Sitting in the dark movie theater in a dying mall, I took pleasure in watching the Barbies live in a matriarchal society. Seeing her wake up effortlessly in her beautiful mansion and get started with her day made me long for a place to live where I could escape the political unrest, discrimination, and other issues that riddle the “Real World.” My dream house would be located where a warm breeze would kiss my cheek to wake me up in the morning. Where the water by my house was clearer than a family friend's backyard pool on a hot summer day. Where colorful birds flew by my window and sat on the trees, singing to each other. My life would be peaceful here. My house would sit on top of a large mountain, lush with vegetation. I would be able to reach out of my window to pick my ideal fruit which I would use in my smoothie that morning. I can see the ocean from my window. I see the shadow of a Manta Ray in the distance and a whale breaching just a little farther away. I can step out of my bed and be greeted by just the right amount of humidity that keeps my skin hydrated and keeps my hair looking good. I walk out of my room and I see logs of the finest wood which I harvested myself to support my house. Cabinets made out of the same wood hold all of my kitchen utilities. I have a bowl of fruit set on my kitchen island. My bathroom has a nice open shower that generates the perfect water pressure and desired temperature. The tiles absorb the water themselves and the shower is semi-open to the outdoors, allowing me to immerse myself in nature. I live alone and am free of worry that anyone I live with could be hurt or hungry. I have only myself to worry about. But I am not worried because I live in a tropical heaven. My living room has the softest and most comfortable couches which I can sleep on without hurting my back. I have a TV but I rarely use it because I would be out in nature all day. I have a balcony that overlooks the ocean and town. I can see my catamaran sailboat below me, rocking with the waves. I drink down a smoothie made with near-magical fruit. The outside of my house is made out of wood and other earthly materials. I have a light-colored roof to reflect heat due to the warm climate. The architecture is Mediterranean with earth-like tones. Bamboo helios support the house and vegetation covers the sides and provides nutrients to local wildlife. The windows are big and allow in natural light. I have lightweight curtains that blow with the breeze. Stones and wood construct my house. There are stone-made stairs that lead down the tropical mountain I live on and they lead down to my boat. Every day I get to live in a paradise where I am free of worry, I am surrounded by nature, and I can live without judgment from others. My house is everything I could ever dream of. This is my dream house.

11:30 PM, and I'm about to go to sleep. Before I shut off my phone and put on my evening meditation audio, I get a recording that I was hoping I would never see. My best friend sent me a voice recording of himself crying. It included phrases and words like: "I'm so sorry." "I can't do it anymore." "I love you." "Goodbye." I went to bed way later than I thought I would that night. I woke up the next morning with sore fingers from trying to talk him out of suicide. Of course, talking doesn't always work. In the morning I woke up to a long text from him in our group chat that included all of our friends. He said he attempted yet failed and he was sorry that he scared us. I felt a big weight lifted off of my chest. Thank God he was alive. Unfortunately, this happened before and it kept happening after. When I was in fifth grade, it was a week before Easter when I found out that my older cousin overdosed on heroin and was found dead on the steps of a church in Newark, New Jersey. At the time, I did not react. I said: "It was bound to happen sooner or later." That was how used to drug abuse, suicide, and near death I was at the age of 10 years old. At his open casket wake, I spent the entire time playing subway surfers and listening to my family cry and argue with each other. My mom and I just sat there. When the funeral came around, I cried as hard as his mother. I remember trying not to scream or wail like they do in the movies. Just like my mother, it had taken me until the day of the funeral to cry. That day I watched my father, uncles, and cousins, carry his casket to the front of the church. My cousin's mother needed to come up to comfort me, and she was the one who had lost her son. I had never cried like that before, and I haven't cried like that since. When I began to grow up, feelings of anxiety, depression, and panic started to make themselves known. All I ever thought of was how I looked. Even now, writing this in class I am paranoid that someone is looking at me in disgust. By the age of 12, I developed anorexia. The only reason for that is because the boy I had a crush on had a really specific type. First, it started with skipping breakfast. Then lunch. Then dinner. Then I would eat everything I could find in my house when everyone slept. After that, I would cry myself to sleep and feel ashamed. I am 15 now and I still consider myself in recovery. When you have any type of eating disorder, I don't believe you ever recover. There is no cure. Sometimes I felt like my body was doing trial runs of different problems just to see what would happen. First anxiety. Then depression. Then anorexia. Then anger issues. Then panic attacks. I always felt as if I could never catch a break. But does anyone ever catch one? After my cousin died, I now feel very at peace with death. My family no longer needs to lock him in his room at 26 years old to keep him away from his addiction. Nobody constantly worries about whether he will come home or not. We all know he is happier now than he was here on Earth. Before I struggled much with anything, I was never aware of the world. I didn't know about the wars and genocides and the cruelty that lies at every corner. I believe that suffering is necessary for life to understand other people and to gain empathy for those who have struggled. I'm not saying that you need to be abused or tortured but I am saying that you need to see things for what they are, which is suffering enough. My dad once asked me in the car, "Why do you tend to attract people with problems? Every one of your friends has issues." And in response to that: Everyone has issues. I would need to look very hard to find someone without any scars, whether that be physical, mental, and emotional. Career-wise, I am torn. Half of me wants to be in politics. Is that because I crave a position of power from lacking it all my life, or is it because I know I can help? Both. The other half of me wants to move out to a nice town or city where I can be at peace. A garden, animals, a nice relationship, and comfortability. Maybe I can work at a bookstore or open a corner cafe? Unfortunately, time is running out and I need to pick one. All in all, the mental health of others has shaped me more than my own ever did.

When I was in fifth grade, I had a conversation with a boy that sits at my table about “what makes you special”. The conversation definitely changed my point of view on the world, because he said the exact opposite of what I knew then, in my core. When I told the boy that everyone in our class was special in their own way, he told me that I was wrong. “What makes you special?” He said. “I am a good artist and I can sing.” I replied. He said to me: “So? So many people can do those things.” Of course now, I know that simple talent isn’t the only thing that makes you special, but his words come back to me every time I see him in passing at school. To answer the question of what makes me unique is that I have never once backed down in the face of disrespect. I have never once let my goals become clouded by the negativity that is greatly put on the weight of the youth in this world. While most people I know get their energy from energy drinks and coffee, I get it from watering the grass, hugging a tree, or staring into the flame of a candle. There is not one second in my life where I don’t try to feel the energy of this earth running through my veins. In movies and books, you see characters who have some sort of destiny. Like movies and books, everyone in the real world has something they are destined for. What I know I am meant for, is to experience everything life has to offer before I die. Something I tell myself a lot is that whether or not reincarnation exists, and I can come back and try this whole life thing all over again, I won’t remember it so I might as well do everything during this one. I plan on swimming with sharks and manta rays. I plan on sky diving in the most beautiful places in the world, I plan on seeing the great wonders of the world and transporting myself back in time through what this universe has to offer. I know that if I die without having driven across North America, and backpacked across South and Central America, Europe, and Asia, I have not lived. I plan on giving back to my community by fixing the broken parts of the world with the experience I gain from seeing it. There are so many people out there who think that they can hop into a political office and decide on laws that would benefit them without seeing what it’s like to live outside of the bubble you were raised in. I am very lucky to live in a suburban town in northern New Jersey that keeps me safe, but not everyone gets so lucky. There is only so much I can experience and relate to from my hometown. Once I hike the most dangerous cliffs, meet the most remote parts of the world, see the northern lights, sleep in the desert, and ride horses through Americas western national parks, I will come back home with a fresh perspective on the world and be ready to shape it into a beautiful place where everyone can thrive. This is the reason I was put on this earth. This is what makes me unique.

Feminism: The defense of women both politically and personally. What a dangerous word to say over a dinner table with the family. Who knew that one word, one belief system, could cause such small but so many waves between a father and a daughter? "I'm a feminist." I said. "you'll get smarter as you get older..." He said. How can a grown man who has a daughter not be a feminist? In better words, how can a grown man who has a daughter not support women's rights? I could never answer that question because the reason is and will forever be beyond my comprehension. On July 23, 2020, Alexandria Ocasio-Cortez gave a speech regarding the words spoken about her in confidence to news reporters and her. She said "These are the words that Representative Yoho, levied, against a congresswoman. The congresswoman that not only represents New Yorks's Fourteenth Congressional District, but every congresswoman and every woman in this country." "And every woman in this country." She hit that line perfectly. Whether it's walking down the hallway and a boy moaning in your ear as a joke, a male teacher making an inappropriate comment, or a car full of boys slowing down and staring when they pass you on the street. All of those things are routine. They are expected and anticipated. That speech that AOC gave has stuck with me since I heard it in 2020. No matter how many boys called me too radical or too dramatic, it never stuck, because they are just boys but I am not just a girl. When 2020 first began, I was 12 years old and my dad spat his anti-feminist ideas at me. I slowly agreed with him because I never made any opinions of my own yet. Then I got social media, and then I got slightly older, and then I started to see the world from the perspective of a girl. It was about time to because I had been hearing about it from a man my whole life. How do I contribute to the feminist movement in my school? I contribute by just existing. I contribute by not being scared to yell over boys when they talk over me. I contribute by catching what is thrown at me by men and hurling it back ten times faster. Contribution happens by acting bigger than you might be. It happens with the words in your mouth and what you say and how you say it. I contribute by existing. Which is proven to be harder than I could have anticipated.