My interests have never fit neatly into one category. I am an artist, writer, photographer, game developer, and student who enjoys finding connections between seemingly unrelated fields. To me, STEM is not separate from creativity. It provides opportunities to turn ideas into functioning projects, solve problems, and develop resources that improve people's lives. I am particularly interested in computer science and technology because they allow me to combine technical knowledge with artistic expression, problem-solving, and community advocacy. I believe that some of the most exciting innovations emerge when people approach technical challenges with different backgrounds and perspectives. One of my most rewarding experiences in STEM has been teaching myself game development using Unity and C#. I have independently designed and programmed games, including Not Your Damsel, a fantasy escape-room game in which players solve puzzles and learn magic to escape an abandoned wizard's tower. Developing this project required me to learn programming, animation systems, user interfaces, and debugging while incorporating my own artwork and storytelling. I also participated in a game development Jamathon focused on schizophrenia and psychosis awareness. Collaborating on a project addressing mental health demonstrated how technology could be used for education and social impact. Both experiences taught me the importance of experimentation, persistence, and learning from others. Beyond game development, I created ClarkAccess after noticing accessibility barriers during orientation at Clark University. The website documents accessibility information for 15 campus buildings and allows community members to report concerns. Rather than simply acknowledging the problems I observed, I wanted to develop something that could help students navigate campus and encourage improvements. This project reflects what excites me most about STEM: the ability to recognize a real-world problem and use technology to develop a practical solution. I hope to expand ClarkAccess to include more buildings and eventually make it a resource that other universities could adopt. I believe curiosity is one of my greatest strengths. I am rarely satisfied with simply understanding how something works. I want to know how I can improve it, adapt it, or use it to create something entirely new. Teaching myself unfamiliar software and programming concepts has shown me that I genuinely enjoy the process of learning, even when it involves frustration and repeated failures. Through this scholarship community, I hope to connect with other students who share that curiosity and determination. I want to learn from their experiences, contribute my interdisciplinary perspective, and support greater representation in STEM. Ultimately, I hope to build a career where technology and creativity work together to make education, entertainment, and everyday life more accessible, engaging, and equitable.

I have always believed that making a positive impact on the world begins with recognizing injustice and refusing to ignore it. I don’t believe changing the world is a responsibility reserved for politicians or people with enormous influence. Everyone has the ability to make a difference through their skills, experiences, and willingness to act. For me, that means using my creativity, leadership, and voice to advocate for others and challenge injustice, even when it’s uncomfortable. My interest in activism began in sixth grade when I read I Am Malala. Learning about Malala Yousafzai's fight for girls' education introduced me to the realities of inequality and the importance of speaking out. Her story inspired my passion for women's rights, educational equality, homelessness, and human rights, particularly the treatment of women and girls in Afghanistan. Art has become one of my most important forms of activism. I don’t want my political artwork to be merely aesthetically pleasing. I want it to be jarring, uncomfortable, and impossible to dismiss. I want people to feel something when they encounter it, even if that feeling is discomfort. For example, in my art class, I created a painting for an exhibition depicting a burqa. I cut a rectangular opening in the canvas where the eyes would be, covered it with blue lace, and positioned a mirror behind it. When viewers approached the painting, they saw their own eyes staring back through the burqa. Rather than observing an image about women's oppression, they became part of the artwork. I wanted viewers to confront the subject personally instead of treating it as a distant issue affecting strangers. I also use my established social media presence to advocate for causes I believe in. Having built a substantial audience through my artwork, I recognize the opportunity to reach people beyond my immediate community. I share political artwork, discuss social issues, and use my platform to encourage awareness and action. I believe art can communicate emotions and experiences that statistics or written explanations sometimes cannot. My activism extends beyond artwork and social media. I attend protests, participate in conversations about social issues, and refuse to stay silent when people around me express harmful attitudes. This includes people I love. When my brother laughed at comedians like Shane Gillis, I challenged humor that relied on misogyny and stereotypes about minorities. When friends mocked someone for using neopronouns or simply looking different, I confronted them about respecting people even if their identities were unfamiliar. These conversations can be uncomfortable, but I believe that loving someone does not mean excusing their prejudices. If I am willing to advocate for strangers at a protest, I should be equally willing to defend those same principles in my own home. I also believe activism must extend into practical action. After noticing accessibility barriers during orientation at Clark University, I developed ClarkAccess, a website documenting accessibility information for 15 campus buildings and allowing community members to report concerns. I hope to expand the project and advocate for improvements that make campus more accessible. Moving forward, I intend to continue combining public advocacy, challenging conversations, creative expression, and community initiatives. I want to expand my artistic reach while developing projects that address real problems.

To me, collaboration in the creative field is about more than dividing responsibilities, or combining individual talents to complete a project. It’s about the relationships formed throughout the creative process, the exchange of ideas, and the opportunity to learn from people whose experiences and perspectives differ from my own. As an artist, writer, photographer, and game developer, I have worked independently on countless projects, but my most meaningful experiences have come from creating alongside others. I believe collaboration not only improves the quality of creative work, it also challenges us to become better artists, communicators, and people. One of my most memorable collaborative experiences was participating in the Clark University Game Jam focused on social impact. My team worked together to develop a game addressing schizophrenia and psychosis awareness, a subject that required careful research, thoughtful storytelling, and an understanding of how creative media can influence public perceptions. Throughout the development process, we exchanged ideas about gameplay, visual design, narrative structure, and how to approach a sensitive subject respectfully. Each person brought different strengths and perspectives, and our project evolved through discussion, experimentation, and constructive criticism. What I appreciated most about this experience was that collaboration encouraged me to reconsider ideas I might've otherwise pursued without questioning. Working independently allows me complete creative control, but working with a team requires me to explain my decisions, listen to alternative approaches, and recognize when someone else's suggestion improves the project. I learned that compromise doesn't necessarily mean sacrificing creativity. Sometimes, it leads to ideas that are more interesting and effective than anything one person envisioned. My experience as yearbook editor in high school reinforced this understanding. Yearbook production combines photography, writing, graphic design, organization, and storytelling into a single work made to represent an entire school. It requires constant communication between people with different responsibilities and creative preferences. Through this experience, I learned that effective leadership is not about controlling every aspect of a project. It is about helping others contribute their strengths while maintaining a shared vision. I particularly enjoyed seeing individual photographs, written pieces, and design elements come together into something that documented experiences and relationships that mattered to our community. Outside of organized teams, collaboration has also influenced my work as an independent artist and photographer. Running my own art commission and photography businesses has taught me to approach creativity as something other han a one-sided process. Each client brings their own ideas, expectations, and personal connection to the finished work. Translating those ideas into something visually meaningful requires listening carefully, communicating clearly, and being receptive to feedback. These experiences have not only helped me improve my art, but understand that successful creative work is about producing something that fulfills a shared vision. As I continue developing my skills in visual storytelling, particularly through my upcoming webtoon, Cover Story, I hope to pursue more opportunities to collaborate with writers, artists, developers, and other creative professionals. I am especially interested in interdisciplinary projects that combine traditional artistic practices with interactive media and emerging forms of storytelling. Ultimately, what inspires me most about collaboration is the human connection behind the work. A finished game, publication, photograph, or performance represents far more than the technical skills required to produce it. It reflects conversations, disagreements, shared excitement, unexpected discoveries, and the relationships developed along the way. I want to build a career where I can continue creating meaningful work while surrounding myself with people who challenge, encourage, and inspire me, just as I hope to inspire them.

One issue in my community that I have taken the initiative to address is the lack of accessible infrastructure on my college campus. During orientation at Clark University, I noticed that several buildings had accessibility barriers, including broken elevators, nowhere-to-be-seen ramps, and strange layouts difficult for students with disabilities to navigate. I was frustrated that something as fundamental as accessing a classroom could present unnecessary challenges, especially when students had limited information about which buildings were accessible. Rather than simply noticing these problems, I created ClarkAccess, a website that documents accessibility features and barriers across campus. So far, I have compiled information on 15 campus buildings, including their accessibility features, and developed a system for community members to submit reports about additional concerns. My goal was to create a resource that disabled students could actually use while also drawing attention to improvements the university needs to make. Moving forward, I hope to expand ClarkAccess to cover every building on campus, collaborate with students with disabilities to better understand their experiences, and work with university administrators to address reported barriers. Ultimately, I want the project to become more than an informational website. I want it to help create measurable improvements in campus accessibility and serve as a model that other colleges could adopt.

Nobody handed me a camera and told me what to do with it. I found photography to be the way the best discoveries happen: accidentally, then obsessively. I picked up a camera out of curiosity and quickly realized that looking through a viewfinder changed the way I saw everything. It slowed me down. It made me ask why one moment was worth preserving, and another was not. Every photo in this portfolio has a person in it. Some are fully visible, some are just a hand or a silhouette, but there is always a human presence. As an extrovert, I am drawn to other people, and I can bring that into my photography by the way a body can tell a story, even when you cannot see a face. The ghost photo is funny, but it is still fundamentally about two people and the energy between them. The portrait is about one person's intensity. The beach shot is about solitude. The meadow and the wildflower hand are about stillness and presence. People are always the subject. I taught myself through trial and error, watching tutorials, going outside, messing with ISO and aperture, and shooting until something worked. Over time, I stopped trying to copy what I had seen and started figuring out what I actually wanted to shoot. What I kept landing on was that I love documenting humans, the way they move through the world and occupy a moment. I plan to study photography in college and make a career out of it, which I already have. I have a freelance photography business that is doing very well. I want to keep shooting people, get better at it, and eventually do it professionally, whether that is portraits, editorial, documentary, or something I have not tried yet.

This piece is based on a small, unremarkable moment that ended up meaning more to me than I expected. I was riding home after a Dungeons & Dragons session with my best friend and her younger sister. We stopped at a gas station, and I bought a full tub of mint-chip ice cream. I started eating it in the car without really thinking about it. At some point, my friend’s sister took a flash photo of me, because it was funny and rather ridiculous. That photo later became the reference for this drawing. I struggle with depression, and one of the hardest parts of it is how it affects my memory. When I am in a depressive episode, it feels like happiness has never existed for me, or that if it did, it did not matter. Good days feel fake or distant, like something that happened to someone else. Over time, I realized that I needed a way to preserve those moments before my brain erased or distorted them. Drawing became that method. When I have a genuinely good day, I draw it. By turning a random moment into something physical, I give it weight. It becomes harder to dismiss or rewrite later. This drawing is not just an image; it is evidence. It exists so that when my memory tells me I have always felt sad and hopeless, I have something concrete that says otherwise. This particular moment mattered because nothing was really meaningful. I was not performing, coping, or trying to feel better. I was just comfortable. I was with people I trusted, doing something stupid, laughing, and not thinking about myself too much. That kind of ease is rare for me, and it often goes unnoticed until it is gone. Capturing it was necessary. The harsh lighting, the unflattering angle, and the casual setting are perfect; even though photos like that typically aren't considered so. I did not want to clean the moment up or make it more poetic than it was. Depression does not erase only beautiful moments; it erases ordinary ones. By drawing parts from days that made me feel happy and normal, I am reminding myself that those moments count too. This piece is part of a larger collection of drawings I use to remember myself more accurately. It exists so that when things feel heavy, I can look back and see proof that I have felt safe, relaxed, and happy before. This drawing does not promise that things will always get better. It only proves that they have been better, and that matters.

I have been drawing for as long as I can remember. Before I could spell my name correctly, I was filling pages with scribbles, shapes, and coming up with stories. Drawing was never something I had to discover later in life; it has always been there, growing alongside me. As I got older, that simple habit turned into a passion for digital art, animation, and sketching, and it became one of the most important ways I understand myself and connect with others. I am passionate about my art medium of digital art because it allows me to express emotions that are difficult to say out loud. For instance, I like to draw moments that make me happy, yet melancholic, because I know they're all fleeting. Through illustration and sketching, I can draw how I feel, and it lets me "get it all out". Art validates my emotions and my sense of self. When I create, I feel seen, even if I’m the only one looking at the piece. Art has also helped me explore who I am, especially as a queer person. On my art account, I connected with other queer artists who related to my work and supported me. That validation made me feel less alone and helped me become more confident in myself, it even gave me the courage to come out to friends and family. Digital art and animation also give me the freedom to bring my imagination to life. I love that my ideas don’t have to stay in my head; they can become illustrations, animations, comics, or even concepts for games! Art lets me turn stories into something shareable. Sketching in my sketchbook helps me brainstorm and experiment, while digital tools let me refine those ideas. Both mediums work together to help me create without limits. Art has enhanced my life by encouraging me to explore many different forms of creativity. I’ve experimented with photography, videography, ceramics, animation, digital and traditional art, watercolor, photo editing, graphic design, and illustration. Each medium taught me new skills and ways of thinking about art. Exploring different art forms made me more adaptable and learned, and it deepened my appreciation for creativity as a whole. Art has also connected me to real opportunities and people. I’ve built relationships with other artists who inspire me, and I’ve been able to earn money through art commissions and (senior) photo sessions. Being paid for my creativity showed me that my skills have value and that art can be both meaningful and practical. In the future, I aspire to run my photography business and take on commissions while working in a game studio (whether indie or not) as my main job. Art is not just a hobby for me, it is a lifelong passion that I intend to hold onto with an iron grip for the rest of my life.

Money has never been a quiet topic in my house. Some of my earliest memories are of sitting in my room, trying to calm down my younger brother while my parents shouted in the other room about bills, rent, spending habits, or groceries. Even when I was too young to understand the numbers, I understood the stress. Financial insecurity has been a constant presence in my life, shaping how I think, worry, and plan for the future. Growing up, I watched my parents struggle to stay afloat, especially as my mom’s spending habits made things harder instead of easier. Even though I couldn’t fix anything, I carried the stress anyway. I still do. I worry about whether my family will be okay, whether the lights will stay on, and whether I will even be able to afford college. To help, I work four hours every day after school and seven hours on Sundays. On top of saving for my education, I also contribute to household bills and groceries every so often because my parents can’t cover everything on their own. Balancing school, work, and financial stress has been exhausting, but it has also forced me to mature quickly and take responsibility earlier than most people my age. Because of these experiences, financial education is very important to me because it is so much more than numbers. It is survival. I’ve seen what happens when money isn’t managed carefully, and I don’t want to repeat that cycle. I want to learn how to budget, save, invest, and plan for the future so that money becomes a tool instead of a constant source of fear. I want to be able to support myself without panic, and eventually help my family without putting myself at risk. Because of this, I take any finance elective I can, and I am currently taking a Business Math class. In the future, I plan to use what I learn about finances to build stability and independence. I want to graduate college without drowning in debt, make well-informed decisions about spending, and live a life where financial conversations don’t turn into screaming matches or stress-filled nights. This scholarship would not only help me afford college, but it would give me the opportunity to break a cycle that has affected my family for my entire life and create a more secure future for myself and those I care about.

Art has always been more than just a passion for me; it’s been my lifeline. Growing up, I often felt like I didn’t belong. My struggle with my gender identity and the expectations placed on me by my conservative Christian upbringing left me feeling isolated and uncertain about who I was. Art was the one constant that gave me a sense of freedom when I couldn’t express myself in words. Every weird little drawing I created helped me process emotions I didn’t yet understand and gave me a way to turn pain into something meaningful. My journey in arts education began when I was a child. I created worlds and languages, drew maps and characters, and spent all my time with a pencil and paper. Sadly, I stopped doing art very often in late elementary and middle school, but finally picked it back up in high school. I started with photography, then moved to sketching, digital art, animation, pottery, 3d modeling, and finally video game design. I made an art account that grew to over 18 thousand followers (if you require proof, my handle is @hazysdoodles), and started a successful photography business doing senior photos. One of my biggest inspirations has been my online art community. I never expected anyone to care about my work, but seeing people connect with my drawings and photography gave me a new kind of motivation. Their support inspired me to keep creating, even on days when my depression made it hard to pick up a pencil or camera. What can I say, I live for the applause. Another person who deeply inspired me is my sister, who focused more on realistic paintings and sketches. Her beautifully realistic artworks encouraged me to experiment with different digital mediums and express my identity through my projects. Thanks to her, I learned more art skills that helped me become better at my work, and I am still improving as each day passes by. Art has taught me resilience, patience, and empathy. It’s given me a sense of purpose and the courage to be authentic, both in my craft and in my life. My ambition now is to pursue a career in digital art and animation where I can continue to tell stories that inspire understanding and acceptance. Art education didn’t just shape my talent—it shaped my identity and gave me the drive to turn my struggles into strength.

Many young people face obstacles that challenge their dreams, and I am no exception. Growing up in a conservative Christian family, I often felt out of place and misunderstood. From a young age, I struggled to understand my gender identity, feeling uncomfortable with the labels assigned to me. When I realized I was nonbinary, I finally found a word that fit—but that realization brought new struggles: fear, confusion, and a growing sense of isolation. For years, I hid who I was, feeling torn between authenticity and acceptance. That inner conflict led to a deep depression that affected nearly every part of my life. Depression is like a weed: when you dig it up it only grows back, but I’ve learned how to live with it and keep it from overtaking me. My path to healing began through art. As a child, drawing was something I loved, but as I got older, it became much more than a hobby. Art became my voice when words failed me, a safe place where I could explore my identity and emotions. I created an online art account, where I shared my drawings and photographs under a name that reflected who I truly was. I found a community of people who understood and supported me, and over time, my account grew to eighteen thousand followers. My art even won several photography contests—something I never thought possible when I first started. Creating and sharing art gave me a sense of purpose and confidence that extended into other areas of my life. Eventually, I found the courage to come out to my family. To my surprise, they accepted me with love and compassion. Their support changed everything. With their acceptance, I finally felt free to live authentically and to channel my experiences into something meaningful. Today, I continue to use my art to tell stories that resonate with others who may be struggling with identity, mental health, or belonging. Despite the progress I’ve made, financial hardship still poses a challenge. As someone pursuing higher education in digital art and animation, I face significant costs—software, equipment, and tuition—that are difficult to afford. A grant like this one would relieve that financial strain and allow me to focus on refining my skills and building a portfolio that reflects both my technical ability and my personal growth. I have worked hard to turn my struggles into strengths, using creativity and perseverance to overcome obstacles that once felt impossible. This grant would not only support my education but also help me continue using art as a platform to uplift others. I want to show that even when life feels unbearable, it’s possible to create something beautiful out of pain. My journey as a nonbinary artist living with depression has taught me resilience, empathy, and the power of self-expression—and I’m determined to use those lessons to make a difference.

Depression is a mental illness that affects millions of people worldwide. It is fluid, manifesting in different forms and triggered by different things. For me, my depression was tied tightly to my nonbinary gender identity, and it had, and still has, a significant impact on my life. However, the longer I lived with my depression, the more I realized something: depression is a weed. And like a weed, it just grows back when you dig it up. By expressing myself and sharing the stories in my head through art, I began to learn to live with my depression instead of trying to make it go away. When I was a child, I often felt as if I did not fit into the gender roles assigned to me. I didn’t feel comfortable being labeled as a girl, and often would tell my parents and siblings that I wanted to be a boy, even though I also didn’t feel like a boy. It wasn’t until I discovered the term “nonbinary” that I finally found a fit. However, that discovery also brought about a sense of confusion and anxiety. I struggled for three years to accept myself and my secret nonbinary identity. I constantly felt like I had to choose between being true to myself or conforming to what was considered "normal." This internal battle took a serious toll on my mental health, and I soon found myself sinking into a deep depression. Amidst all the chaos, I returned to a childhood passion: art. I created an account on Instagram where I could identify how I wanted and share my art with others who resonate with it. I watched in awe as my art account grew to eighteen thousand followers, and my photographs won multiple contests. All the love I was receiving spurred me forward, and I dedicated more time to refining my skills to expand my digital art into animation and get my photography to reach more people. With my artwork, I was able to explore my gender identity and express myself through original characters and their stories. My art account became my safe space, a place where I could be unapologetically myself and advocate for my rights as well as those of fellow LGBTQIA+ members. Despite the progress I was making in my personal journey, I was still afraid to tell my family about my nonbinary identity. I was terrified of their reaction and worried that they wouldn't accept me. But eventually, I mustered the courage to tell my sister, mother, brother, and father. To my surprise, they were accepting and supportive. Their acceptance was a turning point for me. It gave me the confidence to embrace my “enby” identity fully and to be open about it with others. Realizing I was with people who accepted and celebrated me for who I am made all the difference in my mental health. Today, I am proud to say that I am a nonbinary individual, and my struggles with depression have significantly improved. Of course, I still have bad days and people don’t always respect and accept me, but now I have a support system and am surrounded by people who mean more to me than any bigot. I will continue to express myself and inspire others to do the same, hopefully with the help of this scholarship. My journey with depression and nonbinary gender identity has been a challenging one, but I am grateful for the struggles I have faced because they have led me to where I am today—a happy, proud, and authentic individual.

Depression is a mental illness that affects millions of people worldwide. It is fluid, manifesting in different forms and triggered by different things. For me, my depression was tied tightly to my nonbinary gender identity, and it had, and still has, a significant impact on my life. However, the longer I lived with my depression, the more I realized something: depression is a weed. And like a weed, it just grows back when you dig it up. By expressing myself and sharing the stories in my head through art, I began to learn to live with my depression instead of trying to make it go away. When I was a child, I often felt as if I didn’t fit into the gender roles assigned to me. I didn’t feel comfortable being labeled as a girl and often told my parents and siblings that I wanted to be a boy, even though I also didn’t feel like a boy. Of course, my Christian family did not take kindly to that and said that to reject our given bodies was to reject God. It wasn’t until I discovered the term “nonbinary” that I finally found a fit. However, that discovery also brought about a sense of confusion and anxiety. I struggled for three years to accept myself and my secret nonbinary identity—which I often wished was a secret to even myself. I constantly felt like I had to choose between being true to myself or conforming to what was considered “normal.” This internal battle took a serious toll on my mental health, and I soon found myself sinking into a deep depression. Daily tasks became overwhelming. Simple tasks that I used to complete with ease took great effort; just getting out of bed was a struggle. I slept through classes, my grades suffered, but I didn’t care. That year, I made two attempts on my life. Amidst all the chaos, I returned to a childhood passion: art. I created an account on Instagram where I could identify how I wanted and share my art with others who resonated with it. I watched in awe as my account grew to eighteen thousand followers, and my photographs won multiple contests. The love and recognition I was receiving sparked a realization in me—I live for the applause. I now have a clear goal: to become a famous artist, photographer, and animator. I want my work to reach people across the globe and make them feel seen, just as art does for me. Every day, I work toward that goal, and every day I get closer and closer to achieving it. I’ve taken on freelance commissions (in both art and photography), collaborated with other creators, and started animating short videos with my original characters. Eventually, I found the courage to come out to my mom. To my surprise, she was incredibly accepting and supportive. Her acceptance was a turning point for me. It gave me the confidence to fully embrace my “enby” identity and be open about it with others. My father—sadly—told me he would never respect my identity, but I am done dwelling on the opinions of dogmatic individuals. Today, I’m proud of who I am. I still have rough days, and I still face people who won’t accept me, but I also have a support system, a growing career in art, and a vision I believe in. I will keep creating, keep sharing, and keep growing—because I know who I am, and I know where I’m going. Art has become my voice, and it’s one I plan to keep using loudly.