It is a miracle that after centuries of mental health being on the back burner of societies mind, we are now at a time where treatments such as therapy, counseling, and medication are recognized and even encouraged by the sizable portion of society. While there still exists boundaries that prevent people from being diagnosed and even negative connotations with visible signs of mental illness, the past decade has been marked by an advancement in the acknowledgement and acceptance of mental illness. However, the large movement towards the acknowledgement of mental illness has been slow in certain circles. I am a child of immigrant parents, and I was blessed with parents who were willing to make changes to their mind set for the betterment of their children, even still, these mind set changes were extremely difficult to adapt seeing as they had been built into them in their formative years. While I have parents capable of change, that change did not occur within a day, rather over the course of several years. Despite them eventually making changes to aid their children, including myself, be in better spots mentally, it took time. This time was exasperated by the fact that two out of three of their children have been diagnosed with mental issues. Depression for the oldest and chronic anxiety for me, the middle child. Seeing your children diagnosed with such painful illness that do not have an easy fix cannot be easy. While there has been conflict between child and adult in my household as children attempt their best to get by on their own, parents were shut out and left dangling without any clear way of helping. Neither we nor them knew how to handle the situation, for it is difficult for a child to tell their parents what they need when they themselves do not know that for themselves. I have not always appreciated the manners in which either father and mother have tackled mental health in the past as there has been cognitive dissonance between the generations. I first started experiencing intense anxiety back in the fifth grade. I'd always been a very lonely child, preferring limited company. I spent most of my time on my own, but I never felt alone either. Even still, anxiety and a severe lack of social experience became a nightmare combination when puberty and middle school were added into mixture. Mental illness, without proper treatment, can spiral into dangerous situations: physically, mentally, and emotionally. Not only does mental illness have physical side effects, such as insomnia, it also leaves individuals more susceptible to making negative decisions that exasperate the current state of their mental health, such as self harm. When my mother especially found out, she was extra vigilant with me, enforcing an open door policy for all hours of the day on my room and checking me for new marks nightly. I now appreciate the open door rule, even if at the begging I felt laid bare in my emotions. There was an increase in anxiety at that time without a proper outlet for my emotions. There was a system of trial and error before any steps forward were made with handling chronic anxiety. At the end of the day, I am lucky to have such introspective parents, willing to change for their children. While there are times I wish situations hadn't increased to the points they did, I believe my family came out of the tragedy as more of a collective unit. Willing to listen to each other even if we don't understand each other.

There are several expectations that come with being a child of two immigrant parents. Your parents left their childhood homes, family, and entire lives to begin a new in a new country that opened several opportunities for themselves. While my parents didn't come to the United States for a better life for future children, they did come to the United States for a better life. For their children to not work for more than what they left would be a disappointment. These expectations can be very heavy, yet the importance of family integrated in us culturally makes all hurdles jumped worth it, especially when given the support of your family behind you. My parents do well for themselves, despite the limitations in education that they received before individually arriving to the United States. My mother was able to receive her GED, and my father was unfortunately only able to complete until middle school before he had to get to work. Both of them came to the United States at different times and then had the fortune of meeting each other here. They choose to start a family here because of chance, and they ensured we'd be taken care of and loved. While we've had our disagreements, they did their best to provide for us and grow themselves while we, their children, learned from them also. My brother and I are the first individuals in our family to go to college. I attended a trade school for mortuary school to become a funeral director and embalmer. While I am no longer in school, having graduated a few months ago, I am still in the middle of my journey to be certified. I have graduated and passed the National Board Exams for art and science, yet I am still missing several cases and to take the provisional test from the state. No matter how far I am from my goal, my parents support me. I may not be reaching for the stars as some push others to do, but I am pushing to do right by my community. If I am able to support myself and my ageing parents, I will have done well. The goal I reach for isn't one of luxury, it is one of security and happiness. I am passionate about my career aspirations, and I am fortunate enough that what I want to pursue could reasonably aid in taking care of my family. That is what is means to be a first-generation student. Their mentality may not always match yours, nor will they always be able to aid you in the manner that you may wish your parents to help you in, but you know it is a privilege to be able to be studying what you are. To stop relying on my parents financially will be a personal step into being independent enough to care for them and to provide for my community. To the great majority that I can

You are a ten years old, and you are making a miniature grave in the yard of your elementary school for your grandmother. She had passed away just a few months before then during the summer, and you've memorized funeral prayers to recite after lunch and before recess. Despite your comfortable nature with death, it will take you another four or five years before you realize what you want to do with your future. You wanted to sell ice cream as a child because of your childlike wonder. Currently, you want to be a photographer. Then you'll want to be a lawyer. Finally, you will begin working to become a mortician, and you will be confident in your decision. Being a funeral director or embalmer are not trades that most individuals think of when they hear that word; however, I have preformed enough embalming cases to say that they are both hands-on technical jobs deserving of their title as trades. I officially made my first move into the field on January of 2024, when I first began classes at Dallas Institute of Funeral Service. Since then, I've done everything in my power to absorb all the information that I can regarding both embalming and funeral directing. If I am able to understand all aspects of what goes into a funeral, I'll be better prepared to talk to families and ease their worries because I'll be able to give accurate answers to their fears. Clear communication is one of the most important parts of creating rapport with anyone, but I believe it has a special place in the funeral profession as you are dealing with the loved one of a family and the grief process of several individuals. While I do have one family member working in the funeral field, I was not aware of his career choice until after I began my studies. Passive learning about the funeral profession from online creators definitely made me realize what I wanted to do with life; however, there was always an underlying attachment to death. Going into the death field was inevitable ever since the first funeral I attended. I was young, about four to five years old, and one of my many aunts was taking care of my older brother and I during the summer. They would end up taking us to a funeral while we were still dressed in bright neon clothes with math puns printed onto the fabric. I remember the funeral vividly. The chapel was longer than it was wide. Only enough floor space for a red carpet pathway lined with pews. Yellow lights in the ceilings that let you see the dust that floated in the air. On the alter was a casket stand with the smallest casket I have ever seen. Despite not going up directly to the casket, I could still see inside the casket from where I stood: a small baby girl with curly hair dressed in what could only be called a baptism dress. It was at that moment that I knew what death was. I'd heard the word before, understood as much as a child typically would at that age, but I understood death and the consequences of it just like that then. It was a soft realization, delicate almost. A pain of loss made tender with a funeral. Seeing death to be so compassionate inspired me to ensure every funeral is as kind as that experience.

I am the result of the most surprising parts of my family, and every action I take are built on the unexpected pieces that resulted in me. I was born in the spring of 2005 as the second child to two immigrant parents that met here in the United States. Growing up, everything was fascinating. Learning was what I wanted to do because understanding the world around me will always be an adventure. Even subjects that were not presented to me in an interesting manner I was looking into on my own time to learn about them in a way that worked for me. I wanted to be many things growing up: (3 years old) ice cream sales person, (10 years old) photographer, and (12 years old) lawyer. However, since I've been 14 years old, I've had my heart set on one pathway. I've even completed several steps to reach my future as a licensed embalmer and funeral director. Not many individuals know what they want to do for as long as I have, yet every step that I take into the field is one I have taken with joy and more conviction that working in the funeral profession is what I was meant to do. When I first entered Dallas Institute of Funeral Service, my focus was initially on becoming licensed as a funeral director. However, under the embalming cases that I was required to do to pass several level of classes, I became more familiar with different aspects of embalming and restorative art. During this point in the course is when professors say most individuals drop out as they take notice that they are unable to complete the task at hand, yet I never had a negative reaction to the practice of embalming. I went in, followed the instructions provided to me and went home to a calm night once I was done. Not only do I appreciate the practice of embalming for creating access to more distant family members to have ample time to arrive or received loved ones for funerals, but I have a fascination with how old the practice is. While I entered the field for funeral directing, all aspects of the funeral service enchant me. They all work together to honor the dead and provide closure for the family. While I have many plans to aid my community, I am satisfied knowing that if I do my job with due diligence, I help people. While funeral professionals see death on a constant basis and build up a sort of apathy, each and every person coming through the door is going through a difficult time, often the most difficult time their family will face. I will ensure that they are heard, have all the information that they are due and have complete transparency between us and the family. If I continue my education to constantly have knowledge between both funeral direction and embalming, the family will receive accurate information. I will not give false platitudes when instead they will never be lost or misinformed, to go above and beyond and stay in contact to provide resources that will aid them while they process grief such as counseling information. While I might not change the world with working in the funeral field, I will be helping people day by day. If I can make this process easier for someone, then all the work I put into getting into the field would well have been worth it. In fact, it already has as I've been a part of several embalming cases. Bringing ease the death is wonderful.

Mortuary science isn't the traditional trade that most individuals think of when it comes to trades. However, the specialized nature of mortuary science along side with the several cases, apprenticeship, and state/ national exams needed to be certified, and hands-on skills still place it among the several other trades that exist. In Texas, the mortuary title certifications are split into two certifications: embalmers, preparing the body; and funeral director, discusses with the family. While going to a college such as Dallas Institute of Funeral Service would prepare one to pass both national board exams, it is up to the individual in Texas to complete both the required case numbers and state exams for which certification they want to hold in the state. In my case, I'm looking to be certified as both an embalmer and funeral director. Not only are both aspects of the funeral profession fascinating to me, but I believe I could be of more support to families if I fully understand all parts of the funeral process. I could ensure more accurate expectations for the family and would have a more detailed view about all aspects of the deceased to help the family through what typically is one of the most difficult times that a family can go through. If I know how to properly prepare the body for the funeral, then I can aid the family in making decisions not only best for their loved one, I can best help them make decisions for themselves also. After all, the funeral is as much for the family as it is for the deceased. Their loved ones will be remembered in a way that is best fitting for the life they led, and the family will be able to grieve in a way best suited for them. People going through grief do not require more stressors on top of going through the motions of grief work. Not only do I plan on ensuring that families get the funerals that they want, I also want to encourage changes in my own community by creating events to honor deceased and promote education on the basics of funeral profession that families should be aware of. While any individual that comes into a funeral home asking about prices for funeral arrangements will receive a general price list, there are other pricing laws that a majority of the population might not know. For example, if a family brings a casket to be used for the arrangement, a casket handling fee would be illegal for a funeral home to add. If this information becomes more available to the public, I believe that many of the stressors that create the negative associations we have with planning a funeral lesson. Losing someone will always be difficult. There is a saying, "we never really move pass grief, rather we learn to live around it". Which is why, I want to aid people with loss both professionally and as a community. A dream of mine would be to create a local event, working with several cemeteries and land owners to properly give support to funeral homes during Day of the Dead when they're filled to the brim with people. Working together we can ensure that cemeteries aren't overwhelmed with the increase of people celebrating the day, and I believe we can even support local vendors by hiring them to help ensure families celebrating the day are well taken care of. A local cemetery has done something similar in the past two years, but with more input from the community, I believe we can improve for everyone involved.

"Aim for the stars and you'll land on the moon," is a frequent phrase used to encourage young students to do their best, look into work that will set them for life, especially monetarily: doctors, entrepreneurs, scientist, and more. However, not everyone wants to aim for these highly lucrative jobs. There is nothing wrong with that, for every job has value. Where there are individuals who benefit from someone's work, there is a respectable market. Trade work being one of the most respectable fields as they tend to be services that everyone eventually needs. There are no careers not deserving of respect, for every career provides a service or goods to individuals. I went to a less than conventional trade school: mortuary school. Typically the term "trade" conjures the image of blue color job or even a "second-class" education: construction, electricity, welding, mechanical work, and more. However, due to the nature of being licensed as either an embalmer or a funeral director, mortuary school is classified under the term trade. I choose to enter the trade not just because of the job security, people aren't going to suddenly stop dying, but I choose to enter the field because of my dedication to the profession. In entering the funeral field, I enter a field where I must preform the up most due diligence to both the deceased and the bereaved. I have had many experiences both good and bad with funeral homes long before I chose what I wanted to do with my life. Individuals are coming to you to aid them with a very sensitive topic. Families are going to through the most difficult time in their lives when they knock on their door, going through mourning and expected to make several important decisions to prepare for the funeral. If I can make that process easier on the families that reach my door once I get licensed, then all the work to get here would have been well worth it. I entered this field because I am passionate about ensuring that these families are well cared for, for I know the pain that come due to an ignorant funeral director. I know I can do to create a positive impact on others while working in this field. My grandmother has a saying that has stuck with me greatly as I've grown, "death is the surest thing we have." It's a saying that I agree with my entire heart. A healthy person can get sick in an instant, the rich can be struck my tragedy, poor get a lucky break, and more. No matter what our situation in life is, there are no guarantees because while we're able to plan for our every action to impact ourselves, we cannot control the actions of others or of nature. In death we are equal. Will our funerals look different based on what we want or what our families can afford? Yes, there will be a difference. However, death is as integrated as life as birth is. That difference that exist between what individuals will have their funeral look like due to monetary limitations. Individuals should not be put into death from trying to do the most basic practice of burying their loved ones. This is such a present problem that cremation's popularity has increased because of lower pricing. Not only am I entering the funeral profession to help families go through the process in the most transparent way possible, I want to eventually begin a fund to aid families ensure their loved ones get the funeral they wanted.

Being born as the second child in a Mexican-American immigrant house hold lead itself to some unique traits as an individual. However, my experiences are far from the norm. Whiles most would head Mexican parents and think that I was raised under a strict household, that would be false. My own parents define several stereotypes while still embracing their culture. People are not characters. While there are certainly some belief that exist because of the culture of a group of people, individuals impact each other in their own unique ways. I am my parent's odd yet opinionated child. My brothers' frilly yet though sibling. I know that I am most likely not going to turn many heads in my life time, but if I can give someone else some joy in life then everything I have experienced would have been worth it. I am studying to be a mortician in Texas. More specifically, I want to get licensed as both a funeral director and embalmer. I am in my last quarter, and my appreciation for every individual in the path has grown all the more. Death has been said by my grandmother to be the one thing that is guaranteed in life, which I wholeheartedly agree with. Death itself is not evil; it's a step in life. While I do mean that in a symbolic way, where new life cannot grow without making room, I also appreciate the science of it. Living forever would be challenging in any society. We can give back to the world in death, more nutrition, more space, seeing as the individual changes. Our bodies interact with itself and our environment so uniquely even in death. Grief itself is an uncertain obstacle with different types of grief work that exist. While there are set rules of how to work with a dead body depending on different types of conditions, everything is up to each case. The entire practices is as certain as life is, and I find that telling about how special it is. Death is not depart from life but in spite of it. I want to ensure that every individual and family feels like they are cared for. Life is such a fragile and careful thing. While there it makes sense that there was a past before us, the idea that there is something after we're gone, and I mean on Earth rather than religious afterlives, is difficult to imagen because we'd have no way to experience it for ourselves. Our loved ones want to ensure they remember us properly while we would not want to leave them in pain or struggling without us. Everyone impacts the individuals they meet that to part with them permanently hurts, but I find it so beautiful and lucky to love so much, to be hurt in such an impactful way. Life comes with the danger of pain, but it is so lovely to exist with so much to care about. When life comes to so much pain, I want to ensure that families are heard and loved. To be able to love so much to feel so much time is a blessing, but the pain is is difficult. Families typically are forced to make difficult choices during one of the most difficult times of their life. To make that time easier, to ease their fears and make to process as smooth as possible is what I want to do with my life. Ensure that my community knows what they're doing at the end and ensure they know their options to properly respected well into death.

Mental health, like any aspect of a person's physical health, can have serious effects. Not only can poor mental health lead to bad decision making, isolation, burn out, and other mental and emotional effects, mental health can also bleed into physical health and make you suffer physically alongside mental. Despite the current awareness of mental health in our society, there seems to be a displacement in thought between acknowledging different mental health issues and actually providing good aid and support to people with mental health concerns. We acknowledge people are suffering, yet people who exhibit visible displays of that in a matter that cannot be romanticized become more isolated, treated like extremes that are dangerous rather than people who need help. My mental health is an important factor as a student in a field of mortuary science. Not only are people in the death field more like to burn out due to over working themselves, but there is also a concern about the amount of pain that individuals are exposed to on a daily basis. A normal work day for an individual at the funeral home on average is one of the worst day for somebody else. Our obligations extend to not only the family and friends of the deceased, but there are also people who name themselves as working for the deceased just as much as they're working for the authorizing agent planning the funeral. Despite still looking for work at a funeral home, part of my curriculum is to preform embalming at participating funeral homes to learn hand on the process of disinfecting, preserving, and restoring human remains. While many would think that this is where mental health of mine suffered, I actually find the process of embalming deceased very calming. It feels nice to take care of someone and ensure that they're presentable for their funerals. What is difficult about embalming and being in school is the size of my family resulting death being a common topic in my family. For example, last fall, I lost an uncle to a horrible work related incident where he was killed due to a car as a mechanic. I was taking a psychology of grief class during that time. On a weekly basis, I would be reminded about what grief does to individuals as I was in the middle of grieving. Allowing yourself to feel emotions when you're aware of where those emotions are coming from is difficult. One tends to self rationalize in a way that ignores the process of actually feeling those grieving feelings. As a student, the field I am studying is in many ways directly opposing positive mental health for me. Which is why I ensure to remind myself about several positives. Why i remind myself about the reason for pursuing this degree. Not only is there joy in ensuring that one of the most difficult times in an individual's life goes as smoothly as possible, there is joy in in seeing the love that families have for the deceased. During several embalming, I've notices well done nails and make up on individuals, which warms my house as I know that in their final days, they were loved and cared for. As my grandmother says, death is the most sure thing in life, and I am brought so much pride in bringing peace and ensuring that individuals are given the grace and care everyone deserves in death.

When people learn that I am Mexican American, they assume that my parents met and married in Mexico and moved to the United States of America to raise their children. However, that is not accurate. While my mother was the first of her sisters to move to America after turning nineteen, my father already had an abundance of uncles and brothers living in America before moving. Moreover, they did not meet until they were both settled in America. My father working as an electrician in a small company, and my mother was a babysitter for one of my father's uncles. They met by chance, and they fell in love by choice. They had us, me and my brothers, because they wanted to start a family in the United States. While both of them had things to miss back in Mexico, they choose the United States to be their home because they wanted it to be their home. There was nothing to miss in a small town where other people with similar origins kept the culture alive. Nothing to miss when they had built their lives around the children here rather than their jobs. Nothing to miss when getting in contact with their families so many miles away was still possible. My mother herself has recently admitted that she hasn't felt an nostalgia or desire to move or return to Mexico as this country has been her home for more than half of her lifetime. As one of my parent's children, I've grown on their ideals while developing my own. Growing up, I never wished to leave my parent's side and thus never had a desire to visit the homeland they came from. However, they ensured that my brother and I grew up knowing and respecting where we came from. My native language is Spanish, and I only learned English from watching television. I kept up my Spanish as well as I could have by being in bilingual classes in school for as long as I could. I'd even teach other classmates English in those bilingual classes when they weren't as fortunate to learn English in the same way I did. In my formative years, I grew to respect not only my culture thanks to my parents, I learned to love and understand the people. Everyone that arrives to a new country, illegally or legally, to start new. The world has been open to everyone for as long as life has existed on it. While societies form and develop their own unique cultural and racial identities, everything builds of something else. There are universal experiences that bring us closer and universal differences that inspire us to create and develop. The United States has a unique position in it's global position. Due to the nature of how it was formed, taking land from individuals living there or purchasing from other power-house countries that had established their own position in the land before official purchases, creates a country that even before any of the major immigration surges, a country built as a mixing pot of identities. I am proud to have been born here. While there are many struggles that this country faces, and I feel like every day several steps are taken back by our governors, I still see people talking about the issues we face. Change is possible because we can still acknowledge what we see, have a discussion about it. My parents individually arrived in the United States because they knew it was their best chance, and they've given me the opportunity to help myself and those around me.

My neighborhood is a small one. Small suburban neighborhood with an elemtery school within walking distance, a middle school known for it's violent tendancies despite the administrations best attempts to form it into a STEAM centered school and a local high school that preforms a better job of providing new opportunities to the students because it embraces the cultures and "getho" environment that students grow up in rather than suppress those experiences as the middle school does. We even have a small grocery store and bakery within walking distance. Everything is stuck in time, yet some of our most recognizable locations have slowly been taken over by larger corporations, gentrifying the area. A shame, those areas provided a home for small businesses and their families to grow and provide the people with culture. Ensure that we learned our parents' roots despite the miles of distance between us and their homeland. People here know each other, and we help each other. Everyone has a story that deserves to be told, and those stories can intertwine to help someone new. A few weeks ago, I heard meowing behind the house. Loud and persistent, I had first thought it to be from one of the residential street cats, a more feral one known for getting into trash bins. However, when I went outside with my brothers, the meowing seemed higher-pitched than the usual meows we had become accustomed to. I searched, closing my eyes to focus on the noise, following the sound, and I came face to face with the statue of the Virgin Mary that we have in our backyard. Behind that statue is where I found her, a ten-week-old grey calico tabby. She was distrustful, small, loud, and hungry. It took hours to get her to trust me, but after lowering myself down to her level for hours, she finally let me pick her up. I knew we couldn't care for her. We have an elderly dog, and my mother has a severe cat phobia. Even still, letting her go seemed evil to me. Stray cats are known to be detrimental to several wildlife species, and they have significantly shorter lives with tragic ends. She could give birth to newer lives that would continue the cycle of environmental destruction and short lives for themselves. However, I didn't know where to start in finding her a home. Across the street now lives a single elderly woman named Melody. She can her husband has been part of the neighborhood for as long as I've been on this Earth. As of last November, she has lived on her own after her husband was called to the Kingdom of God, but for as long as I've known her, she's always been the resident cat expert. Even if she couldn't take in the kitten, I knew she'd have resources to help me find her a home. We spoke for hours, learning about groups such as the Texas Coalition that has a vaccination plan for about one hundred thirty dollars. We even provided me with a bit of food for the small girl to tide her over while we waited for a home. Without Melody's help, I wouldn't have been able to keep who is now known as Bridget safe long enough for others to find a home with an old classmate. Together, we ensure the abuse of animals does not continue, provide a home for the small kitten, and even help fill in the hole a previous animal death had left someone. We can smile proudly any time we get updates on Bridget.

I've lost several people in my life, yet the one death that continues to be very complicated for me is my maternal grandfather. I'd grown up with him being a very funny and interesting man, always smiling. However, as I got older, it became very obvious to me that he had used many substances in his life: mostly cigars. Of course, I never held it against him as by the time I was born, he had stopped using substances. However, the effects of raising my mother and her siblings in such a household would continue to affect my family, even now. That would be what I would hold against him, even into his death. To me, it is no surprise that addiction is prominent on both sides of my extended family, even if neither of my parents are drinkers or smokers. While neither would ever want to finish a twelve-ounce bottle through a year, if they could, they wouldn't. Their stance against substances contrasts strongly with how they were raised, particularly my mother who was subjected to secondhand smoke from her father regularly, as were the rest of her siblings. It would be no surprise then that lung disease and heart problems are prominent within the family. My mother has hypertensive heart disease, and one of her brothers had the same condition. He passed a long time ago due to a lack of access to the proper medication. My mother thankfully has medication paid for, having agreed to be part of testing to find better medications for this long-term condition. However, while my family is grateful for these studies' help, it truly is sickening that if she isn't a human research participant she could have well passed years ago due to not having the excess wealth to pay for her catheter. A catheter that she wouldn't need had her father only known better about the risks of smoking and secondhand smoke near children. Despite having not smoked for several decades, the destruction of his lungs had already long passed him, and the physical effects were taking place. It was said that he could have survived for several years to come if he had only amputated a leg that had begun to fall victim to gangrene. However, he was a prideful man who decided he would rather die than live without one of his legs. He would rather be buried than depend on someone else to take care of him. The stubborn man died when he didn't have to. He passed a week after my birthday. He passed while we were away from my mother. My brothers, father and I spent half an hour on a car ride trying to make it home on time to ensure we were there when the news first was broken to her. We feared that she had heard of her father's passing without us. She didn't, but hearing her cry for her dad once we told her will forever be a memory I carry with me. The pain he caused her, indirectly, directly, mentally, and physically has made grieving him difficult. While I blame his stubborn attitude for why he died, his resolve is something I see in my mother. She can no longer walk long distances, so she has a wheelchair for trips. The first time we went out with it, she apologized to me. I love the independence he passed on to her; maybe I'll appreciate him one day too. He may have taught her independence, but I will teach her that support is strong because family is meant to care.

As of late in the Minecraft community, several titles have come into light for certain types of players: the builder, the miner, the explorer, etc. These titles represent what aspect of the game a person puts their main interest in. However, since I began playing Minecraft in 2010, I've always been a builder. My favorite aspect of the game was seeing the blacks and putting them together in new ways to create my world. Bring my creative freedom to life. However, my laser focus on building meant that I never actually "played the game as a child." There seems to be this idea that if you're not doing everything that the basic mechanics of the game force you to do, you're not playing the game. When I first began to play, I was often ridiculed and judged in game circles for only playing in creative mode. In fact, the first time I played on the normal settings of Minecraft, was out of force from my older brother to play a night of survival. I ended up making a home on the base of a mountain by a river and when I woke up, a creeper had spawned in my cave despite having placed a torched the night before and destroyed all confidence in spending a day playing survival. However, those days of being scared by cave noises and quitting after dying once unexpectedly are long gone now. The biggest way I continue to interact with Minecraft now is with my two brothers. I still hold the name of the builder and crafter, but we all work together to build what we need as a small village of three in whatever world we create. I greatly appreciate the different crafting recipes to the point that whenever my brothers want to build anything new, they'll ask me what the recipe is before they google it. Most recently Nico, my older brother, wanted to create a barn with clay, so I taught him how to make the different supplies and even went swimming for the material. I met my end to the hand for more Drowned than I would care to admit. Minecraft is an ever-changing game with several updates over the years with several spinoff games that show mobs that will never make it to vanilla Minecraft, yet these different branches of the games create more space in the community for people to interact with the game as they wish! There have been bits of lore or storytelling available within the normal game modes as several channels have found, but they're not a necessary part of the game to be able to enjoy playing! In Minecraft, you are the center of everything. You get to decide how you play and what rules you will follow. While some who are more serious may judge you for being looser with limits, there are no stakes in not following the same rules as someone you are not playing with. Minecraft is a game where you can be free and encase yourself in whatever part of yourself you want to!

Growing up in the neighborhood that I did, I've grown up to have a strong sense of community. While a large part of me hopes that my greatest accomplishment is informing and helping families while they grieve, I also want to use the money I gain to make my community stronger. Not only do I have strong STEM values, but I am also an artist and organizer at heart. In the small town that has been my home, I hope to put money back into my community to make it a beautiful city and bring out the true cultural significance of the people who live here, a predominately Mexican-American town that values community, group activities, and selflessness that mostly loves and accepts new ideas and customs as people from other backgrounds come and settle looking to provide a better life for themselves than what they had originally. While I find my community beautiful, there is a tragedy that many places of value are hidden due to simple and broken infrastructure. Moreover, free spaces full of nature are undervalued because they are hidden within broken roads and abandoned buildings. While I won't be able to fix everything, I want to be able to start something that starts the change within the community. Bring out places into the public's attention by having the infrastructure made more notable with bright colors, inspiring artists and creating demand for them. Encourage community events by starting my cemetery where community events are held for cultural holidays like Day of the Dead. Moreover, for every small school for children of immigrants, fund them to ensure that they have safe locations that have enough workers and play equipment to properly care for and entertain the students as they begin to learn reading in both English and Spanish. I've been an aide for a few small classes in both church and separate kindergartens as a teacher aid. In my time, I've seen that most of the younger students in these locations start school mostly speaking Spanish, which helps them maintain a connection to their ethnic background, truly helps them appreciate where they came from, and the sacrifices parents made to give them a safe life. However, once proper schooling begins, it can be difficult for those students who don't get a stable understanding of English before they start their first year. This struggle that students go through is something I saw within my peers growing up. When I first began going to elementary all those years ago, I was in a school that had the grade levels split into six classes of students, three were in bilingual classes while another was for pure English speakers. However, the bilingual classes also meant students that only spoke Spanish. This was unstable as there were no language classes where pure Spanish to English classes were taught. Classes only switched what language they were taught in, which meant that because they didn't speak the language the class was taught in, truly brilliant students were often left behind because they couldn't understand what was being said. Moreover, bilingual students often had to give up time spent on their studies to translate for their peers, I've been one of these students. The only positive was that I was a fast learner and didn't suffer from this often, yet other bilingual students who weren't as fast also suffered from their learning. This experience continues my encouragement to continue volunteering at small classes for young students, and why I want to provide for more community events in my town once I have the funds to do so.

The STEAM career path field I've fallen into isn't one of the most traditional path fields, but one that I hold so much love: mortuary science and embalming. I've been a student at Dallas Institute of Funeral Science for seven months now, and while I've known for years that working with death was something I wanted to pursue, to be in classes now is to see that dream come to fruition. Especially now that my third quarter has started, and I am involved with embalming cases. No longer am I in the basic foundations of Business Law or Accounting, I'm in the grits and bones of Restorative Art and Embalming One! The true beauty I find in mortuary science isn't just the fact that I'll be involved with people in one of the most influential times in their lives, it's the fact that I'm learning about both art and science simultaneously. My education is a mixture of business and ethics. While the funeral profession does have an interest in making money, everyone needs to eat after all, it is one where you cannot lose your humanity. Everyone needs a job, but ethics takes president over anything. As discussed in restorative art, our purpose in this profession is to bring a person to a reasonable state of being for the benefit of the grieving family and their process of dealing with the loss of their loved one. My mission in entering this field is to ensure nobody in my area has as much of an ugly time trying to find peace as I did with my lost ones. I'm going to ensure that the people in my community are treated fairly and with dignity in their times of vulnerability and ensure options are open to what represents the lives they live. Moreover, I want to ensure the poor community I grew up in is informed about the laws regarding carrying for the dead. Too many times are people forced to embalm or use caskets necessary because they were uninformed. Even I was unaware that cemeteries could not charge you for using a casket or plaque that was not supplied by them. This lack of what should be common knowledge is disgusting to me, especially when it could help people make informed and strategic decisions at a time when they need to most support. It is my mission to enter the funeral profession as a mortician and embalmer, not only to ensure that the bodies have been presented to their living relatives in the best condition but also to ensure those living relatives don't have any more added stress. The world is already filled with enough suffering, why make death, a process we all share, all the more painful? Together in a time of grief, the pain we share can be cut in half. It's why I adore entering this field. Not only do I continue my education in chemistry and other useful business sectors like merchandising and accounting, I can continue learning about the arts and delicacy of ethics and psychology. I use skills my mother has shown me while she was learning about cosmetology. It's a field with several skill sets that seemingly are unrelated but are required for a fully developed funeral ceremony. STEAM is a very important part of our lives as a society because it ensures that people have the necessary skills to be not only effective thinkers but also effective sentimentalists. There is a required balance between being a team to achieve our goals and taking care of one another in the limited time had.

When I was a junior in high school, I was told by a medical professional that I had chronic anxiety. This wasn't the biggest surprise to me as several nurses and teachers in earlier years had sent letters of recommendation to my parents to have me screened for anxiety before, one year a teacher even had me visit the school's speech therapist a few times to help create plans for myself when dealing with selective mutism. However, while my parents love me and desire for a healthy and safe upbringing, the majority of their lives, mental health was stigmatized. To them, their children dealing with any mental health issue was a sign that they had failed as parents, which is awful because, despite our differences, they've ensured that my brothers and I grew up to be well-rounded individuals who were independent and caring. To pursue our passions and never be reliant on others. Despite their hesitancy to accept the diagnosis, even two years after my older brother had been diagnosed with depression, they did make an effort to listen to us more. Some issues seem "too adult" to exist within children, so when being confronted with the truth, alongside the truth comes gushing remorse and failure. Despite their shortcomings with our mental health in earlier years, my brother and I worked together to help fill in the failures as we grew up. We were protecting each other from failures and preparing ourselves for anticipated events. I'd hold a bag filled to the brim with several things necessary or expected to be essential at all times, especially when going to parties as they're overstimulating, even for our youngest. The most recognized items are extra earbuds and earplugs for when the noise is too loud. However, I'll also carry a light shawl to cover skin that feels like bugs are crawling over it and small candies. Despite growing to support each other and cover each other when we were mentally unwell, it took a while for us to reach that point. Accepting help was unheard of in my family. A year ago when my mother was in the hospital due to her chronic condition was the worst point in my life. We weren't allowed to talk about her accident to anyone in the family, my older brother was away on his college campus, unaware of anything happening back home, and while my father tried his best, there were several things in the house that he missed. I'd gone behind his back and asked an older cousin to deliver a few things we were missing to take care of our dog. Making it seem like asking for help was burdening or horrible made us uncomfortable with telling them everything in our lives, making us apprehensive about comforting each other. Individually we both looked towards unhealthy coping mechanisms, for me this included self-harm. It wasn't a self-punishment as some might be inclined to believe, more so a way to release pent-up energy. Release those so-called "negative" and "irrational" emotions. I've been clean of self-harm for a few months over a year now, which considering that the longest I've ever gone since the seventh grade was a month, I'm extremely proud of. Despite my family growing up hesitant to ask for help, that mindset bleeding into us, the children, doesn't mean that we kept those ideals. Not only did my brothers and I begin to see the effects of this mindset in each other, but our parents took notice of it. This year while my mother was at the hospital, while still being very strict over who was allowed to know, they accepted help. They cried and thanked people, and our extended family, such as an older cousin of mine, forced the older people in our family to realize that we needed support during this time. At my current college, regular meetings with our counselor don't add anything to the tuition, so I began to see her once a week after my mother was released from the hospital. It's been helpful to see what I do wrong with my mental health. Watching as the future generations change and adapt for themselves aids me in working on myself because it gives me the support and courage needed to understand that it isn't a weakness, but something necessary. As per my last counseling session, I don't believe humans are inherently selfish, cruel, or evil. We are an opportunistic species, as are many others. This has led to a society where selfish people do so freely as they don't understand the full extent of their actions, causing extra suffering for the rest of us. However, we are a group species. We create and live in a world of opportunity and art. Humans have been as we are for as long as being human has been a meaningful concept. Our world is filled with so much history and connections that go beyond us and our relationships with one another. The ones that do center on human activity only thrive because the story of the lives can be preserved through pure chance and opportunity. There is so much beauty in this world, not just naturally, but because of people. I want to live, and I want to live to create another place in this world where more beauty can grow and expand. To exist on this planet in these circumstances can be challenging, but the growth, rebirth, and changes that occur daily as people learn and open their hearts give me hope for the purity of people and this planet to persist.

I had not been diagnosed with anxiety until my junior year of high school. For several months I'd been experiencing debilitating pain around my rib area and none of the doctors we went to could find what was going on with me. Eventually, my mother took me to a doctor who told me directly that I had chronic anxiety; what I'd been experiencing was the equivalent of a months-long panic attack. Due to my parents' background and lack of mental illness, this diagnosis was difficult for them, especially when my older brother had been diagnosed with depression just the year before. While they had made several mistakes in our upbringing, I'll be the first to say that they were great parents. The notion that two out of three of their children had severe problems with their mental health was hard to swallow and involved several discussions about our childhood where we probably should have been diagnosed sooner had the adults around us should have noticed that we, that I was unwell. The first instance we discussed was what I refer to as "my first panic attack." My elementary school had decided to hold a last-minute spelling bee and an administrative worker was walking through my grade level looking for five volunteers from each classroom. Considering the small size of my school the limitation to only my grade level and my high confidence in writing, I was chosen as one of the five students from my class. However, my only friend immediately confronted me for picking what should have been her spot. Despite our young ages then, I can still with confidence say she had a strong grip on my decision-making skills for a long time as my only friend. Even with all my classmates congratulating me for coming out of my shell and volunteering, her disapproval and anger caused me to break down. Luckily another teacher's helper took me out of the room to help calm me down. There was a tightness in my chest that harmed me as I kept sobbing, attempting to get my wits about me as I was rather unaware. She took me out into the hall, grabbed me some water, and we had a small discussion. I gave up my spot in the spelling bee to my friend, spending the rest of the day in her office shaken up but calming down. Unfortunately for me, this would not be the last time I had such a violent outburst while having a panic attack. During middle school, I would continue to have more violent and loud panic attacks that would land me in the nurse's office. Several times I was sent home with letters of recommendation to get a proper diagnosis. However, a combination of my parent's disbelief in mental health, lack of funding, and no proper time led to these letters being tossed. One year, a teacher who noticed that despite having a good connection to the teachers I closed up when discussing important matters sent me to the speech counselor the school had. We could only have three sessions together as I wasn't formally signed up to be someone to receive aid from her. However, after speaking to her several times, I began to try and find ways to communicate without speaking. Learning sign was one instrument used. Even now in tough situations, I tend to go silent. My throat physically hurts when I am particularly threatened as if I'm being choked. Which is why I'm grateful my college offers counseling services. Not just for aid with what I'm learning, but with past issues.

I first heard about the LGBTQ+ community after my brother came out to me while I was in the fourth grade. He told me his preferred name, that he would always be my brother, and that I could always depend on him. He never broke that promise. He answered any questions I had, and we worked together to find ways to refer to him in public without using his dead name as our parents didn't know about his identity yet. However, knowing that there was a community of people that were different from the binary of men and women or liking women when you're a guy and liking men when you're a girl got me to think. While I wasn't a social child, I'd already had several crushes in that time frame, some not realized because I didn't know it was possible to like girls romantically. Any attraction towards them was labeled as friendship even though it wasn't friendship, not in the slightest. Eventually, I found the term bisexual. It was like a warm blanket. Having a term, a group of people I could identify with was a solace that I adored. It felt the most comfortable as I was attracted to people despite their gender identity, but my relationship changed with those individuals. Having first found the community with warm loving arms did not make finding that more harsh reality of intolerance any easier, especially when it came from my parents. Of course, my brother came out before I did, and they reacted differently to both of our coming outs. While I was easy to ignore because I am not one to enter relationships easily, my brother often had arguments with them to be seen. In my own home, I advocated for them to see me and to respect him. For his eighteenth birthday, I even created a slide show to tell them that if they truly wanted their love to reach him, they needed to stop pushing him away. Acknowledging this as part of him was crucial, even if they never said it with direct words. Our family isn't one for emotions, so their actions would mean more to him. I proposed they get him a cake he had previously requested: ice cream cookies and cream cake with his chosen name written on the top. He deserved to enter his adulthood having a cake with his name on it, and I even said that I would go through with getting the cake myself if they did not agree with him. However, it would mean more to him if they got it for him because it meant they were acknowledging him. That they were not ashamed of the wonderful and caring person he had grown up to be, even when it wasn't someone they'd ever expected from their child. Advocating for him as we grew up allowed me to learn how to advocate for myself also. To defend myself from other students and adore the life that I would eventually learn about my own identity, and it is this love and advocacy that I will carry into my career as a mortician. Every person dies at some point, it is one of the few universal experiences that nobody can escape, like breathing. My clients, the dead, and their families deserve the be heard. Their families deserve the ability to properly mourn, and their loved ones deserve to be mourned in a way to honors them.

Senior year, the spring semester was probably the worst experience in my life. After having experienced several deaths through the years, placing myself in the line of fire of my parents iron after my brother came out to share the pain in my freshman year, and starting several schools in both middle school and high school without a good friend support system, nothing was as bad as my senior year. Most people at the school would have claimed that senior year was the easiest. You've already accomplished your junior year, and those are the numbers that colleges would focus on, so as long as you pass your classes now, then you're set for life. Of course, we were taking a minimum of five AP classes, so most people, including myself, were still putting in our all to get those credits for college; however, it was no longer a priority for most students. My older brother had finally gone to college, not far, only thirty minutes away. However, he'd decided to get on-campus housing. While I'd always had my hand on the home affairs, there was his support that aided me, mentally and emotionally. That had been difficult to maneuver with at the start of the school year. Taking care of the house and our youngest brother. There was a system built to never be out of the house: cook and clean while the youngest is out of the house and do laundry for the entire family during the weekend. Everyone gets their laundry done first on either Friday or Saturday and my laundry was pushed on to Sunday. Moreover, if the eldest was home, made sure his laundry was done first, sometimes pushing my own needs onto Monday when I would have to balance doing my homework as soon as I received access to it and ensuring home security. Throughout the year, these challenges were made easy to maneuver around. What made the spring semester so much worse was my mother's condition. Due to her heart palpitations, she was sent to the hospital for two weeks, right before AP and prom season. Not only was I now doing my parts in the house, I was doing her part also. Waking up the youngest, offering emotional support, ensuring he was clothed and fed the entire day, and ensuring our father didn't just resort to take-out every day of the week. I'd let myself go, no longer trying in my physical appearance in school and resorting to large baggie sweaters I'd normally only wear during winter. My hair was no longer braided and rather put up in a claw clip. Every day going to the hospital with my brother and father with a pack of Calculus AB to turn in the day after. Even after she came home we experienced multiple changes in the home. No longer were long-distance walks easy for her and we bought a wheelchair for her for special occasions: park fairs or vacations. Special moments such as dress shopping for prom were not done with my mom, rather my brother took her place in stores. While his support was appreciated, there was this vulnerability that only a mother could bring out that was locked away then. Self-sufficient has increased within me, and my ability to pick out what the home needs still manages to be a very useful skill. To anyone who reads this, ask for support. I've seen a quote recently, one I was unfamiliar with: "Animals learn their most vital skill first." It continues to mention that babies' first skill is crying for help, do so.

In my near community, we have several small funeral homes that I could potentially work at, yet that does not mean that there is no discomfort with death. This is a horrible mistake on the population's part because if and when our times come if we are not prepared, we leave our families in a horrible situation where they have to decide what to do with us. An event that costs a family thousands of dollars and is emotionally taxing event cannot be handled without a plan. As uncomfortable as one's mortality is, we have to comfort this truth to ensure that our family can grieve in peace. With my college degree and certificate as a mortician, I'm going to ensure that my community makes informed decisions about death to make sure that people can have a peaceful end to their days. Death is something that connects all of us as humans, for everyone dies. Nobody has escaped that truth and while stories may be able to keep their stories alive, the initial pain that follows the loss of someone cannot be ignored when it begins. During this trying time, being forced to buy and prepare for what is the last time you'll see your loved one becomes even harder when being forced to make large financial decisions for the person that someone has lost. My duty to my community will always be to inform and teach them how to prepare for their death, to come to peace with it, and to make plans and be happy. We all die one day, but that does not mean that we have to live life dull and without meaning. It may seem that life has no point when viewing life as a large picture as in the universe. However, we are not living in the center of the universe. We are living in the here and now. With a history that can be traced back thousands of years, full of rich history that has built up who we are here and now. The lives we live matter because they're the only lives we'll ever know, so to ensure that we can take care of the lives that have built us up, let's make their planning of our funerals much easier by telling them what we want at the end of our days since we see them in our lives for that long.

My mother is the strongest woman I've ever known. Neither she nor my father could complete their schooling, so they emphasized it for my brothers and me. They became immigrants for a better life for themselves; then they continued to stay to make sure that we, their children, had a better life than they ever had. Growing up in rural Texas, we didn't have much. However, both parents always emphasized that we needed to not only love our jobs but strive to do our best in any career path we choose. While my mother was a cook, she was the best cook at the restaurant and had a great relationship with the boss: a kind woman who would give us hand-me-downs from her children. Having a father who had never completed middle school was a subject of bullying for me, but I've always been proud of him. He may have never completed schooling, but at any job site, he stands for professionalism and knows about everything anyone is doing. He's grown in his career and even has a team of other electricians he directs whenever going onto a new job site. While they've both grown in their careers and taught me a healthy relationship with work and personal life, growing up, we experience challenges in living in a country that does not value its workers as much as it values the end product. A most prominent memory of mine is a summer memory, when we were outside near Fair Park waiting at a convention when low-quality yet widely available. The materials were not as effective as name-brand items, yet we were able to get all the necessary items for that school year. Despite making sure we had all the necessary supplies, it took a long time to get into the convention. Our little brother was a newborn in his stroller and despite being, hot, tired, and starving, we helped our mother take care of him. When all was said and done, my older brother and I spent the day coloring in our books, cutting up the images, and taping them to the coloring boxes and journals to make them as pretty as the supplies as other students in our classes. Despite growing up in challenging circumstances, my brothers and I have learned to persevere and see brighter more adaptive methods in times of difficulty. Moreover, our love and devotion to our culture and future have become stronger with every new challenge. While some people choose not to continue their education, the pursuit of learning new things and continuing to adapt how you view the world is a powerful tool that helps ensure that you can fit in and try new challenges that make life better. The continuation of a formal education may not be necessary for every career choice, but the pursuit of knowledge is necessary to keep and mind healthy and moving. Moving forward, I'll do as my parents did. Move forward in my career choice despite it not being the most prestigious of jobs and ensure that my community is capable of mourning, of making sure that they know to make informed decisions about what their last choices will be, and help those who are less fortunate than me get their foot on the ground in paths that have been walked by those who created it, rather than them that had to fight to find the path.

My brother and I are first-generation college students to Mexican immigrant parents, and we live in Dallas Texas. I've lived and loved here for years despite every economic hardship that my family has faced. Many ignorant or harsh things are said about immigrants and children of immigrants: "They don't pay taxes," "They're greedy," or "They have backward views." However, people, these things are false. I live in an area that holds many small start-up businesses from immigrants. The community built in my area has been one that supports each other through thick and thin to ensure that the children born here can provide themselves with a better life. They hope that if we get sick, we can get treatment because we can afford it and not because we have been listed as the first trial runs on human volunteers. This is the situation that exists within my own family, my mother. When I become a mortician, I will be able to help people move on to the next stage in life: death. Many people in my own family have been abused by the industry, which causes me great strife as death as a topic has been one that is very dear to me. One of the most impactful deaths in my life was the death of my still-born cousin. I've always considered his sisters as my sisters also, so his birth was a very anticipated event. We were all heartbroken when we learned what had occurred. Despite having already been to a funeral before, my parents did not allow my brother and me to attend our cousin's funeral because they were unaware that we'd been to a funeral in the past. We, however, were unaware of the fact that our parents didn't know our history with funerals and believed this act to be a hurtful act towards us. We were being denied the chance to see our baby brother be buried, and we would hold a strong resentment because of this for years to come until the truth came to light. However, it wasn't just the fact that we'd been denied a chance to say our final goodbyes or the ability to comfort and support our sisters that hurt us. The funeral home had made a mistake while engraving his name onto his grave and would not change it unless more money was presented. Not only that but we weren't allowed to leave flowers without forking up more than a thousand dollars. Every small toy car gone the next that; every letter left without a trace. It was devastating. When we were finally able to afford to place flowers for him, they didn't place the vase at the head, it was beneath his feet in the dirt. I'm not just going into the funeral industry because it is something I am passionate about and truly believe I can handle. I'm going into the industry because I want to help the people in my community make informed choices about their own and their family's death plans. To encourage them to advocate for themselves in an industry that unfortunately takes advantage of people at their most vulnerable. The dead shall be my clients just as much as the living people that bring them to me.

Your parents are both immigrants from Mexico; both arrived in the United States at different times and with different people. Your mother in your eyes was a strong and strict woman who loved all the traditions of love and passion, determined to always make her way back into the restaurant kitchen even after she got diagnosed with pulmonary heart palpitations and your father was always ahead of the electrician game despite never having gone past a middle school education. They always kept you and your brothers well-fed, but there were many things that a stable family never would have to experience. Others would never have to wait outside in the hot summer sun for hours one day, waiting for just the chance to collect a few necessary school items that were being given away for free. You and your brother are already hungry after having been there for at least five hours, constantly checking up on your mother to make sure she was drinking enough water and watching over your newborn brother to stop his fussing. When you finally are allowed inside, the industrial-style building has several tables set up with simple unmarked school supplies. Nothing is of a known brand, bound to break before the next school year, but it's free and you need it. Your brother had been lucky enough to have gotten my little pony coloring book a few months before. You both color a page out of the book and cut out the outline to tape the image onto a coloring box. It's an amazing feeling seeing the finished product because you feel as if you've achieved the look that other students have without a second thought. The idea to do this will spread between both of your grade levels to the other students whose parents moved to give you all a better life but didn't understand how to support you all to make sure you all did better than them. It's one thing to move to a new country to provide a better life for not just yourself but also your future family. However, ensuring that the family is knowledgeable about how to make the system in this new country work for them is a task that most immigrant parents don't fully understand. You are fortunate enough to have a father who is willing to learn and a mother who makes time for you all. Parents who care about providing for you, even if they had to learn through mistakes they made while you were growing up. These mistakes have created cracks in your relationship, yet you can never truly hold a grudge against them because you know they were doing the best they could with the information available to them. Moreover, they did better once they knew better. Your father will brag about you to every client once you've made it to the top Texas High School: School for the Talented and Gifted Townview. You almost chose not to apply out of fear of the students who were the majority of that school. While Townview has a mostly Hispanic population, TAG in particular is known for its more white population and the isolated aura that it has from the other schools in Townview: its prom, winter dance, and yearbook. However, you take the chance at the encouragement of your parents who tell you to stick it to those privileged students who don't know how good they have it, and your brother's words that you'll find people with similar views and values there. You got recognized at that school, and you don't regret it.

I've known what I've wanted to study for years; I'm going to study to become a mortician. When it comes to death, I am very well versed in the subject due to early tragedies in my life, yet these deaths, while tragic and continuing to bring bad memories, have inspired me to push forward and benefit my community. The first ever death was that of a young cousin, a stillbirth, just a year before my own younger brother was born. My older brother and I had been forbidden from seeing him at his funeral, a choice that brought us a bitting rage for years, for we wanted to be there. His sisters, our cousins, are the closest family members we have. They are as much our sisters as they would've been his sisters. He would have been our first little brother in all but blood; it was heartbreaking to have lost him. Especially when the cemetery our family trusted to due him right failed at the simplest task, getting his name right on his grave. Moreover, to fix the error more money had to be given. My purpose in going to the funeral industry is to inform and aid people as they plan and prepare for the one thing that everyone must prepare for one day, death. My clients will not just be the people who bring me their loved ones but also the person that has died themselves. Death as a whole, I've come to notice as I've grieved many isn't the end, but rather an extension of life. There is a life that exists within your death, not just as a memory but with how the funeral was carried out. The desire to ensure that people receive the utmost respected treatment is of great importance to me. When teachers first started to find out of what I had in plan for my future, I was rather surprised when two of them offered to get me into contact with friends of their own who were already in the funeral industry. This summer I was in deep contact with a lovely lady who has expressed similar desires of my own that stem from similar horrible experiences. In my own words, when her father passed, they had him embalmed and during the first viewing, she was deeply deserved over how much he didn't look like that man who raised her. There are many options when it comes to how one would like to funeral plans nowadays, not only with cremation versus burials, embalming, or natural burial but also what to do afterward. Ashes could be preserved in an urn or turned into something new: jewelry, pellets, a tattoo, or even a record. These plans continue on the idea of a person and their ideals, which in an ideal world would be carried out by someone who at the very least respects and cares for the wishes of the loved one. At the end of the day, death as a subject is uncomfortable, but the funeral industry can cause lots of emotional damage to its consumers if they are unsure or frightened to advocate for themselves and their loved ones. I want to teach people to do so and approach the topic with grace rather than fear because, at the end of the day, we'll all meet with the great majority and should be treated well until we do.

He sat on a large couch, an off-set yellow-brown that bordered on green, decorated with swirls and flowers in red, blue, and reds, and a brighter yellow that bumped off the initial layer, an embroidered layer of detail. It was something that you’d find left outside of a house, waiting for the garbage truck to run by and pick it up. Finally giving the furniture that had probably been suffering since the early 70s some semblance of piece. Stiff everywhere, except for the small crevices that family members had made in it, building their nest and permanent spot with consistency and persistence. An old dusty thing nobody would willingly take in to keep it as it was, more of a pity project that somebody had waited for. Yet, he didn’t care. He sat happily on top of the couch, no disgust on his face, basking in whatever task he was set on, not that it mattered. He sat where he was at home, and he was happy because he was only three years old and didn’t have to care about anything else then. Now he's eleven, and I've heard him through all the heartaches that life has forced us through. Been the mother, the sister, the brother, the guard, and the teacher that was required of me. It was never perfect, I could have never been perfect, for even while knowing that there were bigger things than us, I was still a petulant child that wanted to have things for myself. No matter how selfish or even inconsiderate that would be in the grand scheme of things. Despite the adversities, some that I caused myself, my arms were always open to greet him. Hold him when mom was too cold in the hospital to recognize us, her breaths labored and slow. Her arms thing and sickly with eyes that dragged the floor. As if nesting, we had spent the entire afternoons laying over her, trying our best to give her warmth and when we got to the car, he'd lean into my space because he knew it was safe. That I'd taken any blow that came out the way and got rid of the nightmares that waited that night alone at home without her voice carrying the house like a siren calling the next prey, even when we, her prey, would swim to her willingly before she began to sing. Even now as I move forward in life, I make sure to keep contact with him. My priority is that he's never felt abandoned or robbed of the love he deserves. Something I can achieve easily once I work and earn the cash that allows me to provide for the school and family that keep my future afloat together. The northern star that calls me home, even once I'm ready to move away, despite the need to do so. The roots of home are stronger than any pull that would want to drag me across any border. To aid the community and people that I've always been a home to, even when they were meant to have built the home for me at those young ages.

At the first funeral I went to, I was roughly four years old, and I'd already heard the word "death" before. Most kids with large families have at that point, yet families always have a way of softening the definition, comparing it to a long nap that someone takes. Rather than an irrevocable event that nobody has full control of, that nobody understands. Because while there being a world before us makes sense, the idea that it continues after seems monumental. Of course, the world would continue, but what does that mean for you when you're not there to witness it? The funeral was for a baby girl with curly black hair, she was wearing a white communion dress on. I only could see part of her, but seeing her in the smallest casquet I've seen in my life, what death meant for someone solidified in my mind, and I was fascinated. The following death would be the still death of my godmother's baby boy, Guadalupe. I had been taken to my first funeral by an aunt who had not gotten permission from my parents to take me there, and my parents didn't wish for me to see a corpse so young, 5. The resentment I held against them for not allowing me to pay my respects to a cousin I'd adored was never fully dissipated. Especially, for I'd felt guilty that a year later, I'd be holding my baby brother in my arms while my cousins were still mourning their brother. An unfair tragedy that caused a cut in our family and rubbed it in with salt before it was done. The situation wasn't helped when the plaque that held my cousin's name was misspelled and left that way till the present day, for paying to replace it is a costly endeavor. After him, a few years later was my grandmother, a woman to who I was often compared to being a clone. I was constantly reminded of how our faces were alike, and I still am. Taking up guitar and embroidery, my dad mentioned how she had always wanted a grandchild to pick up the guitar and how she and her sister used to embroider too. However, they'd use templates to know what she was doing. As it was we had known she'd been sick for months, spending our summer nights not outside in the warm air, but rather inside on our knees learning our prayers with our mother. Leading up to her death, we'd gone to Mexico to see her, but we were denied access to her. It would be the first night we spent back home after our trip that the news would reach us of her passing, worse than never seeing the funeral, we never got to say goodbye despite having had the chance. After losing her, my relationship with death changed, for I grieved by myself. Going back to school I'd erect small rocks to make a crude gravesite and pray to myself for a few minutes before going and surrounding myself with my friends. I'd spend days studying my face, having been told I was a carbon copy of her since I could open my eyes. I'd learn about the different practices our culture had regarding death, even doodling roses, her favorite flowers, on every page I had. When my father brought home a can of coke with her name on it and left it on the fridge as an offering to her, I worked and work with him to preserve its shape. I'm going to help my community learn to grieve.

Being a child of a Mexican catholic household, the expectations set for me were always much more conservative. While my parents are the most lenient in their right-minded views, their rules and expectations of how I was meant to grow up were devastating, especially when those thoughts intermingled with their association with me and my grandmother, having shared the same face since birth. However, I grew up learning from my brother mostly, exposing myself to several religious ideologies, the spectrum of the LGBT+ community, and more. It took several years for me to grasp my identity as a nonbinary bisexual agnostic fully. The understanding of my identity spanning several years and a change in labels so frequent that I mostly felt as if I were deceiving myself by lacking a complete understanding of what I was learning meant. However, the excruciatingly long and emotionally painful journey to feel comfortable with who I was and my placement in my family, for despite not fitting into the bracket of their "perfect daughter," I find my role in my family a crucial part of my identity. I've found my place in my family, despite how disruptive it may be according to them; their fear that I'm working my way to becoming a mortician is a source of hilarity for me. I count how many people have called me satanic after telling them my plans for the future. Telling me to do what I desire as long as I don't bring my work back home. I'm going to work in the funeral industry because death has been a part of my mind since I was young I was taken to my first funeral at four years old by an aunt who had been watching over me. The presence of wanting to care for the dead and their wants and needs is as strong as my need to aid my community to navigate the sometimes predatory and targeted companies that make up the funeral industry, preying on vulnerable families in the middle of grief. The analysis and critical view of my passions point to controversy in my family, who try to sway me from persuing my path if I can find negatives, yet the negatives only encourage me to pursue it continuously and with vigor. How is anything supposed to improve if you're not informed if people stay safe within the confines of the ruling over those industries? It's pro postures. The desire to inform and protect as a general grew within me after learning my role as the "eldest sister" who has been having my brother and cousins follow behind me for years. The world isn't kind or fair, so I must do my part to make it that way.

Parents never truly speak of their experiences as children grow up; it's only when their child has a fixed perception of them as a teenager that their reality is broken with the true three-dimensional aspects of their parents slowly unravel through conversations with other family members or indirect things parents say. Mother was far more strict than dad, as is the stereotype that continues to stay rooted in reality. Her soft voice echoed with a sharper tone as she raised me to be a woman. She presented the most respectable subtle image of herself as an adult. A stable job as a cook, for she could not move further past that, having never completer college in favor of moving to a country that would give her the tools to provide a better future for her children, yet she would move towards different small opportunities that allowed her to also obtain further dreams. Her current aspirations have her attempting to complete a short cosmology education. Her hyper-focus on a career and harsher rules masquerade the true fear and relief of being in this country. A place where she could get proper treatment for the family disease, avoiding the fate of her brother whom I never got the meet. Not because he got stuck back home, but because he was buried far younger than he should have been. On the other hand, my dad is someone who reeks of joy and silly nature to me. An adult who never forgot what it was to be a child, so his rules and decisions were always much more lenient to the kids. His mind is shaped to adjust to change and attempt to make understand the new normal for the times. However, his born leadership abilities always become apparent to me whenever I hear of him from his colleagues and whenever he becomes protective of me. His ability to rally people to the point that thirteen other coworkers left a company with him when they weren't being paid on time is nothing short of impressive. Moreover, they followed him to the new company he began to work for. He's an adored boss. My parents, they're figures that represented not only the rules of the world to me but are a large depiction of what my culture represents. They hadn't met until they were both in the states, and their life separate from each other painted an astronomical story of solidarity and community. Relying on an apartment where the rest of my father's family was living also when I was first born, I was raised and cared for my aunts, uncles, and cousins just as much as my parents. The diverse and constantly moving family dynamic heading me with several key morals regarding my education. While my parents wanted me to be part of the generation that gained higher education for the first time in our history, their work ethic made me value lower-income jobs, for they're the backbone of the economy. My mother and father may not change the world, yet their jobs are important parts of the daily life of several people, and their service should not be disrespected on the basis of their lack of higher education. I'll move forward with my education, but I know that the industry I'll work in will provide my community with a dependable and necessary service in honor of my parents who have built the small town I grew up in. From the light inside large malls my dad set up, to the warm meals my mother has taught me to make, their mark is crucial.

Death was always a looming figure in my life. I went to my first funeral when I was about four years old; she was a baby cousin of mine, though I don't remember her name. Then, my baby cousin, Guadalupe, was born and gone to this world also, followed by my grandmother, grandfather, and later on a great-aunt and even a great-uncle. The despair that followed all their losses was never one to be all-consuming to me, for I always found my way in the thick fog of grief, for death was just an extension of life. Life begins for you, then it ends, and while you may not realize the difference between it, the ones you left behind will because their lives were impacted. I grieved in my own ways. Because I made my own gravestones for the ones I lost and planned segments into my days to pass notions to them, I got by without them and without looking for comfort from others. Rather, I was the one that uncles, aunts, and parents would seek whenever they could not break free from the pain that was torn into them when life took people away. Torn and stitched back together we lived a life where I was the most accepting of people passing, so I looked into it. I looked into the financial damage that death could cause family, the complicated planning and interconnected funeral plan people could set up and the industry as a total. Even the small funeral held for my first funeral, a small gathering in a church, longer than it was wide, with florescent lights that allowed you to see the dust in the air alongside the yellow sky, was something that must have cost thousands. The small casket cradled her as gently as her mother should have while she wore a simple baptism-styled dress worth more than a single year in a community college. The small details that go into planning a funeral astounded me, for each tradition had its own history. Moreover, the predatory segregation that infected certain corners disgusted me immensely; I'd never learn to forgive the graveyard that misspelled Guadalupe's name on his stone and still twelve years later we're raising the money to ensure he's honored properly. With my devotion to death and funerals, I realized early on what my aspirations were; I want to become a mortician. I want to work for the dead as much as I do for the living, providing the last honors on a living plane and ensuring that last wishes are followed. If fortune favors me, I would find immense joy in seeing water cremation being legalized in Texas in order to start my own funeral home and inform families in my community about ways they too can have the crucial conversations of funeral plans. These plans become even more important as options open up in states for the different preferences of people: traditional burial, somewhat eco-friendly cremation, and other options. Moreover, with the ashes of dead-loved ones comes the option of what to do with them. For the last moments of my community lives I want to provide them with the proper treatment that they deserve, for the village that raised me deserves to experience death with grace and care.

I’ve had many dogs in life, yet the dog that has impacted me the most is also the one that I’ve had for ten years now. We first got out dog Pancho in the summer before my fifth-grade year; a dog we had won as a result of my father wanting to provide more for my older brother after his appendix ruptured. We always make jokes that if we get injured we’ll get another dog. A small Chihuahua-Yorkie mix that we joke matches us directly being Mexican-Americans. However, Pancho has caused me great joy and comfort whenever I was feeling as lonely as alone I was. Now, it’s my time to be his primary caregiver, for my brother has headed off to college. As our longest-held dog in my family, I’ve taken more responsibilities over the years as I’ve grown to care for both his physical health and his mental health. With Nico, my older brother, gone, he’s turned to me for the attention that he has lost. His presence makes a permanent mark in the house. I consider both him and my youngest brother my little flapjacks, for they’re both roughly the same age and have influenced each other while growing up. The three of us eat dinner together now almost daily, and we’ll often take to resting in Nico’s now empty room as a form of comfort. I have even started to sleep there to ensure that he can continue to rest in his spot in the closet while having company. With Pancho being our most recent dog and the dog we’ve gotten to keep the longest, it’s difficult to remember all the ones we’ve lost. However, I would be lying to say I am unaware of their presence in my life. Orchata was our first dog, and he was the largest dog we had. Like many dogs we’d end up getting, he was given to our family in Mexico to ensure a dying loved one would have company during their final days. This was something I had not been made aware of until years after the fact. I look back at my younger self and see someone who had just lost their best friend and constant companion. There is the question of whether or not I would have allowed our beloved pets to be separated from us if I know what their new purpose would be. I like to think I would have understood, and that I would have let them go freely. Nico and I had prepared a funeral for a bee we found in our house, and I always had an attachment to typical death practices, yet the child-centered mind might have considered the situation more selfishly and refused. Either way, their loss of them has brought me more understanding of unconditional love and loss. May their continuous march through the world bring more joy to the people who encounter them.

I plan on aiding the green funeral movement in Texas in order to make aqua cremation legal in the state; then, I will open a primarily green funeral home that specializes in natural burials in order to ensure decomposition of the body and preservation of the land where the cemetery stands on. Moreover, I want to open classes for people to learn more about the funeral industry, so they're more prepared for when they must have their family enact their death plans.