The Flower Shop is my self-healing project. It is about who I am, and some of my memories. I understand that I may never feel comfortable with sharing my past, but it is infinitely more important to allow myself the time to walk myself through all of the complex emotions tied to my adolescence. I wanted to create a beautiful series that told the story of my past without words. This series taught me to trust myself, even if I don’t understand what the final form will look like. Here, the process was just as important as the end result, if not more so. Two months ago, my professor assigned my Design: Form class with creating a series of works that were personally significant to us. I floundered. As a deeply private person, I am not yet at a stage in my life where I felt comfortable enough to share my past experiences with an audience. I am both scared of not being seen and terrified that others would be able to see what has shaped me. I placed an order for jewelry-making supplies and waited for them to arrive as I desperately wracked my brains for a project that would allow me to share a part of myself without feeling as if someone had trespassed on my childhood. The line between art and craft blurred into each other as I struggled to establish a concept 2 and a half weeks before the final critique. I struggled to curate a socially acceptable version of my past for the audience to gawk at. In yet another meeting with my professor, she told me to let go. To relinquish my desperate need for control. To trust that whatever I made was right. The first flower that I made was a lotus. It took 6 hours of cutting, sanding, coloring, and shaping the heated plastic by hand before each petal could be twisted together with wire, and the stem was bound by thread. It was time intensive, but while my hands were busy, my mind was free. It was with this time that allowed me to reflect on why I loved the lotus: they only grow in the mud. Unbeknownst to me, the lotus had subconsciously become a metaphor for my life. Something clicked. Using the same technique, I made dozens of flowers, and several unique stems of greenery. I fell in love with the process and the freedom of this project. From the mud, I created beautiful flowers that would be able to bloom forever. I am a collector of lost things, and for the past year, I accidentally collected vases. Just enough that every flower that I made had a home. The bottom of each vase is filled with things that have been important to me in the past year or so. There are shells from my trips to the ocean, butterfly clips from my collection, legos that my friends and I made from scraps, and rocks from hikes in the woods. With each flower that I placed, I got the feeling that things were falling into place. I may not ever be fully satisfied with my childhood, but this project has been a journey of self-discovery that I never knew I needed.

As a child, I experienced a very stereotypical Asian upbringing. My parents are both first-generation immigrants who spoke very little English, knowing just enough to order at McDonald’s. They emphasized hard work through the look of disappointment in their eyes when my progress report showed any hint of stumbling so I refused to disappoint them. I excelled academically, forfeited my time in order to take care of my brother, and stepped up to take on the tasks that my older sister shirked off. Nearly everything I accomplished in my childhood was intended to fulfill my role as the “responsible” middle child. My only escape was to express myself in private diaries that my sister discovered and turned over to my parents who forced me to tear up each page in front of them. I resented my parents for putting me through this experience but I couldn’t stay away from writing. In acts of rebellion, I began to carve out my own space to express myself. Words poured forth as I filled hundreds of digital pages with poems, journals, diaries, and imbued my artwork with purpose. Rather than stifling my emotions, I listened to them. My artistic pursuits would embody my personal dilemmas, future goals, and literally anything that I wanted to create. From the day that I destroyed my diary, I have done my best to redirect my emotions. Faced with the freedom to express them creatively, I have refined them into my artwork, as I seek to express my ideas without hindrance. I was not afforded the freedom of creative expression as a child but having fought my way into being able to express myself, I am proud to say that I have become the truest version of myself at this moment.

Although I am only seventeen, I have lived: I have lived hundreds of days as an athlete playing tennis and running track. I have lived thousands of days as a musician playing the violin, steel drums, and fine tuning my voice. But I have lived my entire life as an artist, drawing and embroidering. As an artist, I am a student of the world, desperately expanding my imagination in pursuit of beauty and truth through creation. I am the girl with butterflies in every color of the rainbow, and the young woman ready to take the next step into the future.

Growing up, I was never one for self care. My parents’ disregard for my achievements only pushed me to overcompensate by attaining greater ones. Over the course of my academic life, I successively joined clubs, almost never backing out in multiple attempts to gain their attention. What I never realized was the toll it took on me as I took less care of myself in order to maintain everything that I thought would make me better. I recently adopted a practice of singing when I feel overwhelmed. I find a song on my playlist that echoes how I feel in the present and I sing. Focusing on something other than my overwhelming workload helps me relax and calm down until I can try to formulate a plan of attack to tackle all of my work more efficiently. While it may seem silly to some, I spent my entire life afraid to speak up and speak out. Singing was always therapeutic to me. It allowed me to have a voice of my own when everything seemed to drown me out. While I may not be able to reach every high note, I feel more secure in my life knowing that there are little things that I can do to help myself. Whether its the skincare routine that I’ve been meaning to start to help boost my self-esteem, or notes I have to sing in order to calm down, I want to take care of myself for my sake.

Everything. Growing up, I didn’t have many friends and those that I called friends were the people that I happened to share the same classes with each year. Outside of that, I had never walked up to someone else and acted friendly until I met him. He is the first and the only friend that I have ever made on my own and I am turning eighteen next year. Truthfully, I don’t remember how it happened. All of a sudden, he was joining me on our lunch breaks at work and cracking jokes at my expense that we both laughed at. I would say something dumb and he would pretend to be shocked before rolling his eyes. Every time we had a break, he would appear next to me and we would start chatting about the stupidest things but it didn't matter because I was having so much fun with this giant of a person who I didn’t even speak to until two weeks ago. At first, I thought we were just going to be work friends but when summer ended and school began, we kept talking and texting and hanging out. We went to the library to study and joked around at work. He told me things about himself that others didn't have the privilege to know. I went to his cross country practice and we got boba after where I shared things with him that I had never felt comfortable enough to trust with the other people I called friends. He even let me walk his dog in a cemetery where we never ran out of things to say. Maybe it’s this one friendship that means so much to me, but in the four months that I’ve known him, he has made friendship incredibly important to me.

I learned about money from a very young age. Every year, I saw the frowns of my parents when tax season rolled around and I grew pale whenever I saw the amount of money that my parents had to pay. My siblings and I would do whatever we could to save money on bills, whether it was taking short showers, or cramming into one room to do our homework so that we wouldn’t be wasting so much money on the electricity bill. From a very young age, my parents taught me the importance of money and of saving money. My parents were both first generation immigrants who lived in China with very little and came to America with even less. They came to America with almost nothing, sharing single room apartments in New York City with almost a dozen other people for years. They taught my siblings and I the importance of saving money when they would show us the annual taxes they had to pay. The childhood home that I grew up in was a spacious downstairs restaurant with a modest two bedroom apartment upstairs where my siblings and I would run rampant. The place was almost a world away from the fire hazardous apartments that my parents told me stories of. Growing up, I continued to keep the lessons they taught me in my mind. When I applied for my first job, I opened a bank account for myself and deposited my first check just under three weeks later. Three years later, I may be spending money when I find it necessary, but my first instinct is to save it so that when I am in need of it, the money will be there.

I howled in pain as I felt the shards of glass pricking into my skin. I was only eleven years old and terrified that I would never walk again. I grew up enslaved to my hubris. My childhood playground was the abandoned undergrowth behind the old factory on Clinton street. There, the broken glass windows were mixed into the soil with sharp rocks and soft grass that was home to the ladybugs. I did not go outside often, but the day that my parents bought my little brother a bike was an exception. He wasn’t very good at riding the bike so I decided that it was my turn to ride the bike and I took it, biking all around the abandoned lot and even onto the road adjacent to my neighbors house. I wasn’t very good at riding a bike, having never done so before but in order to impress my brother, I looked over at him when he called me. I whipped my head back when I felt the bike jolt underneath me and shrieked when I was knocked off the bike. It took me a couple of seconds before I could see again but what I saw terrified me. The exposed flesh of my knee hurt as the air caressed it and all I could feel was the blood that was keeping me alive seeping into the ground. The universe does not revolve around me. I learned the hard way when my pride caused a terrible accident that shook me to my core. I still have a fear of bikes, but I now challenge myself to understand my own limits and not force myself when I can’t complete something

Typically, the saying that nothing lasts forever is a phrase that one uses when trying to justify the fleetingness of happy times but it is also the saying that helps me through some of my toughest times. While some may find it upsetting that some situations cannot persist forever, that is comforting to me. While it saddens me to know that the happy times of my life can't be everlasting, it brings me comfort to know that the most difficult times cannot continue forever and that motivates me to keep working. A couple of months ago, my junior year of high school ended and I fell into a horrible slump. It had occurred to me that I had essentially wasted an entire year of high school that wasn’t full of clubs and activities that I could use on my resume for college. I spent an hour or so crying and feeling down for myself until a familiar thought popped into my brain: nothing lasts forever. Not exactly the motivational speech that I was searching for, but a small reminder that this -this horrible mess that I was right now- would not be forever. I could pick myself up and keep going. I’ll be the first to admit that its difficult for me to grapple with the reality of my past. Like all other seniors in high school this year, we lost a year of time in our childhoods but knowing that everything is fleeting helps me to move on and push forwards with my life. Although some may call it nihilism, to me, it’s a reminder that although nothing lasts forever, I can keep moving through the difficult parts of my life and slow down to savor the joys.

The best feeling in the world is when I can finally remove the butterfly shaped hair claw from my hair and watch my hair falling out of the pinned spiral that it had dried in. Watching the curls fall into place and my bangs curly lightly around my face always made me smile. Hiding was something that I did naturally. Growing up, I’ve always had self-esteem issues. Other people would comment on my face or how much I weighed and I would collapse and shrivel up into a hermit crab, hiding my figure behind oversized sweaters and gigantic jackets. Yet the one thing I felt that I did not have to hide was my hair. As a child, my hair was the one attribute about myself that I didn’t despise. Whether it was long or short, I never struggled with it more than annoyance at the shortness of the length when I once again cut my hair without thinking. I loved how smooth it was and how simple the care was. Even if I was struggling with another part of myself, I was never too worried about my hair. Rather strange, but when I was younger, it was my hair that I deemed my one redeeming quality that made up for how awkward I looked. These days, its just as simple to care for, but every once in a while, I’ll take out the hair claw and look at now naturally the curls fall into place.

Yes or no? I ask myself that question almost twenty times a day. Despite being a student who’s constantly told that the world is my oyster, sometimes the people in my life often try to make my decisions for me and influence me to choose something that may or may not be what I want for myself. As a child, I was more inclined to listen to their opinions but as I grew older, I started standing up for myself. Yes or no? I asked myself that question before walking into the guidance office to speak to my counselor about dropping a class. My heart was pounding because I was scared of disappointing him but against his urging, I managed to have him drop the class. When we were making my schedule last year, I had been unsure about the class but he finalized the class on my schedule and I knew that I was going to have to ask him to drop the class because it was not at all what I wanted. Yes or no? I asked myself that question before joining a steel drum band that I was unable to participate in last year. I still feel the fear in my heart when we play as an ensemble, but I know that this is what I wanted to do. I had waited a year for it and I was more than ready to pursue it. Yes or no? I ask myself that question when everything is overwhelming, when everyone wants to tell me how to be myself. It soothes me, with three words, two options, and one decision. At the end of the day, I choose my actions and my courses and my path for the future going forwards.

To be independent is to be free of external constraints and to be independent is a terrifying luxury to me. My parents sheltered me as a child. I wasn’t allowed to go to the park to play, wander around in a grocery store, or even go somewhere that they didn’t know about. I spent my entire childhood being within six feet of them unless I was at school. As I got older, I became more aware of how little I was able to be independent. I relied on others for external validation and I had an intense fear of being alone even when walking the hallways by myself. However, little by little, I started being less afraid of walking alone in the hallways, more okay with going places alone, and not bothered when I was by myself in class. Personally, being independent is still scary to me in some ways. Walking alone on the streets at night still keeps me on edge and walking into a fast food restaurant to order by myself still intimidates me but that is okay. Being independent is a luxury that I was not afforded as a child, and while being independent may be natural to a lot of other people, being able to be independent is something that I have to keep working on.

As a child, I craved attention from others to make up for how little my parents gave me. My dream life was a giant mansion in LA with one room for each and every thing that I was even slightly interested in, with everyone loving me, and showering me with all of their attention. It was a child's dream. Attention from others will never make up for how little my parents gave me and having a room for each thing that I enjoyed was never going to fill the hole that I felt inside. As time ages, so do I, and all that I want for my future is happiness. It would be a dream to wake up in the arms of someone that I love as we cuddle in bed and say good morning. Feel the warm sunlight through the windows as we agree to wake up, get out of bed and make breakfast together in the kitchen. Share one last kiss as we head out the door for work. When we get home, we can have dinner together and talk about our days while doing the dishes. Sit together on the couch as we keep watching a show together and feel the smile on my face as he pulls me closer to cuddle. I want to fall asleep with him and do it again for the rest of our lives. “A dream is a wish your heart makes,” and it is my dream to be happy.

The summer before eighth grade, my sister was borrowing my IPad to watch a couple of videos and she had forgotten to clear her tabs before returning the device to me. She had left open one of Jacquelin Deleon’s videos on YouTube. I was planning on swiping out of the video but I stopped because she started speaking as beautiful colors were coming to life on the page and I was enraptured. That one video inspired me to pick up a pencil and start drawing again. One video turned into another and another and another. Before I knew it, I had fallen deeply into the rabbit hole of art. Throughout my life thus far, I have lost touch and reconnected with many parts of my life multiple times. Perhaps it was just a coincidence that art was the first to set off the chain of reconnecting with my past loves but no matter how many times I lose touch with my artistic inner child, I know that I will eventually find my way back to her.

“Save your money for the things that make you happy.” The first time that someone said that to me after I skipped out on buying lunch for the 5th time that week, I blinked in confusion and stared back at them like they were crazy. From a very young age, I became aware of the fact that I alone would bear most of the weight of my education. I understood that my parents were not wealthy enough to afford the tuition price of college education for all three of their children and that I had to work just as hard if not double or even triple what other children my age would have to in order to build a better future for myself so my only option for a better future was to save every dollar that fell into my child sized hands. When I was seven or eight, my sister would give me a dollar every time that I did her chores for her and I took it happily. When I was twelve or thirteen, I started working summer jobs to make money and doing whatever I could to save the printer green paper that fell into my possession. I even started skipping out buying lunch for myself and felt the hollow burning of my stomach almost everyday as it tried to devour itself. I was saving money but I was not happy and if I continued down the path that I was going, I would eventually not have a future. So the first time that someone said that to me, I was confused. My future was everything to me, but I didn't realize that living so far into it was ruining any chance that I had of reaching that future.

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My first time encountering the work of Jane Austen was a comic book artist's rendition of Pride and Prejudice that I found on the spinable book display shelves in my public library. I picked it up, threw it into the same recyclable plastic bag that I had been using every summer since I had moved to Binghamton. At the time, I was about twelve or thirteen and in essence, I was a child who wanted a love interest and a happily ever after, both of which were offered by one Mr.Darby from Derbyshire and yet so harshly declined by Elizabeth Bennet. To put it simply, I did not understand but I fell in love nonetheless. No, not with Mr.Darby, but Elizabeth Bennet and Jane Austen. The next week, I scoured the entire library for the written version of Pride and Prejudice and I found it. The four hundred and eight pages of finely printed text wreaked havoc on my eyes but I was enraptured and finished reading the book in two days. I had become determined to discover more about the woman who wrote books like these when no other that I had read from the same era even came close to compare. After conducting my own research, I was even more in awe of her than I had been before. Jane Austen fascinated me. Signing her novels “By a Lady” in a time when women were not afforded the opportunity to become authors; her choice not to marry out of a desire for mutual affection; her extraordinary talent and skill in literature. Hell, the woman brewed her beer! Austen, who held extraordinary talent for written romance despite being a spinster. She was the first author for whom I ever felt such deep admiration.

Throughout history, there have been thousands of different artists with each creating beautiful pieces of artwork, and that remains true in the modern era. Unlike the history learned in books, the artists of the modern era don’t follow specific artistic movements, choosing instead to create pieces that bring them joy and fulfillment based on their own intentions. One such piece that has continued to resonate with me is Lure by Happy D. Artist. Completed in 2018 for her June solo art show exhibit, the piece was created in accordance with the theme that the artist had chosen: mermaids. Around the same time in 2018, I had just found my way back to art and Happy was one of the artists I immediately gravitated towards. Her artistic style was inspirational to me, being one that I enjoyed immensely with this piece being no different. I was drawn to her elegantly painted women who were always pictured in fantastical worlds unafraid to frolic in fields or gaze at the viewer unapologetically despite being unclothed. “Timeless” was the word Happy used as she described when she wanted her women to fit into history. So rarely is a pupil allowed the opportunity of watching the process of watching a professional artist create her craft but this piece was one of the many where she portrayed her process to her audience. Watching her paint this piece taught me so much about the painting process as well as gave me an appreciation for this piece. The sirenoid creatures portrayed in her pieces for this show called out to me, inviting me to look both at her and beyond her into the vibrantly muted colors that exist just under the surface of the water, inviting me to look at her becoming lured into simply gazing at her.

At the age of 13, I started working for a local nonprofit organization called VINES in their summer youth employment program. In the beginning, it was just a job to me, but working for the nonprofit was a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity that opened my eyes to the many ways that I could help my community and encouraged me to continue doing what I can to help better my community. VINES stands for Volunteers Improving Neighborhoods and Environments, is committed to developing a sustainable and just community food system. The local organization is largely volunteer-based and ever since my employment there in 2019, I have continued to volunteer there whenever possible as well as working for the organization when their seasonal programs opened up. The nonprofit grows organic vegetables at a small number of farms (the main urban farm which is located in downtown Binghamton) to combat the lack of access to fresh and affordable vegetables. Having been employed for the organization for many seasons, I have worked with many groups of youth from all different backgrounds to grow thousands of pounds of fresh produce. Every week we harvest, wash, and package fresh organic vegetables for our farm share program and sell what we can at the farmers market for a sliding scale price. These sales are not meant for profit but instead meant to encourage those who visit to introduce fresh and very affordable produce into their diets. Despite being only a single member of my community, VINES is an organization that has allowed me the opportunity to give back to my community. Working with others in a collaborative effort to better our community is one of the most meaningful things I have ever accomplished.

Every year, books that were deemed too old or too outdated would be placed out on a cart and thrown away if no one wished to claim them. I remember seeing the wrinkled spine staring out from its place on the “Discard” cart that the librarians at my elementary school had rolled out. Opening the cover, the inside had been stamped multiple times with the words “Discard” in faded red ink as if they had been trying to give away the book for many years but failed to do so. Everyone had been allowed to take one book from the cart and this was my choice: The Underneath by Kathi Appelt. The 300-page book captivates an audience by telling the individual narrative and perspective of the characters regardless of their morality. The audience comes to understand -even if we ourselves do not always agree with- the actions and motivations of the characters. Whether it is mother Moccasin who wanted to keep her daughter close to her or Puck who just wanted to find his way back home to Sabine and the hound, Appelt gives the characters depth and their interactions meaning beyond good and bad characters. Finally, this book is very special to my brother and me. Growing up, we were never close, trying to avoid each other if at all possible. I had never read aloud to him before and I don't understand what compelled me to do so, but he would quiet down and listen when I read to him. He enjoyed the drawings illustrated by David Small and I would show them to him while I read until my throat was hoarse. Since my brother and I aren’t very close, these are the memories that I treasure the most with him.