Ah, the age-old question of being stranded on a deserted island with only one movie to watch for the rest of eternity. If I had to make such a dreadfully dramatic decision, I would, of course, choose "Dead Poets Society." Not because I have an undying love for poetry (as proven by my shelf packed full with poetry) or a secret desire to join an English literature cult (I totally would, but shhh, don't tell anyone), but because it's the perfect blend of inspiration, drama, and Robin Williams' impeccable comedic timing (seriously, the man was a comedic genius). Let's break it down, shall we? Picture this: you're stuck in a loop, forced to watch the same movie ad nauseam. Now, most people would probably choose something light-hearted or mindlessly entertaining, but not me. No, I like to live dangerously with a side of existential crisis. "Dead Poets Society" has everything you need to question your existence while simultaneously laughing at the absurdity of it all. You've got rebellious students challenging authority, poetic musings that make you question the meaning of life, and a teacher who defies convention with quirky charisma. And let's not forget the iconic scenes that "Dead Poets Society" delivers with flair. Who can resist the urge to stand on a desk and shout "O Captain! My Captain!" at least once in their lifetime (or every time they watch the movie, let's be honest)? Sure, I could have chosen a movie that transports me to a magical world or fulfills my wildest fantasies, but where's the fun in that? Instead, I'll opt for a film that reminds me of the fleeting nature of time, the importance of seizing the day (Carpe Diem, anyone?), and the undeniable fact that life is just one big tragicomedy. Plus, there's something oddly comforting about hearing Robin Williams recite poetry and deliver profound life lessons while wearing tweed jackets and making questionable classroom entrances. As an aspiring English teacher (though I'm not quite there yet), I naturally gravitate towards the mentorship and wisdom portrayed by characters like Mr. Keating in "Dead Poets Society." His unconventional teaching methods, passion for literature, and dedication to inspiring his students resonate deeply with my own aspirations in education. Additionally, "Dead Poets Society" delves deep into the harsh reality, addressing themes of mental health, societal pressures, and the consequences of conformity. The portrayal of Neil's struggle with parental expectations and his ultimate decision to take his own life (sorry for the spoiler!) is a powerful reminder of the harsh realities faced by many individuals. While the movie is uplifting and inspiring in many ways, it also serves as a stark reminder of the importance of mental health awareness and the devastating impact of societal constraints on individual freedom and happiness. So, while others may choose movies that whisk them away to other worlds or fulfill their wildest dreams (cough cough "Inception," my second choice), I'll stick with "Dead Poets Society." It's a film that is not afraid to showcase the harsh realities of being a teenager, encourages introspection, inspires creativity, and reminds us that sometimes, the most profound insights come from unexpected places (like a rundown boarding school in the 1950s).

Ahoy, fellow learners! Picture this: sophomore year, a bright-eyed student eager to conquer the monster also known as Chemistry. Alas, fate had other plans as our would-be teacher vanished into thin air on the very first day! In swoops Edgenuity, our virtual savior (and resident chemistry wizard), with its digital lessons and interactive quizzes. It was like having a robotic sidekick guiding me through the elements (pun intended) and ensuring I didn't turn into a mad scientist in the process (who needs Hogwarts when you've got Edgenuity?). Junior year, I found myself in a predicament – P.E. didn't fit into my schedule, yet I needed the credit to graduate. Edgenuity to the rescue once again and provided me with a not-quite-gym-but-moreso-health class (hey, I might of not ran the Pacer, but I did learn about the muscles that are used during the Pacer)! Who knew a virtual gym could be so accommodating, tracking my virtual steps and virtual heart rate as I virtually ran laps around my living room (definitely improved my couch potato skills). Now, senior year brings the epic quest of AP World History, and guess who's my ally? You guessed it – Edgenuity, the titan of online education (history's new BFF). From ancient civilizations to modern revolutions, Edgenuity holds the key to unlocking historical mysteries and acing that dreaded AP exam (making history as easy as pressing a key on your keyboard). But wait, there's more! In a world of numbers and ledgers, Canvas became my virtual pal for Accounting, making everything so much easier and ensuring my balance sheets were as balanced as a tightrope walker (accounting for every penny and pun). Senior Wooly joined the crew, teaching Spanish with flair and catchy tunes that made irregular verbs seem less irregular (the Spanish language's secret dance moves revealed!). When numbers turned into nightmares in Honors Pre Calc, YouTube became my knight in shining armor. With tutorials galore, even the most perplexing math problems bowed before my newfound understanding (math's worst nightmares turned into sweet dreams). As for the grand quest of AP classes – AP Classroom emerged as the oracle of knowledge, guiding me through the agony of multiple AP classes with quizzes, practice tests, and study materials fit for an academic hero. I'm thrilled to announce that I successfully conquered all my AP classes last year (a feat that deserves a standing ovation from my couch)! Beyond academics, my trusty quill finds solace in the digital platforms of Google Docs, Word, Simplenote, Evernote, and Masterclass, where both my skill and words dance upon the virtual parchment, crafting tales of wonder and wisdom gleaned from mentors and professional writers (a poet's paradise, just a keyboard click away). And let's not forget the fellowship of Girls Write Now, where Slack, Zoom, and Google Meets unite mentors and mentees in a virtual haven of creativity and collaboration (where every keystroke brings us closer to literary greatness). And so, dear readers, as we reach the shores of this essay, let us not bid adieu to the digital wonders that have shaped my educational voyage. From Edgenuity's virtual classrooms to Canvas's accounting escapades, and the melodious Spanish tunes of Senior Wooly, these online platforms have proven that learning can indeed be a humorous adventure. As I continue my quest for knowledge, I raise a virtual toast to the digital allies that made this journey not just educational, but downright convenient and worthwhile.

As I turn the page on my senior year, I embark on the next chapter of my life, one filled with purpose and passion. This new chapter encapsulates my journey, defined by my love for literature, my commitment to kindness, and my unwavering dedication to writing and teaching. As a devoted bookworm, I find solace and inspiration within the pages of books. Each story has shaped my perspective and fueled my imagination. Stepping beyond high school, I carry the wisdom and wonder gleaned from the countless worlds I have encountered. But my journey is not solely about consuming stories; it is also about crafting them. My commitment to writing goes beyond personal expression; it is a vehicle for empathy, amplifying voices, sparking imagination, and evoking emotion in others. Each word I pen is imbued with intention, each sentence a testament to the power of storytelling. Crafting stories is not just a skill but a home that has grown through my experiences as a Girls Write Now mentee, a participant in NaNoWriMo, and an award-winning writer in the Scholastic Art and Writing Awards. The accolades and achievements are not mere decorations but symbols of a writer's evolution—a journey inspired by a compassionate 7th-grade teacher who recognized the latent potential within me. Yet, beyond the written word lies my true calling—to become an English teacher, where I am also committed to shaping minds and fostering a love for literature in future generations. Teaching is not just a career choice; it is a refuge for the unheard and underrepresented, a continuation of the sanctuary provided by my 7th-grade teacher. My goal is to create a nurturing environment, a home within words, where students find healing, expression, and belonging. My classroom will be a place where curiosity is nurtured and voices are amplified. My teaching philosophy goes beyond textbooks—it's about instilling an appreciation for diverse perspectives and empowering each student to find their unique voice. Every student has a story waiting to be written, and I am committed to being the guiding hand that helps them pen their own story. My next chapter reflects my desire to infuse every aspect of my life with meaning and intention. Whether through my writing, my teaching, or my everyday interactions, I strive to leave a positive ripple on the world around me. This chapter is not just about personal growth; it’s about using my gifts and passions to uplift others and make a difference in the world. As I turn the page to a new chapter, I am filled with a grand sense of purpose. Each day is an opportunity to write a new story, inspire others, and to leave behind a legacy of kindness, creativity, and compassion. In the pages of this chapter, I will continue to seek, learn, and inspire—to write the story of a life well-lived, one page at a time. Thank you for considering my journey. I am eager to continue my mission of spreading the good of education and kindness in the world, confident that my unique experiences and dedication will contribute to making a meaningful difference.

Chapter Title: "Pages of Purpose" As I turn the page on my senior year, I embark on the next chapter of my life, one filled with purpose and passion. The title of this chapter encapsulates my journey, defined by my love for literature, my commitment to kindness, and my unwavering dedication to writing and teaching. As a devoted bookworm, I find solace and inspiration within the pages of books. Each story has shaped my perspective and fueled my imagination. Stepping beyond high school, I carry the wisdom and wonder gleaned from the countless worlds I have encountered. But my journey is not solely about consuming stories; it is also about crafting them. As a writer, I have honed my skills in poetry, short stories, and now, my novel-in-progress. Through my writing, I seek to ignite empathy, amplify voices, spark imagination, and evoke emotion in others. Each word I pen is imbued with intention, each sentence a testament to the power of storytelling. Yet, beyond the written word lies my true calling—to become an English teacher, where I am committed to shaping minds and fostering a love for literature in future generations. My classroom will be a home where curiosity is nurtured and voices are amplified. My teaching philosophy goes beyond textbooks—it's about instilling an appreciation for diverse perspectives and empowering each student to find their unique voice. Every student has a story waiting to be written, and I am committed to being the guiding hand that helps them pen their own story. The title of this chapter, "Pages of Purpose," reflects my desire to infuse every aspect of my life with meaning and intention. Whether through my writing, my teaching, or my everyday interactions, I strive to leave a positive ripple on the world around me. This chapter is not just about personal growth; it’s about using my gifts and passions to uplift others and make a difference in the world. As I turn the page to a new chapter, I am filled with a grand sense of purpose. Each day is an opportunity to write a new story, inspire others, and leave behind a legacy of kindness, creativity, and compassion. In the pages of this chapter, I will continue to seek, learn, and inspire—to write the story of a life well-lived, one page at a time.

In the recesses of creativity, my identity unfolds like a well-thumbed manuscript: I'm a writer, poet, and, well, let's call myself a novelist in progress (Rome wasn't built in a day, and neither is my magnum opus). I proudly wear the badges of a Girls Write Now mentee, a finisher of NaNoWriMo 2023, and an award-winning writer. Within the Scholastic Art and Writing Awards, I've garnered regional awards for five pieces during my sophomore and junior years, with one securing a Silver Medal in the nationals. I'm eagerly awaiting my senior-year triumph with the regional results of this year's Scholastic Art and Writing Awards (fingers crossed, January 26th, be kind). So, if time were a dragon hoarding hours, I'd use that 24-hour bonus to elevate my writing to unprecedented heights. Picture it: more time for literary antics, torturing my char—I mean, developing my characters (insert witch’s cackle), and daring plot twists. But here's the twist: I wouldn't just spend those extra hours in the solitary confines of my writing chamber. No, I'd use this time to share my creations with the world, inspiring others. Why do I wield the mighty pen, you ask? Because, my dear reader, I believe in the therapeutic powers of words—not just writing my woes away but tossing life vests to others drowning in the sea of their own thoughts. Words are not mere ink on paper; they're the bricks and mortar of my refuge, and I'm on a mission to construct sanctuaries for anyone in need of shelter. An advocate for a better world? Guilty as charged. I’m writing so the world not only hears but actually listens. Armed with metaphors, social commentary, and grimness sharper than Excalibur, my keyboard is my weapon of mass construction. I'm writing for change, one sentence at a time. Now, about when I feel most creative—it's a wild concoction of the mundane and the ethereal. At 1 a.m., when the world sleeps, and my imagination dances under the moonlight. Or in the shower, where water droplets are percussion and the echoes of solitude compose symphonies. Even in the quiet moments spent being absorbed in the soul-stirring stories, creativity strikes like lightning. I’m inspired by the collective experiences and feelings of myself and others. I see the problems and those unheard in our society, so I write about them. My creativity is a reflection of the world around me, a cavern of inspirations drawn from the many moments that shape our existence. Through writing, I'm on a mission to directly extend the healing power of words by sending at least one kind message every day. Surpassing 1,100 messages and counting, each word of compassion has the potential to illuminate even the darkest corners of someone's day. This venture into daily kindness has become a personal ritual and a prelude to a grander vision. Fueled by the conviction that words can bring positive change, I am laying the foundation for a kindness-focused non-profit. I aspire to amplify the impact of written expressions of empathy, creating a platform where the written word becomes a catalyst for widespread change. It's not just about telling stories; it's about bringing compassion that extends beyond the pages and into the lives of those who need it most. I am not merely a writer; I am a warrior of words, a messenger of kindness, and a weaver of worlds. As I craft sentences for change, I’m acutely aware that writing, when shared, has a ripple effect. Through my writing, I aim to create waves of change that touch the hearts of many.

Once upon a time in Hollywood, the sun-drenched boulevards shimmered with dreams, and the air crackled with the magic of celluloid dreams. The year was 1969, the time of tie-dye, bell-bottoms, groovy tunes, and a cultural revolution that echoed through the Hollywood Hills. I found myself in the chokehold of Hollywood's golden age, navigating the boulevards like a starry-eyed wanderer. The neon glow of the iconic Pantages Theatre whispered promises of cinematic wonders, and the Walk of Fame echoed the footsteps of legends. It was a time when the silver screen painted dreams in Technicolor, and celluloid was the canvas of endless possibilities. Picture this: a vintage Cadillac cruising down Sunset Boulevard, its radio tuned to the Beatles' Abbey Road. I drove down Hollywood Boulevard with Audrey Hepburn, dined at the Brown Derby with Marilyn Monroe, and danced the twist at the Whisky a Go Go with Elvis. The city's heartbeat pulsed with the anticipation of a Quentin Tarantino masterpiece, a symphony of film reels and neon lights. From the rugged charisma of a stuntman to the ethereal presence of a fading star, the stage was set for a tale that blurred the lines between reality and the silver screen. Once upon a time in Hollywood, the celluloid dreams and gritty reality converged in a climactic crescendo. It was a tale of love and loss, dreams and disillusionment, set against the backdrop of an era that shimmered with stardust and echoed with the immortal words: "Lights, Camera, Action!" As the credits rolled, I realized that Hollywood was not just a place; it was a dreamscape where reality and fiction danced in a dazzling duet. Once upon a time in Hollywood, I became a character in a story unfolding with the magic of a bygone era, leaving an indelible imprint on the boulevards of my spirit. And so, my desire to teach and shape the narratives of others, much like the captivating stories spun in the heart of Hollywood, was born. Aspiring to become an English teacher, I aim to bring the enchantment of storytelling to my students, inspiring them to see the world as a place of narratives waiting to be explored. In the footsteps of the cinematic giants, I envision my future students walking their own paths of imagination. I want to be their guide, opening the doors to the worlds of literature, and empowering them to write their own stories and perspectives. Furthermore, my cinematic journey kindled a desire to write, to pen books echoing the magic of Hollywood's golden age. I aspire to create narratives captivating hearts and minds, contributing to diverse voices and inspiring a new generation of storytellers. Once upon a time in Hollywood, amidst the glitz and glamor, I discovered the power of storytelling to shape lives and perspectives. As I begin my journey as an English teacher and aspiring author, I carry with me the enchantment of Hollywood—an industry shaping the narratives of my story and those of the generations yet to come.

Sent 2:17 a.m. "Hey everyone, if I’m not back here in a few days, please sing a song for me." That was the last message my friend sent before taking their own life. I. Mezzo-piano 0:01 My friend and I met through another writing partner that I found through an online reading and writing platform. Eventually, I found myself included within a network of like-minded teens passionate about the arts. One person in that community was my late friend. Despite being worlds apart, we became fast friends, talking about anything and everything. II. Pianissimo 1:39 Unfortunately, my friend had mental health struggles from being harassed for their gender and sexual identities. One day, my friend sent out one final message at 2:17 a.m. in my time zone—12:47 p.m. in their time zone—before their profile went completely inactive. At that moment, I felt completely helpless. They were halfway across the world in India and I was here, in America. Screens felt like barriers, more than ever before. Besides a supportive message, what could I do? I wanted to respect their final wishes, but found I couldn't. A few lines into the song, my voice cracked and I completely teared up. I’m not a singer; I’m a writer, so I decided to write a poem instead. I only wrote a few lines and didn’t have the courage to share it with anyone. From then on, I tucked the poem in the deepest recesses of my mind. I only revisited the poem when I registered for a poetry workshop about grief. I decided to write more of that poem, reopening the wound. At night, I went outside, wrote in the tranquility of nature, and the soft instrumental music from my phone’s speaker. Music, in particular, has a deep connection with me. My friend and I have many good memories from it. They were a musician and singer themself and would record themself singing and playing for me. I incorporated their passion towards music within the poem to honor them. III. Pianississimo 1:59 Yet with all processes of grief, I became stuck. I didn't truly comprehend what my friend went through until I experienced it myself. A razor became both my refuge and my tormentor, etching silent screams onto my skin. The thought of a tightening rope whispered hauntingly, reminding me of my fragile grip on life. In a moment of desperation, I swallowed twenty-five pills, hoping for dead silence, only to be sick for days after. My well-intentioned parents unknowingly heightened my agony, urging me to obtain a driver's license and secure a job. Their encouragement morphed into a suffocating pressure, amplifying my sense of inadequacy. Even a single blemish, a C in Honors Pre Calc, felt like a catastrophic failure amidst my otherwise perfect academic record. Discovering my asexuality should have been liberating. Instead, it thrust me into a battleground within and outside of the LGBTQIA+ community. Fellow people in the community invalidated my experiences, saying that asexuality wasn't real and that I could never be a part of the community I longed to embrace. Discrimination, both within and outside my ranks, compounded my isolation, transforming the inclusive community into a painful reminder of my exclusion, a cruel joke at my expense. In the midst of my own struggles, life dealt another blow. A sudden and tragic car crash claimed the life of a beloved classmate. Our small, tight-knit school community was shattered by the loss. This time, my struggle was shared as I and everyone else in my town mourned him. IV. Forte-coda 3:10 Fortunately, I received help from my teachers. They were my solace during those troubling times. My interactions with them not only guided me through the darkest moments of my life but also inspired a sense of purpose within me. These dedicated teachers became my pillars of strength. They listened without judgment, provided unwavering support, and created a safe space for me to express my emotions and struggles. Writing also played a huge part in healing. In addition to the poem about my friend, I decided to write a personal essay about my grief with my classmate. These two pieces were a journey through the stages of grief. I pondered, I cried, I shouted, yet I laughed and smiled while shifting through the memories and putting words on paper. These pieces helped me navigate my feelings: sadness, sorrow, anger, bitterness, and grief. It was a cleansing process of those emotions—one that was incredibly cathartic to my well-being. I knew instantly what I wanted to name the personal essay. "3/20/23", the date of my classmate's death. However, I didn’t think of the title for the poem until I shared it for the first time—with a complete stranger who had just lost a sibling. In that moment—between shared grief—I decided to name the poem "rewind". Rewind, for all the things I could have, should have said. Rewind, for the tears my friend and I shared as she read my personal essay. Rewind, for all the memories tearing through our minds. Rewind, for the gratefulness my classmate's family had when I shared it with them. Rewind, for all the grief we went through on this journey, replaying a single song over and over before moving on to a new song—acceptance at last. V. Fortissimo 3:12 It is this acceptance that led me to continue growing and evolving as both a person and a writer. These experiences solidified my belief that teaching and writing are about being a compassionate presence in the lives of people. It's a huge part of why I want to become a teacher, a published author, and start a kindness-focused non-profit. I hope that my future students and others will find solace and healing in my classroom, actions, and words. No one is alone in their experiences, and just like my grief, mine and others' struggles will ease in time until we can finally stop pushing rewind and move on to the next song. VI. Play 0:00

While I may not wear the iconic Boy Scout uniform, my commitment to service is a force to be reckoned with. I volunteer for their service projects, leading the charge like a modern-day superhero. Take, for example, the Sandwich Fair, where I transform into the Popcorn Crusader, peddling goodies to save the world (or at least make it tastier). Or cleanup after the Mid-Summer Showdown. Fighting garbage one wrapper at a time, I tackle environmental villainy with a trash picker and a sense of eco-justice. Now, picture this: I'm the unsung hero of the library, the assistant librarian. Together with the librarian, we're the dynamic duo managing the chaos that is our school library. Dewey Decimal System? I've mastered it. Library fines? Handled with finesse. It's a job where silence reigns, except for the occasional "shush" I get to deliver. But my adventures extend beyond the quietude of the library. I'm the Homework Club Helper, the wise sage helping middle schoolers decipher the mysteries of algebra and conquer the enigma of science assignments. It's a battlefield of pencils and papers, and I'm the valiant warrior guiding my comrades through the academic trenches. Then comes "Pathways to Play" — a program for pre-K education. Picture me, armed with crayons and glitter, captivating young minds with the magic of learning in the community garden. The kids love me! Additionally, through one of our NHS initiatives in the community, I transform into the Kinder-Knight, reading tales to tiny tots to cultivate a love for books before they even conquer the alphabet. If education were a Broadway show, I'd be the star of the kindergarten stage. It's also worthwhile to mention another one of our NHS initiatives: making flag keychains for veterans. Crafting keychains for veterans isn't just a project; it's a mission to sprinkle gratitude like confetti. These tiny tokens are more than keychains; they're pocket-sized packages of appreciation, a salute in every bead. But wait, there's more! I'm the literary vigilante of kindness, complete with a keyboard and a heart of gold. My daily kind messages are like Cupid's arrows, spreading good vibes faster than you can say "virtual hug.” I'm proud to say that I sent over 1,100 kind messages and counting. That's more messages than Hogwarts acceptance letters — and just as magical! It's like being a wizard spreading joy instead of casting spells. In my writing escapades, I'm the writing wizard, offering my editorial prowess to fellow wordsmiths and students. It's an attack on essays, battling typos and conquering syntax issues. If writing was a dragon, I'd be the knight with a red pen, slaying errors left and right. Armed with kindness, a red pen, and a utility belt filled with snacks, I am on a mission to transform our world. As I step into the future, each day presents a new opportunity to be the change I wish to see. With a heart brimming with compassion, a mind full of knowledge, and a spirit ignited by the flames of service, I am not just a community superhero — I am a catalyst for positive transformation. So, let the journey unfold, let the adventures multiply, and let the impact resonate far and wide. With every kind message sent, red-penned error corrected, and act of service rendered, I am shaping a narrative of hope and goodwill. The quest is boundless, and the goal is clear — to create a community where kindness reigns supreme and excellence is a collective endeavor.

Sent 2:17 a.m. "Hey everyone, if I’m not back here in a few days, please sing a song for me." That was the last message my friend sent before taking their own life. I. Mezzo-piano 0:01 My friend and I met through another writing partner that I found through an online reading and writing platform. Eventually, I found myself included within a network of like-minded teens passionate about the arts. One person in that community was my late friend. Despite being worlds apart, we became fast friends, talking about anything and everything. II. Pianissimo 1:39 Unfortunately, my friend had mental health struggles from being harassed for their gender and sexual identities. One day, my friend sent out one final message at 2:17 a.m. in my time zone—12:47 p.m. in their time zone—before their profile went completely inactive. At that moment, I felt completely helpless. They were halfway across the world in India and I was here, in America. Screens felt like barriers, more than ever before. Besides a supportive message, what could I do? I wanted to respect their final wishes, but found I couldn't. A few lines into the song, my voice cracked and I completely teared up. I’m not a singer; I’m a writer, so I decided to write a poem instead. I only wrote a few lines and didn’t have the courage to share it with anyone. From then on, I tucked the poem in the deepest recesses of my mind. I only revisited the poem when I registered for a poetry workshop about grief. I decided to write more of that poem, reopening the wound. At night, I went outside, wrote in the tranquility of nature and the soft instrumental music from my phone’s speaker. Music, in particular, has a deep connection with me. My friend and I have many good memories from it. They were a musician and singer themself and would record themself singing and playing for me. I incorporated their passion towards music within the poem to honor them. III. Pianississimo 1:59 Yet with all processes of grief, I became stuck. I didn't truly comprehend what my friend went through until I experienced it myself. A razor became both my refuge and my tormentor, etching silent screams onto my skin. The thought of a tightening rope whispered hauntingly, reminding me of my fragile grip on life. In a moment of desperation, I swallowed twenty-five pills, hoping for dead silence, only to be sick for days after. My well-intentioned parents unknowingly heightened my agony, urging me to obtain a driver's license and secure a job. Their encouragement morphed into a suffocating pressure, amplifying my sense of inadequacy. Even a single blemish, a C in Honors Pre Calc, felt like a catastrophic failure amidst my otherwise perfect academic record. Discovering my asexuality should have been liberating. Instead, it thrust me into a battleground within and outside of the LGBTQIA+ community. Fellow people in the community invalidated my experiences, saying that asexuality wasn't real and that I could never be a part of the community I longed to embrace. Discrimination, both within and outside my ranks, compounded my isolation, transforming the inclusive community into a painful reminder of my exclusion, a cruel joke at my expense. In the midst of my own struggles, life dealt another blow. A sudden and tragic car crash claimed the life of a beloved classmate. Our small, tight-knit school community was shattered by the loss. This time, my struggle was shared as I and everyone else in my town mourned him. IV. Forte-coda 3:10 Fortunately, I received help from my teachers. They were my solace during those troubling times. My interactions with them not only guided me through the darkest moments of my life but also inspired a sense of purpose within me. These dedicated teachers became my pillars of strength. They listened without judgment, provided unwavering support, and created a safe space for me to express my emotions and struggles. Writing also played a huge part in healing. In addition to the poem about my friend, I decided to write a personal essay about my grief with my classmate. These two pieces were a journey through the stages of grief. I pondered, I cried, I shouted, yet I laughed and smiled while shifting through the memories and putting words on paper. These pieces helped me navigate my feelings: sadness, sorrow, anger, bitterness, and grief. It was a cleansing process of those emotions—one that was incredibly cathartic to my wellbeing. I knew instantly what I wanted to name the personal essay. "3/20/23", the date of my classmate's death. However, I didn’t think of the title for the poem until I shared it for the first time—with a complete stranger who had just lost a sibling. In that moment—between shared grief—I decided to name the poem "rewind". Rewind, for all the things I could have, should have said. Rewind, for the tears my friend and I shared as she read my personal essay. Rewind, for all the memories tearing through our minds. Rewind, for the gratefulness his family had when I shared it with them. Rewind, for all the grief we went through on this journey, replaying a single song over and over before moving on to a new song—acceptance at last. V. Fortissimo 3:12 It is this acceptance that led me to continue growing and evolving as both a person and a writer. These experiences solidified my belief that teaching and writing are about being a compassionate presence in the lives of people. It's a huge part of why I want to become a teacher, a published author, and start a kindness-focused non-profit. I hope that my future students and others will find solace and healing in my classroom, actions, and words. No one is alone in their experiences, and just like my grief, mine and others' struggles will ease in time until we can finally stop pushing rewind and move on to the next song. VI. Play 0:00

In a world filled with anime, Death Note stands tall as my eternal favorite because it challenges my intellect, tickles my sense of right and wrong, and forces me to confront the complexities of the human psyche. It's an endlessly captivating conundrum, a mind-bending puzzle that I willingly solve again and again, finding new layers of meaning with each viewing. While my journey in the anime realm began with the hundreds-episode-long masterpiece of Naruto (my first love), Death Note's compact intensity captured my attention like a master illusionist in a room full of skeptics. Picture this: a supernatural notebook, which has the ability to kill people, falls from the heavens, complete with the fine print that could make even a shinigami's lawyer chuckle. Our protagonist (or antagonist, depending on your perspective) that finds this notebook, Light Yagami, starts off as the typical model student: brilliant, charming, and as innocent as a lamb... if that lamb had a penchant for manipulation and murder, of course. After writing a criminal's name in the notebook, he decides it's a good day to play god, embarking on a quest to rid the world of all wrongdoers, one heart attack at a time. Death Note's brilliance lies not in its black-and-white portrayal of good versus evil, but in its exploration of the vast gray complexity that encompasses human nature. Light's descent into madness is as entertaining as a clown juggling chainsaws – dangerous, yet oddly fascinating. As viewers, we find ourselves torn between rooting for his understandable goal and cringing at his questionable actions to achieve that goal. With each episode, I find myself questioning the very core of my beliefs, much like unraveling a riddle with no definitive answer. And who can forget about the cat-and-mouse game between Light and L! It's a battle of wits that's more entertaining than a Quidditch match. L, the enigmatic detective, is as mysterious as he is brilliant. His quirky mannerisms and fondness for sweets are the perfect foil to Light's calculated arrogance. Watching them spar intellectually is like witnessing a wizard's duel, with spells replaced by mind games and strategic moves. Who will outsmart who? It's a question that keeps you on the edge of your seat, a tantalizing chess match of intellect and deception. In a world where anime characters shout louder than a horde of caffeine-fueled seagulls, Death Note's understated brilliance is a breath of fresh air. It's the series that makes you ponder the meaning of life while snacking on popcorn, wondering if you, too, would wield a Death Note given half the chance. After all, who needs world peace when you can have a front-row seat to the apocalypse, served with a side of existential crisis?

Sent 2:17 a.m. "Hey everyone, if I’m not back here in a few days, please sing a song for me." That was the last message my friend sent before taking their own life. I. Mezzo-piano 0:01 My friend and I met through another writing partner that I found through an online reading/writing platform. Eventually, I found myself included within a network of like-minded teens passionate about the arts. One person in that community was my late friend. Despite being worlds apart, we became fast friends, talking about everything and anything. II. Pianissimo 1:39 Unfortunately, my friend had mental health struggles from being harassed for their identity. One day, my friend sent out one final message at 2:17 a.m. in my time zone—12:47 p.m. in their time zone—before their profile went completely inactive. At that moment, I felt completely helpless. They were halfway across the world in India and I was here, in America, cozy in my bedroom. Screens felt like barriers, more than ever before. Besides a supportive message, what could I do? I wanted to respect their final wishes, but found I couldn't. A few lines into the song, my voice cracked and I completely teared up. I’m not a singer; I’m a writer, so I decided to write a poem instead, which I also initially failed at. I only wrote a few lines and didn’t have the courage to share it with anyone. From then on, I tucked the poem in the deepest recesses of my mind. I only revisited the poem when I registered for a poetry workshop about grief. I decided to write more of that poem, reopening the wound. At night, I went outside, wrote in the tranquility of nature and the soft instrumental music from my phone’s speaker. Music, in particular, has a deep connection with me. My friend and I have many good memories from it. They were a musician and singer themself and would record themself singing and playing for me. I incorporated their passions, music and song, within the poem to honor them. III. Forte-coda 3:10 This poem was a journey through the stages of grief. I pondered, I cried, I shouted, yet I laughed and smiled while shifting through the memories and putting words down on paper. This poem helped me navigate my feelings: sadness, sorrow, anger, bitterness, and grief. It was a cleansing process of those emotions—one that was incredibly cathartic to my wellbeing. I didn’t think of the title until I shared the poem for the first time—with a complete stranger I didn’t know, but they had just lost a sibling. In that moment—between shared grief—I decided to name the poem rewind. Rewind, for all the things I could have, should have said. Rewind, for all the memories tearing through our minds. Rewind, for all the grief we went through on this journey, replaying a single song over and over before moving on to a new song—acceptance at last. IV. Fortissimo 3:12 It is this acceptance that led me to not just keep growing and evolving as a writer, but to keep growing and evolving as a person also. I am not the writer and the person I consider myself to be if I hadn’t experienced this tragedy. It is this tragedy that keeps me humble and kind to others and persistent to myself. I know that just like my grief, mine and others' struggles will ease in time until the point where we can finally stop pushing rewind and move on to the next song. V. Play 0:00

At Hogwarts, where magical destinies are decided and old hats are the ultimate judge, there’s a particular house that shimmers like a beacon of wisdom and intellect: Ravenclaw. Now, picture me, a student so dedicated to her studies that my textbooks have their own corner in my room. If I were a character in the world of Harry Potter, Ravenclaw would undoubtedly be my fated Hogwarts House (as proven by the Pottermore quiz I definitely did not take six times… I just wanted to double-check, you know?). It all began with my impeccable academic record, which, if it were a potion, would be the elixir of perfection. With a glittering 4.0 GPA (weighted, of course), I have mastered the art of balancing numerous Advanced Placement courses while maintaining a keen curiosity for subjects as diverse as the magical creatures in Care of Magical Creatures class. Naturally, the illustrious National Honor Society came knocking on my door, and I answered. As the secretary of NHS, I'm the responsible one – the Hermione Granger of the group, ensuring everything runs like clockwork, and procrastination is unheard of (mostly…). But wait, there’s more! In the bustling hallways of Hogwarts, I am not just another boring student. I proudly hold the prestigious title of Vice President in the Spanish Club, where my love for language and culture flourishes like a rare, magical flower. You see, I strongly believe that embracing different languages opens portals to new worlds, much like stepping through platform 9¾ at King's Cross Station. So don't be surprised if you catch me speaking Mermish to the underwater creatures in the lake, attempting to form sentences only Gobbledegook speakers can understand. Now, my writings might not be the stuff of The Tales of Beedle the Bard, but they're certainly Ravenclaw-like. Writing is my Patronus, my most powerful form of expression. As an aspiring writer and poet, I wield my quill like a wizard with a wand, conjuring stories that could rival the adventures of Harry and his friends. With my trusty pen, I go on daring quests, weaving tales of enchanted realms and diverse characters. In fact, I am preparing to undertake the ultimate writer’s challenge: National Novel Writing Month (NaNoWriMo), where I shall attempt to craft 50,000 words of the current novel I'm writing in the span of a single moon (impressive sure, but just ignore me sobbing in the corner by the end of it!). In addition to my writing, I have taken on the noble responsibility of being an editor of the Yearbook Club, where I channel my creativity into immortalizing magical moments. Every photograph and caption is carefully crafted, ensuring that the memories of Hogwart's life are beautifully preserved within the pages of our yearbook. I've mastered the art of herding Kneazles – or rather, getting my classmates to submit their photos and interview responses on time. And don't even get me started on coordinating the senior quotes. It's like herding Blast-Ended Skrewts. So, why Ravenclaw, you ask? It’s simple – my insatiable hunger for knowledge, my flair for linguistics, my passion for writing, and my commitment to preserving the magical moments of Hogwarts align seamlessly with the values of Ravenclaw. I am not just a student; I am a Ravenclaw, where wit, wisdom, intellect, creativity, and a sprinkle of perfection (as I so like to brag) come together to create a truly magical experience. And as I step into the Ravenclaw common room, I can’t help but feel like I’ve finally come home, where my Hogwarts journey truly begins. Accio knowledge, here I come!