“How did I get to this point?” … Leaning on the door frame, an elderly woman presses her hands close to her body. Before her was a scene of nostalgia and comfort. Warm sunlight enters the small, blue-painted room. Iconic video game posters and dozens of ideas plastered on the wall. A particularly special one was framed with the name “Love Gooden” signed in the corner. It was a drawing lovingly done in crayon. The rest of the room was cluttered in such a way that could remind one of home. Uncrossing her arms, the woman shuffles closer to the center of the room. She narrowly avoids falling victim to a rubber ball on the ground and pushes one of the many stuffed toys to create a space for her on the twin-sized bed. The bed creaks causing the owner of the bed, Love, to blink slowly. She yawns and stretches, grumbling incoherent words. Twisting her body out of bed, Love leaves for the bathroom. Heaving quietly, the elderly woman, Aimée, quietly says “Cent, please clean this mess.” With that, a small robot comes out and systematically does a general cleanup of most of the room. Minutes pass until a less disheveled Love emerges from the bathroom and makes a beeline straight to her desk. She doesn’t spare a glance at the older woman and instead tackles the seemingly endless papers on her desk. The whole time Aimée walked around the room as if it were a museum. She lovingly glanced at the different designs, calling out each of their respective titles. Each time a new machine would whirr to life, completing tasks they were designed for. Some would have cleaning tasks related to organization. Others seemed to check on Aimée, taking notes of her temperature, blood pressure, and overall condition. There seemed to be hundreds of different mechanisms hidden in that small room. Love paid no attention to the magic behind her and continued to type away at her laptop for hours. Her pencil kept scratching at some poor overused notebook. Even more time passed, yet none of the machines ever went near her. Even Aimée was hesitant to walk over after finishing most of her little gallery walk. To her, Love was the most sacred artwork there. But as the moon rose so did the elderly woman. She softly placed her hand on the back of the worn chair and scanned the desk. Piles of notebooks, torn-up pages, and broken lead filled the space. As Love flipped through the work, there were all sorts of schematics before her. Pre-existing designs and concepts heavily annotated by the busy college student. The notebooks were filled with ethical concerns as well as major foundations of her engineering knowledge. The elderly woman didn’t need to ask the thoughts of the girl toiling away. She knew the worries. The struggle. To find yourself closer to your dream yet still so far. All of the hard work that cluttered the room was proof of that. To know how hard it is to work for hours on end trying to decipher core subjects. To know the ever-so-serious debate of ethics over greed in the engineering world. All of these negative thoughts plague most minds who want to be in robotics. As for a twenty-two-year-old girl already barely scraping by, some of these thoughts can be enough to make one want to give up altogether. Her hand falters. After a day full of studying, it’s hard to not listen. While Love’s designs were made with the hope of making a positive impact, it could all be in vain. Technology will never have these types of thoughts. Ultimately, it’s up to humans to passionately create for the benefit of others. The elderly woman pats her shoulder. These struggles are something that may never disappear. Together the two stare at their reflection from a small mirror. As Aimée’s steadfast gaze meets Love's, both women notice the silly framed drawing behind them. It had a large orange scribble next to an even larger purple squiggle. Love’s first idea. In third grade, her teacher taught their class the importance of robotics and engineering. It inspired the girl to create a car that could be the home to hundreds of people all the while being powered by plants. That wild idea was the girl’s first step into dreaming big. This pursuit was all about solving problems and making life easier for everyone. The rest of her thoughts paled in comparison to such a statement. The young girl looked visibly better after looking at that drawing. Love laughed. The elderly woman laughed too. As they giggled the world seemed to shift. Aimée found herself sitting at the desk still staring at that drawing she made. The desk was no longer the same wobbly one Aimée used in college. Instead, it was kept neat, similar to the state of the current room. It was much larger than Aimée's old dormitory. With a big stretch, she looked over the holographic monitor in front of her. The screen lit up containing a decade-old memory log titled “DiaryLog_25_01”. Stretching, Aimée decided that was enough of reminiscing for today. She got up and took one glance back before closing the door. … “Past me is responsible for who I've got to congratulate for getting us to this point. I'll thank her by taking a break for today.”