Sometimes when I look at my mom, I get sad. Sometimes it even happens when I just think about her. It doesn’t take much; I’ll just be sitting in my room or reading an article or writing, and my chest will get tight when her face pops into my head. At first, I began to push this feeling away; I didn’t like associating her with melancholy or sorrow. It didn’t seem right… or fair, maybe. But what that meant was, rather than confronting what these thoughts could mean for me and how I viewed her, I started to shut her out. I stopped returning her calls, her text messages. I told her it was because I was too busy with school, but really it was because I was too scared to face her. I think a part of me was worried that I was the one causing her sadness, so I decided that I should take a step back so she would get better while I was away at school. Unfortunately, what I didn’t realize until I was months into this plan was that now 'I' was sad because I pushed away the person I loved most in this world. After my first year of college, I thought it was best to examine why I began to associate my mother with sadness in the first place. “Where did it all begin? What caused that shift in my perception of her?” And the more I thought about it, the more I began to realize that a lot of these feelings and associations would come up every time I thought about the financial toll I was taking out on her. She’s paying for my education, my clothes, my food, my school supplies, my medical bills, everything – that all falls on her! And it’s not only me she has to worry about and take care of – there’s also the matter of my younger brother and my older sister (who’s also in college, I might add). So, in my mind, I only contribute to the tremendous amount of stress she’s already under without my being here. But I think at the heart of this sadness that I paint her with lies a much more honest truth: I get sad when I think about her because I can see how hard she works to make sure my siblings and I get the absolute best out of this world – that everything is taken care of and we never have to worry about working two jobs while we complete our studies or having to drop out of school because we can’t afford the tuition costs. She just wants to take care of us, and it devastates me that all that responsibility falls on her shoulders alone. Her strength has – and continues to – inspire me in all my career endeavors. I am pursuing a degree in Theatre because it’s all I’ve ever dreamed about. And rather than ignoring that dream, my mother nurtured it. She encouraged me to audition even when it scared the hell out of me; she pushed me to keep writing even when it felt like I was getting nowhere with it. Because she saw that these outlets made me happy, and she made sure that I stuck with them. So, with my future career as an actor and a writer, my biggest goal is just repaying her in whatever way I can. And if that means I use those talents to secretly apply to scholarships every chance that I get, then I will happily do so.

For as long as I can remember, acting has consistently provided me with a profound sense of personal gratification, overwhelming creative fulfillment, and an inspiring means of agency in a world predisposed to dismissing and oppressing those of my ilk. It’s given me an opportunity to explore countless emotional temperaments and experiences in a safe and facilitated environment that has carried over into how I approach taking care of my overall mental health and well-being. It’s given me a purpose as both an artist and a human being. Without acting, I am certain that I would be aimless and dejected and miserable because having it in my life has provided me with a framework to continue even when getting out of bed in the morning feels impossible at times. It reminds me why I’m here and why I belong in this world. My main motivation as an actor is to redress the immense social and physiological damage that has been perpetrated by this industry’s extensive history of mis- and underrepresentation. It’s dehumanizing having to constantly watch yourself be portrayed on screen as these offensive stereotypes that are designed to oppress and belittle you. I just want to be viewed as a human being. So I hope that through my acting career, I’m able to validate the existence of those who have been disenfranchised and silenced; I hope that through my acting career, I’m able to uplift the voices of those who have been ignored and abused by systemic injustices; I hope that through my acting career, I’m able to reclaim the stories and history of my people after having it stripped away from us for so long. I’ve attached my resume with a list of accomplishments and accolades I’ve won as both an actor and a writer.

I was fortunate enough to attend my first drama class in third grade. The class was conducted during the school day at Third Street Elementary School by the theater instructor, Mr. Pratt. He was a tall, intimidating figure that quoted Shakespeare and Oscar Wilde on a regular basis. He spoke to us as if we were his equals, always listening intently to what we had to say and responding with elegance and deep devotion. He revered theatre with such love and adoration that you couldn’t help fawning over it as well. He taught me how to remain present both on and off the stage, and he fostered an environment that allowed one to make mistakes on their journey to self-discovery. If I could gift him with every grain of salt from the Earth and every star from the sky and every droplet of water from the oceans, it still wouldn’t be enough to pay off the debt I’ve incurred. Mr. Pratt’s class allowed me to express the more creative aspects of my personality that had been restricted by the insecurity of my youth. I auditioned for school plays and reveled in writing short stories for my teachers. The turbulence that rocked my life at home took a backseat to the sensation that overcame me when I picked up a pen or recited a monologue. The theatre was my sanctuary. Unfortunately, this love was put on pause as I took a brief hiatus during my middle school years. This hiatus was not my decision; quite the opposite, in fact. I wanted nothing more than to act, but my escape from reality was barricaded by my father’s authority and abrasive treatment. Depression and anxiety engulfed me, and I began to resent the aspects of myself that were drawn to the creative arts, for they reminded me of the person I used to be, a person I no longer recognized. When it came time to select the high school I wished to attend, a part of me dared to dream of a future where I was acting once more. The Hollywood High School Performing Arts Magnet program challenged the cynical voice in my head that threatened to keep me under its thumb for the foreseeable future. It was during my freshman year of high school that I met the new theatre teacher, Mr. Tourtellotte. He blended his sardonic personality with a dash of sincerity to create a person who genuinely relished in the idea of teaching his students the ins and outs of theatre (both from an actor and crew member’s point of view). My inexperience wasn’t seen as a detriment; in fact, he implored me to embrace it, as it supplied me with the potential to ascertain a situation from a place of curiosity and wonder. I was transfixed by him! I couldn’t understand how I had gotten so lucky to be in the same room as this thespian. The following year, I found myself in his class yet again, this time for tenth-grade English. His class reignited the flame that drew me towards storytelling years prior. I sought out writing short films and scenes that had been percolating in my head for weeks. Mr. Tourtellotte encouraged me to continue writing at times where I felt mediocre and subpar. He revised my work and helped me improve at every turn. He was the only person I trusted with my words, for he understood the significance of sharing them with others. The guidance and support given to me by Mr. Pratt and Mr. Tourtellotte encouraged me to pursue a career in the arts.