I grew up in a small, rural, southern community. Everyone was kind, and things were nice, but there was a certain staleness. The world around us was all we knew. Most of us were low-income, and the main goal of the local education system wasn’t to graduate college or to climb the corporate ladder, but to graduate high school. I was one of the luckier ones: one of the high schools had a magnet program for biotechnology that accepted sixty students each year. I got in. Four years later, I am at Georgia Tech. I went from being someone who knew nothing about AP exams or scholarships, to studying computer science at a top institution. Even then, I now find myself presented with even more opportunities I never knew of. At Tech, I have met people who have accomplished things I never thought were possible. People who were in fellowships and mentorship programs I had never heard of, people who were well prepared for college during high school, and people who had already begun to change the world their freshman year. I have taken my time at Tech together with my experiences growing up to take advantage of the opportunities presented to me. I have participated in protests, volunteered to help teach literacy to children in underserved communities, and fed the homeless. I am in the Global Leadership Living Learning Community, where I worked with my peers to develop a project proposal to help women in the Southern U.S. receive contraceptives. My team and I later created a prototype of this project at the 2023 Atlanta TechTogether Hackathon. I tutor people in my old high school in subjects such as computer science and physics. Social activism and volunteer work has opened my eyes to see how many inequalities there are in the pursuit of education, whether that be due to race, sex, or location. Particularly, I have noticed the inequalities for women in STEM. I want to help other young people; girls who grew up like me, who grew up in poor or rural or first-generation homes. Nobody helped me get to where I am, and in turn, I feel like I missed out on some things that could have greatly helped me in my college journey. Growing up in an environment like mine means you are not exposed to just how many possibilities exist. It means you never realize your true potential until you leave, or until someone helps you. I have recently joined a team working on a startup to help young women enter the field of computer science, as being a woman is often a barrier to pursuing the field, whether it be due to stereotypes or the plethora of other issues holding back young women today. With the skills in computer science I will develop as I study at this institution, I will help young people, especially young women, in communities like mine learn computer science, develop soft skills, and be exposed to the myriad of opportunities that no one has shown them. Particularly, I want to expand STEM education and resources in rural or low-income communities like mine. Young people, especially young women, everywhere, are capable of so much and yet are often held back by social pressures, and a lack of opportunities. I want to help guide them, mentor them, to see what their true potential they have. I want to expose them to the worlds of programming, science, engineering, etc. I want to show them what opportunities exist, and tell them, “You can do it.”

Many like to speak of art as their escape, or their form of self expression, and this is something I resonate with, however I believe my experience is perhaps different. Art to me is second nature, it is what I do, barely conscious of it, but always doing it. In some ways it has been a problem, with my drawings covering pages of my notes or scribbled in the margins of my tests. I do it all too frequently without properly noticing. However, when I sit down to create something, and I give myself time to think and feel it, it becomes an extension of myself. What becomes itself as I create is not only medium on material, but the movements of my hands, the thought and love painstakingly crafted into a visual. It is what I use to speak words I cannot even think of, my second tongue to display who I am to those who may see. The act of being about to continue creating and expressing through art keeps me motivated, it keeps me moving forward. The excitement I feel when I have even just a little time to sketch something out, the anticipation of returning home from school so that I may get back to my creating; that motivates me. Of course I have many other passions, but art is one that is both for my enjoyment and fulfillment, and it is that which keeps me happy. To create, and to anticipate that I will create, is all that I need to continue onward.

“I’ve been meaning to read you this for about three weeks now.” It felt still and quiet, aside from that one voice. “One: You are my daughter, and I will always love you.” Then why are you doing this? “Two: I have hope for your future happiness and success, but no faith in it.” Words like cement, solidifying in my memory. The rest of the list was a big mash of words that I couldn’t distinguish from one another. I wanted to bawl and run away, but I remained, forcing myself to swallow each word. “Pack your bags, I’m taking you to your Paw-Paw’s house.” The drive to my grandfather’s house was eerily quiet. “I never want to see you again” was the last thing I heard before I was left at my grandfather's doorstep. I spent weeks recollecting that event. Remember, regret, rage, repeat. All of that effort－ the grades, the awards, the careful way I held myself to remain in his favor －was rendered useless in the face of my father’s final judgement. I was not good enough for him. I’ve yet to be told of my crime. We had argued a few times, sure, but nothing that could have caused this. He never thoroughly explained his issues with me aside from his list of vague complaints... “You aren’t affectionate enough,” ”Your mother has poisoned you.” Devastation threatened to swallow me whole, but one thing kept me from succumbing: “I have hope for your future happiness and success, but no faith in it.” Something boiled inside of me when I heard that. It made me want to cry, “You’re wrong! I will be happy and successful, just wait!” And there was the goal. There was a sort of freedom to it; the father who once held me in his control and fear, had relinquished his iron grip on me. I began to learn more about him, the abuse to my mother, the court cases, everything. At that moment, I decided that I was not going to fulfill his prophecy. I was happy, I was well-achieved, but a new fire had been lit under me, further propelling that ambition I always had. I began reaching higher, fueled by new determination. When drum major auditions came around, I practiced until my arms were limp. When I did independent research, I focused on stem cell growth mediums, an ambitious move that led to long hours in the lab. When I began buying my art, I worked meticulously to create and send the best products possible. A budding confidence found itself within me, becoming known for the first time, and I became bold, with a desire to push the limits. Living with my father came with an oppressive air that made it difficult to exist within the narrow space he permitted. It was like I had lived my entire life with a low ceiling, forcing me to keep my eyes on my feet. I was defined by his approval and fear of his disapproval. Without him, that ceiling crumbled, letting me look up and finally see who I could be. His words－“I have hope for your future happiness and success, but no faith in it.”－have thrummed in my head over the years. They have made me cry, and have made me angry; but now they sit in the back of my consciousness, the fuel for a fire that burns steady and hot, chanting “Go! Go!” They keep me moving, reminding me to push forward with everything that I’ve got, not just for a goal anymore, but for the sake of myself.

In physics, there are two types of friction: static friction, and kinetic friction. Kinetic friction is the force pushing against something that is already moving. Static friction however, is greater than kinetic friction and is a force that must be pushed against and overpowered before an object is set into motion. Until that static friction is exceeded, an object cannot move forward. I am someone who enjoys accomplishing things. I like making goals and achieving them, pushing myself until I get to where I want. Growing up, there wasn't a lot of money, since my parents were starting up a small art business, and therefore I knew I would have to work to get what I wanted. I worked, whether it was for my parents' business, stretching canvas or cutting mat boards, or for school, studying and doing anything I could to elevate myself for a better chance with colleges. Over time, I got better and better, pushed harder, making it into a selective academy and entering art and music competitions, always holding my goals at heart. One day, I decided to look behind me. For once, I did not look to see how much further up the mountain I had to climb, but how far I had climbed already, and realized just how far I'd come. I had gone from someone who lived part of my infancy in a women's shelter to someone studying biotechnology and building my own small business. I felt genuinely proud of myself. But then, I looked forward again, at how much further I needed to climb, how much more I would have to push to break past that static friction, how much more I needed to go before I could really get moving. I hoisted myself forward, telling myself not to look back again, not quite yet. "I still have more to do," I told myself. "I still have to do a little more pushing." I am reminded by myself that I must keep moving forward and pushing if I want to fulfill those dreams and aspirations I have, and perhaps once I have reached those goals, I will just find that there are more dreams beyond that summit. Perhaps there is truly no way to break past that static friction; perhaps even those that seem to glide against only kinetic friction are also pushing against their barriers. Perhaps I will never complete every goal I have, but I must try, because moving forward sure beats falling backwards.

"This too shall pass" Somehow, this quote alone is enough to comfort me to tears. It is enough to keep me going, to keep me moving, when everything has become too overwhelming to live with. When I started high school with no friends at an academy with more work than I knew how to handle, I remember repeating to myself, "this too shall pass." I remember repeating it to myself after my father kicked me out when I was 15 and left me with my mother because he had grown tired of having to raise me. I remember feeling discarded and useless, sobbing and just repeating to myself that, "this too shall pass, this too shall pass." Even on the smallest of things, like when I grow frustrated with my lack of fluency in my second language, I repeat that phrase; "this too shall pass." This quote is not a band-aid for when I reach difficulties in life. It is just a reminder that what I am experiencing, the pain that I feel, the frustration; it will all pass eventually. It will not last forever. It's easy to give up when you don't remember something so simple. It's easy to become hopeless if you allow yourself to be absorbed in the moment. When I remember that it is temporary, that it is something that I will learn to bear with over time, my mind and heart calm down. My unease and negative emotions are replaced with motivation, because although it will pass, the only person who can make it better is me. The only thing that can create a difference between the past and the future is me, and therefore my willpower determines how much of a difference I can create. By remembering those words and repeating them to myself, "this too shall pass," I can move past my pain, past my hurt, just enough to push myself forward and continue not in anguish, but with determination.

I like making things. I always have, since I was little. When I was seven years old, I received an erector set for Christmas and became obsessed, making little machines and contraptions, even a remote controlled car (though it could only go forwards and backwards). Something about being able to put things together with my own hands and hold an object of my own creation was more enticing than anything. I would put up contraptions to solve odd problems around the house (like fixing the pencil cup that always fell over), draw designs for new animals and machines; anything I could at least attempt to make I would try. I fell in love with creation because it was something I could do by myself, something that left me with something of my own to hold pride in. Growing up in a family of artists and with an immigrant mother, there wasn't much money and I was used to teaching myself how to do things with whatever resources I could find. Eventually, I came across computers and coding through my elementary school and thought it was fantastic. I could make little worlds and contraptions in such a small body, I could make anything from a website to a game; I could create more. It seemed like a dream. I started trying to teach myself computer concepts and coding in middle school, which was difficult considering the only technology I had was a cheap little tablet. Things really got started when I went to high school, attending a magnet program for biotechnology, medicine, and research. During two semesters of a research class, I ended up learning an incredible amount about computers (though my actual research topics were actually about stem cells, growth mediums, aquatic plants, algae, etc.), and even attempted to build my own CO2 incubator to grow stem cells in, with a censor and Arduino build for releasing CO2 at various intervals. In an academy, surrounded by talented people, I met others who shared my passion for learning and creating, and others who were able to inspire me to expand my knowledge and skill. I taught myself the hardware inside an iPhone because I broke mine and figured it would be easier to learn how to fix it myself rather than pay for a new one. I finally had a laptop and decided it was about time I taught myself how to code properly, starting with Javascript, and began dual enrolling computer science courses; I was behind those around me by lightyears, with a lack of tech experience, and was determined to catch up as quickly as possible. Over the course of my journey, my interest has grown in software and game development, a creative aspect that blends my passions. Alongside this journey however, has been the turbulence of the past two years, which has influenced my thinking about what I could do with the knowledge that I acquire. Particularly, I have thought about what I could possibly do to help the movement to stop asian hate and attacks against the AAPI community and others who look like me, especially after the tragic attack in Atlanta, which happened so close to where I live. I hope to use my skills to protect others, exploring the idea of using an app or a device which, when activated through a button or vocal command, could set off an alarm, notify local police, notify others with the device/app nearby, and record audio and video in the event that an individual is attacked. This sort of device could potentially stop individuals from being hurt or killed in attacks, or at the very least be a useful tool in catching those who have committed these crimes. In addition, the existence of such a device that can so many things at once and be activated so easily would help reduce the chance of someone deciding to attack someone at random. Of course, regulations and restrictions would need to be put into place so this would not be used unnecessarily, however I firmly believe that this sort of device would provide a safe, non-violent method of self-defense. I like making things, I always have. It has shaped who I am, whether it be through art or science, and still remains my greatest passion. By pursuing computer science in college, I hope to continue creating in more ways than before, to catch up to those around me, and I hope to use that ability to better the world around me, writing programs to help others experience and learn and understand each other and their world. I hope to continue creating at the best I possibly can, as much as I possibly can.

I am not a very expressive person; not in a sense that I am unhappy, but I do not put forth a lot of emotion because I am not quite sure how to. I might laugh or sigh, and present myself, but there is no depth and I am happy with not worrying about telling people my innermost thoughts so blatantly. I am the opposite of my mother in that aspect, who dances and sings and laughs loudly all the time, for no reason in particular. When she cries she wails, when she laughs she turns bright red and the air suddenly feels lighter, and when she is angry the air grows stiff and silent. She is an artist who makes beautiful paintings of odd landscapes and long-limbed people, who dug herself a way through all of her pain and hardship to make it as a successful craftsman. I am her daughter who looks up to her in awe, who sits in her room and creates in order to show those emotions that I am unable to otherwise. I paint strangers on the train and images that depict emotions that I cannot express because there is no way to express the emotion felt when seeing a girl sit on a telephone pole against a gray sky, or a sleeping stranger painted as a shadow in the back of an empty subway. When I show my art to others, I laugh and point out the parts that I enjoyed drawing most, as if, "Ha! Yes I thought the posing was interesting, that was all," is the only thing I have to say, and not that the hands gripping the shirt from behind was not the best way I could think to depict the desire to reconnect with friends I had lost my threads to; but I hope somebody will realize what I mean but I do not mind if they don't, so long as they have seen the art and understood something. I cannot explain the emotion that I feel when I feel helpless and estranged but somehow by drawing a stranger sitting alone and holding desperately to a pillow, I can feel assured that maybe someone can figure it out. My mother is driven through imagination and her desire to share her bright vision with others; she is driven by her love for seeing others light up and say, "Oh honey look, this was the one, isn't it beautiful?" I am pushed forward by my desire to show those around me what I cannot say with my tongue, and the desire to be noticed for what I love. I want people to know who I am and who I was and what I felt every instance I couldn't quite place it in words. I want people to understand what it means to enjoy and relish in the small shadows that hang around your face when you pass by the streetlight, to understand how beautiful it is when their hands reach out to clasp another's; how many things there are that can be noticed and loved, and how many small things are so expressive that it would be a shame to miss them without ever praising them for what they could show you if only you would give them your attention.