It was hard choosing between the 107 My Little Pony songs that shaped my childhood. An especially precious stone, however, was "Right There in Front of Me" by Daniel Ingram. For the past few years, I've struggled with the nagging and shameful thought that I will never become who people expect me to become. Every slight academic failure feels like a punch in the chest and a direct attack on my abilities. I often feel like I am losing grip of myself - or rather, the self that I had weaved together and demanded that I fulfill. Relistening to this song was a burst of comfort and elucidation. "And it was right (right) there in front of me, Just too close for me to see." Everywhere, everyone keeps chasing. As we run, we forget to take care of ourselves. "...who I am Was all I ever needed And when I faced that test I finally succeeded." In modern academic culture, many students feel confined and alone in virulently competitive environments. Parental expectations and elite college standards pressure students into subjecting themselves to severe distress in pursuit of distant, idealized life images. As external factors like college acceptances and test scores become associated with future personal fulfillment, students risk intertwining their self-worth with academic achievements or failures. This song is beautiful because it is a reminder that happiness is within oneself. I wish I could hug every student who feels lost within a tornado of late-night studying, chronic stress, and scattered, tear-stained essays. The recognition that you are enough is not a curtailment of your ambition. Your dreams are not tied relentlessly to your grades - they're tied relentlessly to who you are. Everything is right there in front of you, just too close for you to see.

Hi! My name is Khang, and if there's one word to describe me, it would probably be "obsessed". I'm always obsessed over something, whether it be a new book, a random idea that just popped into my head, or the eleven-page goodbye poem I wrote for my sixth grade teachers. Working on projects, understanding a math concept, reading up on psychology experiments - when I'm passionate about something, it's as if everything else just disappears. And that's really all I am - someone who is extremely, profoundly mesmerized by the world. Sincerely, Khang 1234 Somewhere Street The Nearest Rabbit Hole

Warning: I have a horrid understanding of Roman numerals, but I wanted this to look fancy. I. I deserve this scholarship because I am the Chosen One. Once upon a time, a divine being had to choose among 100 million babies, including me. As she reached out tenderly to choose the baby next to me, a random pigeon behind her started screeching, distracting her and causing her to accidentally choose me. Thus, I am the Chosen One - defy me if you dare. XVII. My only current academic/career goal is to develop an indestructible relationship with my little sister, whom I plan to mold into either a Disneyland ticket salesperson or the CEO of a major publishing company. XVIVMATHISHARDIMO. The second toughest* obstacle I've ever faced was when my quest to taste every type of Cheeto became doomed because hot Cheetos just seemed too daunting. I finally overcame this obstacle by believing in myself and trying one. Afterwards, I ate 10,000,000,000 more. It was very difficult (I am writing this in tears), and an experience that definitely distinguishes me as a valiant and hardworking student. *The time my dog farted is inarguably the toughest obstacle I've ever faced, but I can't write about something I still haven't "overcome".

In July of 1942, thirteen-year old Anne Frank packed everything and went into hiding in an Amsterdam warehouse. There, Anne would spend her last years crammed in with seven other hiders, studying assiduously, tiptoeing up to the attic to peek at the sky, discovering her values and knitting together the threads of her identity. She did this all when the whole world was darkness. But to Anne, there was still some light. "Think of all the beauty still left around you," she wrote in her diary, "and be happy". She struggled, at first, to feel gratitude. Anne suffered, she was depressed, and she cried away sleepless nights. But she was never afraid to think and reflect. Anne Frank is a prodigious writer, but that isn't why I admire her. To me, she is the embodiment of what it means to persist through everything and rise. Even as unbearable wretchedness threatened to choke her, she took note of the little, happy things. Even as the world threatened to spiral into chaos, she clung on to everything that mattered. And, with the shadow of death looming in the air, she managed to be happy. Sometimes, I write and I try to think of the world the way she did. Beautiful, good, and sometimes ironic. Not always pleasant, or even close, but always providing a beam of light, a reason to smile. Shortly before her death, Anne wrote, "In spite of everything, I still believe that people are really good at heart." It's hard for anyone to come to that conclusion, a thousand times more so for a girl hounded by people who hated who she was. Yet she did. Anne threw back love, rather than hatred. That is the choice she made, and the choice that I will always strive to emulate.

My two favorite hobbies are reading and writing. Every day, whether it be on a bright afternoon or one o'clock in the morning, I find time for my books and pens. Quite literally, too - my room is scattered with books and I have blue ink stains on my bedsheets. Reading and writing have never been chores for me. When I was in elementary school, I wrote all sorts of stories: "Tales of Eliza Chapman", "Kyily in Fairyland" (heavily inspired from the Rainbow Magic Fairy series), and "Cheesy the Cheese Monster" (which was turned into a small play in my school's auditorium). The process of creation has always excited me. Waiting in the car, I would sometimes get strokes of inspiration and avidly compose poems on my dad's phone. Over the pandemic, my love for reading and writing has been revitalized. I read and re-read indiscriminately, from classic literature to self-help books to Big Nate comics. Social issues, children's books, poetry - I want to read everything. Other people's ideas. Other people's thoughts. Other people's stories. And I love creating my own. In 2020, I began keeping writer's notebooks, and since then, I've filled eight with poetry, random ideas, short stories, and reflections. Like a gentle breeze, writing has guided me to think about the world I live in and humanity as a whole. Like tumbling into a deep but breathtaking pool, writing has forced me to think more about who I am and who I want to be. I write about everything I know and everything that I don't know, too. I don't ever want to stop. To me, reading and writing are more than just distractions - in fact, they're the opposite. Reading and writing don't help me escape my life. They're part of how I live it.

It's a lot harder answering this question than I thought. I'll answer it anyway, though, because I know that I love myself. I just don't know quite how. What is something about me that makes me love myself? I could say that I'm kind, but some days, all I am is irritable and moody. I could say that I'm hard-working, but some days, all I want to do is lie down and take a pause. I could say that I know my values, but my values are developing every day. How can I love myself when what makes me "myself" is always fluctuating? The truth is, there isn't one or a million things about someone that makes that person truly love themself. People don't gain self-esteem by searching for traits or talents that make them worthy of being loved. For a long time, my source of confidence had always come from academic successes. I loved, and still admire, my drive to perform my very best at school. Using this as a source of self-esteem, however, made me crushed if I received a poor score or made a careless mistake on a test. Similarly, basing my self-love on my persistence in doing the right thing made it hard for me to forgive myself whenever I acted out of jealousy or spite. It's dangerous to base self-love on mere attributes. Self-love shouldn't falter with slips, falls, or developments. Today, many teenagers like me are struggling with self-esteem. We are constantly changing and evolving into the people we become. It is important that, no matter what happens or who we become, we reserve a place in our hearts for self-love. I don't love myself because I'm smart or always on top of it all - I love myself just because. And that's enough.

Pssst... I know where Hope comes from! When I was an elementary schooler, my dad told me that I should study hard, because life in my generation will be difficult. The population is rising, the Earth is wasting away, and it'll be hard to afford a nice home. I remember picturing a Malthusian catastrophe where everyone wanted everything in a world of just about nothing. It would be a competition, an intense battle to rise to the top. This image of the world was what drove me for several years. Somewhere in middle school, however, my view on this matter changed. I had begun learning new things, meeting new people, and keeping a writer's notebook (a practice that changed my life). It wasn't an abrupt change, but a tentative one. Hope crept up on me like wisdom often does, tickling at my heart until my whole perspective of the world changed. At first, I saw it here and there, in the occasional motivational speech and ensuing burst of determination. Now, I see it everywhere. All along, it had been inevitable. Hope is everywhere. It is the way my classmates' faces light up with joy as they talk about their dreams. It is the way people hug a friend who is having a bad day, and it is the way people hug a stranger who is having a bad day. It is the way my school's UNICEF club is packed with eager students every single meeting. It is the way my cousin talks for hours and hours on end about social justice issues. Hope is the vigor that shakes in my friend's voice when she tells me that she wants to change the world. Hope is the way my heart seems to fill with all the energy in the world as I realize that I want to change the world, too. Who I once saw as competitors, I now see as collaborators with a common mission: to make the future a better place. The world I once saw as a competition, I now see as a place I love and want to protect. And where I once saw inevitable dread, I now see hope. The future isn't vague and far away like the dystopia I used to conceive. It isn't some distant place miles and miles away anymore, nor does it exist only in my imagination. The future is right in front of me - my classmates, my friends, my cousin, everyone. And me. Every day, I wake up with a smile and a reason to hope. The people I encounter are intelligent, passionate, and most importantly, kind. Hope doesn't come from circumstances - it's been heard on "the chillest land- And on the strangest Sea -", as poet Emily Dickinson once wrote. Hope doesn't come from a sudden solution, nor does it come from blind faith. Hope has always come, and always will come, from people. And with the amazing people of today, what reason is there not to hope?

Lily embarks on an exploration of the complex yet irresistible world of table etiquette. She sniffs... she thinks... she pounces onto the chair! But wait... where's all the food? It looks like the table has already been cleared!

It had been too long since I last visited the library. I perused the wooden shelves, searching. Finally, my eyes rested on a title: Something Wicked This Way Comes, by Ray Bradbury. I took the book home. I couldn't believe where the book took me. One place was past midnight, because once I started, I couldn't stop reading. It had been too long since a teardrop landed on the page I was reading, too long since I last gave in to a book so completely. The words seemed to whisper to my mind, poetic and blurry, clingy and alive. Suddenly, the small object in my hands felt warmer than my blanket. Something Wicked This Way Comes is my favorite book because it reminded me of how much I love reading. It reunited me with a love I had abandoned, but never truly forgotten. I remembered how words could make my heart tingle. I remembered how the soft crinkle of the spine's paste carried me to sleep. How could I have forgotten? The story centers around two friends, Jim and Will, who learn the meaning of growing up. One is drawn to light, the other, to darkness. The carnival that arrives in town is the manifestation of darkness, feeding off nostalgia and pain. The tale itself is haunting, but more than that, it is a reflection on friendship, good and evil, and happiness and sadness. The adults in the story are sad, for they yearn for youth. They miss the lost child calling within themselves. And although I am young, this story whispered to me, too, for I have also pined for something I had lost: reading. Bradbury helped me regain it. When I am old, I don't ever want to say, "I used to read a lot...when I was young."