Being a first-generation student to me means creating a pathway in my bloodline for a promised tomorrow. I come from a small rural town in Southern Indiana where opportunities can feel limited and higher education often feels out of reach. Many citizens work in the local factories after high school and suffer from a tumultuous amount of health problems in the end. Growing up, I did not have family members who could explain college applications, financial aid, or career planning. Every step of the process was something I had to learn on my own. including funding my own education. Despite those challenges, I became the first person in my family to graduate high school with an honors diploma and later attend the University of Louisville. Education became more than a goal for me - it became a way to break cycles that had affected my family for generations. Throughout college, I faced significant obstacles that tested my determination. I struggled with my mental health, experienced abusive relationships, balanced demanding coursework, and worked to support myself financially while paying for my education. There were times when I questioned whether I would be able to continue. As bills accumulated and responsibilities increased, it often felt easier to give up than to keep moving forward. What carried me through those challenges was the belief that my circumstances did not have to define my future. Over time, I learned that resilience is not the absence of struggle; it is the decision to continue despite it. Those experiences taught me perseverance, self-advocacy, and the importance of community support. As I grew into an upperclassman, I discovered a passion for public policy and public service. Coming from a community where many families face economic hardship and limited representation, I witnessed how policy decisions affect people's daily lives. I realized that I wanted to dedicate my career to ensuring that individuals who often feel unheard have a voice. I believe effective leadership is not about speaking for people, but that it is about listening to them, understanding their needs, and working alongside them to create meaningful change. In February 2026, I was accepted into the University of Louisville's graduate program in Political Science. I will become the first person in my family to earn both a bachelor's degree and a master's degree. That accomplishment represents more than personal success to me - it represents a new possibility for my family and future generations. This scholarship would help relieve the financial burden of continuing my education and allow me to focus on pursuing a career in public service. My dream is to work at the legislative level, helping communities navigate challenges and advocating for policies that improve people's lives. As a first-generation student, I know what it feels like to face uncertainty without guidance. That experience drives me to ensure that others have the support, representation, and opportunities they deserve. And I'll do whatever it takes to get there.

The journey toward stability with my mental health has been one of the most difficult and transformative experiences of my life. After being diagnosed with Complex Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder (CPTSD), I gained a level of clarity that I never thought possible. The diagnosis did not erase the challenges I faced, but it gave me the language to understand them. For the first time, I could see how my past experiences had shaped my thoughts, relationships, and view of the world. I grew up in a rural community in Southern Indiana where financial hardship and substance abuse were common realities. My mother struggled with addiction for most of her life, as did my father, and her declining mental health became a defining part of my childhood. After she and my father separated when he became clean, her alcoholism worsened and she frequently surrounded herself with people who enabled her addiction. As a child, I often found myself exposed to instability, unpredictability, and situations that no child should have to navigate. One memory remains especially vivid. When I was nine years old, my mother hosted a gathering where adults spent the evening drinking around a bonfire. My sister and I were responsible for caring for our infant sibling while the adults socialized. When I went outside to ask my mother for help with the baby, I noticed that they were trying to get one of their peers into a car after he had passed out from drinking. I attempted to get my mother's attention a second time, and one of the men shoved me hard enough that my head struck the concrete. As I lay crying, he told me to "f... off." I ran inside, humiliated and frightened. My mother followed me, only to break down in tears and apologize for being a bad mother. When I told her I wanted to go live with my father, she sent me to my room. Not long after, my sister and I told our father what had happened, and he began the process of seeking custody. I remember feeling completely unprotected and that I was unsafe no matter where I went. I had to become hypervigilant and independent at a very young age in order to survive the terror I had been exposed to. After my father gained custody of my sister and I, and my grandparents became the caregivers for my baby sister, my mother's mental health continued to deteriorate. She attempted suicide multiple times, and I vividly remember being pulled out of school and told that she was not doing well. Those experiences left lasting emotional scars, but they also revealed to me how deeply mental illness affects not only the individual who suffers from it, but everyone who loves them. As I grew older, I began facing my own mental health challenges. I struggled with suicidality, substance use, and self-harm. For a long time I feared that I was destined to repeat the same patterns I had witnessed throughout my childhood. However, I made the decision to seek help. Through counseling and campus resources at my university, I began confronting the effects of trauma rather than running from them. Therapy helped me understand that my past did not have to determine my future. My experiences with mental health have profoundly shaped my goals and relationships because I know what it feels like to struggle in silence. I have dedicated myself to creating spaces where others feel supported and understood. I became involved in community service, campus organizations, and volunteer work that focuses on helping others build connections and access resources. These experiences taught me that healing often happens through relationships and community, not isolation. Most importantly, my experiences have changed the way I understand the world. I have learned that people are often fighting battles that are invisible to those around them. Mental health struggles are not signs of weakness, but rather they are human experiences that deserve compassion, support, and understanding. While trauma has been a significant part of my story, it does not define me. Instead, it has strengthened my resilience, deepened my empathy, and inspired me to help others navigate challenges of their own. I cannot change what happened to me, but I can choose what I do with those experiences. I choose to use them to serve others and create positive change.

When I was growing up, my family taught me never to ask for more than I needed. They emphasized perseverance, humility, and never misjudging another person’s intentions. Living in a low-income rural community in Southern Indiana gave lessons meaning. Although my family faced financial challenges, we were still fortunate compared to many of our neighbors. From an early age, I learned that wealth is not measured in money, but also in compassion, relationships, and the willingness to help others. I still live with financial hardship, but I consider myself rich in ways. I volunteer, maintain relationships, and have a family that loves and supports me. I know I make a difference in the lives of others, and that sense of purpose has always mattered more to me than material success. In July 2025, I was returning from a university meeting about legislation affecting LGBTQ+ organizations on campus. As a student leader and transgender man, I was overwhelmed by concerns about preserving resources and supporting people. While walking home, I noticed a homeless woman sitting on the curb with a cardboard sign. I recognized her from previous visits to campus, where she often asked students for spare change or clothing during residence hall move-out periods. As I approached, she asked a simple question: “Do you have a few bucks? I just want to get some water.” At the time, I had a fifty-dollar bill that I intended to use toward a medical bill. My first instinct was to decline. Then I remembered I would receive a paycheck later that week. It would leave me penniless until then, but I could manage. Meanwhile, she was sitting outside in ninety-degree heat asking only for water. I handed her the fifty dollars. She was overwhelmed with gratitude and immediately began talking about buying food and necessities. I then offered to use my university meal plan to get us lunch so she could save the money for more urgent needs. We walked to the cafeteria together, shared a meal, and exchanged stories about our lives. I spoke about balancing leadership, activism, and the emotional strain of anti-LGBTQ+ legislation. She told me she had come out as bisexual when she was younger and had spent years moving on and off the streets after losing family support. She had lost housing and access to her children and was doing everything she could to survive. Listening to her changed my perspective. I empathized with her experiences as a queer person, but I also recognized privileges I had overlooked. I had supportive family members, access to higher education, stable housing, employment, and a network of resources through my university. She had faced many of the same systems of discrimination without those supports. Her story reminded me why advocacy mattered and renewed my commitment to serving others. After our meal, I walked her back toward my apartment and gave her several unused blankets. I also connected her with Sweet Evening Breeze, a local organization that could help her access housing and support. Before we parted, she hugged me and told me to “keep ahold of my sunshine.” I have not seen her since, but I hope she is thriving. That encounter expanded my understanding of service. Since then, I have volunteered beyond my university and now mentor LGBTQ+ youth and their families, helping them navigate housing, education, employment, and life skills. Service reminds me that someone else may need help more than I do. By investing in others, we strengthen communities and create opportunities for people to succeed and support those who come after them.

I have loved Wicked since the first time I heard the opening notes of “No One Mourns the Wicked” ten years ago in band class. I was thirteen then, and the absolute amazement I felt since then has brought me to appreciate the musical - and other musicals in addition to Wicked. What began as admiration for a Broadway spectacle quickly became something much deeper: a story that reshaped how I think about identity, courage, and the narratives we inherit. Wicked does more than a retelling of The Wizard of Oz - it asks us to question who gets labeled “wicked,” who gets to be celebrated as “good,” and why. Elphaba’s journey has always resonated with me most. She enters Oz as someone visibly different, misunderstood before she even speaks. Her green skin becomes a symbol of how society often treats those who do not fit neatly into expectations. Watching her move from insecurity to conviction, especially in “Defying Gravity," felt transformative. That moment is not just about flying; it is about choosing integrity over approval. When Elphaba sings, “I’m through accepting limits,” it feels like an anthem for anyone who has ever been told to tone themselves down, blend in, or be more palatable. At my young age hearing these words, I could feel myself shatter as I became visble from her words alone. Her courage to stand alone rather than compromise her values inspires me to advocate for myself and for others, even when it is uncomfortable. At the same time, I deeply appreciate Glinda’s arc. It would be easy to dismiss her as superficial, but Wicked gives her dimension. Songs like “Popular” are comedic and glittering, yet beneath the humor is someone navigating expectations of status and success. Over time, Glinda must confront what it means to be “good.” Her growth reminds me that self-awareness is a process, and not learned overnight. We are all capable of change, and sometimes goodness requires unlearning what we were taught to value. The friendship between Glinda and Elphaba, especially in “For Good," beautifully captures how relationships shape who we become. The lyric “Because I knew you, I have been changed for good” feels universal. It reminds me to treasure the people who challenge and transform me. The themes of Wicked feel especially relevant in today’s world. It critiques propaganda, power, and the danger of simplifying complex people into villains. The Wizard’s manipulation of fear to maintain control mirrors real societal dynamics. As someone studying communications, I am struck by how the musical illustrates the power of narrative how stories can uplift or destroy - including the interpersonal relationships developed within the musical and film adaptation. It challenges audiences to think critically about who controls the narrative and whose voices are silenced. The music itself elevates these themes into something unforgettable. “Defying Gravity” gives me chills every time, while “For Good” never fails to make me emotional. These songs are not just catchy - they are emotional landmarks. With the film adaptation starring Ariana Grande as Glinda and Cynthia Erivo as Elphaba, I am excited to see this story reimagined for a new generation. Their casting feels like a celebration of the musical’s legacy and a chance for its message to reach even wider audiences. I love Wicked because it empowers me to embrace my individuality, question assumptions, and stand tall in my convictions. It reminds me that being “wicked” in someone else’s story might simply mean being brave enough to write your own. It reminds me that I am not a villain, but a person like everyone else.

I often sit and wonder what exactly makes me deserving of scholarships, more so this one. At times, I ask myself whether there are students who need it more than I do. Perhaps there are. Many college students have faced hardship, loss, and struggle - just as I have. But when I look at my life, my challenges, and how I’ve met them, I realize that what gives me an advantage is not where I started, but how I’ve chosen to move forward. My name is Garth, and I come from a small rural community in southern Indiana. The town is surrounded by rolling hills and farmland that can be beautiful, but beneath the surface it carries a heavy weight. Poverty, addiction, racism, and intolerance run through the fabric of the community. Families struggle to make ends meet, often trapped in cycles that feel inescapable. Even different religious groups clash with one another, making the atmosphere tense and unwelcoming for anyone who is different. I know these struggles well because they have shaped my own life. Addiction runs through my family. A cousin I loved dearly died from an overdose, and yet many in my family continue down the same path. I have wrestled with alcohol myself and, while I was fortunate enough to pull back, the division it has caused in my family remains. Much of their addiction stems from feeling trapped by poverty, with little chance to leave or create something new. We survive by farming and working local markets, but economic pressures and political decisions have made life even harder. Paying for education is out of reach for most in my family, and some have told me directly they would not help me pursue school. Their money was spoken for elsewhere by chasing highs. Still, I applied to college anyway. I held onto the belief that, somehow, I would make it work. That belief has carried me through, even when things felt impossible. Now in my fifth year at the University of Louisville, I have learned that resilience is not about having an easy life, but about moving forward despite setbacks. I want to go to graduate school and study crisis management and public administration. I believe my generation will inherit the responsibility of repairing what is broken, and I want to be prepared to contribute to that work. My path has been anything but straight. I first came to college as a biology major with dreams of conservation, but dyscalculia made advanced math an impossible barrier. I tried graphic design for a while, but it didn’t fulfill me. I later pursued communications through AFROTC, hoping to serve in the military, but after the 2024 election, my opportunity was revoked simply because I am a trans man. That loss pushed me into a period of isolation and depression. Yet, after much reflection, I found my footing in communications with a focus on history and political science. I have attended seminars, meetings, and events to better understand how I can use my education to make a difference. Each change in direction has not been a failure, but a step toward discovering where I am meant to be. The hardest obstacle I face now, as it has always been, is finances. Every semester is a battle against bills, fees, car repairs, and daily expenses. I have worked multiple jobs, stayed up on nights with just a few hours of sleep, and still fought to keep up with assignments. It is exhausting, but I know that if I stop now, I may never pick it back up again. Going home would mean slipping into the same toxic cycle I worked so hard to escape - low-wage work, no opportunity, and the weight of addiction all around me. That is not the future I want. What I want is to move forward. I want to create a life of meaning for myself, my partner, my friends, and even for my family who are still struggling. I want to prove that where you come from does not have to define where you go. Everyone deserves the chance to pursue their own version of greatness, and this scholarship would bring me one step closer to mine. I believe I deserve this award because I have the advantage of resilience. I have faced obstacles that might have broken me, yet I continue to adapt and push forward. My struggles have made me stronger, shaping me into someone who can withstand setbacks and still keep striving. Many people face hardship, but not everyone turns that hardship into motivation. I do. This scholarship would not just help me financially, but it would honor the work I have already put into surviving, learning, and growing. It would give me the momentum to keep building a life where I can contribute to my community, advocate for others, and prove that perseverance is stronger than circumstance. And that resilience is what gives me the advantage.

My academic focus is communications, with a special interest in videography. Over time, I have discovered that my creativity is more than a hobby, it is a voice. That voice, shaped by both hardship and resilience, drives me to pursue a career where I can uplift others while serving my community. My ultimate goal is to become a firefighter while also working in public relations and emergency communications, blending my artistic background with my desire to make a tangible difference in people’s lives. From a young age, I turned to art as a way of expressing myself. I began drawing and painting at six years old, not producing masterpieces but small testaments of dedication and imagination. These early works became reminders that I was capable of shaping my own story. Creating gave me a safe space, even when others tried to take that from me. I still remember when my father’s fifth wife threw away all my artwork, dismissing it as a waste of time and insisting I focus on sports instead. Her message was clear: art was not valuable, and I did not belong in that space. Being trans only deepened her disapproval. But rather than giving in, I continued creating. Art became something no one could strip away. My interest in videography began during the pandemic in 2020. Locked indoors, I found comfort in recording silly edits and meaningful moments with my friends. What began as a way to pass time soon became a lifeline. Isolated in an abusive household, I poured my energy into writing songs, recording music videos outside, and filming daily life. These creative outlets helped me process the challenges around me and gave me control over my narrative. Over time, I realized that videography was more than self-expression. It was storytelling, and storytelling has the power to connect, heal, and inspire. That realization led me to major in communications, where I could develop my passion into a professional path. Now, my goal is to merge my creative talents with public service. Firefighting and crisis management appeals to me not only for its courage and community service but also for its role in communication. In times of crisis, information can save lives, and I want to help bridge that gap. By working in public relations and administration within emergency communications, I can use my videography skills to share important safety messages, highlight the stories of resilience within communities, and humanize the work of first responders. I know what it feels like to be voiceless, but I also know the strength it takes to keep fighting to be heard. That perseverance has shaped my vision: to be the resource I once wished I had. For some people, that means running into a burning building. For others, it means seeing their story told and validated. For me, it will mean doing both serving on the front lines and ensuring that the voices of survivors, communities, and responders are amplified and respected. Ultimately, my goal is to serve through action, creativity, and compassion. I want to use videography not only to capture stories but to give them power. I want to stand with people in their most vulnerable moments, whether as a firefighter or a communicator. By combining my passion for the arts with my drive to help others, I know I can make a lasting difference.

The knowledge I have within cybersecurity allows me to be intrinsic, and a better person overall as I develop skills, discipline, and connectivity with the people around me. As a transman, I know all too well what it's like to not have these things to begin with - it's lonesome and very daunting to know how vulnerable I am solely based on my identity, and there are thousands of people on a global scale just like me. I personally have been doxxed for being open about my identity online - as have other people that I know, and despite the problems I faced with that I still have ambition to protect and serve my community for the greater good. I would use cybersecurity to not only prevent threats like this online, but to enable general safety and protection to those most vulnerable to it based off of socioeconomic status, and the risks that they deal with daily. There are a million ways to become a leader and my definition is to protect those who can't do so themselves, let alone use their voice, because people deserve to exist and be themselves unapologetically without fear of tarnishment and shame for something natural.

I grew up in Southern Indiana, where addiction was part of everyday life. In 2016, my county made national headlines for an HIV and heroin epidemic, but I didn’t need the news to understand. I saw it in my own family. One of my cousins, who I loved dearly, died from an heroin overdose. Heroin wasn’t my story, but alcohol was. At sixteen, I started drinking to cope with my father’s abuse. My brother and I partied together, and alcohol dulled the pain. When I left home, college gave me freedom without boundaries. My first frat party ended with me crawling back to my dorm, but I kept drinking anyway. Soon, alcohol became a reward system: succeed in school, then drink. In my sophomore year, I entered a relationship that turned toxic. One night, after too much alcohol and marijuana, I blacked out. While I was incoherent, he assaulted me. Leaving him didn’t erase the trauma. I drowned it with more drinking. Living in the same dorm where it happened only deepened my despair. Eventually, something shifted. I met my current partner, who showed me recovery isn’t perfection, but progress. With his support and therapy, I began to heal. Recovery, to me, means forgiveness and hope. It’s no longer about shame, but it’s about learning to face pain without running from it. Addiction will always be part of my story, but recovery is how I choose to write the rest of it, and how to live.

I am a student at the University of Louisville, KY. I am a COMMS major with a focus in POLI SCI and HIST. This scholarship will grant me the aid I need to push me further down my path of success as I want to make it my life goal to provide service to others. I am a transman, and I have a unique sense of community and what it takes to achieve it. Growing up, I did not have a lot of access to aid as I come from a very low-income area in Southern Indiana. My family life was rather complicated. There were times where I thought I was loved, and then other times were I felt I wasn't. Between the spells of addiction, physical and emotional abuse, and false promises, I was left to sort out my own perspective and feelings of life that made me question if I was even worthy of living. I still have that lingering feeling where I can't help but wonder if my life is worthy of existing. There is an odd sense of limerence, wondering if I am simply overreacting, or if I cannot escape the feeling this time. I thought that by going into the USMC would fix me. That didn't work. I thought that doing AFROTC at my university would surely do the trick. That didn't work, despite me believing in it wholeheartedly and spending 2 1/2 years committing to it. No matter what I did, nothing seemed to fulfill me. I felt like I was running away, finding an excuse or escape to give me the next best thing to give me assurance and some kind of belonging. I thought, "If I do this people will respect and see me." Long gone would be my fantasies of what I could've been, because I thought I had found the thing that was perfect for me. But that too was a fantasy. I was a fool to think I could be anything more than a "traumatized queer." I dropped ROTC after the 2024 election. There would be no point in pursuing it considering the atmosphere. I could sense the change. Cadets began to pry at me about my identity in ways they didn't before. It felt like I was some kind of experiment, or someone who was just wasting my time and theirs. I didn't really find myself again until May. I traveled with my university to Greece, where we would be helping immigrants in need. After spending 2 weeks learning about the political culture of Greece, and seeing how so many people are in dire need of any form of mercy and help, I found myself again. I realized how much I love to travel, and how I want to help people while traveling. I want to go into emergency services, hopefully becoming a firefighter that can travel abroad to help migrants and other communities in need. I remembered that I had those prior ambitions because I yearned to be a leader to others. Not for the sake of a title, but because being apart of something makes me feel good. It felt thrilling to find and connect with likeminded people, who had similar ambitions and saw you for you. That is why I keep going, because I know I am needed and will be needed. I know that despite my shortcomings, I am worthy of being here and being loved. I want to be someone who makes others feel the same way. In the end, I continue to persevere despite my odds.

I am from Scott County. It is a small town within southern Indiana and is very much known for your typical rural American experience, both good and bad. I had the typical experience growing up as a closeted female-to-male transgender individual. I played with action figures when my parents wanted me to play with dolls, I dressed in masculine clothing like t-shirts and ball shorts (oftentimes stealing them from my brother), and rather despised the idea of being seen remotely feminine or dainty in any way. After some silent research and major inner discomfort that was accompanied by turmoil, I came to the conclusion that I am transgender. I came out to specific family members that I knew would understand around age 10, to my whole family around age 11, and then to friends at age 12. Unfortunately, that ended up being spread to the whole school and everyone knew when I had planned for it to be much more reserved. That was when everything kicked off and has eventually led me to where I am now. In summary, the result of me coming out has shaped me to be the person I am today. I am both scorned, but better for I know how to help and educate others based on my experience alone. I have memories of my stepmother (who is no longer in my life) forcing me to read from the Bible and shoving me away in a closet for hours until I could recite the passage. When I would cry to my father of it, nothing was done. My frustrations and venting was not heard, and I was always dismissed. I had no outlet. I remember silently screaming and crying as hard as I could just to feel something, while I clawed and teared up everything I owned just to exercise the anger out of me. I was hostile, afraid, and would wince anytime someone neared my presence in fear I would observe a rude remark or assault. This is only a touch of my youth as a transgender child and teen. As I got older, I found solace in my artwork and writing. I found that having a creative outlet to voice my concerns, experience, and opinions allowed me the freedom I needed to be brave. It gave me the tools I needed to be bold, especially when it came to expressing myself. Most importantly, it gave me the inspiration to be an example for all trans people, especially transmen in rural America. My trauma, albeit fickle and horrid, gave me the experience I needed to survive. I may just be another statistic, but if I can be an example and educate others then I am more than glad to highlight my experience to show that those facing what I did do not have to be alone. While I still use my artwork and writing today to exemplify trans and queer experiences of all the like, as well as talk about things I care about, my ultimate ambition is to change the world bit by bit. I want to work in public affairs by becoming an officer in the Air Force. I know it can be dangerous and controversial, but it does not have to be. My efforts do not have to be fruitless because of an ingrained system that has trouble within itself. My existence alone can shine a light on the existence of people like me and that we are worth it. I want to dive headfirst into the belly of the beast by revealing that diversity is the strongest component in the world. My strength will be exemplified for all queer people to observe and feel as if they too can be of influence, whether they serve or not. Once I am satisfied with my length of service, I plan on pursuing a career in the arts and focusing on it full-time so that the stories I tell of my life resonate with the people who observe them. My inspiration for this realization comes from the love of my late cousin, Tonya Wesson. She passed from an overdose in June of 2022. We had not shared words for a year up to that point. I regret not talking with her everyday despite my busy affairs of school and aims to change policy. She was a lesbian who grew up during the AIDS epidemic in the 1980s. Her insight and experience allowed me to survive throughout my youth, although on a thin rope. She exposed pride to me and what our history means within the queer community. While she herself may not have understood what being trans was like, she knew that I was who I needed to be in order to be happy and she was glad to show me as many things as she could to educate me. She never served, but she understood its importance and that changing a system from within was something that was crucial in order for all people to be unified under. I plan on reaching my goals by living up to my name, sharing compassion, and being a leader upon the front lines of the queer movement. I aim to see a nation, a world, in my lifetime where no one has to worry about being ostracized for being who they are. The question of needing to know one's sexuality, gender, and livelihood will not need to be needed to seek validation. I will work tirelessly, even when I am pennies away from losing my education, to be the strongest example of perseverance for all trans and queer people. We need to hold our people close in times like these, where tomorrow is never promised. In the end, I will make sure that even if tomorrow is never promised, the day before can be looked upon with grace and love for we have entered a world that is full of compassion.

As a UofL student, Louisville is bustling in many opportunities to commit to service and aid those in need. Normally, I find myself going out of my way to do a lot of social community service, such as helping families with groceries and clothing, cleaning up parks and restoring them, and providing services to kids such as giveaways, or harm reduction. Growing up, I did not have these opportunities given to me due to being from a low-income area and not really having a chance at seeing hope within my community. Part of it was due to lack of funding and even classism, but it was also because my community did not feel a sense of unity and need to commit action for the sole purpose of thriving. I grew up in Scott County, Indiana, where we are known for poverty and an HIV epidemic that occurred while I was in middle school. Being looked at with disdain and disgust at the ripe age of 12 years old taught me very early on that people needed help, not fruitless independence. People need guidance, not darkness. People need compassion, not judgement. Most importantly, people need to be shown that other people do indeed care and want to make a difference. I believe that by doing so, we can create a better world surrounded in love and nurture for people who solely exist. Something that I have always plague my mind is the fact that some people do not give back. While I do not shame them for it, for there is a reason we may never know about, I have seen a common pattern that I believe can be re-aligned if we normalize giving back through community service. The pattern regards inspiration. Perhaps this observation can be indulged in the idea of having privilege and not feeling the need to do partake in service, but that alone begs this very question: One does not have to commit to service, but why would you not want to? What makes me want to impact the world within the future is by committing to service alone, and showing people that not only are there ways you can thrive in your darkest times, but show those who commit too little or not at all that this is a need. This is not something one does to seek a cheap thrill or ego boost, but because they have the innate understanding that it is imperative - it makes them feel good. It brings me hope to see people getting the service and help they need and want to experience because they have nothing else, or are simply struggling to meet the demands of society. If I alone can make a difference in someone's life when they are down on their luck, then I wonder how I can make a difference for those who are always up and have nothing going on that prevents them from committing to service. Our world needs love. I believe that by exposing the imperative message that service sends, we as a whole can make this happen. We can create a brighter world.

Coming from a low-income family, I have first-hand experience with needing help. Very rarely was my family able to receive any stability when we couldn't afford to have it come in from work. Government aid wasn't accessible and kindness isn't exactly common from where I am from. However, when there were times when people did find themselves to be generous, it often meant that the following week would've been promising and hopeful. My parents could relax for only mere moments as we managed to survive. Those times were when I was most happy in my childhood because I could see the gleaming faces of my parents as they gained hope. Humans have a natural tendency to care for one another and to want to assist anyone who is in need. To deny this tendency and initiative is rooted in selfishness. It is one thing to not have the means to relieve the burden, but help can still be granted without needing to grant materials. Having the ability to endure selflessness is what makes us truly unique and separates us from all other life on Earth. Granting help is essential to our well-being as individuals and as a society. It provides us with a sense of purpose and fulfillment that we cannot find in any other way. We lift people and give them hope. Helping people can give them a reason to smile and a reason to believe that things will improve. And in doing so, we inspire them to pass on that same kindness and generosity to others. However, it's not just about the impact we have. Helping others also has a tremendous impact on us. It teaches us how to have compassion, patience, and to be understanding. It expands our minds to the struggles that others face. It allows us to appreciate what we have and to even share that appreciation with others. Helping others makes us better people. It connects and reminds us that we are all united, that we are all humans. Whether we are donating our time, resources, or simply our kind words, we have the power to make a difference in someone's life. We have the power to be an influence for those who need it. In a world that is so dark and divided, the act of helping others is a beacon of hope. It sets a precedent that there is light and unison if we just embrace it. We are all part of a larger community despite our differences, despite if we need a bit of help here or there. We can create a better future for ourselves and for generations to come by simply embracing selflessness. Allowing ourselves to be uncomfortable and offering some form of aid, even if it isn't much, embraces the possibility of creating a much brighter and healthier world. Take a moment to look around and see where help can be granted. A neighbor, a friend, or a stranger, kindness and generosity have the power to change the world. Be the power to create change.

I grew up in a small town where conformity and tradition run rampant in the streets. I was surrounded by drug abuse, low income, power struggles among the classes, and anything that generally defines the existence of small-town America. The biggest core part of my existence is that while I was in a very narrow-minded town, I came out as FTM transgender at age 10. After experiencing transphobia from family, school, and being surrounded by spite for me simply being me, I decided that I didn't have to put up with that. People like me can have a voice and stand up for themselves, putting down the hate that is thrown at us. My path to being the voice for those who do not have one has been filled with tumultuous challenges that have left me scarred. However, the drive that is buried within my very core has helped me overcome these challenges to exemplify my goals. Determination is a fuel that drives people to excel in something. For me, it is to achieve my goal of being the voice for the new generation of queer kids who face ostracization. During my transition, I've faced many issues that have affected me physically and emotionally. I've been bullied, assaulted, and harassed and I've been given death threats. I've even struggled with thoughts and feelings about my worth and existence as a result. However, my determination to live as my authentic self never wavered. I work tirelessly to educate people about my community and who we are. Respect is a value that has become integrated within the trans community. We understand the importance of respecting one's identity, regardless of how it aligns with societal norms. I've demanded respect from those around me, whether it's work or personal. Even in times when I'm spat on for being me, I still take it and treat that person with the kindness I wish they'd show me. I refuse to be like them. I want to be better. Innovation and versatility have been key to my success. In April of this year, I gave a speech for UofL's YDSA at the Grawemeyer Hall about SB150 and the atrocious behaviors on behalf of our legislators. The negligence the Board of Trustees harbored when it comes to LGBTQ+ rights is what united the queer student body on campus. I screamed about the pain that queer kids face. They deserve a future just like anyone else. Equality was the core value of this speech. Everyone deserves to be treated with dignity, regardless of they express themselves as. I have worked to raise awareness about issues facing trans people and advocated for policies that promote equality and inclusion. Diversity creates an unbreakable strength among the masses. Nurture is something that I have grown accustomed to. I've nurtured many individuals, mostly trans youth, about what it means to love themselves when they live in a world that doesn't love them. I've nurtured myself. I remind myself about how there are people who need me and who love me. I set an example for myself that even if people lack what I have, they too can be an example and spread love. My voice, even if I'm angry, can be full of love too. I want to share my love for life on this planet. We don't get to choose the cards we are dealt in life. We simply choose how to play them. Despite me being quite unlucky, I choose to be an inspiration. I choose to use my drive to be an example of betterment and possibility.

As an FTM transgender who is planning to pursue a career in the United States Air Force after college, I am trained to preserve freedom of speech as a key component of American society. I believe that a college education contributes to intellectual and personal development, but to do that one must be able to question and pursue their thoughts openly. The ability to express ideas and opinions freely allows for a diverse range of perspectives and encourages critical thinking and open dialogue, ultimately leading to personal growth and a grand expansion of what is unknown, what can be, and what is to come. Free speech is an integral part of preserving an open and inclusive environment on campuses across America. As a transman, I know from personal experience what it takes to speak for yourself as no one else will. I have seen firsthand the importance of being able to freely express my gender identity and share what I know with others, even with the price of losing people or enduring ostracization. However, because people before me had an open discussion and exchanged ideas, it is because of them that I was even able to do that despite the circumstances I faced. We as Americans, as college students preparing to take on the roles of leading our society, can gain a deeper understanding of each other's backgrounds and perspectives by having open conversations and ideas. It is because of freedom of speech that we are leading to a richer and more diverse community, a community where it matters not if we are transgender, straight, black, Christian or Athiest, but American nonetheless. My future career as an officer in the United States Air Force emphasizes the importance of diversity, thought, and critical thinking. In the Air Force, we work in a continuously changing and complex environment where diverse perspectives and the ability to think are essential for mission success. Only through open and honest communication can we achieve our goals and effectively respond to challenges with innovative solutions. To prove this, the mission statement of the Air Force is as follows: "To fly, fight, and win. Airpower anytime, anywhere." How are we to properly conduct this if we do not take in any opportunities to hear, to listen, from those that are different than us? Those who have different lives and experiences can provide a deeper analysis of how to maintain the mission statement. If I am to not learn this now as a college student, how am I to uphold that American right when I commission? How are American citizens to speak freely and do generally anything if they do not know how to practice their freedom of speech? Preserving the fundamental right of free speech is critical to maintaining an environment that fosters diversity of thought and encourages American society to progress. College is the most valuable time for practicing this right. Without freedom of speech we cannot vote, we cannot select the jobs or majors we want, we cannot choose where to live, we cannot befriend and love the people we choose. Without it, we cannot make any decisions for ourselves. It is essential to preserve this right because it is our defining core value as Americans. It is our history, the very key that unlocks the door to the future. It is my responsibility as a potential officer to promote an inclusive environment that values diverse perspectives and encourages open communication. By preserving free speech on campus, we can create a brighter future for oncoming generations and be a global example of growth.

I am FTM transgender. The earliest of my memories of being transgender was when I was six years old, stealing my older brother's Batman shirts to feel cool and masculine. I had the typical "signs" that most transmen do; having male friends mostly, dressing as what is referred to as a tom-boy, playing with action figures rather than dolls, and having panic attacks when being told about what would happen to my body during puberty. I came out to my family as transgender when I was ten years old and came out at school a few years later. Neither event went well for I was immediately exposed to abuse on both ends. However, I did not want to hide myself any further. I have been berated and mocked by students, teachers, family, and even strangers within my county. In some intense cases, I have been jumped and engaged in brawls with those who find my existence to be a bane to theirs. I had no support, no encouragement, nothing. My school life was a time of anguish and strife for I had no way to truly express myself without needing to mask what I wanted to be and say. If I did not, then I risked further ostracization and harassment. It was significantly worse at home as my parents would wake me up at random hours of the night forcing me to recite Bible verses from memory before I could go back to bed. I was exposed to adult content as a way to convince me to not claim to be transgender. With my home life being so empty of care, I focused on school as much as I was able to despite the fact I was being called slurs left and right daily. I began to focus on the prospects of my future and how to be successful so that I can not only have brightness in my life, but spread the brightness to other transgender people as well by being an example. While I have other goals such as publishing an LGBTQ-centered graphic novel series, working for studio companies and designing characters, I have something more auspicious in mind. With my majors in Communications and Political Science, I want to go into Public Affairs within the United States Air Force as an officer. I believe that with a field so demanding, so diverse and full of different perspectives, I can be an influence. The way I see this is that I should be able to be prideful of my nation without having to hide who I am, as well as change the image of how we are looked at. Even if I do not get approval now, or ever, I want trans people to look at the work I have done and feel like they too can be an influence. I want trans people to look at the challenges I have faced and feel less alone and feel like they can overcome their pain. I want them to feel like this is their home. I want people to understand why I am speaking on UofL's campus and why I do not hesitate to defend my community. I want people to see why I am fighting in my hometown as I reserve a place for transgender people to be on this Earth. I want to prove that I am capable of being a role model and a voice for people who do not have one. I want my impact on the LGBTQ+ Community to be an example of why we need to keep fighting for ourselves, no matter what.

The earliest occurrence I can remember when it comes to my practice with fine arts is in kindergarten, when I would sketch doodles of my plushies and early childish fanart of the franchise, Alvin & the Chipmunks. My teacher at the time was not very appreciative of that. However, as I delved into other media I would hyper-fixate on I began to harness my craft for what I inevitably wanted it to be. My lifelong goal has always been to release graphic novels and hopefully adapt them to some sort of film or animated series complete with an entirely original soundtrack, and maybe featuring some of my favorite songs. I have always had an immense passion for fine arts and cannot envision myself to not pursue. It is the definition of who I am. I eventually went from drawing art of my favorite cartoon characters to eventual ones I made on my own with their own stories and struggles. With that came the love for writing and wanting to enhance my literary skills so much to the point that I now write research essays for fun. At this time I was in middle school, which was also around the time I came out as FTM transgender. Being trans has defined my entire existence on many fronts. Do I deserve to have human rights? Do I deserve to be seen as anything more than my gender identity? Can I accomplish anything like any other person? Facing all these trials from then to today has given me the devotion to not only prove that I am more than just transgender, but allow my works to be exposed to the masses that shout the message of acceptance for all those that are different. I want to be a voice for those who cannot have one, even if that means I have to consistently be my own. I want to create visual tales for those to pass down years from now so that people can look back on my work and feel appreciated as they grow from facing such strife. And maybe then at that point, my work will have been so influential that people no longer fear what is different and then society will stop letting culture wars rage on. If I pursue my goals, maybe I can help make that happen.

I explicitly remember my first ever piece I made at the age six. It was a poorly drawn image of my stuffed animals upon notebook paper with their names scribbled ontop to signify who they are. I remember my classmates asking me what the story behind them was, or if they were from some cartoon they had yet to see. While my small brain could not formulate any coherence on what was happening, or what their personalities were like, I knew that I wanted to create media for all to enjoy and witness from that point on. Throughout my time growing up, I would write short stories and create characters who had to solve whatever trifles I forced them to endure, as well as create characters with elaborate pasts from medias that I had consumed and enjoyed. I remember reading works like Warriors, Harry Potter, Percy Jackson, The Spiderwick Chronicles, Unwind, and many more. I grew a fascination for fantasy, horror, and animation and have dreamed to work in a design studio to aid in publishing media, such as Dreamworks or Pixar. When I turned fifteen, I decided to take my writing and art more seriously when I was undergoing some traumatic and abusive events at home that surrounded my queer identity and overall family life. As an FTM transman, putting art out into the world that dealt with dark subject matters was a risk to hide from my family, not to mention avoiding possible hatred and harrassment from online. I created characters with queer backstories as they went through a series of tumultous events and how that affected them. What started off as a way to vent my frustrations out through writing and visual arts eventually turned into a passion I have been working on since my teenage years. The story itself is aimed to be a graphic novel. As of now, I am solely just creating world building concepts and scenes that can expose the characters to more diversity and situations that audiences can relate to. The story is about three queer siblings, two of which are in one dimension in modern day America. The other is in the same timeline, but in a fantasy based realm where it incorporates assortments of mythologies tied together, or at least taking inspiration from them. This fantasy realm involves the spirituality of having a belief system where those with godly blood are destined to become gods and surpass immortality to become heros of the world, but some are using their abilities for evil. Tadato and Aela, highschoolers in modern day Maryland, are met with a dark figure within their dreams speaking riddles and exasperated pleas to meet at a certain location within the woods. Once they do, they are met with a man in a worn gambison introducing himself as Grimm, a legate of the Apothian Army. He explains their kinship and how their father had made a deal with the Six Divines to bring mortal children into the world to be apart of a long planned prophecy to protect the universe from total damnation. The series then goes on elaborating harsh realities, social and class division, represetation and endured generational trauma. This piece is a concept of what Grimm and Tadato experience, where Grimm unfortunately has to expose Tadato to the consequences of warfare. I want those viewing my works to be enraptured, to be empathetic in situations they may or may not relate to, and I hope to connect people from various backgrounds to enforce a decline of division through the power of storytelling and artistry

While I have always adored Taylor Swift's music since her debut album, songs from "1989" hold a special place in my heart solely due to "This Love," for it has a nature of a blissful memory while holding onto the neglect of the past. "This Love" means a lot to me because it enables me to remember not only the bad times I've had with prior relationships, but the good ones too. Recently, as of 19 weeks ago, I left a really abusive relationship. It wasn't abusive in the beginning, although there were signs that were there and claiming that it was not what I thought it to be. Rose tinted glasses tend to hide the truth when you are infatuated. He had swooned me and swept me off my feet with sweet nothings. Things he had said to me were in confidence and utter empathy. He truly made me feel like I was worthwhile to him. And while many could argue it is a part of the facade, I do believe there was a time when he meant what he said despite how in the end he revealed his eventual horrid nature. Every night when we shared silk sheets, there was a bright and contagious charisma. I could see it in his wide eyed gaze and feel my heart flutter at the sensation of his skin caressing mine. His affirmations, hyperfixations, and general scope upon how he viewed life or his reality was exotic to me. I wanted to do whatever I could to allow him to share his deepest and darkest parts of himself with me. I wanted him to trust me more than anything in the world. The times where my heart ached at his expense involved times when he accused me of infidelity, despite me never giving such a reason as to why I'd do something so unforgiving. I even allowed him to have access to my location and schedule so I would not fear him leaving me over a misconception. Other times involved me spending my nights restlessly assuring him I would always protect him and was not one to fib about my stance on our companionship. I was dedicated to him and he made me think he was too. Never mind the times when he lashed out or laid his hands on me, so long as I understood and was patient. I did not take anything he did or said with a grain of salt because I was so convinced I was receiving sugar the entire time. When I introduced him to my family, they claimed for me to be nurturing in shushed whispers to not embarass my normal boldness. This love that I had was beyond the clear blue skies and reached for miles within the stars. I remember spending the holidays with him, us crying happily together and vowing for marriage one day. He had said those same things to someone else all throughout the 5 months and 28 days we had been together. He betrayed me, and therefore was when I found the strength to move forward without him. I listened to this song for weeks to heal in a desperate time for closure, but now it has a new meaning for me: I can forgive, but I'll never forget. I will never forget how he seemed unphased upon my discovery. I do not wish for him to enter my life again, but I will move forward knowing that my love is worth so much more than his. This love, my love, will come back to me.

When I was in the 8th grade, I began to connect the parallels on community service and volunteering. Seeing how it brings people together and offers support to those who may need it has been both a blessing to witness and an ambition applied. I started doing small things at first, like taking photos for the yearbook committee, helping out at clothing and food drives held by my athletics department, and then slowly getting into other opportunities that would hold a lot of future importance to me. My freshman year of college was when I began to participate in more community services around Scottsburg, IN, Louisville, KY and on campus. The Bayard Rustin LLC I am in actually requires us to have volunteer hours of no less than 10, but I normally finish the year by having about 15 or 25. - I have spoken at advocacy events for the LGBTQ+ Community. - I have helped raise money for houselessness. - I became a member of the Young Democratic Socialists of America to spread the morality and message of the American public. - I have participated at hosting track & field events at the University of Louisville through the AFROTC program, Det 295. - I have volunteered at recruitment events for AFROTC to give an opportunity to highschoolers for a life of promise and security. - I was a band guide for the University of Louisville's "Band Day" hosted by the Cardinal Marching Band. I spoke about my experience in a collegiate band, what opportunities come to you as a member and the aid you recieve, as well as how to enhance your musicianship. - I volunteered for a 20+ hour event, also hosted by the Cardinal Marching Band, called "Bands of America." This event includes highschool bands across the nation to perform and compete against one another for the title of 1st place in their division. We escorted bands, played for them twice throughout the day, and spoke to them exposing what it is like to be a Cardinal at the University of Louisville. - I volunteered to take photos for the seniors commission and graduation of Det 295's AFROTC program to ensure they remember the moment they became an officer within the armed forces. - I became the head chair of the Social Media Board Committee of the Cardinal Marching Band, as well as the Social Media Director of the Sexuality and Gender Alliance at the University of Louisville. The reason why I need this scholarship financially is because it is becoming harder to develop time for advocacy and volunteering. I work and am in school, so time tends to not be on my side as I struggle to pay for my school by myself. My family has no means of supporting me and it has just been my journey alone. I always want to make time for opportunities to volunteer and advocacy, but my chances are becoming more and more slim as school progresses to become more expensive. I will never stop doing what I am doing and will always push to succeed, but I at least wish for my ambitions to be achieved more easily and effectively. There is always an opportunity to spread the means of service, but even those dreams need to be accessed with some help.

What made me choose to pursue a degree in media is the sole ecstasy I get when I create any form of artistry. It's like seeing yourself exceed all expectations because your mind just goes beyond methods of creativity. It's the excitement you get when you combine a color palette or a pair of chords that reveal existential beauty. It's people who observe your works and admire them in a way you never thought was possible, let along deserved. My dream is to write a graphic novel series and for it to be picked up into film. I have been chasing that dream since I was 7 years old. I used to get into trouble in grade school because of me drawing characters I saw on TV or characters I had made up in my mind. People seeing my work and encouraging me to continue is what truly helps me persevere in troublesome times. I want to create things for not only people to enjoy and admire, but to relate to with issues that we still deal with today. I want to be able to talk about what others won't through adaptive film or writing. Over the past decades as film was created, it has been proven that people learn from what they see on their screens or on the pages of a book in their hands. If I can be a participant in helping people learn, relate, feel seen or even feel inspired enough to do something similar on their own, then that will be a privilege that I will honor and handle just as carefully as my craft.

As I continue to move forward, I find that there are many struggles to daily life. Money, relationships, time management, and many other things tend to set us back. Some people become lost and do not know what to do with themselves when they are at their lowest. What people don't realize is that there are lower lows. Life is about finding passions and purpose, but to do that we must figure out what works for us in healthy manners. Everyone is different in their own unique way. That is why in order to live a long and healthy life, one must take an opportunity they see for its own possible benefit. Trying new things like a hobby or a new food is a small, but first step into living a better life. It's all about the little things and making them become bigger that impact your life in odd yet peculiar ways. One example I can give is that a hobby I picked up on is graphic design. While I wish to make it my career, I didn't have the confidence in myself to pursue it before. Since I am an artist, I'm always wanting to try new things and experience the unknown. The media was hard to do at first, but after some practice and tinkering I have grown to love it! All it took was that small baby step into attempting it and eventually growing used to it. That's what life is about, growing used to it and coping with it in ways that makes us happy and healthy.

I lived with my father for sixteen years. At the time, it seemed like every action he had done was out of love and protection. However, through extensive soul searching and even therapy that we both had different ideas of what love and protection were. I am someone who is a free spirit and open minded to new possibilities with dreams. It wasn't long until I realized that after the turmoil I had endured, the doubts I had about my dreams were just my father keeping me chained to a block of nothingness. The earliest the harm began was when my dad got remarried. His new wife convinced him that he needed to be more conservative with his parenting, despite the fact my siblings and I were good kids. Together, they brought physical means into any situation. If we acted slightly out of line, my dad and stepmother would beat us relentlessly and send us off into a dark closet to, "Think about what we had done." I wasn't allowed to talk about the beatings and lectures because my father made me afraid of the idea of CPS "stealing" me. I didn't acknowledge it until recently this past year when I moved out and began to live with my mom. The final straw was when he had grabbed me by my neck because I didn't answer his question about how school had went that day. I dreamt of a life with happiness, but my father's hold on me was preventing me from achieving that. I still struggle with many things, but I am at least in a better place than what I was before. Moving out in secret was one of the most terrifying things I had ever done, but I succeeded. I survived and move forward out of spite.

I realized I was bisexual when I was nine years old. I still didn't feel like I had uncovered much about myself. I knew deep down there was still something festering inside my identity. Maybe I had known, but words were hard to come by in those times. I wouldn't have expected my journey to worsen as the years dragged on. I came out again when I was eleven. This time I had felt more than just bi, but that I wasn't what I was born as. I wasn't supposed to be born as a biological female, I was supposed to be male. That would have explained my sorrowful hatred for my elementary teachers forcing me to watch female puberty videos. The gut wrenching feeling that churned in my stomach still has a disturbing remembrance to this day, as I watched my father smite me. My step mother enforced religious practices upon my body. I remember pleading for my dad as my step mother beat me with a belt and screamed bible verses at me, telling me I needed to feel a man's pleasure in order to establish my worth in God's kingdom. My mother was more accepting when I had came out, but she didn't understand it. I didn't either, I was still so young and unsure of what it all meant. I thought there needed to be labels, but I was uncomfortable with that idea onto myself. I started to truly hate myself and even developed suicidal tendencies. I thought, "Why should I expect people to accept me if I don't accept myself?" Nothing in the world at that time made sense, and I had wished to die rather than attempt to understand. When I had came out at school, I saw that there were many kids like me. Each student slowly began to express themselves in ways nobody could before. There was still prejudice and hate to face, but nobody was alone anymore. I had formed an alliance all because I wanted freedom. Do you know what freedom tastes like? It's the brisk wind in an open green field. It's planting seeds in a garden and waiting to see life sprout from the soil, claiming its place on Earth like every other plant. It's holding someone's hand in unison as you tackle a mission together, letting other's hold your hand, and then they hold another hand. Freedom is being able to move on from the past, focusing on the present, and pursuing the future. As I have come to learn that I was an inspiration to the many people in my small town to be themselves, I finally began to understand and love myself. I still have flaws, but I am making a change for others to become impacted. I am paving a way for those struggling to become an inspiration themselves. I am no longer dream my dreams - I chase them. I love myself for not only my growth, but for the kids that don't.

Being an artist means to thrive. It means to create, to advocate, to speak without verbally doing so. Art is when you get an idea in your head and have the inexplicable urge to create that very same idea. That same idea has the potential to bring humanity to its highest peak of progress without meaning to. That is the beauty of it all. Leonardo Da Vinci had the idea of man taking flight. He knew humans could not fly like the doves that wafted around his windows at his office of his home. However, with his scientific mind that could engineer the impossible to become possible, he designed the drafted idea of the world's first flying machine. Only centuries later, the impossible became possible as many inventors would tackle the idea of flight and become artisans of their own liking, like the Wright brothers. They may have not been exceptional in oil painting, but that is the benefit of being a renowned artist. It is achieving an idea and improving that same idea each time. You consistently create to become better. I create because I want to be better. Often times, it is the only way for me to feel better. I never had a stable home life or felt much companionship. Love was something that was as rare as healthy food in our low income fridge. My determination and creativity were not rare. Every time I sketch or paint I feel as if I am in control of the world. I can design what ever I wish, I can imply what ever message I want to include in my pieces, and I can spread it across the globe to give people the advocacy they deserve. My talents are not connected to my passions because I want them to be, they're connected because I have no choice but to let them be. Truly, the only way humanity will grow is if artists inspire their kin to grow. Most unfortunately do not decide to become kind just because they should and that it is the popular opinion. We must continue producing ideas to further question humanity's ability to adapt for better lives. This is what drives me as I never had a great life, let alone a better one. I want to show the hindering abuse I endure through the expression of art to let other people know they are not alone in this. On top of that, I want to force people to think about my complex works and decide to do something about these issues - to enable change. I as an artist have to make people think about my pieces. If they interpret it differently, then that is at least something that works to clear up frustrations. In order for me to connect to other generations, I have to make them think like an artist in order for them to become one themselves through whatever ideas they brew in their minds. Everyone needs to thrive as an artist. A passion in what that artist expresses is still a vital message for today's society. One message can be speaking for racism in a nation, or one speaks of nature and the dying self of Mother Earth. Regardless, each concept has their own battles that viewers can grow and inspire from. It does not take a rocket scientist to inspire an average Joe to become better. It just takes a grain of awareness.