For years, I've always done something that involved hospitality. Whether it's a small hobby or working a job, there is never a time where I was not busy. My friends and family would complain all the time about not being able to go out or attend family events. I even complained about how busy I was, but I silently enjoyed the feeling. Me helping people built my love for hospitality. As fulfilling as it was to help people, I had to relearn how to value time for myself. Growing up as an only child had its perks, but it was an overall lonely time. I lived in a woman-run household where the age gap between me and the person closest to my age (my mom) was thirty years. On top of me being the youngest, I didn’t have cousins my age, and the ones that were my age I barely saw. It was just me keeping myself entertained while the grown ups had their conversations in the other room. My grandmother has siblings, my mom has sisters and cousins that she grew up with, and I grew up with friends. When I wasn’t with my friends, I was on my phone to stay entertained. I started volunteering at age 12. When giving out clothes or food to people in need, it felt joyful to see a smile on their face. My friends found it weird how much joy it brought me to help someone, but it was the feeling of joy they felt after that I loved. When it came to high school, it was expected that my grades were exceptional. My dream was to attend Howard University. As I started to look into what colleges wanted to see, I always saw “well rounded students”. Even though I did so much outside of school, I told myself “It doesn’t hurt to help a little more.” I had my first real job as a summer camp counselor in 2024. It kept me out of the house and occupied. It made me happy seeing the kids bond with each other and their everyday excitement. When that job ended, I was able to intern at my school with the school nurse and continue helping. Eventually, I was feeling burnt out by what I thought was my schoolwork load. I was in my last year of high school applying for colleges, going to club meetings, and volunteering while trying to finish strong and do a good job at work. My friends and family recognized how stressed I was and told me to “slow down”. It took me a while to fully grasp the idea of slowing down, but when I did, a weight lifted off my shoulders. For the first time in six years, I gave myself time for myself. It felt weird to constantly not have anything to do but relax. It made me realize that making others happy shouldn’t come at a cost for mine. I slowed down, yet still was able to do what I love. In those six years of helping others, I built a love for hospitality. Me being the only child fills my heart when I see others happy and excited for something, whether it seems small or huge. I continue to help by mentoring students at Howard University, students from my high school, and kids in my community. Even though I don't do much now, I do enough for me.

For most of my life, it was just me and my mom. My dad went to jail at a young age which led her to raise me on my own. Even though he wasn’t here, she believed that a girl should never grow up without her father. It was never in her plans to become a mother, but it also wasn’t in her plan to not BE a mother. She taught me to respect others, care for the ones who care for you, and give back to your community. Through our good times and bad times, she never stopped loving me and always proved how much the mother title meant to her. A few years ago, I almost lost the ability to call her mom to her face. In winter of 2018, my mom was a victim of a hit and run. I didn’t understand the severity of her accident because I was only 11, but it was the first time I truly felt my heart drop. When I saw her in the hospital, her arms and legs were covered in bruises and cold chills and hot flashes ran across her body as the medicine she was allergic to kicked in. While I was overjoyed to see her, the happiness couldn't overpower the fear and shock I had witnessing her in that state. It was scary to see her so weak and broken down. The accident was so bad, she nearly lost a leg as she was trapped under a car, going in and out of consciousness from the adrenaline rush. In the midst of the fear, knowing she was here kept me sane. I smiled seeing her alive, while she cried acknowledging that she was not dead. Getting older, I would recall to her the eventual faded memories from that time. I would describe to her how scary it was to see her that way, how her lively voice sounded empty and how I couldn't see a world where she wasn't there. She would describe to me the physical and mental pain. How her body felt like a thousand bricks were chilling on top of her. How depressed she was and afraid to drive in fear of another accident. How she thought her daughter would become motherless, and that stuck with me forever. When she described to me her time under the car, fading in and out of consciousness, she said “I only thought of you”. She thought of me and called out for me, putting herself before me. She puts me before herself in every scenario. She sacrifices things for me to see me succeed, see me thrive, and overall see me happy. To still have my mom in my life is something I will never take for granted. In every world she is my role model, my confidant, and my overall best friend. Her compassion, tough love and the positive qualities she possesses as a strong black female lead shaped me into the woman I am today now. As I continue to grow, my top goal will be to make her proud. I want to show her why God gave her a second chance at life, and why I got another chance to be the best daughter to the most remarkable woman.

I lived in a world where I thought everything should come to me, which made me hate my first semester. I was hours away from home, no one from my school came to Howard, and I ultimately felt alone. To go from a places surrounded by love and friendship to something completely different felt strange. The loneliness affected my academics and how I made connections at Howard. I thought the good grades were gonna miraculously appear on Canvas and the ideal friend group was gonna find me. I was on the brink of transferring home where everything felt familiar, but something told me to give myself one more chance to really live the Howard dream. Spring semester 2026, I became an entirely new person and built an inventory of favorite memories. Instead of expecting everything to come to me, I went to it. As I did more on campus, I met the people I will call my "lifetimers". I started to get involved by joining Quad Council, Pre-Dental Society, NAACP and doing so much more. My favorite memory was realizing that second chance was 100% worth it. If I stayed stuck in that "silver platter" mindset, I probably would be feeling the same way I did during my first semester. Howard continues to show me how much growth I can do not only academically, but personally. While I continue my education at Howard, I will continue to insert myself where I know I can thrive and find happiness within it.

Even though her body still lives, her soul roams free. She is a mannequin with a beating heart. She is a failed recreation of a painting that can never be recreated. When I was younger, painting was my muse. I sometimes had inspiration, and other times I free-styled, but my painting never had a meaning. Usually when people hear the word “strokes”, some connect it to the strokes of a painting. When I think of the word “strokes”, I think of what it took from me. When I was 10 years old, my aunt suffered her first stroke, the first stroke towards the painting. In my innocent eyes, she still seemed healthy, so I deemed the stroke as serious but harmless. I watched as she still managed to communicate with everyone, continued to go to church, and took me to scan her lottery tickets. Then another stroke happened, and then finally, the stroke that stripped away a part of me that I did not realize was gone until I was much older. Even though I was still ten years old, I ceased to feel like a ten year old. Life changed in an instant. Instead of feeling like I was home, I felt like a stranger in a strange land. With the medicine everywhere and accommodations for her limited mobility, I realized that this is my ‘new normal’. Everyone in the household had to get used to the change in our personal lives. Abrupt plans could not be made and schedules had to be set. In my eyes, we looked like nurses, taking shifts, waiting for the inevitable even while making sure she had the care she needed. I had to watch as this woman whom I knew as vibrant, healthy, and outgoing, turned into this fragile and childlike elder. To me, she felt like an imposter, stripping away the woman I truly knew, but I knew the imposter was here to stay. It took me a while to accept the state of my aunt's condition. I can admit, I used to be embarrassed and ashamed when my friends or outsiders would see her, because I never wanted my life to seem “flawed”. To me, it had looked as if I, little miss “perfect”, didn’t have the perfect life, but that wasn’t the case at all. There is no such thing as having the perfect life; I simply lived the life I was chosen to have. Now that I’m older, more knowledgeable, and more mature, I realized that I’ve had and have nothing to be embarrassed about, but instead, I have everything to be grateful for. While taking care of an elderly woman wasn’t a path I thought I would take, it gave me compassion and empathy for the people who do it on a daily basis, whether it is their job or taking care of a family member like me. For the many years she’s helped me, and the many years I’ve helped her, it gave me the inspiration to help others. Health care was always a path I knew I wanted to take, but I was never sure why. After having to help care for someone's health for so long, I finally realized why. While my aunt is still alive, but isn’t as verbal as most, she still manages to thank me. Her making an effort to speak, even though it’s tough, fills me with gratitude. She inspires me to make others feel appreciated. Having the ability to give appreciation is all that I strive to accomplish in life, and overall the meaning of my painting is.

Even though her body still lives, her soul roams free. She is a mannequin with a beating heart. She is a failed recreation of a painting that can never be recreated. When I was 10 years old, my aunt suffered her first stroke, the first stroke towards the painting. In my innocent eyes, she still seemed healthy, so I deemed the stroke as serious but harmless. I watched as she still managed to communicate with everyone, continued to go to church, and took me to scan her lottery tickets. Then another stroke happened, and then finally, the stroke that stripped away a part of me that I did not realize was gone until I was much older. Even though I was still ten years old, I ceased to feel like a ten year old. Life changed in an instant. Instead of feeling like I was home, I felt like a stranger in a strange land. With the medicine everywhere and accommodations for her limited mobility, I realized that this is my ‘new normal’. Everyone in the household had to get used to the change in our personal lives. Abrupt plans could not be made and schedules had to be set. In my eyes, we looked like nurses, taking shifts, waiting for the inevitable even while making sure she had the care she needed. Even though I wasn’t as connected with God as much as I am now, that was the start to connecting with him. I had to watch as this woman whom I knew as vibrant, healthy, and outgoing, turned into this fragile and childlike elder. There would be days where I would talk to God and ask “Why her? Why would you choose my family?” I couldn’t understand why he would put my family in this predicament. I would always hear my grandmother say “God does everything for a reason.” but I never understood why this was a part of it. As her health slowly declined, I started to pray more and go to church more often to fill her absence. This eventually led to me leaning closer with God and him showing me newer and better paths. It took me a while to accept the state of my aunt's condition. I can admit, I used to be embarrassed and ashamed when my friends or outsiders would see her, because I never wanted my life to seem “flawed”. To me, it had looked as if I, little miss “perfect”, didn’t have the perfect life, but that wasn’t the case at all. There is no such thing as having the perfect life; I simply live the life God created for me. Now that I’m older, more knowledgeable, and more mature, I realized that I’ve had and have nothing to be embarrassed about, but instead, I have everything to be grateful for. The faith my family and I put in God is allowing her to continue to live as much life as she can. While helping taking care of an elderly woman wasn’t a path I thought I would take, it gave me compassion and empathy for the people who do it on a daily basis, whether it is their job or taking care of a family member like me. For the many years she’s helped me, and the many years I’ve helped her, it gave me the inspiration to help others.

Resilience is something I've always had growing up. Living in a Christian household with my mother, grandmother, aunt, and cousin, faith and believing was taught to me. Despite being an only child, I've been taught to inspire others even when my drive for inspiration was low. In the past year I have moved to a new home with my mom as she is a single mother. living in Jersey City, New Jersey means that there aren't many single family homes to live in. My mother renovated our grandparents' two family house and turned it into one that her and I can live in. Within this move my cousins moved into the house as well. My little cousin, who is only in the fourth grade, has already been experiencing hardships in school. She has done things such as get suspended, be sent to the principal's office, as well as had her parents called multiple times. Every time I come home she always has a new story for me to listen to and every time I listen, I cannot feel sadness for her. I listen and watch as this little girl who hasn't even reached the age of ten talk about fighting, arguing with the teacher and overall things she shouldn't be doing as a young girl. The more stories she told me, the more I paid attention and started to help her. I would do things such as make bets with her in order for her to do things with me. One thing we did is that if she went a week without getting in trouble we can have a sleepover. Considering she sees me as a mentor and even an older sister she was able to go a week without any arguing or fighting and we were able to have the sleepover. During the sleepover, I even helped her with homework that she had that she couldn't figure out all on her own. Since moving to the new house, I've helped her expand her vocabulary, help her with math questions, and get her out of trouble so she can spend more time with me. The more we did these things the more her teachers as well as her parents started to see improvement in her behavior and her overall well-being. Recently she just earned a B+ on a test she had and I was the first person she told. While being an only child comes with its perks and privileges, being an “older sister” to her is a totally different feeling. Being able to help her has inspired me to help so many other children. Recently I started working at an after-school center where I can help children do their homework and anything else that I can help them with. Sometimes they even called me their “big sister” which makes me feel empowered. I hope to continue to inspire other children as I grow up.