Through a life of listening, I learned to speak. Barely 5 weeks old, Evan was diagnosed with non-verbal cerebral palsy. Somewhere, lost in the fine print, stood my familial position and its lifelong tenure. In the moment that I became her younger sister, it was set that I would be her translator; before I developed as my own person, I would be an extension of her. Within that contract, I surrendered my identity. The voice I had lost was never solely mine to begin with, so I told myself there was no reason to be angry, that I could not sacrifice what I was always meant to share. As my sister grew louder, I stayed quiet. I learned how to process unfamiliar emotions with pinpoint accuracy, intellectualizing emotions instead of feeling them. I spent hours on therapists’ couches to be told that I did not need them. I begged my parents to recognize my hard work, but they pushed that aside. I spent my lifetime resigned to my keeper position, wanting my sister to understand that, like her, I was not ordinary. I knew Evan deserved to be heard, but so did I. I found my microphone in speech and debate; a chance to escape into characters that were not my own, telling stories I did not live. For me, amplifying others' voices seemed more natural than hearing my own. I used to believe that I had nothing to contribute, that I had no voice that was uniquely mine. But now I believe that I did not sacrifice my voice and my identity to represent others, rather that representing others reveals my voice, it is critical to who I am, it is part of my identity. I still wrestle between the wound and the badge as I hide my scars with dignity while voicing peoples’ stories with honor. Being a vehicle for truth carries a heavy burden, but unloading that truth with accuracy and empathy is a responsibility that I am privileged to have. I learned how lucky I am to have my sister. Our dichotomy is the very element that brings us together; without me she has no voice, without her I would not have discovered my passion for using it to advocate for others. In spite of our intertwined existence, there is a reason I keep speaking, even if I choke, even if the words trip on my tongue, there is always a silence in need of being broken. This time, it is my own. I speak to recognize the time I have spent interpreting my sister’s tongue. Keeping the love that unites us, I speak to release the pain and resentment I have held towards her. When I speak I appreciate all the opportunities my voice offers. I speak because I can, and I should, and I will. From my challenges with my sister I have developed the skills necessary for change: attentive listening and audacious advocacy. As a sister and debater the value of understanding both sides of an argument is intrinsic to action, yet so often forgotten in the heat of clash. Learning to stand on both positions of a debate has made me a kinder sister and a stronger leader, inspiring those who do disagree with me to find a point of intersection between our opposing beliefs. With agreement, change becomes possible, unanimous, necessary for all. I will continue to use my voice to foster agreement and make change, whether it is in front of a familial, academic, or national audience. While silence is part of my identity, so is breaking through it.

The phrase "curiosity killed the cat” has been popularly used to describe people who invade privacy, make poor decisions, and face the consequences of their own nosiness. However, its first variation originated in a 16th century play, in which curiosity was associated with care and worry for others. The phrase as we know it today was popularized in 1905 by a Texas newspaper, adding the clause “...but satisfaction brought it back.” After taking the time to dissect this idiom, I now know the cat was not a nuisance, but a martyr memorialized by the impacts of its care. Throughout school, I often felt alienated for my desire to learn. I felt embarrassed for raising my hand too much, irritating for speaking too much, and ashamed of my curiosity. Surrounded by peers who considered their education as burdensome, my genuine joy that bloomed in the classroom was something to conceal. However, no matter my efforts to repress my questions and inputs, I always knew that the enrichment was worth the embarrassment; there was always a second clause that changed the meaning of the phrase. Building an artificial version of myself to appease the people around me would never bring answers or satisfaction, but embracing my curiosity will. When I decided to move 5000 miles away to an entirely new country for university, I risked my security, friendships, and dignity in order to pursue higher education. I was unable to afford most schools in the United States, redirecting me towards Trinity College Dublin where I am currently studying Social Policy and Politics. In my time here in Dublin, I have seen and experienced the possibilities that open when education is placed as a social priority. Every Irish national student here can accessibly pursue a third-level degree without crippling financial strain on themselves and their families. While I, as an international student, am an exception to this principle, I share the feeling of pride in intellectualism that is fostered through social education. When I return to the United States, I hope to embrace the attitudes I have developed here in Ireland through a career as a social policy legislator, concentrating my work in educational advocacy. As someone who has felt the weight of financial struggle throughout my time as a student, I want to dedicate my work and my career to ensuring that financial pressure never hinders the ambition to learn and advance through education. While learning how to balance three jobs in high school to support my mom with the bills, on top of a rigorous course load and extensive extracurriculars– and now working late nights to pay for college tuition– has certainly built character and resilience, I believe no student should have to choose between financial security and academic enrichment. In times of struggle in my academic journey, I remind myself of the cat in the phrase. The cat, while faced with a momentary death, is rewarded for its care in the end. Despite financial strain, I acknowledge that the opportunity to learn, engage, and critically think in an educational environment is a privilege I am blessed to have; to limit or repress my curiosity would be a disservice to myself and the effort I have put in to be in this position. I feel that with this privilege, I have an obligation to return the enrichment– whether through advocacy, action, or service. With consistency and care, curiosity does no harm, and rather strengthens those who chase it.

The first time I walked into my mother’s new apartment, it felt like meeting God. It wasn’t glamorous, but we had been living in a Motel 6 for three months, living off Lean Cuisine and wearing the same ten outfits on rotation. I remember the sigh of relief of no longer lying to my friends as to why they could not sleep over. Even in this rented temple, I felt ashamed of my financial status. I grew up where every teen’s first car was an Audi or BMW; I was surrounded by perfect suburban princesses. I idolized their million dollar homes and highlighted hair, wishing someday I’d get a career well-paying enough to mimic their wealth. I tried befriending them, hoping it could make me become them, but was met with unkind remarks and ostracism. Rather than recluse, I turned to my academics. Building an artificial version of myself to appease the people around me would never bring answers or satisfaction. My education will. The conflicts I faced socially redirected my goals. Timidly, I joined my school’s speech and debate team, where my voice would be valued and amplified. I found the place and the people that made me feel like I matter. Being surrounded by intelligent, driven students motivated me to keep up. I stacked my course load, involved myself in additional extracurriculars, and developed a passion for learning. Speech and debate was the first place I ever felt like a leader. Even amid authentic individuals like the friends I made on my speech and debate team, excelling academically became an expectation rather than a goal. I imitated their study habits and mirrored their resumes, yet failed to receive the same rewards. I found the harder I tried to succeed exactly like them, the further I fell behind. I lived a different lifestyle, unable to dedicate every hour to homework because I was working and helping to support my family to cover finances. Frankly, I was too afraid to ask for help, afraid I’d be rejected like I was before. I had to find the habits that worked for me. Navigating my education solo meant taking risks to achieve self-sufficiency. Through a process of trial and error, I developed my own work ethic that resulted in both academic and emotional rewards. My dedication has earned me admission to the University of Colorado Boulder’s Political Science program. I intend to utilize my diligence to aid with research on achieving education equality to benefit students like myself, and initiate a career in law. My academic journey has allowed me to establish consistency and ambition; university will provide me the opportunities for my skills and passions to thrive. I take advantage of my academics because the acquisition of knowledge is inspiring and the value of it is persistent. I know I belong in educational spheres, and believe the ability to exist in them should be guaranteed to students like myself who have overcome the challenges of pursuing maximized learning.

I have delegated Robin Williams as my parasocial uncle. As a kid, I would watch his comedy specials on Youtube as if they were camcorder footage from a family reunion. His laughter was infectious and kind, his face familiar beyond the movie screens I had known him from. Robin Williams’ death was the first headline I remember reading. I sobbed for hours. How could someone so full of love and humor feel so detached from his life? It wasn’t until I watched Dead Poets Society that I understood Williams’ struggle; “seizing the day” was not a promise nor present, but a chase that he had fallen victim to rather than victor of. I first watched the film in middle school. At thirteen, afraid in my own skin and insecure of my intellect, I saw myself reflected in Todd Anderson– a meek, quiet boy with shoes of a valedictorian brother to fill, and a talent that lies unspoken until it is released by the first man who actually believes in him. I envied his transformation which seemed to be impossible, his development from a peep to a “barbaric yawp.” Todd found his voice through literature and poetry, much like myself. However, as I have grown, I find an element of each character that reflects each of my layers. Neil Perry– courageous and charismatic, seemingly unafraid to pursue his dreams yet terrified of letting down his family. Charlie Dalton (or Nuwanda)-- desperate for approval but uncaring for others’ judgment. Knox Overstreet– embarrassingly romantic, kind, gentle. These qualities, and ironies, of my beloved characters taught me that internal contradictions are not always flaws. Juxtaposition builds identity, contrast fosters community. Accompanied by creativity, the characters’ differences created a brotherhood of different beliefs and passions to strengthen a goal. Dead Poets Society reminds me to embrace my own ambivalence, and welcome new perspectives. Beyond the boys, Mr.Keating, not shockingly, resonated with me the most. I grew up with a self proclaimed “realist” of a father, a non-verbal sister in demand of my constant translation, and a mother who expected me to save her world with a law degree and six-figure income. My love for poetry, music, and dance was undermined by the desperation to please them. Creativity was not encouraged if it meant sacrificing completion of the goals designated to me. However, Keating’s unorthodox mentorship and ardent empathy was absorbed through my screen. It was as if the kindness of his character broke through the twenty-nine years between the movie’s release and my first viewing, shaking me by the shoulders and screaming “CARPE DIEM!” Even if fictional, my affinity for Keating as a teacher transgresses through my attitude towards education– we read and write to suck the marrow out of life, poetry is what we stay alive for. It is still difficult to grapple with the loss of Robin Williams, especially knowing that he embodied a character that creatives everywhere resonate with. Despite the grief I feel, I return to Dead Poets Society often to remind myself that even if Williams didn’t succeed, I will still try to seize the day; for me, the value in the seizure is not the promise nor present, but the pursuit.

I remember exactly where I hid on March 13th, 2020 when my middle school was put under lockdown for an active intruder threat. I remember not knowing if the intruder had a gun. I remember the text I sent my father, the head of the emergency action department at the school, not knowing if he was going to see his daughter again. I live in a gun-happy nation where fireworks and bullets provoke the same duck-and-cover reaction. Every Fourth of July, we celebrate the death of tyranny while ignoring the death of people. I live in a country where my government would rather regulate drag queens than a weapon that could kill me in a fraction of a second. However, I exist in a country where I can take action when my policy makers fail to. That Friday, the one I prayed would not be my last, triggered my spiral of fear that eventually transformed into my lifelong fight. Despite the tragedies that seem to never end, and the headlines of children's names growing longer, the battle against gun violence is a war I refuse to lose. In my history and government classes, I learned how a single voice, with either a plea or demand, can spark a movement. Frederick Douglas, Elizabeth Cady Stanton, Marsha P. Johnson: trailblazers who changed the world out of anger, fear, and fervor. I learned how complacency is the silent killer, but education is a weapon stronger than any bullet. This past year, I met with Parkland shooting survivor, gun activist, and Democratic National Committee chair, David Hogg to discuss how to deliver proper education on gun violence awareness, prevention, and response in our schools. Since my conversation with him, I have worked alongside local politicians, school boards, and my community to implement a curriculum into California state law that accurately addresses gun violence as a remedial epidemic. It is vital to identify the fight in order to cure the hopelessness our nation feels, and remind our youth that there are more effective solutions than thoughts and prayers. While education has been the most impacted sector by my efforts, I intend to expand policy action nationwide. Through my growing understanding of law, politics, sociology and history, I can bring my unwavering passion for advocacy to my campuses and communities while working alongside individuals who have inspired me to keep fighting amidst failure. It is with education that we can mobilize our youth, demanding action to combat catastrophe. It is with a book and a microphone that a student can conjure a movement so powerful, people would rather dive into the zealous current than walk around the river. It is with passion, agreeance, and hope that an idea can become tangible change, and American lives can be protected.

Having developed an interest in advocacy and social justice, I plan to direct my pursuits in higher education and my career in the legal realm. I intend to double major in Political science and Criminal Justice in order to fulfill my goals of creating legislative and judicial reformations. Law is the basis of our nation. It brings order, consistency, and equality. In practice however, it is critical to recognize the flaws within our judicial systems and develop solutions to injustice; my key goal is to correct those failures and be the solution. Throughout my time in speech and debate, I have grown confident in the power of my voice and its ability to impact my community. I have had the privilege of speaking to public officials, educators, and students, on the importance of youth representation and consideration to governmental systems. My education will allow me to expand my impact to a broader audience and foster tangible change within the legal field. Now more than ever, it is essential to reject complacency and speak up against inequities and deprivations of justice. I hope to focus my career in criminal law with an emphasis on defending wrongfully convicted individuals, as well as public policy to improve these judicial failures. Under the status quo, only four states (Delaware, Utah, Illinois, and Oregon) have laws prohibiting coercive tactics by law enforcement, and still, they only apply to juvenile defendants. Coercive interrogation by police officers is proven to produce false confessions and, according to The Innocence Project, are responsible for 25% of all wrongful conviction cases that were overturned by DNA evidence. Female suspects are especially vulnerable to these sorts of interrogation methods, with 73% of exonerated women being convicted of crimes that never occurred due to coerced false confessions, evidence manipulation, and judicial prejudice. These figures, while concerning and disappointing, are capable of changing. With efforts from individuals like me, justice for these victims of prosecutorial misconduct is not only achievable, but imminent. The first step toward reform is creating a dialogue. My education will foster an environment to raise my concerns and focus my studies towards these judicial intricacies, preparing me with the strongest foundation of knowledge to create revision. In my career, I will apply my academics to fulfill my goal of creating social and policy change, lobbying for legislation promoting legal fairness and working to represent individuals who proclaim their innocence. I believe everyone has a voice and is capable of using it to make an impact. I also believe that we are obligated to use our voices to advocate for those who are systemically silenced. As a debater, the value of understanding both sides of an argument is intrinsic to action, yet so often forgotten in the heat of clash. Learning to stand on both positions of a debate has made me a stronger leader, inspiring those who do disagree with me to find a point of intersection between our opposing beliefs. With agreement, change becomes possible, unanimous, necessary for all. I will continue to use my voice to foster agreement and make change, correcting the flaws within our justice system and restoring trust in the law.