My first piece of fiction writing, at approximately eleven years of age, was a more somber tale, telling of topics that perhaps justified the raised eyebrow I received from the middle school guidance counselor. I didn’t find it out of the ordinary to delve into certain topics at such an age. I knew had questions. I wanted to know what else makes up the contents of ourselves other than physical matter. During that period of my life, and the time that followed especially, I had multiple run-ins with experiencing loss, and I wanted to do the work to deconstruct those feelings rather than wallow in them forever. I wrote about the dead in reference to loss and connection to the physical world, but also concerning the dead themselves, what motivates the spirit, even after we’re gone. I asked myself whether it mattered how human beings existed during life to determine their fate after death. Why do we subject ourselves to conflict, who are we meant to serve other than ourselves, and how do we convey these self-deconstructions in day-to-day communications? These questions sturred in me time and time again, and in recent years, I have managed to answer a few of them through my more recent works. The Creative and Performing Arts High School of Philadelphia greatly contributed to the start of my journey of truly finding my voice in writing. I joined My Vision Theatre, a CAPA organization, and found myself enthralled by the collaborative effort it took to write and produce plays as well as original anthology pieces as an ensemble. My major at CAPA is theater, but I saw My Vision as a more personalized and open space for utilizing my background in prose, performance, and technical theater to exercise my passion for art. In continuing my education, I hope to join similar spaces that allow me to indulge in the many different worlds and mediums of writing, such as writing for the screen, novel publishing, and general prose. As a writer, I intend to establish a community throughout my post-secondary education that encourages this idea of internal consciousness and self-reflection as it pertains to giving meaning to the mundane and exploring the human condition. My writing, in particular, has remained an integral component of my efforts to connect and understand others better through shared stories. I hope to arrive at this institution and share that same passion for exploring connections. In a studio arts environment, I understand that my work and means of practice will be elevated through collaborative feedback and discussion of my work, as well as by getting to immerse myself in an entirely new cultural environment. I aspire to experiment with my writing and further acknowledge my artistic voice with the hope that it will allow me to become more inquisitive and observant of the world around me.

I began watching the revival of BBC’s longest-running sci-fi show Doctor Who, in late summer of 2023. Coincidentally, I was suggested it by a close friend around the same time that my family had been going through a period of grief. It was a strange time in my life, the strangest I think I have ever felt, but I believe Doctor Who acted as some sort of saving grace during these months. The Doctor, a time-traveling alien with the stark appearance of a human, is a being that gets to traverse time, different galaxies, planets, you name it. However, a majority of these expeditions are completely coincidental. He makes a target on the universe itself and excites his traveling companions about their embarking on some wondrous vacation. Nothing ever goes completely right for them. There is a whole lot that makes The Doctor who they are, and while they might be haunted by these shadows from their past, it is inspiring as a young person to know that there is always another way, that not every unremarkable instance you find yourself experiencing is a sign of doom. There is always an impact that you can have on the world, even forged from the smallest of actions. In the setting sun of August, during the process of researching possible colleges that I might attend, I found myself backtracking more times than I was willing to count. I have never been too fond of the future. I was used to limiting myself in that way, believing fully in the now, in the way that I perceive the world now, and nothing past that point. Why did it matter, the future? How did I find where I fit into the so-called "adult" world? But my views were too limited, I hadn't considered the truth of my harbored curiosity. In discovering the vast possibilities that exist within the world, I feel drawn to exploring my connections to the universe through my writing. Writing dug me out of this period of disregarding my voice. I believe that the most purposeful thing a person can do, and must do, is become the kind of figure that a younger version of themselves would have dreamed about. In the future, I would like to write and produce movies and utilize my education in the arts to build a community of artists who work to create representative pieces of media. Ones that inspire them to realize their full creative potential and help young black kids, like myself, imagine themselves in every leading role. Encouraging them to exercise the brilliance of their mark they leave on the world. There is uncertainty in the spaces that float above our heads, blazing stars that we aren’t able to touch, and prophecies that shine every so often through our dreams. We must not ignore the expansion of the universe, nor the confinements of its inherent rule over our individuality. We must think, and write, and grow, with the most candid intent to understand the universe.

I was in my eleventh year when I first welcomed the sun to shine on my face. One afternoon, the heart of a glowing city, housed a reflection. It was there that I caught a glimpse of a young woman who had been holding her breath for quite some time. For the very first time, I was enamored by the sight of a child of the setting sun. Once upon a time in Hollywood, I stopped to stare at a star cemented into the sidewalk. People passed, oddly poking at the sides of my coat, not bothering to pay me any sort of attention. They had their days about them, and I inextricably had mine. That's all we were meant to do, however, that day had something else in mind, peeling from the long marble road. I stopped to stare at a star suspended in broad daylight, and for the very first time, I didn't need to read the name inscribed or gaze into some large telescope. No, the name was in my head, brightly fluttering behind my eyes, looping rapidly above and below as if the letters were dancing alongside an invisible string. The name was mine, my name, engraved on a Hollywood star. I sometimes ask the stars that pepper and prey upon the expanding space above, "How much?" By this, they know exactly what I mean. How much will I matter to the abandoned libraries and mud-slicked tiles inscribed with withered names? How much are you asking of me? How much? Once upon a time in Hollywood, I stopped to avoid the barreling down of the heavy steamroller. I stopped to steady myself and pace my steps alongside the traffic flow. The rush of unconscious and timid voices, careless whispers of manifesting doubts. All washed to the wayside by the light of the setting sun. How much longer until I land? Once upon a time in Hollywood, I stopped believing that the universe had, in its makeup, one singular course of action. I let go of my formal ways of thought, of feeling, of believing in what I was made for. I stopped and smiled at the unguarded heart of the star engraved below, at the name outlined in gold. Once upon a time in Hollywood, I stopped to welcome the blaze of the sun shining across my eye, illuminating my inner light so that all may view it. I was carried into this new age with grace. I know how far I must traverse to succeed. The name was mine.

"When am I gonna stop being great for my age and just start being good? When will it stop being cool to be quietly misunderstood?" The night I first listened to this album, I found it too generic to find a real connection to, I didn't believe I could find a piece of myself in any of the lyrics. It isn't always a great idea to trust your very first experience of something, especially not when it comes to music. Teenage Dream may not be my absolute favorite track when it comes to Olivia Rodrigo's album GUTS, however, after spending a few weeks with the song, I recognized this line as being an intrinsic aspect of the teenage experience and adolescence in general. The most consistent trait I have possessed throughout my life has been feeling inadequate. This feeling never came from being ridiculed or told that I wasn't capable of certain things, but being raised by such giving parents who only imagined success for me, has ultimately left a pretty heavy weight on my shoulders. As a black teenager specifically, I know there are eyes on me at all times, watchful eyes expecting me to trip, fall, or miss a step entirely. People who only see my successes as points to be added up across the span of my life. At this point in my adolescence, I have arrived at every insignificant and significant milestone in my life with the looming thought that I must prove myself, that aid must achieve something great, and never let any insecurity show or weakeness take control of my actions. This pairing of lines in "Teenage Dream" aligns with that very feeling, it shadows the weight that teenagers like myself have been carrying throughout our lives. My father has had this idea that he has made me aware of since I was old enough to write my name. That his father was a smart man, but that he was much better and succeeded in more ways than his father had, and that I, in turn, must be better than my father. A common cycle you see in many families, is legacies to fulfill, lives you must compare to. I do not have any siblings, older or younger. As an only child, I bear the full responsibility of making sure that my family name means something to the world outside of the context of simply being myself. My achievements in the arts have always been celebrated by my parents, friends, and relatives. I once considered dancing to be a great passion of mine and was put into a higher level dance class than my peers, in that class I constantly found myself being doubtful of my talents and never felt as though I could live up to the idealized version of me that my relatives celebrated. My mind told me that I wasn't good at the thing I loved and that I was only barely getting by. Being misunderstood and feeling unheard; I'm certain that these are common fears that most teenagers share. It can be crushing to house humiliation within a seemingly extraordinary exterior. Nobody wants to go unnoticed. Having artists like Olivia Rodrigo, who like herself has experienced these trials of adolescence is comforting. Her words replace these thoughts of isolation with connection. The teenage dream isn't concrete, it's one that I believe can only be created. Finding a connection within oneself and to the rest of the world can only come from the belief that you exist outside of the context of others.