in the North Penn region by providing food and conducting community outreach. My role is making and distributing food to those in need. It isn’t an easy task, however being able to interact with these people and give them everything they need to survive fills my heart. Nothing could ever replicate the warmth of seeing a satisfied customer smile at me and leave not only with a full stomach, but a bag full of groceries. However, just volunteering doesn’t satisfy me, therefore I make sure to leave as little carbon footprint as possible. I do this by going vegetarian and vegan a few years ago along with recycling and walking or using public transportation as much as I can. Instead of shopping in fast fashion, I went thrifting and I even started growing my own plants in my own miniature garden. During my junior year of highschool I attended ENACT, an environmental club that promotes environmental behavior and focuses on raising environmental awareness about the issues that affect the earth so we can better preserve it. The club’s activities consisted of cleaning the park near our school, technology recycling, and planting new plants in our school’s garden. To channel my curiosity even further, I decided to subscribe to sustainable living blogs and channels to keep up with any new environmentally friendly products such as zero waste products and composting advice. However, helping the environment is not the only key to a successful environment, but helping one another. By reaching out to others and being there for one another, it establishes an indestructible community. Because every green thumb needs a lending hand to sprout from.

I want to make people happy. Although it sounds simple, people often oversimplify this task, making it much easier than it seems. It’s a common myth that people believe that happiness is supposed to be felt all the time and certainly isn’t something that you can buy, trade, or exchange. Our obsession with the personal nature of happiness caused the general populace confusion on happiness, especially the root of said happiness. Being raised to expect life to make us feel good and avoid pain, we have been taught that negative feelings are not meant to be felt; that our lack of happiness is abnormal. In actuality happiness is difficult to define because it has a different meaning to each person. Therefore, I strive to make other people happy through my comedy. Laughter has been deemed the best medicine for decades. Afterall, nothing feels better than having your sides hurt from laughing too much at a joke. Laughter makes you feel good and this positive feeling remains with you even after the laughter subsides. Even in the most difficult of times, a laugh–or even a smile–can go a long way toward making you feel better. And laughter is contagious—just hearing laughter readies you to smile. I am interested in comedy writing. I was known as the class clown and my jokes were met with praise from both teachers and students alike. I grew to be a very likable person and became friends with nearly everyone due to my ability to get along with everyone. Nothing gave me more joy than seeing people laugh at my jokes or seeing them genuinely smile. After years of being degraded and taken advantage of, I was able to see my worth as a person that everyone not only respects but enjoys being around. I saw this opportunity as a way to voice my humor and I used it as a coping mechanism and an essential social tool to climb my way up from the depths of the social ladder. Eventually, I grew more confident in my communication skills and comedy writing to the point where I started expressing myself through prose such as poetry, journaling, articles, and short stories. The people who view and admire my work often compliment it, telling me they need to see more of my upcoming work and even consider it a “work of art.” Even teachers I look up to would tell me that my writing is special and that you can’t find my writing anywhere else. Because of their kind words, it gave me the confidence to start running my own blog, saynonym, to have an outlet for my written works. Although it is still in the making, I get satisfaction from knowing that I have a place that I can publicly display my work for the public to see. It brings me joy knowing that people enjoy my works and I, as the diligent writer I am, have no choice but to keep up with their requests.

Happy children make me envious. I know it’s an irrational thought, but it reminds me of the childhood I never had. As the first-generation child in my immigrant family, I was neglected from the first day I was born. I never got to see my parents until the age of three due to my parents living in poverty in the slums of New York. Once we reunited, I was their punching bag. Nothing I did was ever good enough and as their first offspring, I had to be the replacement of what was initially expected of my mother, an ideally successful and smart woman. Because of my mother’s fascination with success, she spent most of her money on afterschool programs such as Kumon, swimming, and piano to be years above my grade. Of course, I abided by what she told me to do in fear of what will happen if I didn’t, therefore the majority of my life was dedicated to making someone else happy and living a life for someone else. I felt like I was wasting my youth on becoming the person my mother wanted to be, thus I made sure she never saw the true Felicia. However, with the mental and physical abuse came bullying at school. I struggled to find an identity because growing up without a childhood made me lack self-worth. I was always shamed by my peers, my parents, and even teachers for being “different” therefore I grew up as an “outcast”. At night I cried myself to sleep and as I rubbed the bruises on my limbs as a source of comfort, I prayed for my own death. Growing up in a conservative Christian household, I found myself questioning my identity. I didn’t know who I was nor what I wanted to be. Growing up, I hated the fact that I was a girl and immediately grew to resent anything that was considered feminine. I asked the people around me to call me Felix instead of my birth name, Felicia. However, no one respected my decision. I also questioned my sexuality and grew up with the perception that having an attraction to the same gender was wrong. When other girls my age were falling for the hero, I was captivated by the heroine. Nothing I did was right. My insecurities led me to self-harm by burning my own skin and scratching my own face. I hid in my room all day and would go weeks without eating. I made excuses to never go out because I felt I was doing everyone a favor by hiding my worthless, incapable self that wasn’t worth presenting. However, during my freshman year of high school, I met people who were willing to listen; who were willing to care. They didn’t push me aside and didn’t shame me for who I was. When I was at my lowest, they pulled me back up. After fourteen years of shame and embarrassment for who I was, I came to the realization that I am worthy of being around other people. Once I was able to make a name for myself, I figured that I enjoyed making the people around me happy and that it was something I wanted to dedicate my entire life to. After moving from New York to the suburbs in Pennsylvania, I developed an eating disorder which I was hospitalized in a clinic for. When my mom saw my limp body next to the fatally low heart monitor, she couldn’t help but cry. Ashamed, she told me that she was sorry for everything and promised to change for the better. She promised me that she would support me no matter what I chose to do with my life as long as I made sure to cherish my own body. Seeing her reaction made me shocked. I never expected her to say such a thing and it was different than what I expected her to tell me. All my life was dedicated to making her happy and proud which only backfired on my end. Seeing her in tears made me realize that I need to live for myself, not for my mother. I patted her hand and forgave her. Shortly after I was transferred to a mental hospital for two weeks and after my return, I was met with a hug. “I’m sorry I never hugged you when you were a child,” I remember her telling me during our late-night conversations, “to make it up for those years, I will hug you until you’ve had your fill.” My mother was like a completely different person. Her harsh demeanor was no longer and she was a changed woman. Years ago she never gave me her consent to a psychologist and encouraged my own death, but now she has come a long way. She now encourages me to take my antidepressants on time, accompanies me to my psychiatrist and hospital check-ups, and most importantly, she finally treats me like her daughter. But as she is changing, so am I. The daily mental battles I face of never being good enough. Whether it is my appearance or wits, I hate seeing the pathetic reflection staring back at me, but I’m much better than when I first started. Afterall, baby steps are still steps. Perhaps one day I can make a giant leap, just like how Armstrong did for mankind.

Happy children make me envious. I know it’s an irrational thought, but it reminds me of the childhood I never had. As the first-generation child in my immigrant family, I was neglected from the first day I was born. I never got to see my parents until the age of three due to my parents living in poverty in the slums of New York. Once we reunited, I was their punching bag. Nothing I did was ever good enough and as their first offspring, I had to be the replacement of what was initially expected of my mother, an ideally successful and smart woman. Because of my mother’s fascination with success, she spent most of her money on afterschool programs such as Kumon, swimming, and piano to be years above my grade. Of course, I abided by what she told me to do in fear of what will happen if I didn’t, therefore the majority of my life was dedicated to making someone else happy and living a life for someone else. I felt like I was wasting my youth on becoming the person my mother wanted to be, thus I made sure she never saw the true Felicia. However, with the mental and physical abuse came bullying at school. I struggled to find an identity because growing up without a childhood made me lack self-worth. I was always shamed by my peers, my parents, and even teachers for being “different” therefore I grew up as an “outcast”. At night I cried myself to sleep and as I rubbed the bruises on my limbs as a source of comfort, I prayed for my own death. Growing up in a conservative Christian household, I found myself questioning my identity. I didn’t know who I was nor what I wanted to be. Growing up, I hated the fact that I was a girl and immediately grew to resent anything that was considered feminine. I asked the people around me to call me Felix instead of my birth name, Felicia. However, no one respected my decision. I also questioned my sexuality and grew up with the perception that having an attraction to the same gender was wrong. When other girls my age were falling for the hero, I was captivated by the heroine. Nothing I did was right. My insecurities led me to self-harm by burning my own skin and scratching my own face. I hid in my room all day and would go weeks without eating. I made excuses to never go out because I felt I was doing everyone a favor by hiding my worthless, incapable self that wasn’t worth presenting. However, during my freshman year of high school, I met people who were willing to listen; who were willing to care. They didn’t push me aside and didn’t shame me for who I was. When I was at my lowest, they pulled me back up. After fourteen years of shame and embarrassment for who I was, I came to the realization that I am worthy of being around other people. Once I was able to make a name for myself, I figured that I enjoyed making the people around me happy and that it was something I wanted to dedicate my entire life to. After moving from New York to the suburbs in Pennsylvania, I developed an eating disorder which I was hospitalized in a clinic for. When my mom saw my limp body next to the fatally low heart monitor, she couldn’t help but cry. Ashamed, she told me that she was sorry for everything and promised to change for the better. She promised me that she would support me no matter what I chose to do with my life as long as I made sure to cherish my own body. Seeing her reaction made me shocked. I never expected her to say such a thing and it was different than what I expected her to tell me. All my life was dedicated to making her happy and proud which only backfired on my end. Seeing her in tears made me realize that I need to live for myself, not for my mother. I patted her hand and forgave her. Shortly after I was transferred to a mental hospital for two weeks and after my return, I was met with a hug. “I’m sorry I never hugged you when you were a child,” I remember her telling me during our late night conversations, “to make it up for those years, I will hug you until you’ve had your fill.” My mother was like a completely different person. Her harsh demeanor was no longer and she was a changed woman. Years ago she never gave me her consent to a psychologist and encouraged my own death, but now she has come a long way. She now encourages me to take my antidepressants on time, accompanies me to my psychiatrist and hospital check-ups, and most importantly, she finally treats me like her daughter. But as she is changing, so am I. The daily mental battles I face of never being good enough. Whether it is my appearance or wits, I hate seeing the pathetic reflection staring back at me, but I’m much better than when I first started. Afterall, baby steps are still steps. Perhaps one day I can make a giant leap, just like how Armstrong did for mankind.

Growing up in a conservative Christian household, I found myself questioning my identity. I didn’t know who I was nor what I wanted to be. Growing up, I hated the fact that I was a girl and immediately grew to resent anything that was considered feminine. I asked the people around me to call me Felix instead of my birth name, Felicia. However, no one respected my decision. After fourteen years of shame and embarrassment for who I was, I came to the realization that I am worthy of being around other people. Once I was able to make a name for myself, I figured that I enjoyed making the people around me happy. I was known as the class clown and my jokes were met with praise from both teachers and students alike. I grew to be a very likable person and became friends with nearly everyone due to my ability to get along with everyone. Nothing gave me more joy than seeing people laugh at my jokes or seeing them genuinely smile. After years of being degraded and taken advantage of, I was able to see my worth as a person that everyone not only respects but enjoys being around. I saw this opportunity as a way to voice my humor and I used it as a coping mechanism and an essential social tool to climb my way up from the depths of the social ladder. Eventually, I grew more confident in my communication skills and comedy writing to the point where I started expressing myself through prose such as poetry, journaling, articles, and short stories. The people who view and admire my work often compliment it, telling me they need to see more of my upcoming work and even consider it a “work of art.” Even teachers I look up to would tell me that my writing is special and that you can’t find my writing anywhere else. Because of their kind words, it gave me the confidence to start running my own blog, saynonym, to have an outlet for my written works. Although it is still in the making, I get satisfaction from knowing that I have a place that I can publicly display my work for the public to see. It brings me joy knowing that people enjoy my works and I, as the diligent writer I am, have no choice but to keep up with their requests. This scholarship will not only help me run my blog, but it will also pay for a college education I have always dreamed of. As a child, school was an escape. I woke up every morning without having to press snooze on my alarm clock because I looked forward to going to school to learn. I found learning fun and often found myself annoying my teachers with questions or extra sets of worksheets. In a wonderful, vast world filled with a complex history, alluring art, and complex mechanisms that allow us to live on this planet we call home, the world has been shaped by our theories. Delving into the arts and sciences, we learn to comprehend the world we are in, making the earth sound surreal. Young Felicia was often found binging on books or fraction equations in 3rd grade to satiate some of the insatiable curiosity I was under. My mind was ravenous and greedy, but as a child I fed my mind with idiomatic expressions and mathematical equations until I had my fill. By furthering my education I want to fulfill my criteria for success. My definition of success isn’t wealth, fame, or a life of luxury but rather a life dedicated to making others, including myself, happy. I am interested in attending a comedy writing and performance major in order to become a script writer for a late night show host and possibly for Saturday night Live, which was recommended to me by a teacher. I found that my passion for writing and making people laugh was the perfect combination for the job I was interested in, therefore I am doing everything within my capabilities to achieve the education I am striving for. Although I have been discouraged by everyone telling me that such a job will only leave me with a degree and resume not worth looking at, I have kept my head up for the future awaiting me.

Nothing could ever replicate the warmth of being held in your mother’s arms as an infant. The knowledge that you were safe, even if it was a memory lodged so far back in your mind that you could barely recall it, brought forth a sense of calm and belonging. But as time progresses, the past becomes an insatiable craving - to feel loved, to feel real, to feel something. Having days pass knowing there’s not a person to come home to, not a person to hold you in their arms, and not a person to be there for you to tell you that everything is going to be alright. However, almost everything comes prepackaged with a second chance. After years of being bullied and growing up in a mentally and physically abusive household, I struggled to find an identity. I was always shamed by my peers, parents, and teachers for being “different”, therefore I grew up as an “outcast”. At night I cried myself to sleep and as I rubbed the bruises on my limbs as a source of comfort, I prayed for my own death. Growing up in a conservative Christian household, I found myself questioning my identity. I didn’t know who I was nor what I wanted to be. Growing up, I hated the fact that I was a girl and immediately grew to resent anything that was considered feminine. I asked the people around me to call me Felix instead of my birth name, Felicia. However, no one respected my decision. My insecurities led me to self-harm by burning my own skin and scratching my own face. I hid in my room all day and would go weeks without eating. I made excuses to never go out because I felt I was doing everyone a favor by hiding my worthless, incapable self that wasn’t worth presenting. However, during my freshman year of high school, I met people who were willing to listen; who were willing to care. They didn’t push me aside and didn’t shame me for who I was. When I was at my lowest, they pulled me back up. After fourteen years of shame and embarrassment for who I was, I came to the realization that I am worthy of being around other people. Once I was able to make a name for myself, I figured that I enjoyed making the people around me happy. I was known as the class clown and my jokes were met with praise from both teachers and students alike. I grew to be a very likable person and became friends with nearly everyone due to my ability to get along with everyone. Nothing gave me more joy than seeing people laugh at my jokes or seeing them genuinely smile. After years of being degraded and taken advantage of, I was able to see my worth as a person that everyone not only respects but enjoys being around. I saw this opportunity as a way to voice my humor and I used it as a coping mechanism and an essential social tool to climb my way up from the depths of the social ladder. Eventually, I grew more confident in my communication skills and comedy writing to the point where I started expressing myself through prose such as poetry, journaling, articles, and short stories. The people who view and admire my work often compliment it, telling me they need to see more of my upcoming work and even consider it a “work of art.” Even teachers I look up to would tell me that my writing is special and that you can’t find my writing anywhere else. Because of their kind words, it gave me the confidence to start running my own blog, saynonym, to have an outlet for my written works. Although it is still in the making, I get satisfaction from knowing that I have a place that I can publicly display my work for the public to see. It brings me joy knowing that people enjoy my works and I, as the diligent writer I am, have no choice but to keep up with their requests.

Nothing could ever replicate the warmth of being held in your mother’s arms as an infant. The knowledge that you were safe, even if it was a memory lodged so far back in your mind that you could barely recall it, brought forth a sense of calm and belonging. But as time progresses, the past becomes an insatiable craving - to feel loved, to feel real, to feel something. After years of being bullied and growing up in a mentally and physically abusive household, I struggled to find an identity. I was always shamed by my peers, my parents, and even teachers for being “different” and “weird” therefore I grew up isolated. At night I cried myself to sleep and as I rubbed the bruises on my limbs as a source of comfort, I prayed for my own death. My insecurities led me to self-harm by burning my own skin and scratching my own face. I hid in my room all day and would go weeks without eating. I made excuses to never go out because I felt I was doing everyone a favor by hiding my worthless, incapable self that wasn’t worth presenting. However, during my freshman year of high school, I met people who were willing to listen; who were willing to care. Once I was able to make a name for myself, I figured that I enjoyed making the people around me happy. I was known as the class clown and my jokes were met with praise from both teachers and students alike. I saw this opportunity as a way to voice my humor and I used it as a coping mechanism and an essential social tool to climb my way up from the depths of the social ladder. Eventually, I grew more confident in my communication skills and comedy writing. I started running my own blog, saynonym, to have an outlet for my written works. It brings me joy knowing that people enjoy my works and I, as the diligent writer I am, have no choice but to keep up with their requests.

Nothing could ever replicate the warmth of being held in your mother’s arms as an infant. The knowledge that you were safe, even if it was a memory lodged so far back in your mind that you could barely recall it, brought forth a sense of calm and belonging. But as time progresses, the past becomes an insatiable craving - to feel loved, to feel real, to feel something. Having days pass knowing there’s not a person to come home to, not a person to hold you in their arms, and not a person to be there for you to tell you that everything is going to be alright. Waking up to an empty side of the bed, no one to share breakfast with, and no one to nag at you about how you forgot to put the toilet seat up or how you forgot to clean your own bed for the fourth time this week. But eventually, it becomes a routine, and being vulnerable to another person sounds criminally abnormal once you start enjoying the presence of your own company. However, almost everything comes prepackaged with a second chance. After years of being bullied and growing up in a mentally and physically abusive household, I struggled to find an identity because growing up without a childhood made me lack self-worth. I was always shamed by my peers, my parents, and even teachers for being “different” and “weird” therefore I grew up isolated and labeled myself as an “outcast”. At night I cried myself to sleep and as I rubbed the bruises on my limbs as a source of comfort, I prayed for my own death. Growing up in a conservative Christian household, I found myself questioning my identity. I didn’t know who I was nor what I wanted to be. Growing up, I hated the fact that I was a girl and immediately grew to resent anything that was considered feminine. I asked the people around me to call me Felix instead of my birth name, Felicia. However, no one respected my decision. I also questioned my sexuality and grew up with the perception that having an attraction to the same gender was wrong. When other girls my age were falling for the hero, I was captivated by the heroine. Nothing I did was right. My insecurities led me to self-harm by burning my own skin and scratching my own face. I hid in my room all day and would go weeks without eating. I made excuses to never go out because I felt I was doing everyone a favor by hiding my worthless, incapable self that wasn’t worth presenting. However, during my freshman year of high school, I met people who were willing to listen; who were willing to care. They didn’t push me aside and didn’t shame me for who I was. When I was at my lowest, they pulled me back up. After fourteen years of shame and embarrassment for who I was, I came to the realization that enjoyed making the people around me happy. I grew to be a very likable person and became friends with nearly everyone due to my ability to get along with everyone. Nothing gave me more joy than seeing people laugh at my jokes or seeing them genuinely smile. I saw this opportunity as a way to voice my humor and I used it as a coping mechanism and an essential social tool to climb my way up from the depths of the social ladder. Eventually, I grew more confident in my communication skills and comedy writing to the point where I started expressing myself through prose such as poetry, journaling, and short stories. The people who view and admire my work often compliment it, telling me they need to see more of my upcoming work and even consider it a “work of art.” Even teachers I look up to would tell me that my writing is special and that you can’t find my writing anywhere else. Because of their kind words, it gave me the confidence to start running my own blog, saynonym, to have an outlet for my written works. Although it is still in the making, I get satisfaction from knowing that I have a place that I can publicly display my work for the public to see. It brings me joy knowing that people enjoy my works and I, as the diligent writer I am, have no choice but to keep up with their requests.

Nothing could ever replicate the warmth of being held in your mother’s arms as an infant. The knowledge that you were safe, even if it was a memory lodged so far back in your mind that you could barely recall it, brought forth a sense of calm and belonging. But as time progresses, the past becomes an insatiable craving - to feel loved, to feel real, to feel something. Having days pass knowing there’s not a person to come home to, not a person to hold you in their arms, and not a person to be there for you to tell you that everything is going to be alright. Waking up to an empty side of the bed, no one to share breakfast with, and no one to nag at you about how you forgot to put the toilet seat up or how you forgot to clean your own bed for the fourth time this week. But eventually, it becomes a routine, and being vulnerable to another person sounds criminally abnormal once you start enjoying the presence of your own company. However, almost everything comes prepackaged with a second chance. After years of being bullied and growing up in a mentally and physically abusive household, I struggled to find an identity because growing up without a childhood made me lack self-worth. I was always shamed by my peers, my parents, and even teachers for being “different” and “weird” therefore I grew up isolated and labeled myself as an “outcast”. At night I cried myself to sleep and as I rubbed the bruises on my limbs as a source of comfort, I prayed for my own death. Growing up in a conservative Christian household, I found myself questioning my identity. I didn’t know who I was nor what I wanted to be. Growing up, I hated the fact that I was a girl and immediately grew to resent anything that was considered feminine. I asked the people around me to call me Felix instead of my birth name, Felicia. However, no one respected my decision. I also questioned my sexuality and grew up with the perception that having an attraction to the same gender was wrong. When other girls my age were falling for the hero, I was captivated by the heroine. Nothing I did was right. My insecurities led me to self-harm by burning my own skin and scratching my own face. I hid in my room all day and would go weeks without eating. I made excuses to never go out because I felt I was doing everyone a favor by hiding my worthless, incapable self that wasn’t worth presenting. However, during my freshman year of high school, I met people who were willing to listen; who were willing to care. They didn’t push me aside and didn’t shame me for who I was. When I was at my lowest, they pulled me back up. After fourteen years of shame and embarrassment for who I was, I came to the realization that I am worthy of being around other people. Once I was able to make a name for myself, I figured that I enjoyed making the people around me happy. I was known as the class clown and my jokes were met with praise from both teachers and students alike. I grew to be a very likable person and became friends with nearly everyone due to my ability to get along with everyone. Nothing gave me more joy than seeing people laugh at my jokes or seeing them genuinely smile. After years of being degraded and taken advantage of, I was able to see my worth as a person that everyone not only respects but enjoys being around. I saw this opportunity as a way to voice my humor and I used it as a coping mechanism and an essential social tool to climb my way up from the depths of the social ladder. Eventually, I grew more confident in my communication skills and comedy writing to the point where I started expressing myself through prose such as poetry, journaling, articles, and short stories. The people who view and admire my work often compliment it, telling me they need to see more of my upcoming work and even consider it a “work of art.” Even teachers I look up to would tell me that my writing is special and that you can’t find my writing anywhere else. Because of their kind words, it gave me the confidence to start running my own blog, saynonym, to have an outlet for my written works. Although it is still in the making, I get satisfaction from knowing that I have a place that I can publicly display my work for the public to see. It brings me joy knowing that people enjoy my works and I, as the diligent writer I am, have no choice but to keep up with their requests.

Nothing could ever replicate the warmth of being held in your mother’s arms as an infant. The knowledge that you were safe, even if it was a memory lodged so far back in your mind that you could barely recall it, brought forth a sense of calm and belonging. But as time progresses, the past becomes an insatiable craving - to feel loved, to feel real, to feel something. Having days pass knowing there’s not a person to come home to, not a person to hold you in their arms, and not a person to be there for you to tell you that everything is going to be alright. Waking up to an empty side of the bed, no one to share breakfast with, and no one to nag at you about how you forgot to put the toilet seat up or how you forgot to clean your own bed for the fourth time this week. But eventually, it becomes a routine, and being vulnerable to another person sounds criminally abnormal once you start enjoying the presence of your own company. However, almost everything comes prepackaged with a second chance. After years of being bullied and growing up in a mentally and physically abusive household, I struggled to find an identity because growing up without a childhood made me lack self-worth. I was always shamed by my peers, my parents, and even teachers for being “different” and “weird” therefore I grew up isolated and labeled myself as an “outcast”. At night I cried myself to sleep and as I rubbed the bruises on my limbs as a source of comfort, I prayed for my own death. Growing up in a conservative Christian household, I found myself questioning my identity. I didn’t know who I was nor what I wanted to be. Growing up, I hated the fact that I was a girl and immediately grew to resent anything that was considered feminine. I asked the people around me to call me Felix instead of my birth name, Felicia. However, no one respected my decision. I also questioned my sexuality and grew up with the perception that having an attraction to the same gender was wrong. When other girls my age were falling for the hero, I was captivated by the heroine. Nothing I did was right. My insecurities led me to self-harm by burning my own skin and scratching my own face. I hid in my room all day and would go weeks without eating. I made excuses to never go out because I felt I was doing everyone a favor by hiding my worthless, incapable self that wasn’t worth presenting. However, during my freshman year of high school, I met people who were willing to listen; who were willing to care. They didn’t push me aside and didn’t shame me for who I was. When I was at my lowest, they pulled me back up. After fourteen years of shame and embarrassment for who I was, I came to the realization that I am worthy of being around other people. I grew to be a very likable person and became friends with nearly everyone due to my ability to get along with everyone. Nothing gave me more joy than seeing people laugh at my jokes or seeing them genuinely smile. I saw this opportunity as a way to voice my humor and I used it as a coping mechanism and an essential social tool to climb my way up from the depths of the social ladder. I grew more confident in my communication skills and comedy writing to the point where I started expressing myself through prose such as poetry, journaling, and short stories. The people who view and admire my work often compliment it, telling me they need to see more of my upcoming work and even consider it a “work of art.” Even teachers I look up to would tell me that my writing is special and that you can’t find my writing anywhere else. Because of their kind words, it gave me the confidence to start running my own blog, saynonym, to have an outlet for my written works. Although it is still in the making, I get satisfaction from knowing that I have a place that I can publicly display my work for the public to see. It brings me joy knowing that people enjoy my works and I, as the diligent writer I am, have no choice but to keep up with their requests.

Nothing could ever replicate the warmth of being held in your mother’s arms as an infant. The knowledge that you were safe, even if it was a memory lodged so far back in your mind that you could barely recall it, brought forth a sense of calm and belonging. But as time progresses, the past becomes an insatiable craving - to feel loved, to feel real, to feel something. Having days pass knowing there’s not a person to come home to, not a person to hold you in their arms, and not a person to be there for you to tell you that everything is going to be alright. Waking up to an empty side of the bed, no one to share breakfast with, and no one to nag at you about how you forgot to put the toilet seat up or how you forgot to clean your own bed for the fourth time this week. But eventually, it becomes a routine, and being vulnerable to another person sounds criminally abnormal once you start enjoying the presence of your own company. However, almost everything comes prepackaged with a second chance. After years of being bullied and growing up in a mentally and physically abusive household, I struggled to find an identity because growing up without a childhood made me lack self-worth. I was always shamed by my peers, my parents, and even teachers for being “different” and “weird” therefore I grew up isolated and labeled myself as an “outcast”. At night I cried myself to sleep and as I rubbed the bruises on my limbs as a source of comfort, I prayed for my own death. Growing up in a conservative Christian household, I found myself questioning my identity. I didn’t know who I was nor what I wanted to be. Growing up, I hated the fact that I was a girl and immediately grew to resent anything that was considered feminine. I asked the people around me to call me Felix instead of my birth name, Felicia. However, no one respected my decision. I also questioned my sexuality and grew up with the perception that having an attraction to the same gender was wrong. When other girls my age were falling for the hero, I was captivated by the heroine. Nothing I did was right. My insecurities led me to self-harm by burning my own skin and scratching my own face. I hid in my room all day and would go weeks without eating. I made excuses to never go out because I felt I was doing everyone a favor by hiding my worthless, incapable self that wasn’t worth presenting. However, during my freshman year of high school, I met people who were willing to listen; who were willing to care. They didn’t push me aside and didn’t shame me for who I was. When I was at my lowest, they pulled me back up. After fourteen years of shame and embarrassment for who I was, I came to the realization that I am worthy of being around other people. Once I was able to make a name for myself, I figured that I enjoyed making the people around me happy. I was known as the class clown and my jokes were met with praise from both teachers and students alike. I grew to be a very likable person and became friends with nearly everyone due to my ability to get along with everyone. Nothing gave me more joy than seeing people laugh at my jokes or seeing them genuinely smile. After years of being degraded and taken advantage of, I was able to see my worth as a person that everyone not only respects but enjoys being around. I saw this opportunity as a way to voice my humor and I used it as a coping mechanism and an essential social tool to climb my way up from the depths of the social ladder. Eventually, I grew more confident in my communication skills and comedy writing to the point where I started expressing myself through prose such as poetry, journaling, articles, and short stories. The people who view and admire my work often compliment it, telling me they need to see more of my upcoming work and even consider it a “work of art.” Even teachers I look up to would tell me that my writing is special and that you can’t find my writing anywhere else. Because of their kind words, it gave me the confidence to start running my own blog, saynonym, to have an outlet for my written works. Although it is still in the making, I get satisfaction from knowing that I have a place that I can publicly display my work for the public to see. It brings me joy knowing that people enjoy my works and I, as the diligent writer I am, have no choice but to keep up with their requests.

Nothing could ever replicate the warmth of being held in your mother’s arms as an infant. The knowledge that you were safe, even if it was a memory lodged so far back in your mind that you could barely recall it, brought forth a sense of calm and belonging. But as time progresses, the past becomes an insatiable craving - to feel loved, to feel real, to feel something. Having days pass knowing there’s not a person to come home to, not a person to hold you in their arms, and not a person to be there for you to tell you that everything is going to be alright. Waking up to an empty side of the bed, no one to share breakfast with, and no one to nag at you about how you forgot to put the toilet seat up or how you forgot to clean your own bed for the fourth time this week. But eventually, it becomes a routine, and being vulnerable to another person sounds criminally abnormal once you start enjoying the presence of your own company. However, almost everything comes prepackaged with a second chance. After years of being bullied and growing up in a mentally and physically abusive household, I struggled to find an identity because growing up without a childhood made me lack self-worth. I was always shamed by my peers, my parents, and even teachers for being “different” and “weird” therefore I grew up isolated and labeled myself as an “outcast”. At night I cried myself to sleep and as I rubbed the bruises on my limbs as a source of comfort, I prayed for my own death. Growing up in a conservative Christian household, I found myself questioning my identity. I didn’t know who I was nor what I wanted to be. Growing up, I hated the fact that I was a girl and immediately grew to resent anything that was considered feminine. I asked the people around me to call me Felix instead of my birth name, Felicia. However, no one respected my decision. I also questioned my sexuality and grew up with the perception that having an attraction to the same gender was wrong. When other girls my age were falling for the hero, I was captivated by the heroine. Nothing I did was right. My insecurities led me to self-harm by burning my own skin and scratching my own face. I hid in my room all day and would go weeks without eating. I made excuses to never go out because I felt I was doing everyone a favor by hiding my worthless, incapable self that wasn’t worth presenting. However, during my freshman year of high school, I met people who were willing to listen; who were willing to care. They didn’t push me aside and didn’t shame me for who I was. When I was at my lowest, they pulled me back up. After fourteen years of shame and embarrassment for who I was, I came to the realization that I am worthy of being around other people. Once I was able to make a name for myself, I figured that I enjoyed making the people around me happy. I was known as the class clown and my jokes were met with praise from both teachers and students alike. I grew to be a very likable person and became friends with nearly everyone due to my ability to get along with everyone. Nothing gave me more joy than seeing people laugh at my jokes or seeing them genuinely smile. After years of being degraded and taken advantage of, I was able to see my worth as a person that everyone not only respects but enjoys being around. I saw this opportunity as a way to voice my humor and I used it as a coping mechanism and an essential social tool to climb my way up from the depths of the social ladder. Eventually, I grew more confident in my communication skills and comedy writing to the point where I started expressing myself through prose such as poetry, journaling, articles, and short stories. The people who view and admire my work often compliment it, telling me they need to see more of my upcoming work and even consider it a “work of art.” Even teachers I look up to would tell me that my writing is special and that you can’t find my writing anywhere else. Because of their kind words, it gave me the confidence to start running my own blog, saynonym, to have an outlet for my written works. Although it is still in the making, I get satisfaction from knowing that I have a place that I can publicly display my work for the public to see. It brings me joy knowing that people enjoy my works and I, as the diligent writer I am, have no choice but to keep up with their requests.

Nothing could ever replicate the warmth of being held in your mother’s arms as an infant. The knowledge that you were safe, even if it was a memory lodged so far back in your mind that you could barely recall it, brought forth a sense of calm and belonging. But as time progresses, the past becomes an insatiable craving - to feel loved, to feel real, to feel something. Having days pass knowing there’s not a person to come home to, not a person to hold you in their arms, and not a person to be there for you to tell you that everything is going to be alright. Waking up to an empty side of the bed, no one to share breakfast with, and no one to nag at you about how you forgot to put the toilet seat up or how you forgot to clean your own bed for the fourth time this week. But eventually, it becomes a routine, and being vulnerable to another person sounds criminally abnormal once you start enjoying the presence of your own company. However, almost everything comes prepackaged with a second chance. After years of being bullied and growing up in a mentally and physically abusive household, I struggled to find an identity because growing up without a childhood made me lack self-worth. I was always shamed by my peers, my parents, and even teachers for being “different” and “weird” therefore I grew up isolated and labeled myself as an “outcast”. At night I cried myself to sleep and as I rubbed the bruises on my limbs as a source of comfort, I prayed for my own death. Growing up in a conservative Christian household, I found myself questioning my identity. I didn’t know who I was nor what I wanted to be. Growing up, I hated the fact that I was a girl and immediately grew to resent anything that was considered feminine. I asked the people around me to call me Felix instead of my birth name, Felicia. However, no one respected my decision. I also questioned my sexuality and grew up with the perception that having an attraction to the same gender was wrong. When other girls my age were falling for the hero, I was captivated by the heroine. Nothing I did was right. My insecurities led me to self-harm by burning my own skin and scratching my own face. I hid in my room all day and would go weeks without eating. I made excuses to never go out because I felt I was doing everyone a favor by hiding my worthless, incapable self that wasn’t worth presenting. However, during my freshman year of high school, I met people who were willing to listen; who were willing to care. They didn’t push me aside and didn’t shame me for who I was. When I was at my lowest, they pulled me back up. Friendship made me realize that life isn't so bad after all.

Not everyone is equal. It's a sad, unfortunate reality to some. Some people have the everyday luxury of obtaining societal benefits at the expense of those on the opposite spectrum of the social ladder. who live in shame for what they are. Thus, I want to see more acceptance and assistance. Individuals are often discriminated against due to conflicting views and difficulty in keeping up with the overwhelming pace society is in. Many people are left behind, unaware of what road to walk because they don't have a guide or directions to follow. Henceforth, I believe that it is important for not only the earth to heal, but also the creatures who dwell on life harbored on the blue astronomical object floating in the midst of space. Although a human out of seven billion may not have any major impact, an impact is still an impact regardless. I am aware that I am unable to fix the world, but I want to leave a dent in it and I am satisfied with the work I have done in order to preserve this land we call home. No matter your size or insignificant you think your voice is, the first step to establish change is by changing yourself. At times I ask myself, am I really doing all I can to help my community, and what I can do to be more helpful. By being considerate and showing compassion to others, it helped me become a better and kinder person day by day. I enjoy giving people positive encouragement and helping them because I want to, not because I want to get something in return. I volunteer at Manna on Main Street, a non-profit organization committed to ending hunger in the North Penn region by providing food, fulfilling social service and education needs, and conducting community outreach. My role is making and distributing food to those in need. It isn’t an easy task, however being able to interact with these people and give them everything they need to survive fills my heart. Nothing could ever replicate the warmth of seeing a satisfied customer smile at me and leave not only with a full stomach, but a bag full of groceries. However, just volunteering doesn’t satisfy me, therefore I make sure to leave as little carbon footprint as possible. I do this by going vegetarian and vegan a few years ago along with recycling and walking or using public transportation as much as I can. Instead of shopping in fast fashion, I go thrifting and I even started growing my own plants in my own miniature garden. During my junior year of highschool I attended ENACT, an environmental club that promotes environmental behavior and focuses on raising environmental awareness about the issues that affect the earth so we can better preserve it. The club’s activities consisted of cleaning the park near our school, technology recycling, and planting new plants in our school’s garden. Being a part of a community that had the same ideals I do and the same goal of preserving the planet because we were all connected through our desire to better the community, therefore we all had the same values and preferences. Because of our similarities, we would often share eco-friendly advice with each other and would introduce information I never knew before. To channel my curiosity even further, I decided to subscribe to sustainable living blogs and channels to keep up with any new environmentally friendly products such as zero waste products and composting advice. However, helping the environment is not the only key to a successful environment, but helping one another. By reaching out to others and being there for one another, it establishes an indestructible community. Because every green thumb needs a lending hand to sprout from.