I’ve owed my life to the medical industry since before I was even born. To paint a picture, it was a normal checkup for my mom, months before I was due. Just a normal ultrasound checkup changed the course of my life, charting a new course stopping a multitude of future disabilities and early death. My life was almost taken from me before I was born, as I was almost an extremely premature baby. I want to become a nurse when I graduate so I can help those who are too vulnerable to help themselves like I was. Dr Aquwadry fought for me when I was unable to defend myself. Medical staff are like superheroes, saving people from things that ordinary people cannot defend themselves against. If a normal person like me can have the power to help and save people like I was saved, I can pass the torch as Dr. Aquwadry did for me and help change lives one person at a time. I want to leave my mark on this world as somebody who changed lives for the better. I believe my determination and drive to help others can inspire those who are in need to also make the world a healthier place. I could be a hero in someone else’s story and save their lives and perhaps inspire someone as Dr. Aquwadry had done for me. As a nurse, I’ll be able to assist an abundance of people and change the lives of many. I don’t want my chance at life to be wasted or taken for granted, so I want to spend it helping people and possibly being able to help those I care about in times of need. Having the ability to save someone in times of crisis or need sounds like a dream come true, as I don’t need to helplessly wait for others to save those around me. I want to be there for those who don’t have anything to lean on, offering the defense and support that only nurses can give to a patient. I want to become a nurse so I can help people in body and mind, allowing them to recover properly and live normally. I believe life should be spent to the fullest so that when we all eventually die, we don't have any regrets. I enjoy learning about the human body and how each organ, cell, and component has its own part to play in keeping a body healthy. The medical field calls for me, as learning about procedures and medical components interests me deeply and it's truly what I enjoy. If I chose a different career path, I'd deeply regret it. This path in life also allows me to extend the lives of those I visit, letting them vanquish more regrets before their day arrives. Even if my name is forgotten by every patient I have, or if I only save one person, knowing I had a positive impact on someone else’s life, allowing them to live for at least another day makes this path in life worth it for me. Thank you, Dr Aquwadry for giving me this opportunity in life.

I’ve owed my life to the medical industry since before I was even born. To paint a picture, it was a normal checkup for my mom, months before I was due. Just a normal ultrasound changed the course of my life, charting a new course stopping a multitude of future disabilities and early death. My life was almost taken from me before I was born, as I was almost an extremely premature baby. Dr Aquwadry fought for me when I was unable to defend myself. Medical staff are like superheroes, saving people from things that ordinary people cannot defend themselves against. If a normal person like me can have the power to help and save people like I was saved, I can pass the torch as Dr. Aquwadry did for me and help change lives one person at a time. I want to leave my mark on this world as somebody who changed lives for the better. As a nurse, I’ll be able to assist an abundance of people and change the lives of many. I don’t want my chance at life to be wasted or taken for granted, so I want to spend it helping people and possibly being able to help those I care about in times of need. Having the ability to save someone in times of crisis or need sounds like a dream come true, as I don’t need to helplessly wait for others to save those around me. I want to be there for those who don’t have anything to lean on, offering the defense and support that only nurses can give to a patient. I want to become a nurse so I can help people in body and mind, allowing them to recover properly and live normally. I believe life should be spent to the fullest so that when we all eventually die, we don't have any regrets. I enjoy learning about the human body and how each organ, cell, and component has its own part to play in keeping a body healthy. The medical field calls for me, as learning about procedures and medical components interests me deeply and it's truly what I enjoy. If I chose a different career path, I'd deeply regret it. This path in life also allows me to extend the lives of those I visit, letting them vanquish more regrets before their day arrives. Even if my name is forgotten by every patient I have, or if I only save one person, knowing I had a positive impact on someone else’s life, allowing them to live for at least another day makes this path in life worth it for me. Thank you, Dr Aquwadry for giving me this opportunity in life.

The ideas of death, growing up, existential dread, and spirituality have followed me all the way through my life. I grew up in a religiously flexible household, living with an Atheist, a Shinto, and an Agnostic. The ideas of death, consciousness, living, and existence have floated in my mind ever since I learned of their concepts. Afraid in my room, I'd wonder what it would feel like to not exist anymore. 8 billion people are on this planet not having any idea of where we'd go, while hundreds of billions of those already passed look down at their ancestors all knowing of the answer. it terrified me in a way that could only be described as a hollow hopeless hole forming in the pit of my chest. I remember watching the movie "Coco" when I was in middle school for the first time and seeing how it depicts death as a celebration in the afterlife, with its own bittersweet after-death. I remember trying to act cool at the time to impress my friends, but the idea of seeing someone fall into the arms of death with no idea where they'll go, no living ancestors to remember his name felt so sentimental to me. the guitar softly strumming as I saw the scene where Hector's friend fades away into dust, it made me want to sob. I ended up bawling my eyes out in the bathroom. Part of me cried at the idea of facing the final death, unknowing of where would be next, blind to my destination. I sobbed at the uncertainty and at the fact that nobody could give the same answer when I asked where we'd go after we died. The other part cried at the beauty of it all. The fact that we don't even know where we came from and how despite the fact we face our own final death, we can live lives that make us happy, indulging in the simple pleasures in life like one last final song played by a dear friend. I cried at the peaceful expression he made as he faded away and the end of the song and I realized that from one simple scene, my perspective on death had changed, and eventually after seeing Coco pass on to reunite with her father, I felt happiness and comfort; I realized that death might not be as horrible of a concept as I had thought. The movie "Coco" made me realize a lot of things and taught me how to cope with death at an age where simple adult advice couldn't help me. An old teacher of mine passed away recently and his passing reminded me of how common and unexpected it can happen. It made me go back to thinking about what would happen once we died and it brought me back to Coco, the movie that helped me cope at a young age. I still don't have an answer on where the final destination is or if there's one at all. All I know is that I want to make a lasting impact on those around me so they'll celebrate my life instead of mourn it, and I've decided to celebrate those who've passed around me as well, thinking of the fond memories we've had instead of the lost memories we could have made. Overall, Coco had the greatest impact on my life because it showed me that instead of spending my life thinking about how I'll die, I should spend it thinking about how I should live.

My pen hits the paper, the ink spilling on the page, letter after letter taunting me as the imperfections stand out, mocking me. The crookedness and imperfect letters loom over me as I crumble in the perfection of my peers. My handwriting was never the best, as it’s always been something that made me insecure. As a girl, the people around me always expected my handwriting to be neat and perfect, however, it was a talent I didn’t possess. My mind was too quick, struggling to find the time to get every thought down, as my mind moved faster than my hands ever could. My writing was essentially chicken scratch. Eventually, I had to face a challenge. In my school’s art club, we had a fundraiser that involved Christmas cards that had custom handwritten messages inside. Nobody in the club wanted the duty of writing, and as club president, it became my duty. I was terrified to give students badly written cards, so I spent hours practicing. Attempt after attempt went by, as I copied calligraphy on the internet. Days of practice passed, and eventually, I started to enjoy it. The way the letters swoop and intertwine was an art in itself and as I became more proficient, I opened my eyes and became enamored with the craft. There’s a hidden beauty in certain fonts and handwriting that goes unnoticed, such as little quirks in differing peoples' penmanship. Every letter has many different variants that are unique to the writer. My eyes glide past the pages and pages of words. It’s fascinating to compare how different my handwriting is to other people. I love observing the different minds behind each pen, and the way their words intertwine. The way the letters combine to make a sentence and the penmanship behind each letter is always fascinating to look at. I always notice how some people have beautiful handwriting and can’t help but show my enthusiasm. When I tell people I like their handwriting, they usually give similar responses, thinking little of my words. “It’s not good, yours is better! Mine looks like trash. I appreciate that, but I don’t like it.” Maybe they see letter after letter taunting them as the imperfections stand out and mock them. The crookedness and imperfect letters stand out as they see my handwriting, imperfect, but to unaware eyes, flawless. Maybe they all crumble in the perception of perfection. They all know their flaws and imperfections. I know none of it. They judge themselves more than I ever will, so when I tell them I like their handwriting they think I’m wrong. Maybe my handwriting wasn’t so bad in the first place. Maybe I was blind to the perfection of perception. This relates to my future goals and dreams of becoming a nurse. My calling in life is to become a nurse to help people when they cannot help themselves. I used to be a very insecure person. I would compare insignificant things about myself like handwriting and slowly erode my self-confidence to a grain of sand. Comparing your talents to others can lead to a self-destructive mindset. I believe that with this new approach to talent and subjectivity, I can lift the veil of flawlessness around me and come to terms with the fact that I can be flawed too. Nursing is incredibly competitive, and comparing myself to others would only cause me stress. My hopes and dreams are to keep being self-confident in my talents and to continue growing based on my own past to become my best self.

My pen hits the paper, the ink spilling on the page, letter after letter taunting me as the imperfections stand out, mocking me. The crookedness and imperfect letters loom over me as I crumble in the perfection of my peers. My handwriting was never the best, as it’s always been something that made me insecure. As a girl, the people around me always expected my handwriting to be neat and perfect, however, it was a talent I didn’t possess. My mind was too quick, struggling to find the time to get every thought down, as my mind moved faster than my hands ever could. My writing was essentially chicken scratch. Eventually, I had to face a challenge. In my school’s art club, we had a fundraiser that involved Christmas cards that had custom handwritten messages inside. Nobody in the club wanted the duty of writing, and as club president, it became my duty. I was terrified to give students badly written cards, so I spent hours practicing. Attempt after attempt went by, as I copied calligraphy on the internet. Days of practice passed, and eventually, I started to enjoy it. The way the letters swoop and intertwine was an art in itself and as I became more proficient, I opened my eyes and became enamored with the craft. There’s a hidden beauty in certain fonts and handwriting that goes unnoticed, such as little quirks in differing peoples' penmanship. Every letter has many different variants that are unique to the writer. My eyes glide past the pages and pages of words. It’s fascinating to compare how different my handwriting is to other people. I love observing the different minds behind each pen, and the way their words intertwine. The way the letters combine to make a sentence and the penmanship behind each letter is always fascinating to look at. I always notice how some people have beautiful handwriting and can’t help but show my enthusiasm. Imperfections are inevitable, as being flawed is what makes us human. If I could give someone feeling similar to how I was advice, I’d tell them it’s okay to be flawed and that the worst critic in most cases is your own inner voice. I’d tell them that no matter how bad they think their talents are, I’m still proud of them and will admire them. Handwriting is as subjective as art is, and will always be overanalyzed by the artist more than anyone else. When I tell people I like their handwriting, they usually give similar responses, thinking little of my words. “It’s not good, yours is better! Mine looks like trash. I appreciate that, but I don’t like it.” Maybe they see letter after letter taunting them as the imperfections stand out and mock them. The crookedness and imperfect letters stand out as they see my handwriting, imperfect, but to unaware eyes, flawless. Maybe they all crumble in the perception of perfection. They all know their flaws and imperfections. I know none of it. They judge themselves more than I ever will, so when I tell them I like their handwriting they think I’m wrong. Maybe my handwriting wasn’t so bad in the first place. Maybe I was blind to the perfection of perception.

Ever since I was a little kid, I adored drawing. Drawing, painting, coloring, lineart, and sketching. Everything. But, most of all, I adored using art as a medium of storytelling. The symbolism, the hidden meaning of a simple object, layering meanings like an onion, slowly peeling back the layers to reveal the core intention of a piece. It’s almost like peaking into one’s life. I wanted to give you a peek into my life. To speak my passion for art through my colors and values. My drawing is a synthesis piece using gouache and digital synthesis to show the importance of storytelling to me. The drawings in the background were all pieces I’ve made in the past montaged together. All of these pieces hold significance to me, as drawings hold meaningful memories for me. For example, the drawing of the woman screaming in the far right was my first piece to place in a contest. Despite the rage on her face, the feelings the piece gave me were the exact opposite! The Woman with the Red Afro was my first successful digital painting, making me realize the joy of blocking color on a blank canvas without worrying about guidelines. The one to the far left is a drawing of myself eating my mom’s homemade udon, as she makes it every New Year, the noodles are said to represent a long life. I always liked that story as a child, and I liked the noodles even more. I accompanied my interpretations of specific folktales in the drawings, such as the shattered mirror depicting the evil Queen from Snow White or the kiss waking up sleeping beauty. I didn’t want to paint them in a traditional art style, as I believe art is something that should be used as a medium to show how I see the world instead of what everyone else sees. The entire point of art is to showcase one’s perspective to the whole world, from propaganda to basic landscape art. Art is a way to physically show one’s worldview. I wanted to demonstrate the current way I hold memories and stories in my worldview with my present self. I drew my future self, old and happy, reminiscing on my childhood upside down in my reflection. All the photos I used for the bottom were photos taken from when I was a kindergartner to my senior year in high school, showing another way memories and feelings can be kept, and thinking of all the fun stories my own life has created. I found it so nostalgic looking through my old photos and seeing my friends who I’ve long lost contact with. I saturated the images to demonstrate the saturated happiness of reminiscing on happy memories while keeping the current and future selves at a regular saturation to represent reality. Storytelling can mean many things, from the made-up world formed from pure creativity to a funny story that happened on your way to school. My piece was inspired by stories. Those from literature, those from my childhood, and those that are yet to come. Stories make up my life, from the beginning to the end, and it would be a tragedy if they were left untold.

My pen hits the paper, the ink spilling on the page, letter after letter taunting me as the imperfections stand out, mocking me. The crookedness and imperfect letters loom over me as I crumble in the perfection of my peers. My handwriting was never the best, as it’s always been something that made me insecure. When I was a little girl, the people around me always expected my handwriting to be neat and perfect, however, it was a talent I didn’t possess. My mind was too quick, struggling to find the time to get every thought down, as my mind moved faster than my hands ever could. I felt inferior to all my peers as I compared their flawless handwriting to my scribbles. My handwriting was essentially chicken scratch. One day, the challenge I had been avoiding hit me head-on. In my school’s art club, we started a fundraiser involving Christmas cards that had custom handwritten messages inside. At first, I figured another member could take up the challenge, but nobody in the club wanted the responsibility of writing, and as club president, it became my burden. I was terrified to give students ugly cards, so I spent hours practicing. Attempt after attempt passed, as I copied calligraphy on the internet. Days of practice flew by, and eventually, after practicing for so long, I started to enjoy it. The way the letters swoop and intertwine was an art in itself and as I became more proficient, I opened my eyes and became enamored with the craft. There’s a hidden beauty in certain fonts and handwriting that goes unnoticed, such as little quirks in differing peoples' penmanship. Every letter has many different variants that are unique to the writer. It’s fascinating to compare how different my handwriting is to other people. It’s amazing to observe the different minds behind each pen, and the way their words intertwine. The way the letters combine to make a sentence and the penmanship behind each letter is always fascinating to admire. The meaning of each carefully placed letter, the flow of an inky pen or chalky pencil, and the grace of each component meshing together show as much personality as a photo. I always notice how some people have beautiful handwriting and can’t help but show my enthusiasm. When I tell people I like their handwriting, they usually give similar responses, thinking little of my words. “It’s not good, yours is better! Mine looks like trash. I appreciate that, but I don’t like it.” Maybe they see letter after letter taunting them as the imperfections stand out and mock them. The crookedness and imperfections stand out as they compare themselves to my lettering, imperfect, but to unaware eyes, flawless. Maybe they all crumble in the perception of perfection. They all know their flaws and imperfections. I know none of it. They judge themselves more than I ever will, so when I tell them what I like, they think I’m wrong. Maybe I used to be blind to the mistakes around me and was all seeing to my own. Maybe my handwriting wasn’t so bad in the first place. Maybe I was blind to the perfection of perception. Being trapped in your own perceptions can apply to more than just handwriting. I now apply a mindset of not comparing myself to others. I realized through overcoming the challenge and my love of calligraphy to stop caring about comparisons and to focus on making myself improve for my own sake.

Art to me is expression and how I connect with others. I used to be the president of my school's art club, and my club amplified that by letting me connect with more people through art and letting me make friendships I know I'll keep throughout my life. It would be wrong to call it just "my club", as it was a connection made by artists like myself and led me to make a lot of new friends. Through the club, I learned many mediums of art I was afraid to try, like calligraphy, oil pastels, and different art programs. learning new mediums is like learning a new language, as each medium has something different it wants to say. oil pastel wants to be messy. graphite is neat and tidy unless rubbed the wrong way (literally). watercolor is playful, but composed. Each medium speaks its own language, but can all lead to the same meaning depending on the artist. When you combine mediums, a whole new meaning can be created as well. watercolor and crayon can have a childish appeal while showing the maturity of watercolor. Oil pastel contrasted with the neatness of graphite shows the dissonance of neatness and messiness clashing together into a murky gray. The texture of art is also important to me, as the smooth metallic feeling of graphite contrasts so vividly with the smooth and chunky feeling of oil pastel. the feeling of watercolor paper on my hands and the brushstrokes and lumps of dried paint can enhance a drawing's message and appeal tenfold. There's a reason people prefer to see art in person, and it's because of the wonder of texture. Color symbolism is a wonderful concept. I'm red when I'm angry, blue when I'm sad, and pink when I'm in love. It's all so simply written out in colors and it makes my brain light up in elation to think about how colors can show how complex I feel in such a simple way. I love mixing the passion of red with the dullness of green to create a murky brown or a desaturated variation of the two. the color wheel is so simplistic, yet complicated and I could study colors for hours. The way values change depending on the background color fascinates me and the possibilities of their applications are endless. there are a million ways to speak through art. I like to speak love through my art by using it as a gift or a way to show my gratitude. as a 10-year-old child, I always drew the people I loved, and as an 18-year-old adult, I still draw the people I love. It's an intimate way to say "I care about you and will voluntarily spend hours to mark your face on paper." The face they make when I hand them my work always makes those hours worth it. My goals after high school are surprisingly not art-related. I want to become a nurse to assist people because I think my purpose on this earth is to help others. I don't think I'll ever abandon art, as it is something I will forever cherish. While art is my passion, helping people is my calling and if I can help someone who also has a passion for art, it would be my pleasure and honor to call myself a nurse and an artist.