My “awkward” thing has always been that I take storytelling way too seriously. As a kid, I was the person overanalyzing movies, paying attention to camera angles, dialogue, music cues, and why characters behaved the way they did while everybody else just watched for entertainment. I would obsess over scenes for days and rewrite endings in my head. Even now, I can watch a film and immediately start breaking down the emotional structure, the pacing, or why a certain line worked. To some people, that probably sounds exhausting or overly intense, but for me, stories have always been how I make sense of people and the world around me. Growing up, that made me stand out in awkward ways. I was not the loudest person in every room, and I definitely was not the “sports” kid. I was creative, emotional, observant, and constantly thinking. I noticed tension between people before anyone talked about it. I paid attention to the way people hid sadness behind humor or confidence behind anger. Sometimes that sensitivity made me feel out of place because I cared deeply about things other people brushed off quickly. I also think being queer added another layer to that awkwardness. You learn early how to observe people carefully when you are trying to figure out where you fit in. I became hyperaware of body language, tone, silence, and emotion. At times, I felt like I was studying the world while also trying to survive inside it. But over time, I realized those same qualities became strengths. What once made me feel awkward is now directly connected to what I want to do with my life. Today, I study film and storytelling because I want to create stories that make people feel seen. I want to tell stories about Black families, queer identity, ambition, grief, friendship, survival, and community in ways that feel honest and cinematic. I want audiences to see characters who are complicated and human instead of stereotypes. I think my awkwardness also made me more empathetic. When you spend years feeling different, you become more aware of other people who feel isolated too. That has shaped how I move through my community. Whether through volunteering, helping classmates, participating in campus initiatives, or simply encouraging other creatives around me, I try to create spaces where people feel understood instead of judged. The truth is, I still feel awkward sometimes. I still overthink things. I still romanticize life a little too much and mentally direct scenes in my head while walking through Los Angeles. But I have learned that the qualities people tease you for are often the same qualities that make you unique. Charles Brazelton’s story really resonated with me because it reminds me that people are rarely defined by what the world expects them to be good at. He may not have been great at basketball, but swimming was his thing. I think life works that way for a lot of people. Sometimes your “awkward” thing is actually the first clue toward who you are supposed to become. For me, storytelling is that thing. It is how I connect with people, process emotion, and imagine a better world. What once made me stand out awkwardly is now becoming the foundation for my future.

My educational and professional goals are rooted in storytelling, cultural impact, and service. I am currently pursuing a future in film, television, and media production because I believe stories have the power to shape how communities are seen, understood, and valued. As an African American student attending an HBCU, I see education not only as personal advancement, but also as preparation for meaningful contribution. My goal is to become a writer, producer, and creative executive who creates work that reflects the emotional complexity, ambition, beauty, and struggles of Black life while also opening doors for the next generation of creatives. I plan to work across television, film, and media development, with a particular focus on creating stories centered around underrepresented voices. I want to build projects that authentically explore themes such as identity, family, mental health, race, sexuality, ambition, and survival. Too often, Black stories—especially stories involving queer Black people, working-class families, or unconventional experiences—are either ignored or reduced to stereotypes. I want my work to challenge those limitations. I want audiences to see Black characters who are layered, vulnerable, intelligent, flawed, loving, artistic, and deeply human. Attending an HBCU is important to me because it places me in an environment where Black excellence, creativity, and leadership are centered rather than treated as exceptions. HBCUs carry a legacy of producing leaders, activists, artists, scholars, and changemakers who have transformed society despite systemic barriers. Being part of that legacy motivates me to think beyond personal success. I want my career to contribute to the larger cultural and economic empowerment of Black communities. In addition to creative work, I aspire to eventually create my own production company and mentorship initiatives focused on emerging filmmakers, writers, and media professionals from marginalized backgrounds. I know firsthand how difficult it can be to pursue a creative career without financial resources, connections, or generational guidance. As a first-generation college student, I have had to navigate higher education, internships, and career opportunities largely through persistence, self-education, and community support. Because of that, I want to help create pathways for students who may have talent and vision but lack access. My commitment to civic and public service comes from understanding the importance of community support. Throughout my educational journey, I have participated in community-oriented work and campus initiatives that promote student engagement, communication, and access to resources. I have contributed to projects that encourage students to participate in cultural programming, educational events, and scholarship opportunities. I believe service can take many forms. Sometimes it is direct volunteer work, and other times it is using your skills to inform, uplift, and create opportunities for others. Storytelling itself is also a form of public service to me. Media shapes public perception, influences empathy, and documents cultural experiences. I want to use storytelling responsibly to highlight issues that impact Black communities while also celebrating joy, resilience, creativity, and humanity. Whether through film, television, or digital media, I want my work to create conversations that matter and encourage people to think more deeply about the world around them. I also understand the responsibility that comes with visibility and opportunity. As someone pursuing a career in entertainment and media, I want to remain connected to the communities that shaped me. I hope to mentor younger students, support arts education programs, and eventually invest in initiatives that provide creative resources and opportunities to underserved youth. Representation matters, but access matters too. I want to contribute to both. Financially, scholarships like this one are incredibly meaningful because they help relieve the burden that many students face while pursuing higher education. Like many African American students, I understand the reality of balancing educational aspirations with financial pressure. Receiving scholarship support would allow me to focus more deeply on my academic and professional development while continuing to pursue opportunities that position me for long-term success. Ultimately, my goal is to build a career that combines artistry, leadership, and impact. I want to create meaningful work, uplift my community, and honor the legacy of those who made opportunities like higher education and HBCUs possible for students like me. Success, to me, is not only about personal achievement. It is about using what I build to create opportunity, representation, and hope for others as well.

One of the most impactful moments in my life did not come from a celebrity, politician, or public activist. It came from watching queer adults around me survive, create, and care for people despite living in a world that often told them they were “too much,” “wrong,” or disposable. As a queer Black student growing up in Los Angeles, I spent a lot of time observing how LGBTQIA+ people built community for one another. I saw chosen family in action before I fully understood the term. I saw older queer people provide emotional support, advice, housing, connections, and encouragement to younger people who were still figuring themselves out. That affected me deeply because it showed me that activism is not always loud. Sometimes activism looks like protecting people, mentoring them, and helping them imagine a future for themselves. One experience that especially shaped me was watching someone close to me openly live in their truth despite constant judgment and criticism from others. They were unapologetically themselves—creative, expressive, confident, and caring. At the time, I was still learning how to navigate my own identity and often felt pressure to make myself smaller so I could fit into different environments comfortably. Seeing someone choose authenticity over approval changed the way I viewed myself. It made me realize that visibility itself can be powerful. That experience motivated me to think differently about the kind of impact I want to have in the world. I realized activism is not limited to protests or speeches. Activism can also happen through storytelling, representation, mentorship, and creating spaces where people feel seen. As someone studying film and media, I want to use storytelling as a form of advocacy. I want to create films and television series that portray LGBTQIA+ people—especially queer Black people—as layered, human, ambitious, loving, and worthy of complexity. Too often, queer characters in media are reduced to stereotypes or trauma. Growing up, I rarely saw stories that reflected the emotional depth or cultural realities of people I knew in real life. That absence matters. Representation shapes how people see themselves and how society sees them. Because of that, I want my future work to contribute to a larger cultural shift where LGBTQIA+ stories are treated with care, honesty, and dignity. Outside of storytelling, I also want to continue giving back directly through community involvement and mentorship. I have participated in service work and campus community initiatives because I understand how important support systems are, especially for students navigating identity, finances, and higher education at the same time. As a first-generation college student from a low-income background, I know how life-changing encouragement and opportunity can be. The LGBTQIA+ community taught me that survival and joy can exist at the same time. It taught me that vulnerability is not weakness and that creating safe spaces for others is a form of leadership. Most importantly, it taught me that being yourself unapologetically can inspire someone else to do the same. My future activism will be rooted in visibility, storytelling, mentorship, and community-building. I want to create work and spaces that help people feel less alone than they did before they encountered it. To me, that is one of the most meaningful forms of activism possible.

Growing up as a queer Black student in Los Angeles, I learned very early that identity can shape the way you move through the world. At times, it felt isolating. Other times, it became the very thing that pushed me toward creativity, storytelling, and community. Today, I see my identity not as something that limits me, but as something that gives me perspective, empathy, and purpose. I am currently studying Film Production while preparing to continue my education at Morehouse College. My long-term goal is to become a writer, director, and producer working across television, film, and media development. I want to tell emotionally honest stories that explore identity, relationships, ambition, family, race, sexuality, and the complicated realities of modern life. I’m especially interested in creating stories centered around Black and queer experiences that feel layered, cinematic, and human rather than stereotypical or one-dimensional. Film and storytelling became important to me because I rarely saw people like myself represented authentically. So much media either erased queer Black voices or reduced them to side characters, trauma, or comic relief. I want to help change that. I want to create work where queer people—especially queer Black men—can exist in stories about love, ambition, friendship, grief, joy, and success. Stories that feel beautiful, messy, complicated, and real. My experience within the LGBTQ+ community has shaped the way I see connection and resilience. Like many queer young people, I have had moments where I questioned whether I fully belonged in certain spaces. Navigating family expectations, masculinity, and public perception while also trying to build confidence in myself has not always been easy. But over time, I realized there is power in refusing to hide who you are. Being openly queer has helped me become more empathetic, more emotionally aware, and more intentional about the type of environment I want to create around me. I absolutely see myself giving back to the LGBTQ+ community throughout my life and career. I already try to do this through storytelling, mentorship, collaboration, and simply being visible in spaces where queer Black creatives are still underrepresented. I want younger students and artists to see someone pursuing ambitious creative goals without apologizing for who they are. I also hope to eventually create opportunities for emerging filmmakers, writers, and creatives from marginalized backgrounds through mentorship programs, internships, and production initiatives. Financially, scholarships are incredibly important to me. I come from a low-income background and am a first-generation college student navigating higher education largely on my own. I work while attending school full-time, and I am currently balancing tuition costs, educational expenses, living expenses, and the transition into a four-year institution. Pursuing a career in film and media already comes with financial uncertainty, so receiving scholarship support would help relieve some of that pressure and allow me to focus more deeply on my education and creative development. More than anything, this scholarship would represent support. It would remind me that there are communities and organizations that believe LGBTQ+ students deserve the opportunity to pursue their goals fully and authentically. That kind of support matters, and it inspires me to continue building a future where I can give that same encouragement to others.

Being different has always meant learning how to survive without shrinking myself. I am a first-generation African American college student, a writer, filmmaker, student worker, and someone who has had to build confidence before I had the resources to match it. I come from a background where ambition was not always easy, but it was necessary. I have worked while going to school full-time, balanced creative goals with real-life responsibilities, and learned how to keep showing up even when the path felt uncertain. What makes me different is that I do not see my story as something to hide from. I use it as fuel. I am Black, creative, independent, and deeply committed to telling stories that reflect people who are often misunderstood, overlooked, or reduced to stereotypes. Through film, writing, and community work, I try to make people feel seen. My uniqueness shows up in the way I serve. I currently support social media and communications work connected to global citizenship programming at my college, helping promote events, scholarship opportunities, and conversations around migration, movement, culture, and community. That work may seem small from the outside, but I understand how powerful access to information can be. A flyer, caption, or student post might be the reason someone attends an event, applies for an opportunity, or feels like they belong on campus. I also serve through storytelling. As a film student and writer, I want to create work that speaks to Black life, queer identity, family, survival, ambition, and healing. I know someone may be watching me who feels like their dream is too big, their background is too complicated, or their voice is not polished enough yet. I want my life to show them that you do not have to be perfect to begin. You just have to be honest, disciplined, and willing to keep growing. Being unapologetically myself has not always been easy. There were times when I questioned whether I was behind, whether I had made too many mistakes, or whether my goals were realistic. But every time I chose to keep going, I became a version of myself someone else could learn from. I have younger students, classmates, and peers who see me pursuing film, transferring, applying for internships, building a portfolio, and taking my creative future seriously. Even when they do not say anything, I know visibility matters. I leverage my uniqueness by turning my experiences into purpose. I want to be the kind of person who opens doors, shares information, encourages others, and proves that service is not only about grand gestures. Sometimes service is showing up prepared. Sometimes it is helping another student understand an opportunity. Sometimes it is telling a story that gives someone language for their own life. The legacy I want to build is rooted in authenticity, ambition, and care. I am different because I refuse to separate who I am from what I hope to contribute. I want to succeed, but I also want my success to make room for somebody else. That is how I honor the people who came before me, and that is how I hope to make a difference for those watching me now.

Growing up in Los Angeles, I saw how easily stories about my community were misunderstood, misrepresented, or ignored entirely. Whether it was the way Black neighborhoods were portrayed in media or how certain voices were never given space to speak, I realized early that storytelling is not just entertainment—it’s power. And too often, that power is held by people who are disconnected from the realities they depict. Pursuing my undergraduate degree in film and television production is my way of changing that. As a first-generation college student, I didn’t grow up with a roadmap for higher education or a clear path into the entertainment industry. What I did have was observation. I saw the gaps—schools without resources, young people without mentorship, and creative talent with nowhere to go. I also saw how easily people in my environment could be pushed toward survival-based choices instead of purpose-driven ones. That awareness shaped my ambition. I’m not just earning a degree to build a career—I’m earning it to create access. Through my work, I plan to tell stories that reflect the complexity of Black life, particularly within urban and queer communities. I want to create films and television that go beyond stereotypes and show the emotional depth, ambition, and humanity that often gets overlooked. Representation matters, but accurate and intentional representation can shift perception, open doors, and inspire people to see new possibilities for themselves. Beyond storytelling, I want to directly invest in my community. I plan to create mentorship opportunities for young creatives—especially those who, like me, didn’t initially see college or the entertainment industry as attainable. Whether that’s through workshops, internships, or community-based programs, I want to provide resources that I had to search for on my own. Access to knowledge, equipment, and guidance can be life-changing, and I want to be part of building that bridge. I also aim to use my platform to highlight real issues affecting underserved communities, from educational inequality to mental health awareness. Film has the ability to spark conversation and drive cultural change. By telling grounded, intentional stories, I can contribute to shifting narratives and encouraging dialogue that leads to real impact. Attending a four-year institution is not just a personal milestone for me—it’s a responsibility. It means taking everything I learn and bringing it back to the communities that shaped me. It means creating opportunities, not just for myself, but for others who are coming up behind me. My degree is not the end goal. It is a tool. A foundation. A way to build something bigger than myself. I am committed to using it to tell the truth, create access, and leave a legacy that empowers others to believe that their stories—and their futures—matter.

I grew up understanding survival before I fully understood opportunity. In my environment, college wasn’t always presented as a clear path—it was something distant, something people talked about but didn’t always reach. What was more visible were the immediate realities: instability, fractured relationships, and the pressure to grow up fast. I learned early how to navigate uncertainty, how to read a room, and how to protect my peace in spaces that didn’t always feel safe. There were moments in my life that could have easily redirected my future. I’ve experienced emotional instability within my family, been exposed to toxic relationships, and lived through periods where I didn’t have a clear sense of direction. I’ve seen how quickly people fall into cycles—whether it’s financial struggle, unhealthy environments, or choices rooted in survival rather than intention. Those experiences didn’t break me, but they forced me to confront who I didn’t want to become. As a first-generation college student, choosing higher education wasn’t just about going to school—it was a decision to break patterns. I had to figure things out on my own: applications, financial aid, what it even means to build a career. There wasn’t a blueprint handed to me. But that lack of guidance became my motivation. I became intentional about my future in a way that many people around me didn’t have the chance to be. Attending an HBCU like Morehouse College represents more than academic achievement for me—it represents alignment. It’s a space where I can grow not just intellectually, but culturally and personally, surrounded by people who understand the weight and the potential of where we come from. It’s an opportunity to be shaped into a man who leads with purpose, integrity, and vision. My goal is to build a legacy through storytelling. As a filmmaker and writer, I want to create work that reflects real experiences—especially those that are often overlooked. I want to tell stories about identity, ambition, love, struggle, and survival within Black and queer communities, because those narratives deserve depth, visibility, and respect. Representation is powerful, but authenticity is transformative. Everything I’ve been through has given me perspective. It taught me discipline, emotional awareness, and the importance of making intentional choices. I don’t see my background as something to overcome—I see it as something to build from. It gave me the raw material to create something meaningful, both in my career and in my life. I am not just pursuing a degree. I am building a new legacy—one rooted in ownership, creativity, and impact. One that shifts the narrative not just for myself, but for the people who will come after me.