What made "Finding Dory” an embellishing storyline, for me, was the trio’s stark-contrast in personalities. Yet each so different, I found a piece of myself within each of these characters — Nemo, Marlin, and Dory. Nemo’s stubbornness, Marlin’s anxiety, & Dory’s enthusiasm — it was not hard to inundate to these characters’ charms. However, Dory’s way of navigating through the harsh waves of life, or the ocean, was more than sufficient of a reason for her to become my Disney soul animal. Growing up, I used to see all the people around me tackle life as if it was something so miniscule to them. While they were managing the obstacles, I was hiding from my own. While other people were taking risks, I was drowning under the influence of my own inner-critic. While watching Finding Nemo, I became obsessed with Dory’s way of seeing life. She was optimistic – not once did she allow any circumstance deter her from changing who she was. I found that admirable. While there were justifiable reasons where she could have chosen to give up, such as the search for her parents, she persevered through. While growing up, I felt like I was in a way – tainted by my weaknesses. I’d find myself inundated by the strings of an anxiety disorder I was unaware of that consumed what felt my whole self-worth. People would often shrink my character down to these weaknesses as a kid. Dory wasn’t appalled by her weaknesses. I think that’s why I came to love her. It was the buried version of myself that people choose not to see. I used to see how Dory was painted in that light. Given her short-term memory loss, people chose to see her as someone incapable of carrying herself through her personal journey. Dory was vulnerable. Her reminder to “keep swimming” reminded me of my affirmations as a kid to take it “one day at a time.” I cannot say I relate to losing my parents in the ocean, however, I, one-thousand percent, resonate with the emotional turmoil that comes attached to life. That is why I found attachment to the film and the character itself. Having an anxiety disorder, I identified with Dory’s self-sabotage moments, the self-perception declines, and the moments of finding yourself in the realm of frustration from feeling stuck. To me, Dory is one of a kind.

I loathe being a first-generation student, sometimes. It's an inescapable void that becomes bigger like a silent infection. The only way out seems to be by holding on to a tightrope and hoping that tightrope is strong enough to sustain every weight that’s on your shoulders and hoping that heaviness in your chest tumbles. Within those self-made cages of turmoil, a fine line between what you should do versus what you want to do arises internally, and sometimes it’s enigmatic trying to carry and navigate with those feelings. My parents’ sacrifices are the reason I am where I am today – that I’m forever grateful for. Forever. My complex feelings with being a first-generation student have sharpened as I’ve shifted into the early stages of being an adult. At the age of 20, I should have my life in order. I don’t. Sometimes I find myself questioning if the sacrifices I am making at this point in my life are worth it at the expense of my happiness. Being in college as a first-generation is sitting in front of a mirrorball. It is seeing all the reflections of the different versions of yourself condescending as the mirrorball spins. It’s tedious, it’s a challenge trying to navigate the whole experience with zero guidance. You’re the role model. You’re meant to set an example for the younger siblings. It’s a rattling ground, and I found myself being caught in the middle of that guilt. I sometimes find myself yearning for what could have been — what should have been if I had been patient with myself, and given myself more opportunities to take without second-guessing myself. There was this vice of mine to put my sanity on the line in exchange for carrying out idealistic results. I boxed myself in a corner because I felt like I owed these unrealistic consistencies to myself — and I honestly believed that this was all I could offer. I lodged on the unfathomable grades — which truly speaking was anything below an A. My dad works under the scrutiny of the intense summer heat & the winter's climax. My mom dedicates all her time to us. I felt a burden, an immense guilt trying to better a future for myself while my parents were wearing themselves out to make that possible. The spring of my college freshman year was the mirrorball’s optimum climax — the imminent shattering. I still did not have anything figured out. The reason I had opted for community college in the first place was to extend the amount of limited time I had to decide on a career path. Deep down, I knew I wanted to go into Marketing, but I was reluctant because not only was I behind but because of my lack of spine. My past mistakes, the fixation on the past, & the hyper-fixation drove me into a depression — one I had to recover from. From that low point in my life, I decided I had enough. Whenever you’re a first-generation student, it’s quite infeasible to not think about the pressure. I have one life — one shot at molding the life ideal to me but I was wasted on the self-comparisons, idealism, & regressive feelings of Impostor’s syndrome. The truth is, there is no timetable hovering over anyone much less is there one penalizing someone for not living up to a certain time frame. It’s all a made-up social construct — something I always found myself working towards. Comparisons upon comparisons, the guilt — it’s something I had to completely pan out of my headspace. After spiraling that April, I came to one conclusion — one with many components. Life is far too complex to shut myself off from the world. As for the first-gen ideology, I had to redefine the principle of what that would signify for me moving on forward with my life. While navigating around those feelings, I came across a rational way of seeing it — that eased my mind and brought comfort to me. I put in a relentless effort to fulfill my academic ambitions. I've managed to create these ambitions that have motivated me to keep moving forward to get my degree. Knowing that I’ve given my all academically, despite the obstacles or errors that arise, I know I did all I could to get on the other side of the road. I've just learned to live in the moment. For me, that means being able to go on my daily hikes not yearning for the future.

I twitch when people solely put an emphasis on physical health when the conversation around health is brought up. It is quite poignant because there is a layer beneath the physical aspect that allows for that to even be fulfilled — yet it’s never fully unpeeled like it should be. Having no utmost consideration and awareness of this internal haven and its significance in my day-to-day coordination was creating a void I had to acknowledge and learn to look out for. It all started with small details. From a young age, I became too fixated on the idea of appealing to people. This sense of self-sabotage completely warped my mentality and self-identity and I felt compelled to the idea of perfectionism. With this, there came an obsession with dissecting my looks and seeking ways to modify my physical appearance. This unattainability projected and found itself present in front of me because of my social media use. I found myself driven by comparisons. The repulsive mirror checks and the self-loathing eventually drove me further into a space of isolation — fully taken over by a generalized anxiety disorder and depression. God — I’d find myself in bed for days scrolling endlessly online asking myself, “What am I doing wrong? Why is this my life? Why don’t I look like this?” Physical fitness is synonymous with mental fitness. There were days I found myself under the light of zest & passion for the days ahead. There were days, even weeks where I’d find myself under the dark — figuratively and literally — to the extent that I couldn’t see any foreseeable good & unsure if I’d have it in me to try to get out of the darkness. Fully after my diagnosis, I promised myself I’d commit to changes. After much fixation, I had to shut down my social media consumption. I was fixating too much on this world inside this tiny screen, and I was letting the world around me just stroll away from me. Tiny slots of that time I had once allotted to excessive social media usage — I knew had to be time dedicated to me. After much commotion, I finally found myself on a hiking trail near my home. 2-mile trails of endless trees, & the endless fresh breaths of air mixing with the wind — it was perfect. Each day I found myself there, I found myself deviating from that online vigilance, from the chronicles of letting myself get pulled into my thoughts. The runs were win-win coordination between my mind and my physical health. In between those changes, there was the necessity to recalibrate my idea of sleep. Guilty enough, I’d find myself rarely getting a full night’s worth of sleep. Ever. One of the most significant emblems in my life to this day — was learning how to breathe. As silly as that sounds, there are a plethora of ways to breathe that allow me to diminish the heavy presence hovering on top of my body. It’s a routine I’ve learned to include in stressful moments. I’ve learned that for me to live a healthy life — I had to resign from the idea of having it together all the time. I had to resign to that concept of perfectionism — life is messy. I've found fondness in vulnerability because not only did it help me create connections with the people around me, but it helped me gain clarity. I’ve managed to learn for myself that for my physical health to be intact, I have to take care of my mental fitness first.

Every morning, I’d myself waking up with an uneasiness attached to my heartbeats and a voice encompassed by pessimism. There was no way to numb them down. I couldn’t just pretend they were not there — I was feeling them, hearing them — but I couldn't understand them. Selena Gomez once said, “My highs were really high, and my lows would take me out for weeks at a time.” During the spontaneous low moments of my life — I found myself subdued by the pessimistic voice at the crest. Not downsizing my struggles was a soul-cleansing process that needed to be redefined to the core. If I’m being frankly honest, the topic of mental health was not something discussed in my household — much less addressed. Unfortunately, the idea of mental health struggles in a Hispanic household is convoluted and usually ridiculed because of the taboo that one can be seen as crazy and unfit. Long before my diagnosis, I thought my idea of normal was something I had to force myself to conform to. Given how many people perceived mental health, I bottled up much of that within me. I reached a breaking point last September and my family could finally see through that limited scope. I was encouraged to seek help— and at the very most seek clarity. I was diagnosed with a generalized anxiety disorder and told I had strong signs of depression. In that diagnosis, I found an equal amount of terror and repose. Terrified, because the blindfold was finally yanked off but tranquility that I finally had acknowledgment of why I had been suffering for so long. The self-made cages of turmoil while growing up started to make sense. Long before I was diagnosed, I had no capacity nor desire to see things in a different light. I was dulled by the blue filter movie lens that plastered this gloomy, cold sensation to every aspect of my life – and blocked any indication of lightness. It thrived on exhaustion— and on that heaviness hovering over my chest. Having an acknowledgment of the source was a step forward for me. Much of the way I approached the life in front of me had no sense. I felt unfulfilled in the direction my life was heading because I was ashamed of who I was. I was putting my life on pause – waiting on the ideal moment to begin living it rather than living the life I had in front of me now. I’d spend my days sitting on zero battery. For a long time, my mental health impacted my productivity and my scope of the future and it all narrowed down to self-comparisons. Self-comparisons were negative propagators to my mental health. I had been negating my desired career path–Marketing–for a great amount of time because I was aware of the potential outcome of not finishing under the ideal four-year run. I loved the idea of Marketing, and how that could challenge my creative outlet in the entertainment and business industry. Through this period of heavy self-reflection, I heard something I needed to hear, “Everyone has their journey, lengthy or not, pursue your aspirations, do what makes you happy.” I knew I’d be fulfilled going after something I loved rather than suffering because I was scared of the potential journey. At some moment in my life, I lost myself to self-validation. I allowed people — some with no good intentions to meddle and occupy my emotional space. This took a toll on me. I alienated myself along the way and isolated myself completely — shutting myself off. Boundaries helped me manage through the two sides of the dime. I learned for myself that limiting my exposure to these people was peaceful, but only so by not negating my significant relationships in the process. Connecting with people I care about has allowed me to find fulfillment. A string of words can change the outcome of someone's day. I can attest to that. Now having insight and introspection of my habits attached to my mental health struggles, I know that my capacity to take care of myself is far more impactful than I realized. Some days I found myself in a maze, asking myself, “Why me?” I’d sit in my bed all day for days lifelessly trying to keep up with the momentum of my heart while I marinated on the smallest mishaps and the “what ifs” of my future. The over-fixation on my future under the precedent of self-comparisons and “what-ifs” was something I learned I had to redefine because it was eating me alive. I find myself reaffirming the idea of, “One day at a time” when I catch myself drifting into that state of tension. Condensing the idea of perfection changed the course for me, truly. I’ve chosen to lean towards progress rather than immediate perfection. I learned that with anxiety I found myself aiming at targeting everything flawlessly and when I didn’t meet those expectations, I would drown in the streams of gloominess. Stripping down those notions of self-comparisons by creating boundaries with social media allowed me to step back, and live in the moment. Small changes like these have transformed my life. Henry Thoreau once said, “Not until we are lost do we begin to understand ourselves.” Feeling lost has allowed me to recalibrate the meaning and direction of my life – while noting that I do not have to do it on my own.

I’ve never wanted to rewind from a moment more than this one. In fact, I wish I could fast-forward away from this moment because I’m positive I’m about to witness a highly, loud painful silence when I share my answer out loud. Looking up the meaning of my name was intriguing— initially, that is. When I saw that Kevin signified handsome I immediately wanted to bury my own grave. I didn’t even want to look up the meaning of my middle name, because the answer to my first name was enough to leverage and subject me to a barrel of laughs in class. My mom loved the way Kevin sounded and it became my first name. My middle name is Emanuel – Kevin Emanuel Chavez. My middle name was inspired by mom’s infatuation with its meaning – which means “God is with us” in Hebrew. The truth is — I never really felt handsome growing up. I have a scar—one that extends from one ear to the other. It’s a thick scar, which ultimately is something I could never hide or cover up if I wanted to. It’s there. Forever. I sometimes think about the options. Can I cover it up? Should I cover it up? There were two guys named Kevin Chavez in our school. The same exact name, the same exact age, and the same grade level – what were the odds of that? Kevin the baseball player and Kevin with the scar – it could not get any shallower than that. I mean – there was an instance where I was called a brain-damaged freak by one of my "friends" because of that very same disamenity enmeshed in my head. It felt like my name was attached to my appearance. This was nothing new to me. I’ve come to hear many raspy insults. I’ve sat in class where I’ve been dissected down to my nose resembling a bird’s beak. I’ve even sat down with those same individuals making dramatic caricatures to exaggerate my features in a mocking way – much like the caricature exhibits at the fair. I’d be okay had it been something done with everyone, but I was the only target. The accentuated nose and thick scar inundated me. What bothered me the most were the annotations beside my name. Why did my name have to be attached to physical attributes? I often found myself asking this question. Trying to reason with those unwilling to reason was unreasonable. I loved my name. Though Kevin is a fairly common name, I liked it – beyond its context, and alongside my middle name. I found fondness and an importance for my middle name as I got older. My mom appreciates the meaning behind it because of the context of my surgery. For a little context, prior to my surgery – my family was told there were high chances I’d be paralyzed because the tumor on my head was in a rather rigorous location. Besides the technicalities, it was all a rather rigorous experience I wouldn't exchange. The significance of my middle name was quite an emblem after this experience. I found appreciation for it. I love my name – every single part of it: my first, middle, and last name. My name is my identity – cultivated by my own experiences. The bird-beak nose, the thick scar, and all the other characteristics alongside that were used to define me – they were other people’s puzzle pieces, not mine. Only I have the exact puzzle pieces, and each piece holds a piece to my story and my journey.

I loathe the idea of me wearing shorts in public. Being hyper-fixated has a price; however, gravity’s price is pricier. Whenever I’m close to completing a run, my runner’s high blindly takes control of my coordination, and my ability to pause and possibly rewind from any faulty step is compromised. In my mind, after finishing a four-mile run, I feel invincible. Seeing another running trail is tempting, and I do like caving into temptations. In this instance, not even 20 steps into the new trail, I found myself dramatically tripping, facing face-to-face with the dirt-filled trail. The blood pool on my knees was my confirmation that wearing shorts in the middle of the winter was anticlimactic. Gravity – though such a simple concept – has groundbreaking implications, including being gifted a painful wounded knee in 30-degree weather. The idea of gravity being incidentally discovered out of the casualty of a falling apple is too surreal to be true. Just imagining Isaac Newton witnessing the famous apple falling off a tree, and not having full-on peace from it is the story of my life. From that moment on, Isaac Newton made it his mission to answer the question, “Why did the apple fall from the tree?” In retrospect, I can connect myself to that level of fixation. Whenever I'm faced with the chilly urge of getting an answer, I find myself not putting the question to rest until I gain clarity. I understand why Isaac Newton was unwilling to overlook the malevolence from the apple. It's a mind-boggling complexity. The idea that beyond our planet, objects, and astronauts are floating mid-air without falling into obscurity all while gravity holds us down here on Earth seems fallacious – yet it isn’t Hyper-fixation has been a reckoning force for science.

Living with a General Anxiety Disorder, I’ve had to recalibrate much of my life around — not only for my sanity but to also refrain from the entrapment that comes with the calamities of overthinking. I’m a natural at overthinking — it’s an unrecognizable talent. When I learned of my condition, I had to learn how to unlearn the habit of indulging the insatiable streams of anxiety attempting to seize control of my body. To extinguish fires, one needs an extinguisher to reduce the encompassing harmful nuisances. Joy is something I one-hundred percent am mindful of. Given my first-hand experiences with the obscurity of anxiety itself, I’ve encountered moments where life itself seemed dull — and from that moment on I knew I couldn’t allow myself to be pigeonholed into that environment any longer. Joy is knowing everything will be okay no matter the circumstances. I’ve learned that joy for me is sitting down and anticipating the adrenaline in psychological thrillers like Midsommar & Black Swan. It’s the realm of escaping the real world and dissecting the world within these movies. It’s exciting — it is a cathartic release of emotions. These horror & psychological films have been for me a way of confronting nerve arousing moments and unconsciously knowing these moments aren’t always the way I perceive them to be. On the other side of fulfilling that sense of joy, I hike. Hiking, for me, is detaching myself from whatever is causing stress — to focus on the nature around me. Feeling the breezes, being able to hear my deep breaths of air, & smelling the scent of grass & the trees around me goes a long way. I’ve made it my obligation to be consistent with it because I don’t ever want to compromise my happiness.