With shaking hands, a quick heartbeat and focused breaths, I began to sing. 14,000 people listened carefully in the stands, placing their right hand over their hearts and facing the flag. Fireworks began to explode in the sky, displaying patriotic colors as I held the last note of the National Anthem for what felt like an eternity. As soon as the crowd began to cheer, I walked off the field into my father’s arms and began to cry as I felt overwhelmed by this unfamiliar sensation. After years of reflection, I realized that I had caught a glimpse at the power and community that a single song could hold over crowds. As a nine year old, this formative moment planted a seed of love for music that has been fruitful ever since. As time passed, my love for music transformed from a pastime to a healing experience. In eighth grade, my grandmother lost her battle to cancer, resulting in my first encounter with true pain. I simultaneously mourned her death while struggling to adjust at a giant public high school. As my childhood friends embarked on their separate paths, I felt alone during this overwhelming transition. Additionally, I began to question my sexuality: quite the burden to deal with living in a traditional Hispanic Catholic household. These events caused feelings of insecurity and unhappiness; it felt as if no one understood what I was going through. Without a strong social support system, I didn’t have anyone to share my feelings with. This was when I began to invest myself in my choir class. I realized that I had a family there; they helped me express the way I was feeling through the songs we sang together. My teacher encouraged us to sit down and thoroughly read the lyrics of our songs in order to find ways to relate to them. As we performed each piece, he motivated us to emphasize the changing notes and convey a meaningful story to our audiences. We would have class time to talk about what specific songs meant to us, and this created discussions about personal stories, daily struggles, love, and joy. I started to apply this concept to songs outside of my class, and I quickly began to realize how powerful their messages were. I realized I was not alone in many of the things I was feeling: loneliness, euphoria, insecurity, and mourning. I began to expand my taste and listen to more diverse musical selections out of my usual genres. I discovered beauty and silver linings in each one. I select songs depending on my mood, and the connection to shared experiences with the artist often create a sense of peace and healing for me. I feel them telling me I am not alone, and that my feelings are valid. My outlook on life has drastically changed since my first year of high school. Although I still struggle with expressing my feelings, I am a lot happier, more carefree, and unapologetically myself. I would not be the same person I am today if it weren't for music, which is why I am so thrilled to pursue a career in the music industry. I will be able to use my passion to build meaningful connections with friends and strangers alike. Like life, music can be messy, imperfect, and brutally honest. It can be displeasing or beautiful, joyful and mournful, stagnant yet ever changing, but that is what makes it ever so important to me. It has a unique ability to resonate with so many people, no matter the age, gender, or race. It will continue being a foundational aspect of my life as I build community and a sense of togetherness through its beauty. That makes it unique to every person, and what makes it living to me.

I would not be the same person I am today if it weren't for music, which is why I am so thrilled to pursue a career in the music industry. I will use my passion to build meaningful connections with friends and strangers alike. Like life, music can be displeasing or beautiful, joyful and mournful, stagnant yet ever changing, but that is what makes it important to me. It has a unique ability to resonate with so many people, no matter the age, gender, or race. That makes it unique to every person, and what makes it living to me.