I have seen the effects of Dementia not just on the patient, but on the loved ones who care for them. I always thought my dad was one of the strongest people alive. He is a public high school English teacher in a Title 1 district in Houston who still spends time with his two kids at home. It was not until my Lolo, his father, died when I was in middle school that I ever heard him cry. It broke me in a way I was not prepared for. I ran to my little brother's room and immediately hugged him sobbing. After flying to Chicago for the funeral, I figured things would get better, but it seemed they have only gotten so much worse. My grandmother’s Dementia emotionally destroyed my dad. His relationship with his mother, my Lola, helped me realize how important it is to solve the puzzle of this disease. It has guided me towards a path where I can take my passion for marine biology to research more about this heartbreaking disease. I wish I could say my family started healing after losing my Lolo, but it felt like it was just falling apart. My Lola refused to let any part of her late husband go. When her physical health began failing her, she refused to leave her house and the memories of my Lolo. My dad took her to his sister’s house one hot, summer day because her air conditioning broke. In response, she pulled a kitchen knife on him. She believed her kids were kidnapping her so they could have my Lolo’s house and car to themselves. She would not even claim my dad as her son, believing he had somehow changed to be someone else. My father and his siblings continued their duty to cook, clean, and care for the woman who raised them, but it felt like that day, they had all lost their mother. Nothing in my life has hurt quite as much as watching my dad stand there while his own mother accused him of kidnapping her at a family gathering. I have known this man to be nothing but good, and to hear my Lola believe so fully he would harm her infuriated me. But what broke me was how he merely stared at her with solemn eyes and said, “Ok.” He does not deserve to have a mother who hates him. However, he is a good person who will continue to care for my Lola because he knows her mind and words no longer belong to her, and somewhere in all the confusion, she still loves him. Watching my family after my Lolo's death has taught me how Dementia affects more than just the victim. Dementia ruins relationships and families. It creates fear and suspicion where there should be love and trust. As my Lola loses the good memories of her family, her family loses the good memories of her. I have mostly felt helpless watching my family crumble after losing my Lolo, but his experience helped me realize how I can use what I am learning as a marine biologist to potentially create a cure. I want to go into venomology, taking venomous substances specifically from marine life to create antidotes and cures to solve medical crises. I believe there is a way to end this disease, and our waters may hold the answer. We just need people to look hard enough for a solution, so families can keep their good memories and continue to love and trust one another the way a family should.

I have seen firsthand the effects of Dementia not just on the patient, but on the loved ones who only want the best for their family. I always thought my dad was one of the strongest people alive. He is a public high school English teacher in a Title 1 district in Houston who still takes time at home to play with his two kids and complete all of his home responsibilities. It was not until my Lolo, his father, died when I was in middle school that I ever heard him cry. It broke me in a way I was not prepared for. I ran to my little brother's room and immediately hugged him and began sobbing. After flying to Chicago for the funeral, I figured things would get better, but it seemed they have only gotten so much worse. When Lolo passed, my grandmother’s Dementia emotionally destroyed my dad. His relationship with his mother helped me realize how important it is to solve the puzzle of this disease. It made me want to start down a path where I could take my passion for marine biology to research more about this heartbreaking disease. My Lola, my grandmother, is your typical Filipino immigrant mother. She was hard on her kids, but she loves her grandkids (especially the boys). She made sure all of her kids had respectable careers like a lawyer, nurse, or teacher whether that is what they wanted or not. She worked hard to make a life in America for herself, and now she expects to be taken care of. Her relationship with my father always seemed a little strained, but it was clear there was love and respect present. However when her husband died, a part of her did too. The man she loved for over 50 years was gone, and as her Dementia progressed, she believed she had no one who would care for and protect her from the world’s many dangers. She was diagnosed with Dementia soon after the funeral. At the time she only seemed to be forgetting small, simple things. She was stubborn, as all Tanigs are, but she was not violent. She was given medication, and all was free to continue as it was. I wish I could say my family started healing after losing my Lolo, but it felt like it was just falling apart. When it was time to start dealing with her husband's belongings, my Lola refused to let any part of him go. When her physical health degraded to the point where her house became unsafe for her frail, thinning body, she refused to live anywhere else. My dad took her to his sister’s house because my Lola did not have air conditioning and the summer heat was unbearable. In response, she pulled a kitchen knife on him. She believed her kids were kidnapping her so they could have Lolo’s house and car to themselves. She only saw suspicion and scheming in her own children. Without her husband there, it was up to her to protect his legacy, and she believed her sons and daughter were trying to steal it all away. She would not even claim my dad as her son, believing he had somehow changed to be someone else. My father and his siblings continued their duty to cook, clean, and care for the woman who raised them, but it felt like that day, they had all lost their mother. I have seen my Tito, my dad’s older brother, work tirelessly over the family’s finances only to be berated by my Lola. I have seen his sister rearrange her entire life to live closer to her mom in case of emergency. But none of that hurt as much as watching my dad stand there while his own mother accused him of kidnapping at a family gathering. This is the man who has dropped everything to console me during anxiety attacks. He has stayed up late to make sure I'd get home after a football game safely even though he has work in the morning. He has sat down with me at the dining room table to work through problems from kindergarten math to how to pay for college. I have known this man to be nothing but good, and to hear my Lola believe so fully that he would do harm to her infuriated me. But what broke me was how in response to her accusations he merely stared at her with solemn eyes and said, “Ok.” He does not deserve to have a mother who hates him. His siblings do not deserve to have to care for a woman who hates them. However, they are all good people. They are good children who will continue to care for their mother because they know this is not their mother. They know her mind and words no longer belong to her, and somewhere in all the confusion she still loves them. Watching my family struggle to take care of my Lola has taught me how Dementia affects more than just the victim. Dementia ruins relationships and people’s memories of their loved ones. It creates fear and suspicion where there should be love and trust. My family has remained patient with my Lola, but they have lost faith they once held for her. As she loses the good memories of her family, her family loses the good memories of her. This experience has helped me realize how I can use what I am learning as a marine biologist to potentially create a cure for this disease. I want to go into venomology, the field of study that takes venomous compounds, specifically from marine life in my case, to create antidotes and cures to solve medical crises. I want the ocean to teach me how we could stop the effects of this horrible disease before more families are torn apart. I believe there is a way to end this disease, and our waters may hold the answer. We just need people who care to look hard enough for a solution, so families can keep their good memories and continue to love and trust one another the way a family should.

Maybe it is because of my Asian ancestors who expect success at all costs. Maybe it is due to my strict Romanian ballet teacher who was not above using the stick to correct us. It may even be caused by my own desire to prove myself the best in the room. It is hard to pinpoint the origin of my anxiety. The only thing I can do is just try to live with it as best I can. However, just living with anxiety is not very fun. It does not make life worth living. So while it is a lot easier said than done, I am trying to put myself on a journey towards making life worth it. As a new adult learning to survive on her own, I have decided that my previous lifestyle was not going to get me very far. I have to change some things and start to enjoy life. I grew up convinced I had to be perfect: the perfect student, the perfect dancer, the perfect friend. I was so concerned with being perfect for other people that I did not notice how it was wearing down on me. I did not notice how my ribs began poking through my skin. I did not notice how dark the circles under my eyes got. I did not notice how many hidden scars had piled up under my bra line. I thought I was living life just fine. I was the Salutatorian of over 900 kids and had set myself up for assuming the role of captain for my dance team. My mom had plenty of things to brag about to her friends, and everyone was convinced I was this great kid with a bright future. Never mind that I still had no idea what I wanted to do after high school. All I knew was that I had to be good at it. It was not that I liked this lifestyle per se. It was more I was so used to it that I did not know any other way to live. I did reach out somewhere in high school. I started therapy and tried opening up to my parents more. I was under the impression that once I reached this point and started to communicate how stressed I was everyone would just magically understand. I thought that healing would be quick, and I would just start to feel better immediately. But nothing changed. If anything I became self-conscious of my anxiety and was more worried than ever about not letting it bother other people. I misinterpreted my cries for help as complaining and just decided to shut up about all I was feeling. I was just living again, and I really hated it. It felt like someone was stepping on my chest until I could not breathe. It felt like fire spreading out under my ribcage. And it never went away. I finally snapped senior year… And it felt amazing. I always presumed that snapping would be this cinematic moment where I would tell off the whole world and finally feel free. Yet again I was wrong, but I did not mind this time. When I snapped, it was slow, and then it built. I cannot recount everything, but I know that I stopped living for other people. I could not take it anymore! I stopped going out of my way to please the people I called my friends and family. I chose to focus on building relationships that went two ways and relied on effort from all involved parties to succeed. I may have lost some people on this path, but I feel more secure about the ones that stayed. I know that these are the people who genuinely care about me and want me to be alright. They helped me realize that I should never change myself to accommodate those who would not do the same for me. Once I realized that I did have people who cared about me, I felt a little less lost when contemplating the future. I started to believe that whatever path I went down, I would be okay. I could always change my plan for the future too if I was unhappy. Instead of pursuing a major in dance performance and choreography my dance teachers all thought I would, I chose to go to school in Hawaii for marine biology. I thought it was a good use of my abilities in STEM that would also present me with plenty of opportunities to learn about a world that is not my own. This idea scared me more than anything, but I knew some change was what I needed to start enjoying adulthood. So now, I’m in Hawaii studying marine biology hoping for a career removing invasive species, and I love everything about it here. I want to keep studying here. If there is anything I have learned from my struggles with anxiety, it is that sooner or later your bad feelings are going to catch up with you. I thought I would be fine just living and that things would get better eventually. I thought that I could figure everything out on my own, and that turned out completely false. Things do not magically get better. I now understand that if I am struggling, I cannot just wait it out. I need to address my feelings and find people who want to help me. I am not completely okay as far as mental health goes, but I am better. Some days I still struggle to catch my breath in class or I succumb to derealization. However, I genuinely want to enjoy my time on Earth, especially my time in Hawaii, instead of just going through the motions of everyday life. That will take effort on my part, and a solid group of people willing to give me a boost when I need it.

Maybe it is because of my Asian ancestors who expect success at all costs. Maybe it is due to my strict Romanian ballet teacher who was not above using the stick to correct us. It may even be caused by own desire to prove myself the best in the room. It is hard to pinpoint the origin of my anxiety. The only thing I can do is just try to live with it best I can. However just living with anxiety is not very fun. It does not really make life worth living. So while it is a lot easier said than done, I an trying to put myself on a journey towards making life worth it. As a new adult learning to survive on her own, I have decided that my previous lifestyle was not going to get me very far. I have to change some things and start to enjoy life. I grew up convinced I had to be perfect: the perfect student, the perfect dancer, the perfect friend. I was too concerned with being perfect for other people that I did not notice how it was wearing down on me. I did not notice how my ribs began poking through my skin. I did not notice how dark the circles under my eyes got. I did not notice how many hidden scars had piled up under my braline. I thought I was living life just fine. I was Salutatorian of over 900 kids and had set myself up for assuming the role of captain for my dance team. My mom had plenty of things to brag about to her friends, and everyone was convinced I was this great kid with a bright future. Nevermind that I still had no idea what I really wanted to do after high school. All I knew was that I had to be good at it. It was not that I liked this lifestyle per say. It was more I was so used to it that I did not know any other way to live. I did reach out somewhere in high school. I started therapy and tried opening up to my parents more. I was under the impression that once I reached this point and started to communicate how stressed I was that everyone would just magically understand. I thought that healing would be quick, and I would just start to feel better immediately. But nothing really changed. If anything I became self-consious of my anxiety and was more worried than ever of not letting it bother other people. I misinterpreted my cries for help as complaining and just decided to shut up about all I was feeling. I was just living again, and I really hated it. It felt like someone was stepping on my chest until I could not breathe. It felt like fire spreading out under my ribcage. And it never went away. I finally snapped senior year… And it felt amazing. I always presumed that snapping would be this cinematic moment where I would tell off the whole world and finally feel free. Yet again I was wrong, but I did not mind this time. When I snapped, it was slow, and then it built. I cannot recount everything, but I know that I stopped living for other people. I could not take it anymore! I stopped going out of my way to please the people I called my friends and family. I chose to focus on building relationships that went two ways and relied on effort from all involved parties to succeed. I may have lost some people on this path, but I feel more secure about the ones that stayed. I know that these are the people who genuinely care about me and want me to be alright. They helped me realize that I should never change myself to accommodate those who would not do the same for me. Once I realized that I did have people who care about me, I felt a little less lost when contemplating the future. I started to believe that whatever path I went down, I would be okay. I could always change my plan for the future too if I was unhappy. Instead of pursuing a major in dance performance and choreography that my dance teachers all thought I would, I chose to go to school in Hawaii for marine biology. I thought it was a good use of my abilities in STEM that would also present me with plenty of opportunities to learn about a world that is not my own. This idea scared me more than anything, but I knew some change is what I needed to start enjoying adulthood. So now, I’m in Hawaii studying marine biology hoping for a career removing invasive species, and I love everything about it here. I want to keep studying here. If there is anything I have learned from my struggles with anxiety, it is that sooner or later your bad feelings are going to catch up with you. I thought I would be fine just living and that things would get better eventually. I thought that I could figure everything out on my own, and that turned out completely false. Things do not magically get better. I now understand that if I am struggling, I cannot just wait it out. I need to address my feelings and find people who want to help me. I am not completely okay as far as mental health goes, but I am better. Some days I still struggle to catch my breath in class or I succumb to derealization. However I genuinely want to enjoy my time on Earth, especially my time in Hawaii, instead of just going through the motions of everyday life. That will take effort on my part, and a solid group of people willing to give me a boost when I need it.

The best part of my day in high school would be the end of it. The thought of dropping all of my backpacks and dance bags on the floor after a long day and crawling into bed to watch TikTok would bring me so much comfort. I could have time to decompress and prepare myself for the next day. So naturally, I was anxious about sharing my safe space with three new people for an entire school year. These were three strangers who would play a big part in how my first year of college would go. I really wanted to get along with my new roommates, but there was not a lot we realized we could talk about with each other. Our dorm was pretty quiet at the beginning, but the Starbucks two blocks away from my dorm did not let it stay that way. I wish I could buy a Starbucks drink to give me the will to trudge through every day, but alas, I am just another broke college freshman. This remained a fact when September rolled around and Starbucks came out with their fall drinks. I was still searching for a job and hesitant to spend money on anything that was not absolutely necessary. But Starbucks’ Thirsty Thursday presented a way for me to “ball on a budget.” I could buy a fall drink, and get an entire second one for free? Yes, please!! I took this opportunity to experiment. I took a break from my typical Apple Crisp Macchiato and took a chance with the Iced Pumpkin Cream Chai Latte. It was completely and utterly life-changing. There are no seasons in Hawaii. It is always just hot. This drink brought a sip of fall to the sunny heat. It was cool. And sweet. It tasted like a little bit of home in the exciting but unfamiliar place I now lived in. Overall just made me feel better. But there was another problem I ran into. By the time I finished my Pumpkin Chai, whatever my second drink would be would be watered down, and that would be so sad. My solution - be a nice person and get one for a friend. I had three new friends at this point to choose from, and one of them just happened to be in the dorm at the same time I was. So, being the kind and loving roommate that I am, I walked the two blocks to get the drinks in my 45-minute break between Calc and Oceanographic Field Techniques and sped to my third-floor dorm to give her a Pumpkin Cream Cold Brew with oat milk (to accommodate her lactose intolerance). We may not have had much time to talk then and there, but we immediately felt more comfortable around each other. We had something we could talk about now, something to bond over. We were no longer strangers and something closer to what you would call friends. That first Thursday ended up setting a new routine for me. A routine that brought me and my roommate closer together and gave us the courage to speak up around our other roommates. Our dorm is no longer quiet. I guess there are technically two fall drinks that hold a special place in my heart. Two drinks made my first fall in college less lonely: the Pumpkin Chai which made me feel at ease in my new home, and the Pumpkin Cold Brew which gave me some new friends.