For years, theologians have debated on what constitutes the truth of the Bible; many believe that much of the Bible is symbolic, while others argue that everything should be taken literally. Various church leaders take different stances, leaving many Christians unsure of what to believe and others blindly following what they are told. Growing up Catholic, I was always told what the “truth” is, and, since I was an easy-going child, I believed it. Even when doubt crept into my mind, which it of course often did, I would ignore it, until finally my faith collapsed in high school. I was dissatisfied with the Church’s stance on many social issues and frustrated with the unclarity of many Catholic teachings. However, in the past year, I have slowly started to open myself back up to Jesus. Through the support of my family and friends, I have been able to rediscover my faith by focusing on what I personally believe constitutes the truth. I believe that we as humans are designed to love one another, and the purest form of love is Christ: sacrificial. Taking this hope, I re-examined my own beliefs regarding Christianity; I realized that the state of the Church as an institution today does not necessarily reflect the “true” Church that Jesus Himself instated. To me, the purpose of Christianity is Love, as reflected by the Bible: “...for love comes from God. Everyone who loves has been born of God and knows God. Whoever does not love does not know God, because God is love… This is love: not that we loved God, but that he loved us and sent his Son as an atoning sacrifice for our sins… No one has ever seen God; but if we love one another, God lives in us and his love is made complete in us" (1 John 4:7-12). To me, this verse represents that God is literally Love; without God, there is nothing, as Love is in everything. Since we have free will, however, the world can choose to act without love, and, unfortunately, I believe the Catholic Church as an institution has. The most personal case for me is the ostracization of LGBTQ+ Christians, and the insinuation that they cannot find real romantic love in queer relationships. As a queer woman, I know that my relationship with my girlfriend is just as loving as any other romantic relationship, and it hurts to see a community that claims to revolve around love reject mine. I have been able to separate my impression of the worldly Church from the true one, however, and the Bible reaffirms this. "They are from the world and therefore speak from the viewpoint of the world, and the world listens to them…This is how we recognize the Spirit of truth and the spirit of falsehood" (1 John 4:5-6). Passages such as this remind me that just because someone claims to speak for God, does not mean they do. Worldly knowledge is limited, while God’s is not. I know that my Truth may not be the same as God’s, but I try to keep love in all that I do, and I’m sure that this is how we are meant to reflect Christ on earth.

I spent my childhood days hiding in the stacks of libraries. I spent my childhood daydreams, however, in Mossflower Woods, Hogwarts, the Shire, the jungle, fairy houses, and the deep ocean. Although this imagination has not stuck with me through adolescence, my love for reading has. Entering high school, my tastes moved away from action and towards questions of identity and philosophy (although I still enjoy a good fantasy). My sophomore year, I read "The Picture of Dorian Gray" by Oscar Wilde. It is important to note that the novel's deuteragonist, artist Basil Hallward, is widely considered to be in love with the protagonist Dorian Gray, a likely reflection of Wilde's own sexual orientation. To summarize the story, with every evil act Dorian commits, his painted image corrodes with his soul, while the real Dorian stays young and pristine. Upon discovering the portrait towards the end of the book, Basil begs Dorian to repent for his misdeeds, and, in a flash of confusion and anger, Dorian kills Basil. In the end, Basil’s sexuality and undying love and care for Dorian were his undoing, a likely reflection of Wilde’s own insecurities as a gay man in the 19th century. At first, as a queer woman, I was outraged that Wilde would create such a tragic fate for a queer character; however, I soon realized that that same rage was the intention of the novel. To me, this book now represents the resilience of queer people even in times of darkness and hatred. Through his art, Wilde has touched millions of lives for hundreds of years, even though he could never have been appreciated in his own time. Although the end of Basil’s story is gruesome, his character’s impact on generations has brought immeasurable warmth to the world, providing me and many others a place to recognize themselves with a new sense of empathy. Later, in my senior year of high school, I read Kazuo Ishiguro's “The Remains of the Day” which tells the story of a man learning to come to terms with his past mistakes and his journey of accepting himself not only for the regard others give him but for his own inherent dignity. These ideas of memory, perception, and the inability to change the past deeply resonate with me. In this novel, Ishiguro emphasizes a need for emotional evolution and leaves the reader with hope for what the unwritten future will bring. I have taken this advice to heart and try to apply it to every day of my life. I still struggle with regret and fear for the future, but writing and art such as this novel have brought me hope that I did not have before. In college, I still spend my days in libraries, but now I am studying for hours on end and conducting research for my classes. Every night, however, I retreat to my dorm room and open a book. Within it, I find a kind of light and magic that cannot be found anywhere else.

My brother Sean and I are the two youngest of seven kids raised in a strict, Irish Catholic household. He was only twenty when he committed suicide. It is impossible to sum up my emotions in words, much less a single sentence, but since then, everything has been a reminder. Eventually, with the help of my loved ones, specifically my siblings, I rediscovered purpose in love. I knew that without Sean, I would not be the person I am today. I knew that his time on Earth meant something, even if it only meant something to me. I latched onto this newfound hope and found it in things like laughter, tears, sunsets, and coffee. I also found it in old pictures of Sean dressing up for Halloween, dancing with my sisters, and sharing a bed with my brothers. Now, whenever I feel grief, I cherish it. I am so lucky to feel this immeasurable grief for my brother because it means that I loved him immeasurably. With this philosophy, I have made strides to better my mental health, as well as others’. Just a few weeks before Sean’s death, my classmate Zach committed suicide as well. Outraged with my school’s lack of attention and the loss of life around me, I started the “Mental Health Club,” and in just our first year, we raised money to plant a permanent tree on school grounds as a memorial for Zach. We provided students access to relevant hotlines as well, addressing a death and growing epidemic that many of our administrators were too afraid to. I graduated from my high school last summer, but I keep in touch with the club moderator and am pleased to share that the club is still going strong! Now, I am a first year at the University of Virginia, planning to declare my major in behavioral neuroscience. I have been in Charlottesville for less than a month, but I have already found so many amazing organizations that allow me to help others and strengthen our community. In the next several years, I hope to continue on to graduate school for some form of psychiatry. One role I am interested in pursuing is a psychiatric physician assistant; this career would allow me to directly help those greatly suffering with their mental health, like my brother once did, and like so many do now. I know that a job in this field is wearing. That is exactly why I feel as if I must be one of the few to do it: if not me, then who? I will not be able to help every patient that comes into my office, but even if I can help just one person, I will know that my brother’s life and death meant something.

It is late 2022, and I am scrolling on TikTok. Some video comes up with a song I have never heard before as the audio; in a trance of endless consumption, my attention is caught and held by the shocking lyrics and beautiful composition. I immediately add it to my playlist. It is late 2023, and my best friend asks me if I have heard of a song called "Red Wine Supernova." I tell her that it seems vaguely familiar, and we listen to it together in her car. I laugh at the creativity of the lyrics and quickly recognize the artist's name, connecting it back to one of my favorite songs, "Casual." That night, I listen to the artist's album: "The Rise and Fall of a Midwest Princess." It is early 2024, and I have just started dating this girl at my school. I have not told anyone in my family, and I am scared of what they will think. I tell her about Chappell Roan, and we listen to her album together. It is now, and Chappell Roan is quickly becoming a household name. I am grateful everyday for her career as it has not only changed my life on a personal level but is also changing the world for the better. She is one of the first big celebrities to be openly lesbian and have it be a central theme to her art, normalizing sapphism and showing the beauty of it through music. My girlfriend and I often listen to her songs and reminisce of when we saw her in concert just a few months ago. Chappell's talent, fearlessness, and authenticity have inspired and enabled me to come out to my family and accept myself and my sexuality. I know that I would not be at the place I am today without her and her music.

The first concert I ever went to was Tame Impala when I was fifteen years old. I felt embarrassed, as if I did not know what I was doing because I had never been to a real concert before. Everyone there was much older than my friends and I, and it reeked of weed. The venue was general admission, so after we walked through security, my friends and I ran to the pit; my best friend's mom, however, was not thrilled with this idea. We were forced to sit up in the seats, and I was once again humiliated, defeated, and just wanted to go home. When the concert began, however, I fell in love. The feeling of the lights and the bass and the community was overwhelming, and it felt as if my heart could burst from the joy. There was neon beams and fire and confetti and everyone in the building was jumping and singing; it felt as if the whole world was in sync for just a few hours. Since then, I have attended many concerts, the next being Phoebe Bridgers the following summer. Although I had arguably the worst experience there, it was also the best concert of my life. I resonate deeply with Bridgers's music as I found it in a dark time in my life. Her piercing lyrics and melancholy voice touched my soul, and hearing her perform live made me feel as if I was levitating. Thirty minutes into her set, however, I passed out. I was brought up towards the stage by security guards and stared dead into Phoebe Bridgers's eyes. I was so hot and sweaty, and she had to stop the concert in the middle of her performance of my favorite song of all time: "Smoke Signals." I was humiliated. I cried for the rest of the concert, initially because of the embarrassment, but later because of the beauty of the experience. Since then I have seen Taylor Swift, Mom Jeans, Hozier, Noah Kahan, and Chappell Roan. I have also attended many smaller, free concerts featuring local bands, notably student bands at my University. Every single one has left me more elated than the last and each is an indescribable and unique experience. This upcoming weekend, I am attending the music festival "Iron Blossom," and in the coming months I'll be attending two more shows. For me, music has a way of connecting to the soul. Sound can say more than words ever could, and the experience of a live performance is incomparable to any other.

I still remember the first time I heard of Minecraft. My childhood best friend Jadyn was obsessed with it, and I would hear hundreds of stories of the monsters she would face and the empires she would build. I remember being entranced, but also jealous, as I had no way of playing the game. I began to watch YouTube videos of creators playing the game, spending much of my free time imagining what I would do within this world of creativity. In fifth grade, I got a pink Kindle Fire for Christmas, and the first app I downloaded was Minecraft (paid for by the $10 from my grandma). Throughout middle school, I played the game both with friends and alone; I made houses and petting zoos in creative mode, as well as fought monsters and went hunting in survival. It hurts to say that all these worlds are gone, and it hurts even more to admit that those friendships are mostly gone as well. As I entered high school, and eventually college, I changed and grew and drifted away from my old friends. The love and creativity we shared, however, is infinite. I carry it with me in the Minecraft stickers on my headphones, and I remember fondly our memories whenever I play Minecraft with my new friends in our dorms. To me, Minecraft will always represent the endless creativity and imagination that forms childhood, and it is a reminder that that magic does not have to end in adulthood.