Being a first-generation college student means carrying the dreams of those who came before me — the ones who didn’t have the opportunities I do now, but who still believed in something greater. It means walking into spaces no one in my family ever imagined entering and knowing that I’m not just doing it for me, but for everyone who’s ever felt like life’s challenges were too heavy to overcome. For me, being a first-generation student is about breaking cycles — of poverty, silence, and limitation — and turning pain into purpose. My path to higher education has not been easy. Growing up in foster care, I learned early on that stability was something I had to build for myself. When I was diagnosed with HIV, I faced not only physical challenges but also the weight of stigma and fear. There were days I questioned whether I even belonged in a world that seemed to turn its back on people like me. But through all of that, I discovered something powerful: resilience. Every hardship became a lesson in strength, and every setback became a reason to keep pushing forward. In 2012, I lost my grandmother — the woman who had shown me unconditional love — after she became septic and chose to sign a DNR. Watching her pass away from a broken heart after losing my grandfather, her partner of fifty years, changed me forever. It made me understand how fragile life is, how powerful love can be, and how important it is to care for our hearts — emotionally, mentally, and physically. Her strength and her love continue to guide me every day, reminding me to live fully and give selflessly. That’s why I founded *Heard It Verbatim*, a nonprofit dedicated to helping at-risk teens and adults through HIV prevention education, safer sex awareness, and mental health support. I want to create the kind of safe space I once needed — one filled with honesty, compassion, and hope. My studies at Full Sail University are helping me build the tools to make that vision real. Through media and storytelling, I’m learning how to reach people where they are, break stigma through creativity, and give a voice to those who have been silenced. This scholarship would be more than financial help — it would be a lifeline. It would relieve the stress of wondering how to pay for school while trying to balance work, health, and service to my community. More importantly, it would allow me to focus on my education and continue growing my nonprofit so I can reach more people who need encouragement, resources, and hope. My dream is simple but powerful: to use my story to help others heal. I want to prove that your past does not define you — your perseverance does. I am driven by love, fueled by gratitude, and determined to keep going, not just for myself, but for everyone who needs to see that it’s possible to rise.

My favorite EDM festival experience has been at **Lost Lands** in Thornville, Ohio. Working as a vendor there, I’ve had the privilege of seeing the festival from a different perspective—not just as a fan of the music, but as part of the living, breathing community that makes it all happen. Every year I’ve attended, I’ve walked away feeling inspired, grounded, and deeply connected to the people around me. Lost Lands isn’t just about bass drops and lasers; it’s about unity, acceptance, and the reminder that music can heal, connect, and empower. The energy at Lost Lands is unlike anything else I’ve experienced. From the moment I step on the festival grounds, I’m surrounded by people who radiate kindness and positivity. Strangers become friends, and friends become family. The EDM community, especially at Lost Lands, lives and breathes the spirit of **PLUR—Peace, Love, Unity, and Respect**. As a vendor, I get to meet people from all walks of life—different backgrounds, identities, and stories—and yet we all share the same rhythm, the same pulse of understanding. Those connections have shown me how beautiful humanity can be when we choose compassion over judgment. Being part of the EDM family at Lost Lands has also shaped my outlook on life and my aspirations. It reminded me that community doesn’t have to be defined by blood or background—it can be built through shared energy and respect. Coming from a life filled with challenges—from growing up in foster care to living with HIV—I used to feel like an outsider. But at Lost Lands, I found belonging. No one looked at me through labels; they saw my energy, my spirit, and my love for the music. That acceptance reignited my belief in the goodness of people and pushed me to continue building spaces of inclusivity in my own work. EDM has inspired me not just through sound, but through the culture of togetherness it represents. The community has taught me that healing doesn’t always happen in silence—it can happen in a crowd of thousands, all moving to the same beat. The music becomes a language of freedom and release, something that reminds us that we’re not alone. That’s the kind of energy I bring into my nonprofit, *Heard It Verbatim*, which focuses on educating at-risk teens and adults about HIV prevention, safer sex, and mental wellness. The love and acceptance I’ve felt in the EDM scene motivate me to create similar safe spaces for others—to let them know they are valued and seen. To me, **PLUR** is more than a phrase; it’s a lifestyle. Peace means accepting others as they are. Love means giving freely without judgment. Unity means standing together even in our differences. Respect means honoring everyone’s story. I carry those values into everything I do—whether I’m vending at a festival, advocating through my nonprofit, or simply connecting with someone who needs to feel heard. Lost Lands didn’t just change how I see music—it changed how I see people. It reminded me that kindness, connection, and community can change lives. And in that way, the EDM family has truly changed mine.

In 2012, my life changed forever. My grandmother, the woman who had been my source of stability and unconditional love, became septic from wounds in her legs. The year before, she had lost her husband—my grandfather, her partner of fifty years. After his passing, something in her spirit broke. Though she was physically ill, I truly believe she died from a broken heart. I was there when she decided to sign a DNR. At the time, I didn’t fully understand what that meant. But when she passed, I realized how powerful love and loss can be—and how deeply they affect not only our bodies, but our minds. Watching her fade taught me that mental and emotional health are just as important as physical care. Her grief took her life long before her body gave out, and that realization stayed with me. It opened my eyes to the pain people carry in silence and the toll it takes when they don’t have the support or tools to cope. That experience planted the seed for my lifelong commitment to helping others heal emotionally, mentally, and spiritually. Life after her death wasn’t easy. Growing up in foster care had already made me resilient, but it also left me feeling unseen. Later, when I was diagnosed with HIV, that sense of isolation deepened. Between stigma, fear, and judgment, I found myself battling not only a physical condition but also emotional exhaustion. I know what it feels like to carry shame that isn’t yours and to fight for acceptance in a world that too often withholds it. Those experiences could have broken me—but instead, they built my purpose. I founded *Heard It Verbatim*, a nonprofit dedicated to educating at-risk teens and adults about HIV prevention, safer sex, and mental health awareness. Through community outreach, storytelling, and honest conversations, we create safe spaces where people can be seen, heard, and cared for without judgment. Over time, I realized our mission went beyond HIV—it was about healing trauma, reducing stigma, and helping people reclaim their self-worth. Because when someone feels understood, they’re more likely to seek help, to live fully, and to love themselves again. At Full Sail University, I’m studying in an environment that encourages creativity, innovation, and purpose. I’m learning how to use media, music, and storytelling as tools for change—to make difficult conversations accessible and to bring healing to people who may never set foot in a therapist’s office. My goal is to expand *Heard It Verbatim* into a platform that provides free mental health resources, virtual support groups, and digital campaigns for underserved communities. I want to reach those who feel forgotten—the foster kid who feels unloved, the person newly diagnosed and afraid, the heartbroken person who thinks there’s no reason to go on. Receiving this scholarship would mean more than financial relief—it would mean hope. It would allow me to focus on my studies and grow my nonprofit without the constant burden of financial stress. More importantly, it would help me continue transforming my pain into purpose. Everything I’ve lived through—loss, stigma, foster care, and illness—has taught me one truth: love and understanding heal. My grandmother’s death showed me what happens when heartbreak goes untreated. My life’s mission is to make sure others never have to feel that same kind of loneliness. Through education, compassion, and creativity, I want to make mental health care affordable, accessible, and filled with humanity—because no one should ever have to die from a broken heart again.

Mental health care should never be a privilege—it should be a right. Too many people suffer in silence because support is either too expensive or out of reach. Having grown up in foster care, living with HIV, and identifying as LGBTQ+, I understand what it’s like to need help and not know where to turn. Those experiences inspired me to dedicate my life to making mental health care accessible, affordable, and stigma-free for all. Through my nonprofit, *Heard It Verbatim*, I work to educate at-risk teens and adults about HIV prevention and safer sex practices. Over time, I’ve learned that many of the issues my community faces—fear, shame, and isolation—are deeply tied to mental health. My goal is to expand our mission by creating free online resources, digital media campaigns, and community workshops that provide mental health education and peer support to those who need it most. As a student at Full Sail University, I’m gaining the creative and technical tools to make that vision possible. I plan to use media, storytelling, and technology to connect people to help, promote healing, and remind them they are not alone. Receiving this scholarship would relieve financial stress and allow me to focus fully on my studies and advocacy. More importantly, it would help me continue transforming personal struggles into community impact—building a world where mental wellness is accessible, affordable, and embraced by everyone.

Growing up in foster care as an LGBTQ+ individual taught me what it means to live at the intersection of identity, resilience, and survival. From a young age, I faced rejection not just because of my circumstances, but also because of who I am. In a world that often misunderstands or stigmatizes both foster youth and queer individuals, I learned how to build strength from struggle and hope from hardship. My journey—living with HIV, navigating instability, and ultimately finding my voice—has shaped my mission to use my education and experiences to advocate for others like me. Living as an openly LGBTQ+ person has not always been easy. In foster care, acceptance wasn’t guaranteed. I often had to hide parts of myself to feel safe, even in environments that were supposed to protect me. That silence took a toll, but it also sparked something powerful inside me: a commitment to authenticity. When I was later diagnosed with HIV, that same courage was tested again. The diagnosis carried a heavy stigma, especially within communities already marginalized by sexuality or race. But I chose not to let fear define me. I educated myself, found support, and began speaking publicly about prevention, awareness, and acceptance. Those experiences inspired me to create *Heard It Verbatim*, a nonprofit organization dedicated to reaching at-risk teens and adults with real conversations about HIV prevention, safer sex, and self-worth. Through workshops, community outreach, and creative storytelling, we challenge stereotypes and provide the education and empathy that could have changed my own life years ago. My organization is a reflection of my belief that change begins with honesty—and that by sharing our truths, we can save lives. Full Sail’s innovative environment allows me to merge creativity with advocacy, using media, music, and storytelling to promote awareness and acceptance for the LGBTQ+ community. My goal is to use the skills I gain to produce digital content and campaigns that educate, inspire, and uplift others. I want to tell stories that remind people that being different is not a weakness—it’s a source of strength. Education, for me, is not just about personal advancement—it’s about empowerment. I want to use what I learn to give others a platform to be heard, especially young people in foster care and LGBTQ+ individuals who feel unseen. By combining advocacy and creativity, I hope to create spaces where people can learn, heal, and find pride in their identities. My dream is to expand *Heard It Verbatim* into a national network that partners with schools and community centers to promote safer sex education, inclusivity, and mental health awareness. Receiving this scholarship would not only alleviate the financial burdens I face but would also be a profound investment in my mission. As someone who has experienced homelessness, instability, and limited financial resources, I understand deeply how difficult it is to pursue higher education without support. This scholarship would allow me to focus on my studies and expand my nonprofit without the constant fear of financial strain. More importantly, it would help me continue transforming personal pain into purposeful action. I’ve learned that true pride isn’t just about celebrating who you are—it’s about using your voice to make the world better for those who come after you. My journey has been one of struggle, but also one of strength, hope, and transformation. With the help of this scholarship and my education at Full Sail, I plan to keep creating, advocating, and empowering—so that no one, regardless of who they are or where they come from, ever has to feel invisible again

My path toward higher education has been filled with challenges that have tested my strength, faith, and resilience. Growing up in foster care, I learned early that life doesn’t always provide stability or safety. Constantly moving between homes made me feel invisible at times, but it also taught me how to adapt, survive, and eventually thrive. Later in life, being diagnosed with HIV brought new challenges—physical, emotional, and social. But instead of allowing those circumstances to break me, they gave me purpose. Today, as a student at Full Sail University, I am not only pursuing a degree to better my life, but to empower others through creativity, education, and advocacy. Living with HIV has been one of the hardest experiences of my life, but it has also been one of the most transformative. At first, I felt fear, shame, and uncertainty about my future. The stigma that still surrounds HIV can be isolating, but I refused to let it silence me. I chose to speak up, to share my story, and to use my platform to educate others. That passion led me to create my nonprofit organization, *Heard It Verbatim*. Our mission is to reach at-risk teens and adults, providing honest education about HIV prevention, safer sex practices, and overall sexual health. Through community outreach, workshops, and storytelling, we aim to replace shame with knowledge and stigma with compassion. My experiences gave me a voice, and now I use that voice to save and uplift others. Coming from foster care also shaped my desire to give back. I know what it feels like to be overlooked, to not have access to the same opportunities as others. That’s why I am determined to use my education from Full Sail to continue creating platforms where people who’ve faced hardship can be heard, understood, and inspired. Full Sail’s innovative and hands-on approach allows me to merge my creativity with purpose—whether that’s through digital media, film, or music. I plan to use these tools to expand *Heard It Verbatim*’s reach, making educational content that is engaging, relatable, and accessible to communities that need it most. Every obstacle I’ve faced—foster care instability, health challenges, financial struggles—has only deepened my commitment to make a difference. I believe that my purpose is bigger than my pain. Through education, I’ve learned that storytelling is one of the most powerful ways to heal and teach. By earning my degree, I will gain the technical skills and industry knowledge to turn my vision into sustainable action. In the future, I want to continue building a movement through *Heard It Verbatim* that combines creativity, advocacy, and education to empower those who feel forgotten. My journey has not been easy, but every step has led me closer to this moment—to become not just a survivor, but a leader, a creator, and a voice for change.

The current music landscape is a dynamic ecosystem that merges technology, culture, and creativity in ways never before imagined. The barriers that once separated artists from their audiences have dissolved, replaced by digital platforms that allow anyone with a voice, an instrument, or a laptop to share their art with the world. Streaming services, social media, and artificial intelligence are reshaping how music is created, distributed, and experienced. Yet, while this accessibility has given rise to more diverse voices, it has also created challenges of oversaturation, shorter attention spans, and reduced artist compensation. As a student at Full Sail University, one of the most innovative institutions in media and entertainment, I see myself not only as a participant in this evolving landscape but as someone determined to influence it—creatively, technologically, and socially. The beauty of today’s music industry is its democratization. Platforms like Spotify, SoundCloud, and TikTok allow unknown talents to achieve global recognition overnight. However, this same democratization often leads to algorithms, rather than artistry, deciding who gets heard. Many artists feel pressured to make songs that “go viral” rather than those that express their genuine experiences. I believe the next major change in the industry will come from reclaiming the balance between creativity and technology—using digital tools to amplify authenticity rather than replace it. At Full Sail, where creativity meets cutting-edge media innovation, I am learning how to master both sides of this equation. My goal is to work at the intersection of production, technology, and storytelling. Music has always been a reflection of human emotion, and now, more than ever, we have the ability to merge music with visuals, gaming, virtual reality, and immersive experiences. I see the future of music as multidimensional—where a song is not just heard but felt and interacted with. Full Sail’s hands-on learning environment and access to professional-grade studios provide me with the opportunity to experiment with these ideas in real time. Whether it’s through producing my own music, collaborating with other students, or learning about sound design for film and gaming, I am building the skills to become a creator who bridges the gap between art and innovation. But beyond the technology, I want to make a meaningful cultural impact. Music has always been a force for change—it gives voice to the unheard, unites divided communities, and challenges social norms. I am particularly passionate about empowering underrepresented artists and ensuring they have access to the same resources and exposure as major-label acts. The industry still has disparities in how artists of different backgrounds are promoted, compensated, and protected. By mastering the business and production sides of music, I aim to create opportunities for those voices to be amplified in a fair and sustainable way. Being part of Full Sail’s creative community gives me access to not just education, but collaboration with peers who share the same passion for pushing boundaries. I plan to contribute to a music industry that values originality and human connection as much as streaming numbers and chart positions. In conclusion, the modern music landscape is both exciting and complex—filled with opportunities for those willing to adapt and innovate. I see myself as part of the new generation of creators who embrace technology without losing sight of the emotional and cultural power of music. Through my studies at Full Sail University, I am developing the tools, mindset, and vision to make an impact not just in how music sounds, but in how it shapes lives. My goal is to leave a legacy that reminds people why music, in all its evolving forms, remains the universal language of humanity

When I was sixteen years old, I was diagnosed with HIV. At that time, I was living in foster care, and the pain, fear, and loneliness that followed my diagnosis were overwhelming. I didn’t have the emotional tools or the family support to handle what I was feeling. I was young, scared, and desperate for anything that could help me escape the reality of my life. That’s when I turned to meth. At first, I thought it helped me forget. For a little while, it numbed the pain and silenced the thoughts that kept me awake at night. But as time passed, that temporary escape became a trap. My life started falling apart faster than I could hold it together. I lost focus, lost trust, and most painfully, I lost myself. I reached a point where I no longer recognized the person staring back at me in the mirror. The turning point came when I realized that if I didn’t make a change, I wasn’t going to survive. It wasn’t just about being physically alive—it was about wanting to live again. I made the choice to seek help, and that decision saved my life. I started therapy, and for the first time, I allowed myself to be vulnerable. I talked about my diagnosis, my trauma, my fears—things I had buried for years. Therapy became the space where I learned how to rebuild myself from the ground up. As I opened up, something incredible happened—I began to rebuild my family relationships. I reconnected with people I thought I had lost forever, and through honesty and patience, we began to heal together. My family became my foundation, and their love helped me stay strong even on the hardest days of recovery. Now, seven years sober, I can say that freedom doesn’t come from forgetting your past—it comes from forgiving yourself for it and using it to grow. My recovery gave me a second chance at life, and I’ve dedicated that life to helping others. Through my nonprofit, **Heard It Verbatim**, I advocate for infection prevention, safe sex education, and mental health awareness. I work with young adults, many of whom are struggling with identity, stigma, or addiction themselves. When I share my story, I can see in their eyes that they feel less alone—and that’s the most powerful kind of healing there is. As I continue my education, my goal is to expand my impact. I want to study community health and counseling so I can combine lived experience with professional knowledge. I want to help others find the same hope I found—to show them that recovery isn’t just possible, it’s beautiful. Seven years ago, I was chained to my addiction and pain. Today, I am free, grounded, and driven by purpose. My past doesn’t define me—it fuels me to make a difference. And that, to me, is the true gift of sobriety.

To me, resilience means finding the strength to keep going, even when life gives you every reason to give up. It’s the quiet voice inside that says, *“You can still make it,”* when everything around you feels like it’s falling apart. Resilience isn’t about never breaking—it’s about learning how to rebuild, to grow stronger, and to turn pain into purpose. I learned what resilience truly meant when I was sixteen years old. Just a week after graduating high school, I found out I was HIV positive. I was living in foster care at the time, and because of a non-contact order, I couldn’t reach out to my family for comfort. I remember sitting in that clinic room as the nurse told me the results. My body felt heavy, my heart sank, and for a moment, I couldn’t even breathe. I felt like my life had ended before it had even begun. Those days after my diagnosis were some of the hardest of my life. I was scared, lonely, and angry. I didn’t know what my future would look like, or if I even had one. But somewhere in that darkness, I turned to faith. I prayed every night—not asking *why*, but asking *how* I was supposed to survive this. I didn’t want pity; I just wanted peace. Slowly, through those prayers, I found it. My faith reminded me that even though I couldn’t control what happened to me, I could control how I chose to respond. That’s when I realized that resilience isn’t just about strength—it’s about hope. It’s about believing that your story isn’t over, no matter how painful the chapter you’re in. I promised myself that I would use my experience to help others, so no one else would feel as alone as I did. That promise led me to create my nonprofit organization, **Heard It Verbatim**, which focuses on educating young people about infection prevention, safe sex, and inclusivity. We provide information and resources for everyone—straight, gay, bisexual, or questioning—because everyone deserves to be informed, respected, and cared for. Now, at 32, as a college student living with a chronic condition, resilience continues to guide me. There are days when it’s not easy—days when fatigue or doctor’s appointments make it hard to keep up with assignments. But I’ve learned to give myself grace. I’ve learned to ask for help when I need it, and to celebrate even the smallest victories. Every time I walk into a classroom or finish a paper, I remind myself that I wasn’t supposed to make it this far—and yet, here I am. To me, resilience means living with faith, courage, and compassion. It means turning pain into purpose, fear into motivation, and struggle into strength. My journey hasn’t been perfect, but it has taught me that even in the hardest moments, I can still choose hope—and that choice changes everything

In 2009, I was sixteen years old, freshly graduated from high school—something I had worked hard for despite being in foster care. I should have been feeling proud and excited about my future. Instead, just a week after walking across that stage, my entire world shifted. I found out I was HIV positive. At that age, I didn’t have the emotional tools to process what I had just heard. I remember sitting in that clinic room, staring at the floor while the words “you’re positive” echoed over and over in my head. The nurse’s voice faded into the background, and it felt like everything around me went quiet. I didn’t cry right away—I just went numb. What made it even harder was that I had no one to talk to. Because of a non-contact order, I couldn’t reach out to my biological family. I was still technically a ward of the state, and at sixteen, that isolation cut deep. I was scared, angry, and confused. I kept wondering, “Why me?” In that dark moment, I turned to the only thing I had left—my faith. I wasn’t sure what else to do, so I started praying. Some nights, my prayers were nothing more than tears and silence, but I believed that if I kept talking to God, somehow, He would listen. I asked for strength, for understanding, and for peace. I didn’t expect my situation to change overnight, but I needed to believe that my life still had meaning—that I still had a purpose. Slowly, my faith started to replace my fear. I began to see my diagnosis not as the end, but as the beginning of a new journey. Faith taught me that even when life feels unfair, it doesn’t mean it’s over. It reminded me that I was still worthy of love and happiness, even if I felt broken at the time. There were still hard days—days when I didn’t want to get out of bed, when I questioned whether I could keep going. But each time I prayed, I felt a little less alone. My faith gave me the courage to take control of my health, to educate myself, and eventually, to find my voice as an advocate. As I got older, I realized that my story could help others. I started speaking out about infection prevention, stigma, and safe sex education—especially in communities below the poverty line, where access to information and resources is often limited. That calling led me to create my nonprofit organization, **Heard It Verbatim**, which focuses on educating young people about health, inclusivity, and safe practices for everyone—straight, gay, bisexual, or questioning. Looking back, I can see how my faith carried me when I couldn’t carry myself. It didn’t erase the pain, but it gave me strength to live through it. My faith turned something that once felt like a death sentence into a source of purpose and compassion. Now, at thirty-two, I’m ready to take the next step by returning to school and continuing my education in Orlando, Florida. I want to keep learning, growing, and using my voice to make change. Every time I speak to someone who feels lost or ashamed, I tell them what I once had to tell myself: your story isn’t over yet. Faith saved me when I felt forgotten. It gave me the strength to believe that my life mattered—and today, I use that belief to remind others that theirs does too.