When I was a child and somebody would ask me what I wanted to be when I grew up, I would start listing off any and everything I ever had interest in. I wanted to be an artist, an Olympic swimmer, a baker, a veterinarian, a movie director, a stunt double, and so much more. Now that I have grown up I don't find myself quite as ambitious as when I was younger and had no concept of time, but still, there is a lot I want to do. I used to have it narrowed it down towards the artistic path. I got an associates in Film and Art History and I'm now pursuing a bachelor's degree in Studio Art, one of my childhood dream careers. Now however, as I've gotten older and more interested in life around me there is a whole new world of things I want to explore and study. Right now I'm trying to figure out if I could triple major so that I could also include anthropology and linguistics in my degree. Even then, that doesn't encompass all I want to do and learn. Still, I have the drive to do self study and I think I want to go down the research path. Pursuing art and research would help me balance the two sides of myself. There's the side that wants to create and imagine. When I paint, I feel like I'm in a meditative space. I'm able to release all the feelings and ideas I carry inside of me and take a step back from them. Whether they be emotional burdens or spiritual epiphanies, while I paint, they only exist on my canvas. Creation allows me to take control of my life and its narrative arc. Then there's the side of me that wants to know and learn. Research forces me to confront what I do and do not know. To look at the knowledge I do have in a different lens. Evaluate and scrutinize it. I also have to find answers for things that perplex me. For the things I don't know. Even if they scare me or lead me to more questions and mysteries than explanations. Both of these on their own would cause me to get lost in my own head, in my own thoughts. In different ways, but still, lost. Together however, they ground me. Research anchors me to the reality of the world, art anchors me to the reality of my own.

“Cat got my tongue, and I don't think I get along with anyone Blood running cold, I'm on the outside of the greatest inside joke” Growing up as a young, undiagnosed Autistic girl, my life felt like a comedy of errors. No matter what environment I found myself in, I felt like everyone knew something that I didn’t. Olivia’s opening verse of “ballad of a homeschooled girl”, particularly her first two lines, really struck a chord when I first listened. When you spend your adolescence undiagnosed, as most autistic girls do, nothing makes sense. It’s social mistake after social mistake. Jokes that garnered a slew of laughs flew right over my head, I constantly misinterpreted what was and wasn’t socially acceptable, and never quite knew how to express myself to others. I struggled from selective mutism, a misleadingly named condition that makes speaking feel physically impossible. The words literally feel like they’re trapped in my throat, or as Olivia would put it, a "cat[’s] got my tongue”. I was awkward and nobody really wanted to be around me. No matter how nice and accommodating I tried to be, it felt like I didn’t get along with anyone. I came to assume I was unlikeable. Unloveable. Unfriendable? When I tried to understand myself in the context of a neurotypical society, I found myself on the "outside of the greatest inside joke". And no matter how hard I tried to understand it, I just couldn’t. And more importantly, I didn’t understand why I couldn’t. Not until I was 16. Unlike boys, girls normally don’t get diagnosed with autism in their childhood. Some women don’t get diagnosed until their 40s. For me to get diagnosed in my adolescence was honestly kind of lucky. I finally understood why I always felt like such a social pariah. Everything started to make sense. I was able to name the different things I was struggling with as symptoms and effectively deal with them. Still, as an almost 20 year old, I try not to look back at my poor attempts to mask my autism in high school. It makes me sad for the little girl I was. Trying to navigate a world that wasn’t made for her. However, “ballad of a homeschooled girl” not only makes those memories more palatable, they give me a sense of catharsis. An outlet where I could feel like I’m not the only one, autistic or not, who feels like they're lost in social interactions. “Ballad” makes me feel seen and normal, which is something I rarely get to experience. And most importantly, it gives me a good laugh.

I was really scared when my mom left my dad. All I could see was what I was going to lack. Without a father, wasn't life doomed to get harder? How could she, me, and the little baby Khamzy do it alone? Who'd pay for the necessities? Who'd pay to keep our home? Even the silly things I had to wonder. Could I go to music lessons or would that make me too much of a bother? Could we afford it? Would I have time to go? I wanted so much from the world. She told me I could have it all. But that was before. Now it all seemed so impossible. Luckily, soon I was to know... My mother was not alone. She had a community. And boy it was such a beautiful thing. Monica, my boogie aunt, would drive me to school. Every day for 4 years and at a minimum of 50 miles daily. This was so I could go to a fancy art school and get, as she called it, "the finest education". Pollito, my sweetest aunt, would help my mom cook for me. Jackfruit, Oyster Mushrooms, Cauliflower, and Soy beans. I was an animal lover, and could hardly eat meat. My dear Grandma, up until her passing, would care for and nurture me. Even when my mom was off, busy in the world, Grandma would remind me I was always loved. They all did so much. They still do. I could never overstate it. Really, I couldn't. If it hadn't been for our little community, my mom would have never gotten her college degree. I wouldn't have gotten the opportunities I did. And I never would have learned to ask for things. And this wonderful community support didn't just exist for me, Mom, and Khamzy. Mom would pick up Grandma's prescriptions and take her to her Dialysis visits. Mom would go to Tia Pollito's to organize and clean her home. Mom would do repairs around Nina Monica's house when something was off. Mom did so much. She still does. We could never overstate it. Really, we couldn't. Our little community gave so much. For me though, the greatest thing it gave, was the lessons. I didn't grow up ashamed for needing support. Help is something I don't fear asking for. It's also something I'm always happy to give. When it comes down to it, I'll always aid those who need it. And for that, I have to say thank my little community. Especially my mother, who brought me in.

I want diverse casting to become the norm in Hollywood. Not something that people write off as gimmicky or as a part of "an agenda." Something so frequent that it simply becomes standard.