“My friend thinks you’re a f*ggot.” “What?” Eighth grade, 2022. I’m sitting in the cafeteria of my small town school in the Catskill Mountains, getting called a slur by someone I’ve never spoken to. People say that slurs are just words, and in reality, they are. But what they don’t understand is that it’s the meaning and power behind the word that really matters. I started to truly understand this in that moment in eighth grade, when just one word had the power to make me feel like a stranger in the town I’ve lived in my whole life. Despite simply being a word; mere sounds from the mouth, it held such immense power. Though I’ve painted a bleak picture, I love where I come from. From the craggy cliffs to the streams and quilts of trees, to the prancing deer and scampering rabbits. As for the actual town, there’s not much to talk about because there’s not much at all. It’s the kind of town where everyone knows everyone and everyone has an opinion on everyone, so you better make sure you don’t get stuck with the wrong label. Unfortunately, I found myself labelled something akin to “gay,” “gay boy,” or, in the rare case, a word which I’d rather not say a second time in this paper. I never liked being labeled as gay. At one time I convinced myself I did, but the truth is I’ve never liked labeling myself that word because of the stereotypes and assumptions that come with it. Due to the preconceived notions some of my classmates had of me, throughout the vast majority of school I was treated differently. Not horrendously, just differently. And while I more often than not find myself wishing I could have been "normal" or “more like everyone else,” I will forever be grateful for all the experience and valuable lessons I learned from my experiences, even if said experience was painful. One lesson I learned was to always be my true, genuine self. When I was placed in a box, I learned that the way to break out of that box was to express myself to the fullest and show that I’m more than just “the gay guy.” I’m a Christian, musician, athlete, theatre kid, baker, nature lover, and someone who loves the color yellow. I’ve found that the more unique of a person you are, the harder it is for others to categorize you. But of all the valuable lessons I learned from my school experience, one of the most impactful lessons I learned is that words have power. I realized this when in just one moment with just one ugly slur, I experienced the impact that words can have. Unfortunately, someone chose to use that power against me. But even though they tried to use words to make me feel powerless, it has more than anything made me realize I can use that power myself. I want to become a journalist to harness the power that words have and use them to make people aware of the terrible things going on right under their noses so that they will take action. To give people hope that there is still some good left in the world but not let them forget that there are still problems to be dealt with. Journalists expose the lies and bring the truth to light, are a voice for the voiceless, and drive change when problems remain unchanged. Words are such a powerful tool that I have seen used for both evil and good. I choose to use them for good.