I was never the best kid at school. I didn’t get along with other kids, and I was a controversial topic. Although I grew up Catholic, God was always just an afterthought. But when I turned 11, I had a spiritual awakening. I’d been redeemed, and– although I can’t be much of a reliable narrator at this time– I definitely became a better person. I don’t know what happened, or how it happened, but I became a zealot, preaching to my family and praying all day. But then one day, as I prayed, I got hit with a wave of existential dread, and I was never the same again. I developed OCD, and after that, every little thing I did became a burden. I stopped eating and sleeping well, and I got horrible anxiety. I started worrying that I was going to Hell because of my intrusive thoughts, that my family was doomed, and that somehow, something bad was going to happen if I didn’t pray every time an intrusive thought sabotaged me. Whereas before, it was only me in my head, now I couldn’t tell the difference between me, God, or the Devil. Although they knew I was acting strange, my family just mistook it for a bout of zealous passion. Moments with my family were no longer happy because I was dealing with something I didn’t understand. I thought I’d caught some kind of disease no one had ever caught before. That May, my dad died from a bike accident. I remember walking into the hospital room and, as I cried, feeling guilty. I thought it was my fault, that I’d somehow caused this. I spent the next few weeks in anger and depression. Anger at god, who had let this happen to me. I couldn’t accept that he was real anymore, because I decided the real god wouldn’t do something like this. He had robbed me of the last happy moments I had with my dad, and now my head was left empty. No devil, no god. My OCD had seemingly vanished, leaving only depression. I had no one to tell what I was going through because I was sure I’d sound crazy. I eventually stopped believing in god. Maybe I was just afraid that my OCD would reemerge, or maybe I just didn’t want to talk to him. But for some reason, he was always in the back of my head, and I could never pinpoint what it was. There were times when I was depressed and would go on walks to clear my head. In those moments, I would feel so depressed and hopeless and alone that I became suicidal. On one of those late-night walks, as I was starting to feel suicidal again, I found a beautiful flower in my path. I went home and cried, and I felt God again. My grandma always told me that we had guardian angels, and that they would hide our things and put them in strange places for us to find. I guess I started looking in strange places because I started getting into bad relationships. I slowly started losing my sense of self-worth because, in the process of looking for happiness, I started molding myself to the whims and desires of others. My OCD reemerged, and I started to self-harm. My mother didn’t find out until she took me to a psychiatrist, and I folded under pressure. I still remember the betrayal and horror on her face, and the feeling of guilt as I cried. My mother, who had suffered so much to bring me into this world, had to find out that her own daughter tried destroying herself just because she couldn’t deal with her emotions. But the guilt gave way to relief. Relief that I had finally been heard. That my “disease” was actually something millions of other people also suffered from, and I wasn’t alone. That I’d finally let out my emotions and the world kept spinning, and nobody sent me to a psych ward. I vowed not to do it again. Although I still struggle with my mental health, if I ever start feeling sad again, I go outside. It seems that if you’re outside long enough, you’re bound to see a flower in your path, or a butterfly fluttering by, or a shooting star. My idea of God has definitely changed. Although I can’t see him as an old white man or a man on a cross, I see him everyday in my mom. I see him in my brothers– when they’re being nice– and my beautiful best friend. For me now, the Earth itself is proof that a God exists. Whether it’s the Christian God, or Allah, or Brahman, it’s a symbol of hope that there is always life after death. Cacti bloom where oceans once were, wildfires burn through forests and leave nutrients for saplings, fungi break down dead matter for trees to consume. This connection to the environment is what has fueled my passion for it, because it’s a reminder of a world worth fighting for. This is why I want to be an environmental engineer and abate pollution in urban and suburban areas, because I think everyone deserves to live in a clean world. My journey with mental health has definitely made me all the more grateful for my family and the opportunities I have to make a difference in the world. I hope that through my service and advocacy for the environment, I’ll be able to contribute to a safe environment for people to live in and cherish. I think future generations should receive something to hope in and see the face of a higher power in. I’ve come to realize that the only place where I have power over anything is in the present, and on this little blue rock.

It was a sunny day after school. I was walking home from the bus stop with the other kids. The sun was blazing overhead, and I just wanted to get home. Yet I saw, standing on the side of the street in the Florida heat, an old woman. She seemed like she was waiting for someone, but all the other kids had walked right past her. I started to wonder whether I was going to get kidnapped. When she saw me, she called out to me. Although I can’t remember why I decided to stop and listen to her, I remember feeling like I was doing the right thing. She told me about her back problems and that she couldn’t take care of her house anymore. That she lived alone, and her kids never visited. She offered me the job of cleaning her house weekly. At that moment, I believed my prayers had been answered. I was 12, and my dad had died that Monday, leaving behind my mother, who couldn’t work, a brother with a disorder, and another who was at risk of getting deported soon. There’d be no stable income anytime soon, and I’d begged her to let me help somehow. I told the lady, Diana, that I’d have to ask my mom first, explaining my circumstances. She offered her sympathies and said she understood. That I could come by whenever I was ready. So I spent every Saturday that summer cleaning Diana’s house. I became depressed, and I knew it was the next stage of grief. Even as I grew lethargic and my cleaning got sloppy, she encouraged me. We became friends, and she’d tell me about her life, how she used to cycle, just like my dad, and how she loved her kids. I’d see old photos of her family, and I saw that she’d lost her husband. One day, as we sat relaxing on her back porch, she asked about my dad. I told her what I remembered about him. There was a moment of silence before she told me something I still remember 5 years later. “Y’know, God takes the best people and leaves the strongest souls behind. He knows you’re strong. You wouldn’t be here if you weren’t.” Her words stuck with me not just because they gave me courage, but because they changed my perspective on grief. I still had my mom and my brothers, and a dream of being an environmental engineer. Diana became a real-life example for me. Although she lost her husband and lived by herself, she built a happy life for herself. In nature, something similar happens. Wildfires burn through forests, leaving behind richer soil with more nutrients for new life. After Diana moved away, I started cleaning for other elderly neighbors who also had health issues. I’ve become friends with some very kind souls and have since learned that perseverance can take people very far in life. Although I still struggle with my mental health sometimes, I’ve learned that there is always a scrap of hope to hold onto. My scrap of hope is my family, my art, and my dreams of helping the world become a cleaner place. I joined my high school’s robotics team as a member of the environmental subgroup, focusing on research and designing a robot to help local mangrove forests. I also volunteer at my local wildlife hospital and have helped veterinarians treat injured animals and release them back into the wild. Even now, I believe it was Diana who helped me that day.

I was never good at keeping flowers alive. I remember when my dad got me a beautiful orchid for my birthday, I gave it as much water as I could. I didn’t know about ice cubes or plant food, and– not surprisingly– it died. I started dreading the thought of receiving flower gifts, because as pretty as they were, I could never keep them alive for more than a week. When I got to high school, I realized flowers and people were not so different. If you wanted a relationship to survive, whether it was with someone else or yourself, you had to know how to nurture it. I got into toxic relationships, and I had my fair share of fake friends. High school became a whirlwind of changes, and when I wasn’t careful, I started losing myself among the storm of expectations. As I got older and started meeting more people, I’ve come to realize just how important it is to keep myself grounded. It’s easy to let myself get molded by other people’s words and wishes, trying as hard as I can to keep relationships alive even when I’m watering a dead plant. Even if the flower was pretty, it wasn’t worth my sanity. I realized if I didn’t hold on to who I was, I’d lose my sense of worth and purpose. I had to learn this the hard way. As someone who struggles with Seasonal Affective Disorder (SAD), I’ve spent many summers struggling with depression. I would stop sleeping, eating, or thinking well, and I’d lose the motivation to do anything, including what I loved. At these points in my life, the only memories I have are the evening walks I’d go on with my mom. I remember how I would listen to everything she had to say, because it was the only connection I had to reality. Even though I’d go back home and stay awake until dawn, I’d think about what she said. It was when the days were sunniest that I’d look up at the deep blue sky and realize how lonely it must be out in space with nobody for miles and miles. I realized how lucky I am to be alive, to have a mom, brothers, and friends who still care about me. It was the fact that something as precious as a mother or a best friend couldn’t exist anywhere else in the universe, but on this little blue rock we call home, that made me realize how much meaning life had. It was this connection to the earth that fueled my passion for it, because it does so much for us, whether it’s a fire enriching the soil for new life or a simple breeze on a hot day, it’s a reminder of a world worth fighting for. If bad relationships taught me who I’m not, my friends and family helped me discover who I wanted to be. In my freshman year of high school, I joined my school’s robotics team to learn about engineering and took the opportunity to join the team's environmental subgroup, focusing on research and designing a robot to address a local environmental issue. I involve myself as much as I can, recruiting new members and encouraging the young kids who show up eager to learn about science and robots. I’ve also learned to use my love for painting, a hobby that has helped me through hard times, as a tool for environmental advocacy. One of my paintings, rendering the critically endangered Florida panther with alligators, ended up winning first place for the Charlie Corbeil Youth Art Contest. I got to meet other enthusiastic artists who found ways to pour out their dedication for life onto their canvases. Through volunteer work at my local wildlife hospital, I’ve been able to help the veterinarians at the hospital treat the animals that come in injured and release them back into the wild. In a way, I owe my life to all these people, because with every new person I meet, each with a different passion for life, I am reminded of a world worth fighting for. I plan to be an environmental engineer and abate pollution in urban and suburban areas, because I think everyone deserves to live in a clean world. I hope that through my efforts, I’ll be able to contribute to a better world for future generations, because they deserve to receive a beautiful little blue rock worth fighting for.

A white piggy bank was the first tangible experience I had with finance. Even though the only investment I fed it was a couple of pennies a week-- sometimes donated by my parents-- I felt rich, like I had control over my future. I treated it like a precious jewel after my last piggy bank had been smashed for some change. My dad, of course, got a lot of scolding from my mother, especially since she knew what it was like to lose a jar of coins, which had been stolen by one of the movers after we moved from Michigan. It had been her first savings since she had come to America, and in a way, it was a little jar of dreams. She would use it to buy food-- which at that time wasn't so expensive-- and the rest she saved to one day give back to my grandma in Mexico. She didn't know about credit, CD's, or anything about American banks back then. All she knew was that her mother had just enough to feed her and her three siblings. The day came when my dad didn't come home, and it was like another jar of dreams had been broken. The future we had planned slipped out from under our feet because of an accident, and my mom, who had never even opened a bank account, suddenly had to take over our family's finances, pay the bills, and stay above the waters of grief, all without a job or a credit history. Although we survived through the donations from a GoFundMe for the first couple of months, my mom had to relearn what she knew about finance and money from scratch. Around that time, I got my first job cleaning my neighbor's house. I made $20 a hour, which I would put in a new piggy bank. It felt good to come home and put the bills into it, which I had earned myself and had the right to use however I wished. I think that knowing how much hard work it took to earn a single bill made me feel more conscious about spending money. Needless to say, I felt like I was in control again, and that if we ever had another emergency, I had the power to do something. My mom eventually found a free literacy class after a couple of blunders with her credit and was able to open a bank account for herself. She used what she was learning to manage her expenses, create a budget, and even open a savings account for me. I upgraded to a CD account, and also ended up taking a financial literacy class, which made me realize that escaping poverty was possible. My dreams of studying environmental science and designing the future of sustainability would be possible without a load of debt. I knew without a doubt that I was going to pick my major, not because I was desperate for a job, but because I was desperate to make a difference. Up until then, I only ever saw the bad side of finances. I saw how stressful it was to file so many taxes and deal with so much paperwork, but when I finally learned about investments and how a good credit score could save your life, I realized that money could become a tool. Learning about expenses and debt made it seem less intimidating and helped me feel prepared. I know one day my family and I will have enough money to buy a house, and I will contribute to our planet's future debt-free.

When I was little, I built a LEGO princess castle with my dad. I remember it was a Sunday and I stayed home from church to my mom’s dismay. He was an engineer and I was a 6 year old girl, but we worked well together. He taught me everything I know about building castles, using telescopes, and riding bikes. I remember when he first taught me how to ride a bike and the moment he let go of my bike’s handle for the first time. I rode for a couple feet before falling and scraping my legs. “Just keep swimming, just keep swimming,” he’d sing whenever we rode over a rough sidewalk. I have since learned not to be afraid of the rough edges, or the bumps, or scraped knees. Even when his passion for cycling cost him his life in an accident, he survived 2 more weeks in the hospital before passing away. Even in his final moments he persisted, so why shouldn’t I? When he died, my mom became a single mother of three, one of whom is challenged by a disorder and another who was at risk of being deported. She herself was unable to work at that time because of her immigrant status. My mom, who had never even opened a bank account, suddenly had to take over our family's finances, pay the bills, and stay above the waters of grief. I found myself working for some elderly neighbors, cleaning houses and doing chores to help with the finances, and I eventually learned that the one thing stronger than grief’s weight is family love. In spite of the grief and financial burdens, they gave me a reason to keep going because although a life can end easily, a dream cannot. My mom’s resilience helped me see that my future was not defined by our circumstances. If she could do it, why can’t I? Even now, 4 years later, when things become stressful at home, I ride my bike to the park my dad used to take me to or go on a walk. This connection to the environment is what fueled my passion for it, because it does so much for us, whether it’s a fire enriching the soil for new life or a simple breeze on a hot day, it’s a reminder of a world worth fighting for. In my freshman year of high school, I joined my school’s FRC robotics team to learn about engineering, and I took the opportunity to join the environmental subgroup of the team, focusing on research and designing a robot to help a local environmental issue. I involve myself as much as I can, especially since I am one of the few girls on the team, and have seen some leave because they felt underappreciated. Through volunteer work at outreach and local STEM events, I have recruited new female members and encouraged the young girls who show up eager to learn about science and robots. I plan to be an environmental engineer and abate pollution in urban and suburban areas, especially since my state’s ecosystem is so unique. Every day I’m grateful for my brothers and mom, to whom I can tell all my crazy ideas and dreams, and I’m grateful that I get to hear theirs, too. Although I would’ve liked more time with my dad, the precious years I got to spend with him have taught me that anything is possible if you put your mind to it.

When I asked my mom what my first language was, she told me she didn’t know. I was disappointed because I thought it meant I didn’t have a true language I could feel at home with, that I didn’t have a voice that felt mine, that my words would always be unsure. But words would mean nothing if it weren’t for her, who first read out loud to me in English and Spanish, or for my father, who gave meaning to Einstein’s quote: “life is like a bicycle. To keep your balance, you must keep moving.” I remember the moment he let go of my bike’s handle for the first time, and I rode for a couple of feet before falling and scraping my legs. “Just keep swimming, just keep swimming,” he’d sing whenever I rode dangerously close to the edge of a sidewalk. I have since learned not to be afraid of the rough edges, or the bumps, or the scraped knees. Even when his passion for cycling cost him his life in an accident, he survived 2 more weeks in the hospital before passing away. Even in his final moments, he persisted, so why shouldn’t I? When he died, my mom became a single mother of three, one of whom is challenged by a mental disorder, and another who would not have been able to stay in the country if he hadn’t found a job soon that accepted his type of visa. She herself was unable to work at that time because of her immigrant status, so I found myself working for some elderly neighbors, cleaning houses and doing chores to help with the finances. After his death, I became a quiet person. I lost my words, my voice, and with them, my connection to the world. But I learned that the one thing stronger than grief’s weight is the relationships with our loved ones. My brother moved in with us to cut expenses and find a job to support the family. Despite the grief and financial burdens, my family and friends gave me a reason to keep going, because although a life can end easily, a dream cannot, and I knew my future was not defined by our circumstances. Even now, 4 years later, when things become stressful at home, I ride my bike to the park my dad used to take me to or go on a walk. This connection to the environment is what fueled my passion for it, because it does so much for us, whether it’s a fire that burns away detritus to enrich the soil for new life or a simple breeze that makes us smile on a hot day, it’s a reminder of a world worth fighting for. My dad had left behind some broken LEGO sets, and the manuals had been lost among the belongings we had discarded. But I couldn’t just stand by and accept they were unfixable forever. After a couple of minutes, I managed to restore a LEGO lunar landing, along with a couple of other LEGO sets he’d left unfinished. But my ambition didn’t stop there. In my freshman year of high school, I joined my school’s FRC robotics team to learn about engineering. I took the opportunity to join the environmental subgroup of the team, focusing on research and designing a robot to address a local environmental issue. Although I have not been able to attend all the competitions due to the cost, I involve myself as much as I can, especially since I am one of the few girls on the team, and I have seen some leave because they felt underappreciated. Through volunteer work at outreach and local STEM events, I have recruited new female members and encouraged the young girls who show up eager to learn about science and robots. Although I see fewer girls than boys, I make sure to smile extra big when I see one, to show them that they’re not the only ones tinkering with things and looking through microscopes, that I’m thriving and so can they. I still work cleaning houses for my neighbors, but I'm now also looking for a work-study job to save up for college and help with the family finances while prioritizing my education. I plan to be an environmental engineer and abate pollution in urban and suburban areas, especially since my state’s ecosystem is so unique. By abiding by environmental safety guidelines and designing sustainable solutions, urban communities can live in harmony with an invaluable environment. I have learned to turn misfortune into inspiration the same way engineers turn problems into challenges. To this day, I sing my dad’s motto in my head when life becomes a jagged sidewalk, and I have learned to use my voice for others to hear it, too. A voice for the curious minds who don’t know what they want to be when they grow up yet, a voice for the women living without support, or without a father, or a husband, and who must overcome stereotypes and contempt. And a voice for an environment that is being left more unprotected than ever.