“God has not given me a spirit of fear, but of power, love, and a sound mind.” My mother often quoted this scripture from 2 Timothy 1:7. These words have given me the courage to live on my own terms, without fear of being alone. At the age of 10, I faced a life-altering moment when I found my mother had passed away in her sleep. This event was not entirely unexpected, as I had a vision of her dying a few months prior. In 2003, while driving to McDonald's with my mother, I was suddenly struck by the thought, “What if my mom died?” Tears flowed down my cheeks, and I was overwhelmed by the concept of death, which had only been introduced to me the previous year when I witnessed my Aunt Claudia’s heart attack and death. That night, during a thunderstorm, I tried to wake my mother, but she did not respond. The vision of her death returned, and soon after, it was confirmed. I shut down emotionally for the next two decades. Life changed drastically. My father, battling addictions, passed the role of caregiver to my sister, who raised me alongside her two children. The support from family and friends instilled a hope that I was not alone. My relationship with my father became estranged. Our meetings were filled with grief, and we mostly communicated through occasional phone calls and letters. Written letters became my love language, but we never regained our closeness. In 2011, just before my high school graduation, I saw my father for the last time. He asked for change and a ride to the liquor store, and I was filled with a mix of emotions. A week later, he was in the ICU, and he passed away soon after. These experiences taught me about rejection, abandonment, and self-worth. I realized that my parents' love was always within me, and nothing could separate me from it. This awareness empowered me to live a life that feels good, rather than just checking off boxes. I explored queer relationships, moved to California, and returned to graduate school to study Economics at Louisiana State University and the University of San Francisco. On July 10, 2018, I posted on Instagram: “There is life after loss.” This is my message to everyone. My journey is inspired by the liberation I have embraced to shape my own life. I let fears of failure, abandonment, and rejection paralyze me for too long. Those moments do not define me; they have ignited me. We are never truly separated from a love that once filled us. My mother’s spirit taught me to let love guide me, and my father’s spirit taught me to be bold in my pursuits. Through me, they live on. To anyone facing similar adversity, I say: embrace the love within you, and let it guide your path. You are stronger than you know, and there is life after loss.

In 2012, The Weeknd had just released his debut mixtape, “Trilogy”, and the buzz around him was electric. I knew I had to see him live when he announced his first national tour. At that time, tickets were still reasonably priced, so I rallied my friends and borrowed my newly acquired car—a gift for my 18th birthday—for our road trip to New Orleans. We were all eager for my first concert experience outside of music festivals: The Weeknd at the House of Blues. The anticipation leading up to the concert was almost unbearable. We left early in the morning for the two-hour drive, arriving in time to enjoy dinner at the House of Blues restaurant. Finally, it was showtime, and the energy was palpable as we entered the venue. The small, intimate setting meant we were just a row of heads away from the stage, and the thrill of seeing The Weeknd, Abel Tesfaye, perform live was exhilarating. When he took the stage and kicked off with “High for This”—the first song I ever heard by him—the experience was nothing short of euphoric. To this day, I have videos of myself singing along to every song, posted proudly on Facebook. The band was fantastic, and The Weeknd's vocal and stage performances were flawless. None of us wanted the night to end. Sharing this unforgettable experience with my closest friends made it all the more special. Fast forward to the Beyoncé Renaissance tour, which was another concert that left a lasting impression. After struggling to find affordable tickets post-COVID-19, I nearly gave up. But just hours before the concert, I scored a reasonably priced ticket in the 100s section of the stadium. With no car at the time, I planned my trip meticulously and picked up a silver skirt from Target on the way. The closer I got to the stadium in Santa Clara, the more I saw fans dressed in silver, embodying the Beyhive spirit. Attending this concert alone for the first time, I felt an unexpected sense of community. I bonded with fellow fans seated next to me, and together we sang the night away. The Renaissance tour was a celebration of liberation and unity, making it a unique and exhilarating experience. Comparing these two concerts is impossible; both are cherished memories that represent different but equally special moments in my life. I’m grateful to have experienced such unforgettable nights with artists who have profoundly impacted me.

Ever since I was a kid, traveling would take me out of my current reality and cultivate a world where I could dream freely, imagining all of the previously unseen possibilities. Growing up in a smaller city, I remember taking quarterly trips to New Orleans, traversing the bridges, and seeing a completely new culture and being in awe of the wonders of the world. The same goes for my first international trip, which was to France for a castles and culture tour of the country with my French Immersion 8th-grade class. I attended weekly weekend fundraising efforts with classmates from 6th grade to 8th grade to save up enough money to take the trip, and the delayed gratification was everything! Every time I travel, my mind is expanded to alternate ways of living and relating. And this was my first really big shift in this awareness. Over the course of my adulthood, I took several trips from Louisiana to California to visit my sister, slowly convincing myself that I too could explore the frontiers of the unknown, letting fear paralyze me no more. After over a decade of doing so, I finally made the leap and moved to California! The paradigm shifts I have experienced while living out here have been enlightening, to say the least, and rather life-changing. It was my move to California that enhanced my spirituality, allowing me to heal from the death of my parents at an early age. It was the move that allowed me to take myself seriously and escape imposter syndrome. Being in an environment where everyone does the things you once dreamed of, quite frankly, changes your life! For the future, I see alignment with my career path as a diplomat in economic strategy. Envisioning a world where there is equity and agreeableness, enhanced living conditions, environmental preservation, and socioeconomic justice is the line of work I want to do. Seeing and relating to more cultures as I journey through life will only enhance these innate qualities. Navigating the globe is truly a gift that allows me to honor humanness and open up my heart to all the possibilities of us all coalescing. As I navigate this path, I am driven by the belief that economic empowerment is essential for creating a just and equitable society. With this support, I am confident that I can make meaningful strides toward this vision.

“God has not given me a spirit of fear, but of power, love, and a sound mind.” This is my mother’s favorite Biblical scripture, 2 Timothy 1:7. These words have ignited courage and drive to live on my terms because I no longer fear being alone. At the age of 10, I was first to find my mother had passed away in her sleep. What felt so peculiar was that I had a vision of her dying just a few months prior.  It was 2003, and my mother and I were headed to McDonald’s in our green van when the thought occurred, “What if my mom died?” Struck by emotion, tears began to flow down my cheeks. Death was not a concept I frequented as a child before this, so I was extremely startled. The year prior, 2002, I witnessed my Aunt Claudia have a heart attack and die by collapsing backward, only a few feet in front of me. In my mind, I minimized her death over the years, assuming it had little effect on me. However, envisioning my mom dying re-sparked how the theme of death plagued me. Then, it happened. Sleeping in bed beside my mom, I tried to get her attention because I was scared by the night's incessant thunder. I tapped on her, gently shook her, and then rocked her while whining, “Mom…mom…mom!” She gave me no reply. At that moment, the vision of her dying returned. It was soon after confirmed. That day, I shut something off in my heart that rendered me numb for the next two decades. I knew life would be different from then on. My father, accepting his limitations as he struggled with addictions, graciously passed the role of my caregiver to my sister. As a single mother, my sister graciously took me in and raised me alongside her three kids. In the wake of my mother’s death, the village of family and friends that showed up for me instilled a lasting hope in me that I was not alone. My father and I’s relationship became so painfully estranged over the next seven years. Every meet-up was consumed by overwhelming grief. Because of this, we deferred to speaking on the phone occasionally. I especially loved when he would write to me. To this day, written letters are my special love language. But never again were we as close as before.  Fast forward to 2011, three weeks before graduating from high school, I was driving my sister’s Saturn Vue and stopped to vacuum the car, per her request. When I got to the nearest carwash, I saw my dad sitting on a bench, 50 pounds lighter than when I last saw him, slumped over. Overwhelmed by emotion and thoughts, I waited for him to see and approach me with his request.  Eventually, he approached, greeted me, and asked, “Do you have some change? Can you bring me to the liquor store?” I obliged, but I was filled with rage, fear, guilt, confusion, sadness, and ultimately, disappointment at what our relationship had become. We parted ways again, and that was the last time I saw my father in an awakened state. I got a call the following week saying he was in the Intensive Care Unit (ICU), where he later passed away.  A lifetime of lessons on rejection, abandonment, and self-worth ensued from these events. Trial and error informed these lessons. Neither of my parents saw me graduate, will see me get married, meet my children, or witness any of my significant milestones. I spent years trying to amount to everything I thought they would want me to be until I realized nothing could separate me from their love; it is already within me. This awareness developed over time has empowered me to cultivate a life that actually feels good and does not just check off boxes. This caused me to focus on exploring what I want in life: from exploring queer relationships to uprooting the life I previously knew and moving to California, to returning to graduate school to studying Economics.  I posted a simple message on Instagram on July 10, 2018: “There is life after loss.” That is my message to everyone. My fight in life is inspired by the liberation I have come to embrace to shape my own life! I let fears of failure, abandonment, and rejection paralyze me for far too long. Those moments do not define me - they have only ignited me. We are never truly separated from a love that once filled us, even if it has transcended in form. My mother’s spirit taught me to let love be my beacon of truth and my father’s spirit, to be bold in my life pursuits. Through me, they live on.