Because past work often reflects future work, creating a portfolio to showcase to colleges is terrifying for me. When I try to pick between the 50+ film projects that I did from eighth grade to senior year, I consider factors like the number of awards it won and the number of hours I poured in. However, at the end of the day, my top choices all shined in one criterion: how I was genuinely proud of the work and messages that I produced and want to put out into the world. The first piece that I would definitely include is my sticky note animation from middle school: Anxieties. I willingly surpassed the required 300 frames and devoted my time to planning, drawing, and taking pictures of all 382 sticky notes by myself. From the beginning, I knew I wanted to present my anxiety of opening up to people in a way specific enough to my experience but vague enough for other people to relate to. Carefully working through the gimmicks of the tedious process, I stuck strong to my vision and ignored how fast other groups were finishing and how long I stayed several times after school to use the equipment. Though this piece pales in comparison to my present animation progress, it will always hold a special place in my heart as being my gateway drug to the tedious but rewarding world of impactful, visual storytelling. Fast forward a couple more hundred sticky notes, I started taking interest in music videos. My first unofficial one, featuring the song “Empty” by JaidenAnimations and BoyinaBand, was unique because it wasn't an assignment but a passion project, which meant I was doing the entirety as a one-man team. The lack of other crew members didn’t deter me though; instead, it pushed me to work creatively around the shots I was physically in, leading me to discover the power of continuous still shots, different camera angles, and synced up movements. Handling the topic of weight insecurity was tough as well; besides being personal to me, it's often depicted in pop culture as ending in societal rejection. Empty's concluding message that "asking for help didn't make you weak" was the exception, but I wished there were more outstanding pieces in film, art, and music that encouraged getting help instead of emphasizing the struggle alone. For Mother's Day, I produced a short film about the life lessons from Chinese chess I saw exemplified by my mother, creatively named Chinese Chess. Before this project, I had only worked on videos to submit for competitions to find some sort of validation that pursuing film was right for me, but each result became even more disappointing. Because of this, the production was a breath of fresh air to work on since I focused solely on my mother's thoughts and then after the fact decided to submit it in a competition. To my surprise, the film not only broke my losing streak, but it also broke my drive of creating to win. The validation I found was that the judges thought that this piece deserved to be told and shared. Through this, I suddenly understood that inspiring people, especially Asian Americans, to reach out and tell their unique stories about their culture completely overshadowed the mere recognition. With newfound motivation, I charged into the quarantine caused by COVID-19 to start on a project for myself, specifically about my eighth grade year, called Keep Breathing. After 35 hours, an ultimate fusion of my past film experience was created: a performance bolstered by digital animation about a suicidal dancer finding the power to live through nature. Approaching this was absolutely terrifying: I had never used Adobe Animate, choreographed a solo, and revealed my suicide attempt. Mental health was a hard topic to broach because I grew up in a family-centered environment and didn't want my parents to ever feel like they failed raising me. This was also why I developed my anxiety to open up to people, why I kept quiet about reaching out to a counselor, and why I never talked about my depression in eighth grade. The best thing about this project wasn't the accomplishments in animating or dancing, but being brave enough to communicate. All the words needed were in the song; all the visuals were drawn on the screen; all my struggles were expressed in my performance. Film is extraordinary in that way, and I was glad I could use it to finally bring closure to this difficult chapter of my life. Throughout the journey of making my portfolio, I found that even though I may have not won much recognition or have the best executed pieces, I’m proud of all of my work because they showcase how far I’ve come. My unique perspective will continue to push me to keep putting in the hours, keep perfecting my craft and skills, and keep working towards creating pieces that connect and empower people through shared experiences. In the future, starting right now with my current film project and to the end of my storytelling career, I want to continue creating pieces that I’m proud of and not just accepting gigs for the sake of financial security or from societal pressure. Although this may be hard to measure, I know that deep down, if I become weary of starting an editing program to being my job or feeling just “okay” about a video when I’m exporting it, then something is wrong in my process and approach, and I should reevaluate my mindset and motives. At the core, the messages I want to spread are those that encourage and change my audience’s mindset to be better, to not give up, and to not feel alone in their personal journey. My greatest desire, though, is to be inspiring not just because I am an Asian American in the film industry, but because I am me: an artist, a mental health advocate, a dancer, and most of all, a filmmaker.

The greatest asset for a student filmmaker isn’t a top of the line editing program, the newest and most powerful camera, or even a budget that ends with multiple zeros before the decimal point. It isn’t the talent to write out dialogue, the vision to direct something original, or the mentors to teach Hollywood techniques. A student filmmaker’s greatest blessing is support: someone who stands by them in the long hours throughout production and tells them what they’re creating is worth it. In my junior year, I discovered that being both an introvert and a student filmmaker is difficult; sooner or later, one of the roles had to go. The summer before this realization, Joseph asked me the summer before to be a costume designer for his mockumentary, and I agreed on a whim; I had just finished fresh out of an Audio Visual II Productions and Lab class, and I was eager to get back into the movie-making scene again. After he realized I had brought skills other than sewing into his production, I was quickly promoted from costume designer to actress to editor to assistant director and then to producer. We never finished the mockumentary, since his creative vision was too big for our $40 budget, but we had a blast that summer. When he asked if I wanted to make another film with him when school started, I didn’t hesitate to say yes. However, this time was different; in addition to being students with busy schedules, we also faced his unwelcomed depression from an injury when he faced the reality of his torn ACL inhibiting him from his other passions of theater and football. This affected us throughout production: from writing the script all by myself to discovering that he was gossipping about me behind my back with the actors, to being suddenly forced to take full control of directing on the day of production, and to hearing that he was trashing my script on set in the footage that I was editing alone. My excuse was that he was going through a rough time, and it was okay. However, that wasn’t enough to overcome the shame I felt viewing the end result of our video. When I finally broke down crying in front of my mom, overwhelmed with the imbalance of the situation and pained by the fact that I was stressed about filmmaking that was supposed to be my de-stressor, I came to terms with something within myself. I had excused his lack of effort at the expense of my mental health. I had confused my timidness with my inability to set boundaries. Most of all, I had built my “introvertness” like a wall around my potential to be the best student filmmaker that I could be. That night, I decided one of those roles had to go. When he asked me the following semester if I wanted to make another film with him, I turned him down. When another friend, Faith, had asked to work on a public service announcement project together, I found myself stuck in a deprecating mental valley, questioning my self worth, my ability to make films, or my future collaborations with others. In the end, though, my own excitement to get back to producing and editing led me to agree to work with Faith. However, I was determined to avoid the previous mistakes I had with Joseph and began learning how to draw clear boundaries from our first pre-production meeting for the PSA. We discussed and assigned the necessary roles to be filled, as well as our own personal schedules and commitments that might interfere during the production. Every time I felt a self-sacrificial tendency pop up, I would talk to a trusted family member or friend for help to stop myself or lessen the urge. I outlined personal limits for how much time I devoted to the project in balance with my homework and extracurriculars. Because of these tedious but important steps, I was able to enjoy the fruits of teamwork. Her drive to make our project the best fueled my desire to fulfill her vision to my best. Her respect for my skills and time pushed me to learn even more techniques. Her never-ending enthusiasm for our visual message allowed me to fall back in love with filmmaking again. We did run into mishaps with missing actors and differing frame rates, but whatever problem flew our way, we faced them together. The result of our synergy was a PSA that went on to win multiple awards at different competitions. However, it wasn’t the validation from the awards that I cared about, but what I learned in standing up for myself in the decision making and creative process. Most of all, it was having faith (through having Faith!) in my ability to work with others. A student filmmaker can have the best equipment and talent, but would not be able to execute nearly half of their possibilities without a team. As a person who doesn’t have the best equipment or the talent, but rather a burning passion to be surrounded by and involved in everything filmmaking related, I understand the necessity of having cooperative actors and actresses, dedicated behind-the-scenes crews, and encouraging people who believe in the value of your work. Now, I recognize that on top of this, the most important skill is knowing how to communicate with all of these support systems. I can’t take for granted that everyone I work with will be as easy to get along with as Faith, but I also have to be aware that those who are difficult to work with have their own circumstances like Joseph. Although I know I still need practice on balancing being the best team member I can be while not allowing others to step on me, I’m reassured that it’s a skill my future self will be glad to have in her future collaborations.