My mother was an interesting woman. My grandma, her mother in law, always called her cold and distant, and at times I agreed with her. We fought a lot, and though my dad says it was because we were so similar, it felt like we had nothing in common. I wish I’d paid more attention to her generosity. Recently, my dad told me that she was on the board of directors for a non-profit in our area that benefitted underprivileged children. It sounds exactly like her, she was well known in our circle of family and friends for taking in strays or care of those in need, but if he hadn’t told I would have never known. She was quiet about her accomplishments and interests that way. One thing we were both loud and passionate about however, was our love for animals. When I was little (and had no concept of money, or how it worked), I was bound and determined to raise millions of dollars for my local animal shelters. I dedicated full notebooks to planning event sponsors, venues, games and prizes, anything that I thought would make a successful fundraiser. My mom never once made me feel like it was impossible. She supported me through every aspiration I had, even if she was weary of it, such as when my dad and I decided to adopt wild mice, raccoons, squirrels, and a skunk we affectionately called Flower. My mom is gone now, she passed away last year from lung cancer, but I hope to make her proud by making as big an impact on my community and the animals in it as we dreamed I would. My plan to raise money for animal welfare across the world has been put on hold now that my critical thinking skills have kicked in, but it is still one of my largest aspirations to run an animal sanctuary. In order to get this far, I need to make a name for myself in the field of sustainability and philanthropy. With a degree in molecular genetics I plan to research hereditary diseases such as various forms of cancer, an interest of mine grown stronger by my mothers untimely death. I hope to be apart of the generation of scientists that create treatments and vaccinations for currently under researched diseases, and to be an advocate for maintaining affordable prices for these treatments. I am a strong believer that wealth and/or social class does not determine value of life, and any individual should have access to the care they need without hundreds of thousands to millions of dollars in debt. Anybody suffering from cancer, or god forbid the loss of a loved one from cancer, shouldn’t have to be stressed about their financial situation, but so many in the States including myself have found themselves in this position. After I make a name in the world of science I hope to get into contact with others who are interested in philanthropy and equity. I would like to start several foundations in my mother’s honor dedicated to helping others. Whether it be helping to pay off medical bills, fighting to cap the cost of life-saving treatments, advocating for abused animals, or addressing the houseless population, I plan to make a difference that would make my mom proud. I wish I could ask her so many things, about her life, how she felt, but I know that it’s best not to dwell on the unknown. What I do know is that she loved the world and others passionately, and I plan to do the same.

I was nine years old when I first heard the word "anxiety" in a TV show. I asked my father what it was, but he just shrugged and said it was some made-up name for people who got nervous a lot and wanted to feel special. He told me that everyone gets nervous, just like everybody gets sad, which is why depression was also fake. Despite my constant nausea and worry about the tiniest things, I accepted this like anything else my father told me at that age and didn't think about the words again for a long time. I was an avid reader, and the next year I discovered a series of books focused on two boys suffering from mental health issues is the hospital together. I related deeply to those boys for reasons I wouldn't understand for many years. I re-read the book over and over again, but only once did I make it to the end. I always threw it down in frustration because I couldn't relate to them anymore once they felt better, once the treatments started working. I re-read their suffering over and over again because it was so comforting to see the characters struggling in the way that I could almost sense I would one day. I held onto their illnesses and their unhealthy coping mechanisms with the same fondness as when a young adult reflects on their childhood summers. By the time I was eleven years old I craved the sickness, craved self-injury because it made me feel more alive. Mental health wasn't much discussed in my family. My dad didn't believe in any of it, and all I knew about my mom's side was that there were certain people you didn't talk to because they were "off." That was until my older brother had a violent psychotic episode that rendered me hiding in my closet for hours as he rapidly switched between angrily screaming at our mom and begging for her help. After my dad managed to coax him into the car, he spent four months in the mental hospital and was diagnosed with manic depressive disorder. I don't remember much of my childhood, but desperately turning up the volume of my music to drown out the yelling and my own sobs is crystal clear. Soon after this incident I was evaluated, but lied through my teeth. I wanted someone to know I was sick, that something was wrong, but I couldn't bear to let my mother think she'd failed with both of her children, so I stayed quiet as the voices in my head got louder. Over the next few years I did my best to stay afloat without worrying anybody, but tended to fail miserably. Self-mutilation became an addiction, and I was fixated on my own death. I dreamed of the day I'd end it all, when it would all be over and I wouldn't be in so much pain just from being alive. I was angry and bitter at all times and cried every night but I never seemed to have a reason other than I just didn't like myself. I never planned to go to college, to have a spouse or kids or a future in the slightest. My goal was to die before I finished high school. After my third or fourth suicide attempt and millionth outburst, my mom told me I needed real help, like medication. A couple months later I found a therapist who had actually used to work with my best friend, and while I wasn't sure what to expect, I did feel a bit better after talking to her. We began digging through layers of emotions and memories that I hadn't ever considered, leading to some disturbing realizations as to why I couldn't remember much of my early life. My diagnosis of C-PTSD with a dissociative subtype and Borderline Personality Disorder was a blessing and a curse, because though it explained so much of what I always wondered was wrong with me, it felt like a death sentence. I had a reason for hating myself all these years, something actually wrong with my personality that made me undesirable, and that was a hard pill to swallow. I've always just wanted to be liked, and if I couldn't even do that for myself, what hope could there be? Years later, I'm still learning healthier coping mechanisms and trying to figure out how to navigate my diagnosis. It has been an uphill battle, but there are a few things that have made me realize that I can be more than my disorder, that I have the ability to enjoy life. It might be hard for a person to love me, to accept that I can't always have "normal" reactions to situations and my emotions aren't always in check, but it isn't difficult for animals. I discovered this with my beloved puppy, Bandit, who was always willing to cuddle me while I felt like the word was ending. Animals don't mind when I cry my eyes out into their fur about another horrible day, nor do they look at me any different. I love taking care of animals, and have devoted most of my summers to caring for orphaned raccoons through our local wildlife rehabilitation center. I don't think I could ever have kids, but I enjoy playing mom for these creatures that know nothing of what makes me different from others. I've accepted that I'll never stop feeling like a disappointment, but that doesn't mean I have to act like one. I can be determined, hard-working, get a college degree, and live a full life with my animals. If I give up now, I will be letting everyone who ever rooted for my recovery down. Maybe I'll never believe a person could really love me, but I learned that an animal can, so there may still be hope. All that is certain is that I can't live my life waiting around for my death.

Nintendo has been a large part of my life for the better part of 15 years, because that's how long I've known my best friend, Kali. From an early age she was gifted at video games on any console or platform, having beaten most of her favorites before she could even read. I enjoyed a good story game or an RPG, but I didn't have the skill or precision that she did. I love watching her play games and throughout the years I've often found myself doing homework or reading a book while she plays something single-player. Even more often however, we stay up late and team up on the old Wii games we've been playing since our first sleepover at six years old. Still to this day, almost 20 years old and finishing up my freshman year of college, each time I return home Kali and I plan a minimum of two full days to spend with each other, and at the top of our list of games to play together is Mario Party 8. The Mario Party games are a board game style video game where you can play against your friends or compete against bots as a tag team. Whoever comes out with the most stars at the end wins, which are collected by making a full lap around the map. We've played as Peach and Dry Bones, team Dry Thrones, on Goomba's Boardwalk for several thousand hours. As Midwestern kids who'd never seen the ocean and were obsessed with pirates, the beaches and dolphins called our names, and unless we were trying to unlock something specific, we automatically set it to 50 turns on that map each night. We played so often that we began to know exactly how many spaces we had to roll at any given point to get the next lucky space. We'd play until we couldn't keep our eyes open, wake up, and pick up where we left off. The only difference now is that we're able to drink enough caffeine to stay awake long enough to finish the whole game in one sitting, and that I also have a copy of the game just in case Kali forgets her disc. This was an issue that we had to creatively work around because we were often left without somebody that was able to drive us to pick up anything that we'd forgotten. Since a Karli and Kali sleepover was never complete without a round of Mario Party, we took it upon ourselves to bring the video game to life as an actual board game. We taped sheets of printer paper together and reproduced the entire map including lucky spaces, candy shops, and dolphin transport docks, complete with a separate paper for our mutual favorite aspect of the game, a golden square on the map that would allow a dolphin to take your character to a bonus star, an area we gleefully referred to as secret island. This six-by-two foot rectangular drawing became our prized possession due to the hours of effort and attention to detail required to create our vision, and we were so proud of how it turned out. Looking back, a taped together board game drawn by first graders likely wasn't as impressive as we believed it to be, but I'll never forget how much time and love was put into its creation. Mario Party 8 is by far the game we are most emotionally connected to, and it means so much to me that it brought me closer to my best friend and gave me hundreds of happy memories.

As a molecular genetics major with a personal connection to genetic cancers, something that I am the most interested in is advancing technologies in cancer detection and treatment. There have been incredible strides made towards increasing treatment options for cancer patients over the last century including various forms of chemotherapy, radiation, or pharmaceutical drugs becoming available to the general public, and while there are still leaps and bounds to be made to increase quality of life for these patients, it is important to recognize some of the firsts that acted as a gateway for medical engineers. This is why one of the technological advancements I find to be the most inspiring is the use of the drug methotrexate resulting in the first human tumor cured by chemotherapy in 1953. The reason methotrexate was used was because it was believed to block an enzyme required for cell life, and the hope was that the drug would slow the reproduction of mutant cells in order for the body's immune system to gain the upper hand and defend itself from the disease. This theory proved effective and the patient was pronounced cancer free. This was an incredible feat, especially so soon after the use of chemotherapy became widespread, and confirmed that if treated properly the body could fend off cancer cells despite their aggressive and rapid growth patterns. Continuing to study this medication and its effects on cancer cells in comparison to healthy cells has allowed for the identification of other treatments that could potentially be even more effective. One such treatment that this milestone jumpstarted was targeted radiation and chemotherapy, the process by which specific clusters of cancer cells are selected while other parts of the body are avoided to maximize the amount of healthy cells spared and prepared to defend. I lost my mother last year because her disease was caught so late that she passed before her first round of targeted chemotherapy. This was incredibly difficult to handle, but it has also driven my passion for advocating for preventative cancer screenings and increased research for treatments at the cellular level. The ever-advancing processes that treat cancer inspire me a lot because I want to be involved in the research that prevents people from feeling the emotional, physical, and financial pain and stress that having a loved one diagnosed with cancer entails. I hope to be a part of the solution.

I am not a very decisive person. Most of the time when I'm asked my favorite of something- anything, really, whether it be food, clothes, or movies- my mind goes blank and I seem to forget everything I've ever enjoyed. When seeing this prompt I was expecting to have to sit and think for ages and meticulously review every movie I've ever seen to narrow it down to a few plausible options. Funny enough, this time the answer popped into my head with little resistance despite being a much more definitive hypothetical than simply having a favorite. The movie that I would choose to watch for the rest of my life would be Marvel's Avengers: Endgame, due to its emotional significance to me and my loved ones. In early middle school I made some artistic friends who introduced me to Marvel movies, and occasionally they would put them on in the background while they would try to teach me to draw. Thus began my fondness for the series, and while I didn't understand the timeline or the intricate lore and connections between each movie, I kept watching them out of order until I could recognize the characters by name and the scenes I found the funniest. This lead to my grandmother taking me to the release of Spider-Man: Homecoming and I fell in love. While the movies ended up being a bit too violent for my Nana, I got so into them that I asked my dad to take me to the release of Avengers: Infinity War. After a night of sharing an extra large popcorn, explaining who the good and bad guys were, and giggling at Rocket the raccoon he was just as hooked and I was. This started a nearly weekly tradition of watching a Marvel movie together, in chronological order. Our local Micon Cinemas had five dollar movie tickets on Tuesdays, and we went so often that we had a refillable popcorn bucket that we would bring back for my mom to finish over the course of two or three days because it was so unbelievably huge. My dad's favorite that we ever saw was Endgame. We waited for months with giddy anticipation to see it in theaters and it didn't disappoint, I remember gripping my dads hand, gasping at the dramatic battles and crying when one of my favorite characters died. Though the shock factor wore off after the first handful of times watching, the jokes never seemed to get old for us. Anytime I came home from work or hanging out with my friends my dad would be laying on the couch watching a Marvel movie with my mom, and if Endgame wasn't already on I could guarantee he'd watched it within the last day, or planned to later that night. My mom didn't pay too much attention to the movies, although she asked questions here and there and would watch them with us if we asked, especially when bribed with popcorn. Endgame was one of the movies we had her watch with us more than once and I have such fond memories of spending the nights with my parents. My mom is gone now, but when I visit my dad and lay on the couch to watch Endgame with him I am reminded of easier times with the both of them. I think this movie will continue to bring me comfort long after my dad has also passed which is why I think that if I had to choose one movie to watch for the rest of my life, it would be Avengers: Endgame.

Since the 2020 pandemic, I have contributed to my community in a variety of unexpected ways. Within a few months of being stuck in the house, my dad and I found ourselves the foster parents of three baby raccoons. This would not have been possible had we not lived very near to a wildlife rehabilitation clinic that we had been volunteering with for about a year at that point. Through their guidance we were able to become licensed in raccoon care, successfully care for and release multiple litters, as well as assist in the rehabilitation of other wildlife including squirrels, possums, bobcats, foxes, and birds. Since participating in this I have developed a passion for local wildlife, especially raccoons. My dad and I have become well-known in the area for taking in animals of any age or condition, with or against professional advice, and assisting in the capture and relocation of "nuisance" animals that would otherwise be killed in traps or euthanized by the DNR. In addition to relocating critters, we spread information on how to prevent a problem species' future attraction to a particular area. I am also very vocal in letting my friends know how to care for our community wildlife and how to recognize an injured or sick animal, whether that be on campus or back at their homes. This information has proven useful on multiple occasions and I have been able to either go over and assist with the animal or direct them to the people that can. I believe this is important because the more knowledge a community has about it's local creatures the more likely they are to peacefully coexist with those that were once considered pests. Wildlife rehabilitation was not the only passion I discovered during the pandemic. I have always been a science lover, but the rapidly evolving variants of Covid-19 piqued my curiosity about the world of genetics. I quickly became enamored with mutations and learning about genetic disorders. One that interested me the most was Hypermobile Ehlers-Danlos, a disorder that affects connective tissue, causing chronic joint pain and fatigue, commonly associated with Postural Orthostatic Tachycardia Syndrome, or POTS. After doing so much research I was able to confidently diagnose myself with these conditions, however it was extremely difficult to find a doctor willing to take my symptoms seriously. It was often mislabeled as anxiety, or I was accused of faking it to get out of school. This grew increasingly frustrating as my pain continued to worsen and my mental health declined. I went undiagnosed until two months ago, four years after initially bringing up my concerns to doctors. Hypermobile Ehlers-Danlos is one of 13 sub-types of the disorder, and the only one without an identified gene as its cause. While it is not one of the deadly variants, hEDS has made my life and many others' very difficult and painful. I would like to dedicate my career to projects that I am passionate about, and the recognition of over-looked chronic illness as well as possible treatments to improve quality of life is one of those topics. As mentioned above I also love working with local animals, and I think that working in the genetics field will allow me to offer research and treatments for not only human's issues but for animals as well. I think that genetics research will rapidly increase in importance during the coming years and I cannot wait to be apart of it!

Like many LGBTQ+ youth from my area, I grew up Christian and homophobic. I never questioned why it was wrong to be gay, if my grandma said it was it must be true because she was all knowing, right? But then I got older, and I met people who identified as LGBTQ+, and I didn't dislike them. Honestly, though my internalized homophobia was so strong at this point I couldn't have admitted it if I wanted to, I related to them. It didn't make sense that these people were "bad" or "wrong" like my grandmother had said, but voicing this opinion was not welcome in her house no matter how old I got, nor was the celebration of their victories. I was around twelve when gay marriage was legalized, and I vividly remember the backlash in the years following. The story that sticks out the most to me is the Masterpiece Cakeshop vs. Colorado Civil RIghts case. There was no violence, no bloodshed in this case, but it stays fresh in my mind because it was the first time I realized how far some were willing to go to prevent LGBTQ+ people from being involved in any aspect of their lives. That terrified me. If the owner of a bakery could take a case all the way to the supreme court and win because he couldn't fathom a paying customer be gay, who are they allowing to be doctors, police officers, and firefighters? Who is stopping them from refusing care based on their religious beliefs? I came out as bisexual shortly before these questions came to light, and I regretted it almost immediately. As loving as my parents have always been, it took them a long time to accept they wouldn't have a straight daughter. They found out my "preferences" by digging through my phone, every teenagers worst fear, and after yelling about what could possibly make me think that they asked me to not come back for a little while. I stayed with a close friend for about a week until my father apologized and asked me to come back, but we never again spoke of my sexuality, and I largely went back into the closet. The idea that my life was worth less to people in professions that could determine whether I lived or died, that my sexuality mattered so much to my family that they'd abandon me to try and fix me, made me wish being gay was a choice so I could turn it off. While I am much more confident in my self expression and identity nowadays, I have more experience than most in defending my identity to both my family and community. My future plans involve becoming a geneticist and conducting research on various genetic diseases that wreak havoc on the body, a field in which patients are already often undermined and overlooked. Though I couldn't say for sure if I'd want to work directly with patients, the idea of being in the scientific/medical field and not doing my part to promote equality, to value the lives and stories of the patients that haven't been treated fairly, would feel like a failure to my younger self who went through so much to become comfortable in her identity. My main concern would be the equal distribution of any and all scientific contributions or advancements, and I truly believe that if I am able to reach a point in my career where I have a voice in said distribution, I am passionate and loud enough to make a difference for the better for my LGBTQ+ family.

In my junior year of high school, I was in a biotechnology class of about twelve students. We covered a variety of topics including bacteria, human relationships with micro-organisms, and my favorite topic, genetics. My fascination with genetics didn't start there, but that was the class that made me realize I could make a career out of researching something I'd always been intrigued by. We analyzed a multitude of DNA samples from various organisms during our time together. My favorite experiment would have to be the lab we did after watching a science-fiction movie called Contagion, a film following the rampant spread of an increasingly infectious disease. To begin this project we all reached into a bag, pulled out a mystery test tube of DNA, and analyzed its sequence. One of us had the virus, and we were to mix our DNA swabs with those around us. After each round we recorded who we received the sample from and any changes from our initial sample. Our final goal was to determine who the virus started with by analyzing our results and discussing them. Up until our discussion, I had been positive my sample remained healthy. There were no abnormal changes so I figured I wouldn't be any help, since I wouldn't have been able to trace which vial I received the virus from if I didn't have it. My frequent lab partner came over to compare results anyway, and I noticed that her starting DNA sample had very different indications than mine did, until the first round when we swapped DNA. Then, it appeared to be the sequence mine showed. Everyone else in the group came together to find that their initial sequences matched my partner's until they were contaminated with the virus, so the only logical conclusion was that my tube had contained the virus from the start. This project was really interesting to me because I got to explore the changes in DNA as various proteins were infected and I loved it even more after it helped me to truly understand why scientists conduct experiments multiple times and do dozens of peer reviews. Had I submitted my findings without communicating with others I would have believed I remained safe from the virus, when in reality I was the original carrier. This taught me to be vocal about my findings and look at things from multiple perspectives before determining them to be factual. Working in technology inspires me to continually advance myself and our community as well as reach out to others working in the field and confidently share data with them due to the accuracy and efficiency that modern-day technology provides. In addition to becoming more confident in myself and my abilities, working with technology has helped me to build stronger bonds with those in my work setting by giving everyone an equal opportunity to explore and experiment. It has inspired me to branch out and find jobs that suit my exact interests instead of my broad interests, and will hopefully lead to me finding a job that I love in a career that feels meaningful.

Harry Potter was one of the first series of books that I read in its entirety. I still remember how my fourth-grade self balked at the prospect of reading the first book, having already deemed it too nerdy for me. My teacher, one of my favorites to this day, insisted I give it a try and handed me her own copy of the first book. I've been enchanted with the world of magic and mysticality for as long as I can remember, so Harry Potter captivated me. I grew so attached to the characters that I created a full-length novel entitled "Harry Potter and The Return to Hogwarts" because I couldn't let go of their stories. In my deep obsession with the books and movies alike, I've played an assortment of Harry Potter games and taken my fair share of sorting hat quizzes. On the official Pottermore website, I was named a Slytherin. I think this house makes sense for me because many in the Slytherin house are outcasted because of the way that they present themselves and their ambitions, which is something that I often face for how I choose to dye my hair and do my makeup. I have big dreams, some may consider them wild, and they include but are not limited to singing in a rock band, finding an effective treatment or cure for cancer, and rehabilitating orphaned wildlife. I want to accomplish so many things in life that it's impossible to forget my impact and my name, something that I feel an ambitious Slytherin could relate to. Another thing that creates a strong Slytherin is the ability to display confidence in yourself and your actions, even in moments of the unknown. I can calmly and confidently instruct others what to do in an emergency, and after it's over allow myself to have a panic attack. As someone who is socially anxious and introverted, I've come a very long way in speaking up for myself and the choices I want to make for myself, something that dedicated Slytherins such as Draco Malfoy and Regulas Black often did. I am not one to shy away from expressing my feelings, passions, and opinions nor am I afraid to vocalize them when I see injustice. Slytherins tend to be experts in deception, and I've pulled a few wild pranks over the years. Once I convinced my friend that the broken taillight on my car had been perfectly fine before he'd taken it for a drive, and in the midst of his panic a few of our other friends snuck traffic cones and various construction equipment into the back of his truck. The look on his face when he found them weeks later makes me giggle to this day. These aspects of Slytherin life lead me to believe I would make a good representative of the Slytherin house, and according to JK Rowling's Pottermore sorting quiz, she agrees that my personality is best suited to the house of snakes.

On Thanksgiving of 2022 I sat my family around the table and told them I had an announcement. My mom’s face dropped, assuming the worst case scenario before I even opened my mouth. She cheered and cried along with the others when explained that no, I wasn’t pregnant, I had been accepted into my first choice of University. The next month I turned 18, and I cried with my mom, trying to come to terms with the fact that I wouldn’t live with her and my dad forever. I was moving on in the world, growing up, and it was much scarier than I could have anticipated. Throughout my life I’d been a daddy’s girl, often arguing with my mom and running to him for comfort. I always thought we’d just never get along, but we became much closer over the next few months, especially while my mom was sick with what her doctors referred to as “a bout of bronchitis she just couldn’t shake.” She was home more often and I tried to spend more time with her, the sickness was making her miserable. In February of 2023 we started to get worried. She’d been sick for months, and dad and I had gotten and beaten bronchitis while she was still coughing. She went in again, and this scan found something much scarier than bronchitis. She had tumors hidden in her esophagus and lungs, so the doctors laid out a treatment plan for chemo and radiation. Before her chemo could start, scans found tumors on her brain. Due to the nature of cancer, once it spreads to other parts of the body it’s considered stage four. Mom was weirdly positive, sternly telling my brother and me that her diagnosis wasn’t a death sentence. It’s not that I didn’t believe her, but I’ve always been the pessimist of the family. On the morning of my mom’s second attempt at chemo, late March of 2023, she coughed up blood. They rushed her to the big hospital in Rochester and did a procedure to stop the bleeding, one that she never woke up from. The rest of my senior year was a blur, and I almost didn’t walk at graduation or attend my final choir concert. There seemed to be no point when she wouldn’t be there to see me. Eventually my dad talked me into going to both, and while I didn’t enjoy my final choir concert, I’m glad he encouraged me to walk at graduation. My summer was spent working and debating whether or not I attend my chosen college or stay in Eau Claire, my hometown with my dad. The thought of leaving him alone in our home that once held five made me sick to my stomach, but I knew he’d beat himself up if I didn’t go. I argued with myself until it was almost too late to choose to stay in Eau Claire, but eventually I decided to keep my position at the University of La Crosse. I have wonderful friends in my hometown and a couple family members left to check in with my dad, but the process of leaving my childhood home and moving to my first place by myself has become much more difficult. I feel so much guilt being unable to take care of my dad the way my mom would have, and I miss her support and sarcastic nature in my moments of anxiety. In school I’ll be studying genetics, and as I continue my studies I’d like to focus my research on hereditary cancer, in honor of my mother.