“Click, click” The tips of my fingers burn as I meticulously place each brick from my Van Gogh LEGO set together. It’s 2,316 pieces each one another needle to my eczema ridden hands. Tomorrow, I’ll wake up with that familiar tingling in my fingers the lingering effects of my attempt to assemble a work of art from fragments. A process that reflects something far deeper within me. My hands, like my life, have always been forced to work through discomfort, the result of a rocky foundation. As I grew, the pieces of my foundation became increasingly unstable. By the time I was in third grade, I was unknowingly teetering on the edge of homelessness; with one misstep, the whole structure of my world could collapse in an instant. In the dimly lit classrooms of my underfunded elementary school, I sat, trying to hold the pieces of my future together. Our needs went unaddressed, our potential stunted, and slowly, our learning progression flatlined. By middle school, going to sleep became a reminder of how little I had. No bed, just the hard cushion of the couch pressing against my back, with the constant growl of an empty stomach accompanied by my restless sleep. Every night, I was forced to build my survival out of what was leftI always knew my situation wasn’t ideal, but I was oblivious to how far from solid ground I was. My delusion quickly faded once I began high school.For the first time, I wasn’t the norm. I began to peer into the room to the realization that I was the only student of color. As time went on, I became more observant of what separated me from my peers, down to the arrangement of my teeth, the way that I speak, and the way I think. I walked the halls every day feeling inferior. I was at my breaking point; it seemed as though no matter how hard I tried; I was never good enough. I was building a set with missing pieces; the journey seemed impossible. But despite the gaps, I continued to develop this work of art. Joining club after club, picking away at each challenge until the dirt filled the wounds in my hands in the process, I found community in my newly established home. In Black Arts, I built a space for other students of color like me, bonding over our shared experiences and gaining a wider outlook on the world. Yes, I was still "different," but I no longer saw this as a downside. The individual colors of the bricks began to emulate the vibrant and energetic brush strokes of Van Gogh's starry night. Missing pieces were now key elements to the set. I started my journey to assemble this set feeling hopeless, but, in my struggle, I realized something: despite countless challenges, I never stopped building. For the majority of my life, I looked at the missing pieces as a stone wall. But as I’ve matured, I realized that these missing pieces made me much more than underprivileged. They have made me innovative, resourceful, and most of all, driven. I’ve finally learned to embrace my upbringing. It wasn’t perfect it was cracked and uneven but it's the base that holds the structure of who I am today. Although I still encounter roadblocks, I now see them as opportunities to adapt and grow. Life isn’t a hero’s journey, so I won’t magically jump over every barrier; however, I am no longer mentally bound by my circumstances. No matter the number of missing pieces, I will always keep building. "Click, click"