I was never been allowed to have a dog, no matter how much I tried to wear my parents down. I made Powerpoints, promised my sister and I would take care of the dogs ourselves, and begged my parents to at least let us foster a dog. I see now that having a dog wouldn't have been practical, given our busy lifestyles, but when I was younger, I would sit and watch our fish, the only pet we were allowed to have, lamenting how I didn't have a furry companion like my best friend, Kara. Kara had a golden retriever named Marshall, and I loved him like he was my own dog. He practically was, given how much time I spent at my best friend's house. Marshall was there to send us off at the start of every school year and greet us when we arrived home after the last day of school to swim in Kara's pool. He would sleep at the foot of the bed when we had sleepovers and watch us play Mario Kart and Just Dance. Marshall was a comforting figure our lives when we started middle school, got our first periods, and started high school. My family also adored him, so much so that I almost convinced them that we, too, should get a golden retriever. Marshall was a constant companion who I felt I grew up with through elementary and middle school. Our sophomore year of high school, however, Marshall became very sick and eventually died. It was an agonizing loss for Kara and her mother. Marshall was literally a family member to them: Kara always said that he was her brother. I was devastated too. I remember being on vacation when Kara told me, and I was filled sadness and bit of regret, as I'd spent less time with Marshall the past couple of years because Kara and I went to different high schools. The first time I went to her house after his death, there was a strange emptiness to the home. Before meeting Marshall, I didn't understand how people had such strong connections with their dogs. It didn't make sense to me that people could love their dog the way that I loved my siblings or parents. Now, however, I get it. Marshall has shown me how dogs can be some of the most loyal and steadfast figures in your life. We couldn't communicate with each other with words, but we understood each other. He always seemed to know when I needed some extra love after a tough day at school or fight with my family. He's given me a new outlook on people and their companion animals, and how species doesn't limit how much you can care about someone. The relationship between humans and dogs can be curiously strong, and my love for Marshall has certainly sparked my love for other dogs.

I didn't think much about my own mental health growing up. I pushed any and all emotions to the side, convincing myself I could just "toughen up" and muscle through them. That all changed the beginning of my sophomore year of college, the Fall of 2021. I was adjusting to being on campus, schoolwork was piling up, I began thinking about my career and future, extracurriculars were pulling me in 12 different directions, and I still needed time for my family and friends. Saying I felt overwhelmed is an understatement. I felt like I was in a room with packed with thousand people, each person jostling to get near me so they could yell that they needed something from me. I just wanted to lay down, cover my ears, and close my eyes. In general, I don't like using the phrase "about to have a mental breakdown" because I believe it's used so much and that the phrase has no weight behind it anymore, but my life was unsustainable, and I knew it. The breakdown came towards the end of the semester, washing over me with almost a sense of relief, as I no longer had to strive to be perfectly put together. I also realized, however, that I needed to change how I was living to better my mental health. Being a woman in S.T.E.M., I took a methodical approach to improving my life. I made a list of the 3 most common activities that calmed me down. I promised myself that whenever I felt anxiety creeping into my mind, I would stop, take a deep breath, and do something on the list. I needed to prioritize myself, so it was, and still is, important for me to take time to care for my mental health, even if I had some deadline to meet or exam to study for. First up is drinking water or eating something. In college, feeding myself can become somewhat of a task when I'm scheduled down to the minute. I didn't think too much about the consequences of this, however, until I realized that having a meal or even just a snack lessened my anxiety 9 times out of 10. Next is running or doing some other kind of exercise. I've found running has been the most effective way to clear my mind as I work through my emotions while pounding the pavement of Washington DC. Sometimes, though, I just don't have the energy for a run, so yoga or a short bodyweight workout does the trick, too. Finally, I'll do some cleaning. This is a bit of a less conventional method of handling mental health, but it works for me. There's something very satisfying about putting on some music, ignoring the world for 15 minutes, and cleaning up my dorm. Perhaps it works because folding my laundry, vacuuming the room, and washing the dishes are all tasks within my control, providing a sense of relief when I feel as if my life is out of my grasp. I also reached out to my school's counseling and psychological services and began seeing a therapist every other week. Combined with reminding myself to eat, exercise, and clean, therapy helped improve my mental health tremendously, and my spring semester felt more manageable and was more enjoyable. Taking time for myself showed me the power that little actions of self kindness can have.

"This Is Where It Ends." Marieke Nijkamp. A book that grabbed me from the first page and wouldn't release me from its clutches until the story was through. I read it in one sitting. The tension and apprehension forced me to keep reading, wanting to know what would happen next, while my mind raced of the possibilities to come. Nijkamp's writing was vivid and clear, evoking emotions in me as if I were in that school with an active shooter. Anxiety, terror, and urgency swirled around me as I gripped the book, muscles tensed, while I read about a situation I'd only fearfully imagined. My elementary school started doing lockdown drills after the Sandy Hook shooting in 2012. I was 10 years old at the time and didn't totally understand what we were doing or why we were doing it. I had caught bits and pieces of what had happened in Connecticut, but the adults in my life kept the details, along with the true gravity of the situation, hidden. I was only a kid, after all. I shouldn't have to worry about that. As I grew older, I became aware of more of these tragedies. At first, they were just sprinkled throughout the news, an occasional headline here or there. By the time I reached high school, however, it seemed like every week there had been another shooting. Fear grew within me: what if that happened at my school? I felt powerless and scared. I love "This Is Where It Ends" because it has helped me reclaim some of my power, not because it's optimistic or has a happy ending but because it made me feel seen. I'm not the only one afraid of school shootings, but I'm also not the only one ready to fight for change.

Looking back through my childhood drawings, I see the pictures of people stand out the most. It's not the figures themselves that I'm focused on but rather their color: beige, orange or brown. I remember at school how I used to debate which of these 3 Crayola crayons to choose when drawing my family. While the beige was the correct color for my Irish father, it was too light for my siblings and my Filipina mom. The brown, on the other hand, was too dark. The orange crayon was in middle but was far too pigmented to match my skin. I'd choose a color at random each time, dissatisfied no matter my choice. I remember being upset that my family portraits weren't as accurate at my classmates'. Luckily, Crayola released a "Colors of the World" crayon box in 2020, so children of color no longer face this predicament. This dilemma, however, is representative of an issue that exists in schools across the country and across the globe: lack of diversity. Greater diversity in schools, from staff to curriculum to students to even crayons, is needed to enhance education for future generations. I'm sure I'm not the only student who's found themselves inadequately represented at school in some capacity or another. While the colors of a family portrait may seem trivial, they're just one area of underrepresentation. How many kids learn about the colonial America and the Revolutionary War while the cultures and contributions of Indigenous peoples are ignored or reduced to a few paragraphs at the end of a chapter? How often are we taught that women got the right to vote in 1920, when in reality many Asian women couldn't vote until 1952, Indigenous women until 1962, Black women until 1965, and Latina women until 1975? Why did I have to read "Lord of the Flies" 3 times for school but no more than 5 books by people of color? Why are the contributions of women and Black, Indigenous, and people of color to the sciences often overlooked or attributed to someone else (I'm looking at you, Watson and Crick. Give Rosalind Franklin her credit!)? Curriculums need to be updated to uphold accuracy and to reflect the diversity of our both our country and the world. Increasing diversity in the people present in schools is also needed. The people you're surrounded by, day in and day out, shape you into who you are, especially early in life. Different backgrounds, cultures, and experiences provide a richer social and learning experience, not to mention that research shows diversity improves performance in schools. For students of color, seeing teachers, staff, and students who look like them, speak their language, or share their religion may help them feel connected to the school community and engage more in class. Though it will be an uphill battle, I will continue advocating for more diversity in education, always remembering that little girl staring at the beige, orange, and brown crayons.

Like many others of my generation, I worry about climate change. However, I don't think that climate change in and of itself is the biggest problem: getting people to understand it is. I realized this after a conversation I had with my grandma last year. I was talking to her about the classes I taking that semester, one of which was ecology. As I explained what I learned about and mentioned climate change, she said "These scientists are always saying climate change is a huge problem, but they don't do anything about it!" At first, I was perplexed: how could she think that the scientists were the ones responsible for inaction, not politicians or executives at corporations? I then realized that for some people, climate change was just not on their radar very much, and when it was, there was so much information, some of it conflicting, that it could be hard to decipher what was true. It can be easy for someone like me, who's passionate about climate change solutions, to forget how much time and effort it has taken me to get to the level of understanding that I possess. Information about what or who causes climate change, what climate change causes, and why those causes are bad isn't always reliable, accurate, or easy to understand. I explained to my grandma that scientists and activists were trying to implement change but were limited in their power because of corporations or governments. She said she didn't realize that was what happened and thanked me for helping her understand. Conversations like this are important for effective advocacy. Media too should work to provide simple and factual information on climate change. By demystifying the issues of the climate crisis, we can enable people to take action and spur change.