In a world where people are losing their communication skills due to technology and electronics, the importance of nonverbal communication is more prevalent than ever. I have a sixteen year old brother who was diagnosed with Cerebral Palsy a couple of months after he was born, from issues revolving around the oxygen deprivation in his brain. Because of his disability, Noah is nonverbal and has limited mobility skills. Therefore, the bulk of my life has been spent developing a way to communicate with someone who has few ordinary communication skills. I have learned to use body language, sign language, and Noah’s own personal forms of expression, in order to better understand what he is conveying to me and what he needs at any given moment. As a result, I can easily read the emotions and expressions of other people, and I have the ability to comprehend what others are trying to say, even if they may not be capable of voicing it out loud. Additionally, I can provide support to someone who has difficulty when it comes to interacting with others, and understand that everyone most likely has so much more to say than what they are actually displaying. This lived experience would be a definite asset to any University, considering I have innate skills regarding communicating with those around me, and always finding a way to ensure that everyone’s voices are heard.

As I’m falling through the air, I think to myself, “How did I get here?” Did my bases have the wrong grips? Was my weight distributed unevenly? Was it my fault? These are the questions I face as a flier in the sport of competitive cheer-leading. You know me: when you think of cheerleading, I am the girl you see up in the air, smiling, floating, and sparkling. This has been my position for twelve years, and I have grown accustomed to my life in the spotlight. The thing about flying is that, when you do it right, everyone forgets that you are not gravity’s exception. That you, too, can fall. In the middle of the routine, I must assume my position and fly. I am in the middle of a stunt, and suddenly, I am hurtling towards the ground, face first, cursing gravity on the way down. I accept the fact that I am either going to slam into the mat, a rather painful occurrence, or my bases will catch me. I close my eyes and hope for the latter. But that isn’t as important as what is going through my mind in those few seconds when reality comes crashing down. I immediately feel like a failure, like I let my team down, like my coaches will be mad at me, like it’s all my fault. When it comes to flying, you aren’t supposed to fall. There is still another minute left in the routine, and we are judged for showmanship, so I plaster on a beaming smile and move on. I have to keep pushing forward and not let what happened just a few seconds ago affect me for the rest of my performance. I execute my last motion, the music cuts, and my pasted-on grin disappears. Yes, there is a very good chance that when this happens, my coaches will scold me or make the entire team condition for my mistake, but none of that matters during the two minutes and thirty-second routine. I refuse to dwell on my mistakes after they are over because this only leads to further mishaps. Is it not a possibility—rather, an inevitability—that I will fall again? But I can either choose to get hung up on this fact and be so scared of making another mistake that I just give up, or I can persevere, get back on my feet, get back in the air, and try again. One learns more from their mistakes than their successes. I might stand up and have a new bruise or scratch, but I can’t let that affect me. I have to fake it till I make it and believe in myself and my team. After flying and falling for twelve years, I have learned many lessons, and consequently, most of my revelations are conceived on my unwanted trips down to earth. I have learned not to be afraid to make mistakes, and if I do, to brush it off and focus on what’s ahead of me, not what’s in the past. There won’t always be someone there to catch me if I’m falling; I have to rely on myself to get up and carry on. I expect the unexpected and will be ready for any challenge that may come my way. Failing is inevitable, so when I fall, I pick myself up, smile through the pain, and return to the mind of keep moving forward and upward. While my future may still be up in the air, after I fall, I know that I will always get back up again and fly.

I lost my grandmother to breast cancer in August of 2023, and not a day goes by that I don't think about the profound impact she had on me and how much I miss her. I am fortunate to always carry a piece of her with me in my name. Although she spelled it "Laura," I am forever connected to her because of this synchronicity. My Nana was the glue that held my mom's side of the family together, and now there is a clear divide because of her absence. This has impacted my goals for the future because I want to carry on her ability to bring people together, even in negative times. Additionally, my younger brother, Noah, has Cerebral Palsy, which means that he was born without enough oxygen to his brain, causing him to be unable to walk or talk. Noah is a sophmore at Griswold High School and is one of the most intelligent, joyful, and loving kids that I know. He maneuvers himself around in his motorized wheelchair, communicates via his electronic speech device, and has developed his own form of sign language that my family has come to understand because his fine motor skills aren't as sharp as they could be. In a world where people are losing their communication skills due to technology and electronics, the importance of nonverbal communication is more prevalent than ever. Because of his disability, the bulk of my life has been spent developing a way to communicate with someone who has few ordinary communication skills. I have learned to use body language, sign language, and Noah’s own personal forms of expression, in order to better understand what he is conveying to me and what he needs at any given moment. Noah always makes sure that his voice is heard, even though it may be more difficult for him than it is for others. This has made it my goal in life to ensure that no one is silenced and that every voice in our country matters. Your voice is your power, and it is because of my brother that he helped me find my own. My family has shaped me into the strong young woman I am today. Through thier hardships, struggles, and life with limits, I have learned to live life without limits, and to strive to make my life and the world around me a more inclusive place.

As I’m falling through the air, I think to myself, “How did I get here?” Did my bases have the wrong grips? Was my weight distributed unevenly? Was it my fault? These are the questions I face as a flier in the sport of competitive cheer-leading. You know me: when you think of cheer-leading, I am the girl you see up in the air, smiling, floating, and sparkling. This has been my position for twelve years, and I have grown accustomed to my life in the spotlight. The thing about flying is that, when you do it right, everyone forgets that you are not gravity’s exception. That you, too, can fall. Picture this: it is the practice before a big competition; everyone’s adrenaline is pumping, and we are running through our routine one last time. This is what we call going “full out.” In the middle of the routine, I must assume my position and fly. I am in the middle of a stunt, and suddenly, I am hurtling towards the ground, face first, cursing gravity on the way down. I accept the fact that I am either going to slam into the mat, a rather painful occurrence, or my bases will catch me. I close my eyes and hope for the latter. But that isn’t as important as what is going through my mind in those few seconds when reality comes crashing down. I immediately feel like a failure, like I let my team down, like my coaches will be mad at me, like it’s all my fault. When it comes to flying, you aren’t supposed to fall. There is still another minute left in the routine, and we are judged for showmanship, so I plaster on a beaming smile and move on. I have to keep pushing forward and not let what happened just a few seconds ago affect me for the rest of my performance. I execute my last motion, the music cuts, and my pasted-on grin disappears. Yes, there is a very good chance that when this happens, my coaches will scold me or make the entire team condition for my mistake, but none of that matters during the two minutes and thirty-second routine. I refuse to dwell on my mistakes after they are over because this only leads to further mishaps. Is it not a possibility—rather, an inevitability—that I will fall again? But I can either choose to get hung up on this fact and be so scared of making another mistake that I just give up, or I can persevere, get back on my feet, get back in the air, and try again. One learns more from their mistakes than their successes. And yes, the fall might have hurt, but I can’t let that affect me. I have to fake it till I make it and believe in myself and my team. I have learned not to be afraid to make mistakes, and if I do, to brush it off and focus on what’s ahead of me, not what’s in the past. There won’t always be someone there to catch me if I’m falling; I have to rely on myself to get up and carry on. I expect the unexpected and will be ready for any challenge that may come my way. Failing is inevitable, so when I fall, I pick myself up, smile through the pain, and return to the mind of keep moving forward and upward. While my future may still be up in the air, after I fall, I know that I will always get back up again and fly.

Cheerleading has been my life for the last 12 years. I am a flyer, who gets tossed up into the air, and hopefully, caught by my bases on the ground. I've been thrown up too many times to count. As I’m falling through the air, I think to myself, “How did I get here?” Did my bases have the wrong grips? Was my weight distributed unevenly? Was it my fault? These are the questions I face as a flier in the sport of competitive cheer-leading. You know me: when you think of cheer-leading, I am the girl you see up in the air, smiling, floating, and sparkling. This has been my position for twelve years, and I have grown accustomed to my life in the spotlight. The thing about flying is that, when you do it right, everyone forgets that you are not gravity’s exception. That you too can fall. Is it not a possibility—rather, an inevitability—that I will fall again? But I can either choose to get hung up on this fact and be so scared of making another mistake that I just give up, or I can persevere, get back on my feet, get back in the air, and try again. One learns more from their mistakes than their successes, anyway. And yes, the fall might have hurt; I might stand up and have a new bruise or scratch, but I can’t let that affect me. I have to fake it till I make it and believe in myself and my team. After flying and falling for twelve years, I have learned many lessons, and consequently, most of my revelations are conceived on my unwanted trips down to earth. I have learned not to be afraid to make mistakes, and if I do, to brush it off and focus on what’s ahead of me, not what’s in the past. There won’t always be someone there to catch me if I’m falling; I have to rely on myself to get up and carry on. I expect the unexpected and will be ready for any challenge that may come my way. Failing is inevitable, so when I fall, I pick myself up, smile through the pain, and return to the mind of keep moving forward and upward. While my future may still be up in the air, after I fall, I know that I will always get back up again and fly.

Ever since I was little, I’ve had unmatched enthusiasm for anything regarding political current events. I remember sitting down to watch the 6 o'clock news with my grandparents. I love discussing and debating political issues at length with my friends. I love watching any variety of political spectacle with my parents. However, when I was younger, I never realized how profound an impact politics would have on my life. The night of September 10th happened, and it all came into focus. Just like we had done my entire life, I was sitting in my living room with my parents watching the Presidential Debate. Except this time, something felt different. The moderators of the debate, David Muir and Linsey Davis, were fact-checking the two candidates' responses in real time, ensuring neither candidate was egregiously falsifying or manipulating the truth. This journalistic commitment to honesty and integrity is as central to our country’s democracy as the election is to deciding our next leader. Watching this debate, I found myself enamored with the way David Muir and Linsey Davis policed candidate Trump and Vice President Harris, making sure our next leaders were honorable in their presentation of the facts and their treatment of each other. What was more impressive was watching how integral the media was to the fealty and fidelity in our politics and how they serve as the last bastion of accountability for an institution that governs all institutions. Because of this debate, I was inspired to pursue Political Science and Communications. It didn’t take the night of September 10th for David Muir to solidify himself as one of my journalistic role heroes. He is someone unafraid of exposing the truth, finding the truth, and questioning the truth. He travels around the globe in pursuit of stories that reflect the good and the bad in our world. As evinced during the debate, he is a professional in every sense of the word and someone I aspire to model myself after. That is why I want to pursue a career in political broadcast journalism. I want to join the journalistic ranks of David Muir, Walter Cronkite, Edward Murrow, Barbara Walters, Tom Brokaw, Katie Couric, and Christiane Amanpour, to name a few. These men and women have reported history from the honest edge, all in the broader service of bridging truth with empathy. Over my high school career, I have participated in numerous extracurricular activities. However, my involvement in the Young Voters Society has left a distinct impression on me. Through YVS, I have been fortunate to meet a diverse body of students who have exposed me to a world of interesting and fresh perspectives. During our weekly meetings, we discuss current political events affecting us personally, locally, nationally, and globally. We have learned the art of civil debate and compromise. We validate by not invalidating. We listen to understand, not speak to be understood. As a group, we’ve invited students to be engaged political participants, staging viewing parties, leadership events, speeches, and debates from Connecticut lawmakers and members of local and state government. It is my goal to live at the intersection of truth and empathy. To sit in the front row seat of our politics while sitting bedside with our people. I believe college is the ideal address for me to accomplish this end so I can start the process of my new beginning.