The soft whine of a horse, the call of its rider, the steady rhythm of galloping hooves, and then, the unforgettable melody of the classic Legend of Zelda theme--these moments have been with me since I first played Twilight Princess on the GameCube. This game marked a milestone: it was the first I played entirely on my own, from beginning to end. I spent countless hours immersed in breathtaking landscapes painted in dreamy, bloom-lit hues that held me in their gentle, shadowy embrace. It was there, in the world of Twilight Princess, that I discovered an anchor, a source of both companionship and inspiration. “Do you ever feel a strange sadness as dusk falls?” This line from the game resonated with me immediately, capturing an echo of something I’d always felt but hadn’t yet been able to express--a kind of melancholy that surfaces with the setting sun, casting a fog over my world. Link and Midna’s journey through the twilight became my own; each night, I returned to Hyrule, to battle the encroaching darkness. This game became my shelter, a constant that settled delicately in the depths of my heart, inspiring a profound love for video games that has only grown since. As an autistic child, Twilight Princess comforted me in ways I can barely describe. The world it offered me was a haven of calm and familiarity, a place where I felt understood. The game’s serene aesthetics--soft, almost foggy light, muted warm colors, and a quiet, reassuring embrace--felt like a hug after a long day, filling a need for belonging that I’ve always carried. Even though I played alone, I was never truly lonely; Twilight Princess provided a gentle sense of companionship and refuge, showing me how profoundly games can impact someone’s life. That impact became my dream. I feel an ever-present longing to create something as deeply moving as Twilight Princess was for me. I want to build a world where someone, anyone, can find that same refuge--a place where they can feel they belong, a place that they can carry in their hearts. I love games so intensely that it defies words; my dream is to take this love and transform it into something tangible, something that others can step into and feel, even just a fraction of what I felt. This passion for creating games has defined my path. It grew from a hobby into a lifelong pursuit, one I felt in every piece of artwork I created as I imagined worlds and stories I could bring to life. This passion eventually led me to DigiPen Institute of Technology in Washington--3,500 miles from my home in Kentucky. DigiPen offers a specialized digital art and animation degree that delves into the very heart of the game industry pipeline. It was my first choice, and when I was accepted, I was overwhelmed by a feeling that was equal parts excitement and nervousness. This journey, this craft--this is what I’m meant to do with my life.

Growing up, I experienced my mother's mental health struggles every single day. It's something that's been a constant in my life. I love her dearly, but her struggles often spilled over onto me, leading to extremely hurtful treatment. There were many times in my life where I was left sobbing so hard that I fainted. This has left a lasting mark, affecting how I handle relationships and stress, often not very well. Every little thing feels like life or death, I'm flooded with cortisol the moment anything bad happens. I often have meltdowns, crying for hours. As I've grown older, I've noticed similarities between my mother's struggles and my own. I began relating to complaints she would say about my father. I understood why she would cry constantly, why she lashed out when she felt unloved. These issues became glaringly obvious during an abusive relationship of mine that lasted two and a half years. It was my first serious relationship, he was my first love. The anxiety from that relationship caused me to lose over 50 pounds. Every time I would think about his actions my stomach would churn, and I would expel whatever I had eaten prior. Despite the toxicity, I couldn't break away, driven by a deep need for affection, much like what I craved from my mother. It felt like a cycle, worsening my depression and making me contemplate suicide. Being autistic has its ups and downs. While it brings out my passion, empathy, and kindness, it also makes forming lasting connections a challenge, due to my sensitivity and struggles with social cues. In my abusive relationship, my autism made things even worse, with each meltdown pushing my partner further and further away. Every single one made his resentment for me grow, which only led to more. There is pressure to reveal your true self in relationships. With autism, this means you have to unmask, this only led to rejection, to hatred, adding to my feelings of not belonging. On top of all this, dealing with ADHD made everyday tasks feel overwhelming. I had to put myself through freshman and sophomore year during this relationship. My partner's dismissive attitude towards his own ADHD while criticizing me for the same struggles only made things worse. He would blame his constant flaking, lateness, and cold shoulder on his mental illness. Yet, I had the same, even more, and I only ever tried to treat him with love and respect. When my partner, driven by narcissism, finally left, it was devastating. But it was also a major turning point in my life. Through months of therapy, I slowly started to heal from the trauma and attachment that kept me trapped in such a troubled relationship. Now, a year later, I'm on a journey towards stability and self-discovery. Despite ongoing struggles with my mental health, I'm determined to pursue my dream of becoming an artist while working towards my degree. And though the scars of my past remain, I'm hopeful that true love will find its way to me, bringing with it the promise of brighter days ahead.