I grew up in a single-parent household in inner-city Houston, Texas. My parents' relationship was on and off due to my father's ongoing struggle with drug addiction, and my mother did her best working as a civilian at the city police department. She made some sacrifices to ensure my brother and I had all we needed. She worked the night shift from 11 p.m. to 7 a.m. because it paid slightly more, but this meant she wasn't always available to get us up and ready for school. Most nights, she'd have to take a nap when we got home from school, so she wasn't able to help with homework or make dinner. My older cousin came to live with us when I was in the first grade and was our nanny until she got married right after I graduated from elementary school. By then, I was in middle school and deemed old enough to take over the things she used to do, such as cleaning, homework, cooking, and combing hair. I remember not realizing that we were a low-income family until I got to middle school. My elementary school was filled with kids from the same neighborhood and, therefore, the same socioeconomic background as us. Since I was considered "gifted and talented," I took a test that landed me a spot in the vanguard program at a middle school in a different, more affluent neighborhood. I can still remember the day it dawned on me. We were in gym class, and all the other kids were comparing their new Nikes, Adidas, and other name-brand shoes. But when it got to me and my Pro-Wings, the brand from Payless, all the other kids looked away and quickly changed the subject. I will say this taught me what real friendship was because my friends never treated me any differently and never spoke about brands again. When my younger brother started middle school the next year and faced the same harsh realization, his experience led to teasing and a fight with several boys who used his off-brand shoes as a reason to call him names. My friends never did that to me. When kids on the bus tried to ridicule me like they did my brother, my friends stood up for me before I could reply and listed all of my attributes. I was smarter than most, I could draw, I could sing, and I was always nice to everyone, so it didn't matter what kind of shoes I wore. One friend even went as far as to suggest the bully buy me and my brother some name-brand shoes if they had such a problem with the ones we were wearing. I remember having a conversation with my grandfather about this, and he gave me another nugget I still live by today: "You can tell the measure of a man by how he treats those who can do nothing for him." I guess that's why even when I entered high school and college, I was always nice to everyone, even the kids the other kids called weird, because I knew what it felt like to be different from everyone else. This background has directly shaped my goals for the future. My major is art because I find peace in creating, but also because I want to teach children how to express their creative side and have a safe space to release their emotions in a room where economic status, race, gender, or any other societal restrictions have no place in determining their worth.

In elementary school, my favorite teacher was Mr. Everett, the art teacher. I vividly remember eagerly anticipating the days when our elective class was art, excited to see the imaginative creations he had planned for us. My affinity for art didn't go unnoticed by my grandmother, who, from that day forward, declared that she would only accept hand-drawn cards from me—nothing purchased from a store. My grandmother was my closest friend during childhood. She had been diagnosed with breast cancer around the time my mother discovered she was pregnant with me. The doctors delivered the devastating news that the cancer was too advanced, and she wouldn’t live to see me born. In that moment, she turned to prayer, dedicating her life to God with the fervent wish to live long enough to meet her youngest child’s first baby. Her fight against cancer and her deep faith left a lasting impression on me. Her strength, grace, and determination molded how I see the world, and ultimately, myself. Education was always important to her. In her 60s, as I attended and graduated from high school, she went back, achieved her GED, and graduated from college to show her grandchildren that education matters—and that it’s never too late to chase a dream or learn something new. That is something I still hold close to my heart. I was blessed to have my grandmother until just one month shy of my twenty-third birthday. Fast forward to my high school graduation, a time when the daunting decision of choosing a collegiate major loomed. I recalled the pure joy I felt awaiting art class in elementary school and the sense of creative freedom each artwork provided. It was then that I decided I wanted to become an elementary-level art teacher. I attended a vanguard school and achieved good grades, particularly in math and science. Consequently, my teachers and parents were in agreement that I was "too smart" to major solely in art so, with reluctance, I chose engineering. I detested engineering. I would bring sketchbooks and colored pencils to class instead of paying attention. Unsurprisingly, my first year of college did not go well academically. When my parents separated and my mother was laid off from her job, I eagerly seized the opportunity to return home and offer support. I took on two part-time jobs and enrolled in classes at the local community college where I took Art History and Art Appreciation as electives While working that regular job, I explored painting for the first time, using acrylics on canvas as an occasional form of therapy and a way to escape the monotony of daily life. It wasn't until after my grandmother passed away, when we discovered a chest in her room filled with every card, project, or simple drawing I had created for her since elementary school, that I realized I wasn't one of those college dropouts who went to school aimlessly, lacking any real passion. I had simply allowed the opinions of others to overshadow what I instinctively knew was right for me and to stifle my love for artistic creation. Therefore, I am returning to college this fall to pursue that art degree, with the hope of one day becoming the kind of inspiration for a future little creative that Mr. Everett was for me so long ago. I want to help them understand that happiness in life isn't solely defined by monetary gain, but by fulfilling an intrinsic desire that brings joy and peace to their soul—whatever that may be for them.

In elementary school, my favorite teacher was Mr. Everett, the art teacher. I vividly remember eagerly anticipating the days when our elective class was art, excited to see the imaginative creations he had planned for us. My affinity for art didn't go unnoticed by my grandmother, who, from that day forward, declared that she would only accept hand-drawn cards from me—nothing purchased from a store. My grandmother was my closest friend during childhood. She had been diagnosed with breast cancer around the time my mother discovered she was pregnant with me. The doctors delivered the devastating news that the cancer was too advanced, and she wouldn’t live to see me born. In that moment, she turned to prayer, dedicating her life to God with the fervent wish to live long enough to meet her youngest child’s first baby. Her fight against cancer and her deep faith left a lasting impression on me. Her strength, grace, and determination molded how I see the world, and ultimately, myself. Education was always important to her. In her 60s, as I attended and graduated from high school, she went back, achieved her GED, and graduated from college to show her grandchildren that education matters—and that it’s never too late to chase a dream or learn something new. That is something I still hold close to my heart. I was blessed to have my grandmother until just one month shy of my twenty-third birthday. Fast forward to my high school graduation, a time when the daunting decision of choosing a collegiate major loomed. I recalled the pure joy I felt awaiting art class in elementary school and the sense of creative freedom each artwork provided. It was then that I decided I wanted to become an elementary-level art teacher. I attended a vanguard school and achieved good grades, particularly in math and science. Consequently, my teachers and parents were in agreement that I was "too smart" to major solely in art so, with reluctance, I chose engineering. I detested engineering. I would bring sketchbooks and colored pencils to class instead of paying attention. Unsurprisingly, my first year of college did not go well academically. When my parents separated and my mother was laid off from her job, I eagerly seized the opportunity to return home and offer support. I took on two part-time jobs and enrolled in classes at the local community college where I took Art History and Art Appreciation as electives While working that regular job, I explored painting for the first time, using acrylics on canvas as an occasional form of therapy and a way to escape the monotony of daily life. It wasn't until after my grandmother passed away, when we discovered a chest in her room filled with every card, project, or simple drawing I had created for her since elementary school, that I realized I wasn't one of those college dropouts who went to school aimlessly, lacking any real passion. I had simply allowed the opinions of others to overshadow what I instinctively knew was right for me and to stifle my love for artistic creation. Therefore, I am returning to college this fall to pursue that art degree, with the hope of one day becoming the kind of inspiration for a future little creative that Mr. Everett was for me so long ago. I want to help them understand that happiness in life isn't solely defined by monetary gain, but by fulfilling an intrinsic desire that brings joy and peace to their soul—whatever that may be for them.

In elementary school, my favorite teacher was Mr. Everett, the art teacher. I vividly remember eagerly anticipating the days when our elective class was art, excited to see the imaginative creations he had planned for us. My affinity for art didn't go unnoticed by my grandmother, who, from that day forward, declared that she would only accept hand-drawn cards from me—nothing purchased from a store. My grandmother was my closest friend during childhood. She had been diagnosed with breast cancer around the time my mother discovered she was pregnant with me. The doctors delivered the devastating news that the cancer was too advanced, and she wouldn’t live to see me born. In that moment, she turned to prayer, dedicating her life to God with the fervent wish to live long enough to meet her youngest child’s first baby. Her fight against cancer and her deep faith left a lasting impression on me. Her strength, grace, and determination molded how I see the world, and ultimately, myself. Education was always important to her. In her 60s, as I attended and graduated from high school, she went back, achieved her GED, and graduated from college to show her grandchildren that education matters—and that it’s never too late to chase a dream or learn something new. That is something I still hold close to my heart. I was blessed to have my grandmother until just one month shy of my twenty-third birthday. Fast forward to my high school graduation, a time when the daunting decision of choosing a collegiate major loomed. I recalled the pure joy I felt awaiting art class in elementary school and the sense of creative freedom each artwork provided. It was then that I decided I wanted to become an elementary-level art teacher. I attended a vanguard school and achieved good grades, particularly in math and science. Consequently, my teachers and parents were in agreement that I was "too smart" to major solely in art so, with reluctance, I chose engineering. I detested engineering. I would bring sketchbooks and colored pencils to class instead of paying attention. Unsurprisingly, my first year of college did not go well academically. When my parents separated and my mother was laid off from her job, I eagerly seized the opportunity to return home and offer support. I took on two part-time jobs and enrolled in classes at the local community college where I took Art History and Art Appreciation as electives While working that regular job, I explored painting for the first time, using acrylics on canvas as an occasional form of therapy and a way to escape the monotony of daily life. It wasn't until after my grandmother passed away, when we discovered a chest in her room filled with every card, project, or simple drawing I had created for her since elementary school, that I realized I wasn't one of those college dropouts who went to school aimlessly, lacking any real passion. I had simply allowed the opinions of others to overshadow what I instinctively knew was right for me and to stifle my love for artistic creation. Therefore, I am returning to college this fall to pursue that art degree, with the hope of one day becoming the kind of inspiration for a future little creative that Mr. Everett was for me so long ago. I want to help them understand that happiness in life isn't solely defined by monetary gain, but by fulfilling an intrinsic desire that brings joy and peace to their soul—whatever that may be for them.

There are a few things that influence the feeling of creativity that seems to itch beneath the surface of my skin, yearning to come out through my art. The rain has always been calming and inspirational. When I was a child, whenever it rained, I would sit by the window and draw, read, or write. The rain, thunder, and lightning have always brought me a sense of peace. Another thing that inspires my creativity is when those around me are going through emotional experiences. Sometimes, I don’t feel I have the right words to express what I want to say—whether it’s offering condolences when a loved one is lost, or congratulations for a life-changing event I’ve never personally experienced. In those moments, I just grab a canvas and paint something for that person. It helps me connect in a meaningful way. Part of the way my life is woven into my art comes from what originally got me started with drawing. In elementary school, my favorite teacher was Mr. Everett, the art teacher. I vividly remember eagerly anticipating the days when our elective class was art, excited to see the imaginative projects he had planned for us. My love for art didn’t go unnoticed by my grandmother, who from that point on insisted she would only accept hand-drawn cards from me—nothing store-bought. Back then, it was mostly doodles in a notebook or birthday cards, things like that. Friends would ask me to draw their favorite cartoon characters on their notebooks—again, just little things like that. Then, when I got my first “adult” job, we’d have these long, boring monthly meetings, and during them, I would draw caricatures of the faculty members. My boss saw what I was doing and started making suggestions—who to draw next, what props to add. One day, she asked me to paint some wooden eggs for her sons for Easter, as part of a Czech tradition they had. That was my first time working with acrylics, and from there I ventured into canvases and so much more. When I’m frustrated about something and feel powerless to change the situation, I draw. An example of this is when Trayvon Martin was killed. I created a piece to depict the injustice he faced. But every now and then, I’ll go to the Museum of Fine Arts and wander the halls. Something I see will spark something within me, and I’ll pull out my sketchbook and colored pencils and start drawing. Oddly enough, my work usually doesn’t look like what inspires me—unless I want it to. My biggest supporter now is my sister, since my grandmother passed. When you walk into her home, every room has something I’ve painted on the walls. It makes me feel good when visitors ask her about the artwork and she beams with pride, telling them her little sister painted that for her. I guess that’s the biggest motivator of all: my work being appreciated.

In elementary school, my favorite teacher was Mr. Everett, the art teacher. I vividly remember eagerly anticipating the days when our elective class was art, excited to see the imaginative creations he had planned for us. My affinity for art didn't go unnoticed by my grandmother, who, from that day forward, declared that she would only accept hand-drawn cards from me—nothing purchased from a store. My grandmother was my closest friend during childhood. She had been diagnosed with breast cancer around the time my mother discovered she was pregnant with me. The doctors delivered the devastating news that the cancer was too advanced, and she wouldn’t live to see me born. In that moment, she turned to prayer, dedicating her life to God with the fervent wish to live long enough to meet her youngest child’s first baby. Her fight against cancer and her deep faith left a lasting impression on me. Her strength, grace, and determination molded how I see the world, and ultimately, myself. Education was always important to her. In her 60s, as I attended and graduated from high school, she went back, achieved her GED, and graduated from college to show her grandchildren that education matters—and that it’s never too late to chase a dream or learn something new. That is something I still hold close to my heart. I was blessed to have my grandmother until just one month shy of my twenty-third birthday. Fast forward to my high school graduation, a time when the daunting decision of choosing a collegiate major loomed. I recalled the pure joy I felt awaiting art class in elementary school and the sense of creative freedom each artwork provided. It was then that I decided I wanted to become an elementary-level art teacher. I attended a vanguard school and achieved good grades, particularly in math and science. Consequently, my teachers and parents were in agreement that I was "too smart" to major solely in art so, with reluctance, I chose engineering. I detested engineering. I would bring sketchbooks and colored pencils to class instead of paying attention. The only classes I enjoyed were calculus and history. Unsurprisingly, my first year of college did not go well academically. When my parents separated and my mother was laid off from her job, I eagerly seized the opportunity to return home and offer support. I took on two part-time jobs and enrolled in classes at the local community college where I took Art History and Art Appreciation as electives While working that regular job, I explored painting for the first time, using acrylics on canvas as an occasional form of therapy and a way to escape the monotony of daily life. It wasn't until after my grandmother passed away, when we discovered a chest in her room filled with every card, project, or simple drawing I had created for her since elementary school, that I realized I wasn't one of those college dropouts who went to school aimlessly, lacking any real passion. I had simply allowed the opinions of others to overshadow what I instinctively knew was right for me and to stifle my love for artistic creation. Therefore, I am returning to college this fall to pursue that art degree, with the hope of one day becoming the kind of inspiration for a future little creative that Mr. Everett was for me so long ago. I want to help them understand that happiness in life isn't solely defined by monetary gain, but by fulfilling an intrinsic desire that brings joy and peace to their soul—whatever that may be for them.

In elementary school, my favorite teacher was Mr. Everett, the art teacher. I vividly remember eagerly anticipating the days when our elective class was art, excited to see the imaginative creations he had planned for us. My affinity for art didn't go unnoticed by my grandmother, who, from that day forward, declared that she would only accept hand-drawn cards from me—nothing purchased from a store. My grandmother was my closest friend during childhood. She had been diagnosed with breast cancer around the time my mother discovered she was pregnant with me. The doctors delivered the devastating news that the cancer was too advanced, and she wouldn’t live to see me born. In that moment, she turned to prayer, dedicating her life to God with the fervent wish to live long enough to meet her youngest child’s first baby. Her fight against cancer and her deep faith left a lasting impression on me. Her strength, grace, and determination molded how I see the world, and ultimately, myself. Education was always important to her. In her 60s, as I attended and graduated from high school, she went back, achieved her GED, and graduated from college to show her grandchildren that education matters—and that it’s never too late to chase a dream or learn something new. That is something I still hold close to my heart. I was blessed to have my grandmother until just one month shy of my twenty-third birthday. Fast forward to my high school graduation, a time when the daunting decision of choosing a collegiate major loomed. I recalled the pure joy I felt awaiting art class in elementary school and the sense of creative freedom each artwork provided. It was then that I decided I wanted to become an elementary-level art teacher. I attended a vanguard school and achieved good grades, particularly in math and science. Consequently, my teachers and parents were in agreement that I was "too smart" to major solely in art so, with reluctance, I chose engineering. I detested engineering. I would bring sketchbooks and colored pencils to class instead of paying attention. The only classes I enjoyed were calculus and history. Unsurprisingly, my first year of college did not go well academically. When my parents separated and my mother was laid off from her job, I eagerly seized the opportunity to return home and offer support. I took on two part-time jobs and enrolled in classes at the local community college where I took Art History and Art Appreciation as electives While working that regular job, I explored painting for the first time, using acrylics on canvas as an occasional form of therapy and a way to escape the monotony of daily life. It wasn't until after my grandmother passed away, when we discovered a chest in her room filled with every card, project, or simple drawing I had created for her since elementary school, that I realized I wasn't one of those college dropouts who went to school aimlessly, lacking any real passion. I had simply allowed the opinions of others to overshadow what I instinctively knew was right for me and to stifle my love for artistic creation. Therefore, I am returning to college this fall to pursue that art degree, with the hope of one day becoming the kind of inspiration for a future little creative that Mr. Everett was for me so long ago. I want to help them understand that happiness in life isn't solely defined by monetary gain, but by fulfilling an intrinsic desire that brings joy and peace to their soul—whatever that may be for them.

When I was in elementary school, my favorite teacher was Mr. Everett, the art teacher. I vividly remember eagerly anticipating the days when our elective class was art, excited to see the imaginative creations he had planned for us. My affinity for art didn't go unnoticed by my grandmother, who, from that day forward, declared that she would only accept hand-drawn cards from me—nothing purchased from a store. My grandmother was my closest friend during childhood. She had been diagnosed with breast cancer around the time my mother discovered she was pregnant with me. The doctors delivered the devastating news that the cancer was too advanced and she wouldn’t live to see me born. In that moment, she turned to prayer, dedicating her life to God with the fervent wish to live long enough to meet her youngest child’s first baby. Her fight against cancer and her deep faith left a lasting impression on me. Her strength, grace, and determination molded how I see the world, and ultimately, myself. Education was always important to her. In her 60s, as I attended and graduated from high school, she went back, achieved her GED, and graduated from college to show her grandchildren that education matters—and that it’s never too late to chase a dream or learn something new. That is something I still hold close to my heart. I was blessed to have my grandmother until just one month shy of my twenty-third birthday. Fast forward to my high school graduation, a time when the daunting decision of choosing a collegiate major loomed. I recalled the pure joy I felt awaiting art class in elementary school and the sense of creative freedom each artwork provided. It was then that I decided I wanted to become an elementary-level art teacher. I attended a vanguard school and achieved good grades, particularly in math and science. Consequently, my teachers and parents were in agreement that I was "too smart" to major solely in art, also citing the lower earning potential of teachers. So, with reluctance, I chose engineering. I detested engineering. I would bring sketchbooks and colored pencils to class, taking requests from my classmates for drawings during lectures instead of paying attention. Unsurprisingly, my first year of college did not go well academically. When my parents separated and my mother was laid off from her job, I eagerly seized the opportunity to return home. I took on two part-time jobs and enrolled in classes at the local community college. While working that regular job, I explored painting for the first time, using acrylics on canvas as an occasional form of therapy and a way to escape the monotony of daily life. It wasn't until after my grandmother passed away, when we discovered a chest in her room filled with every card, project, or simple drawing I had created for her since elementary school, that I realized I wasn't one of those college dropouts who went to school aimlessly, lacking any real passion. I had simply allowed the opinions of others to overshadow what I instinctively knew was right for me and to stifle my love for artistic creation. Therefore, I reenrolled in college Fall of 2023, with the hope of one day becoming the kind of inspiration for a future little creative that Mr. Everett was for me so long ago. I want to help them understand that happiness in life isn't solely defined by monetary gain, but by fulfilling an intrinsic desire that brings joy and peace to their soul—whatever that may be for them.

When I was in elementary school, my favorite teacher was Mr. Everett, the art teacher. I vividly remember eagerly awaiting art class, excited to see what imaginative project he had in store for us. My love for art didn’t go unnoticed by my grandmother, who from then on insisted I only give her hand-drawn cards—never store-bought ones. My grandmother, my closest friend growing up, was diagnosed with breast cancer around the time my mother became pregnant with me. Doctors told her the cancer was too advanced and that she wouldn’t live to see me born. In that moment, she turned to prayer and dedicated her life to God, praying she could live long enough to meet her youngest child’s first baby. Her faith carried her through, and she lived well beyond that moment. Education was a cornerstone of her life. In her 60s, as I graduated high school, she earned her GED and completed college. She wanted to show her grandchildren that it’s never too late to pursue education or dreams. That lesson has remained close to my heart. I was blessed to have her in my life until just one month before my twenty-third birthday. At my own high school graduation, I faced the daunting task of choosing a college major. I thought back to the joy of elementary art class and realized I wanted to become an art teacher. But since I had always done well in math and science, my teachers and parents pushed me toward engineering, saying I was “too smart” to study art and pointing out the lower salary of teachers. Reluctantly, I chose engineering. I hated it. I brought sketchbooks to class and drew instead of listening. My only enjoyable courses were calculus and history. Unsurprisingly, my first year went poorly. After my parents separated and my mother was laid off, I returned home to help. I worked two part-time jobs and took community college classes. Luckily, my program allowed me to take art electives like Art History and Art Appreciation. I excelled in both. Though I returned to university briefly, I dropped out and took a full-time job—what I thought a responsible adult should do. During that time, I discovered painting with acrylics as a form of therapy, a way to escape daily monotony. After my grandmother’s passing, we found a chest in her room filled with every card, drawing, and project I had ever made for her. It was then I realized I hadn’t dropped out due to a lack of direction—I had let others silence my passion. This is why I have re-enrolled in college to pursue a degree in art. I hope to become the kind of inspiration for a future creative child that Mr. Everett was for me. I want to uplift my community by helping children discover that success isn't only measured by income, but by the joy and peace that come from pursuing one’s true calling. I strive for academic excellence, personal and spiritual growth, and most of all, to use my knowledge and experiences to make a meaningful difference in the lives of others.

In elementary, my favorite teacher was Mr. Everett, the art teacher. I vividly remember eagerly anticipating the days when our elective class was art, excited to see the imaginative creations he had planned for us. My affinity for art didn't go unnoticed by my grandmother, who, from that day forward, declared that she would only accept hand-drawn cards from me, nothing purchased from a store. Fast forward to my high school graduation, when the daunting decision of choosing a collegiate major loomed. I recalled the pure joy I felt awaiting art class in elementary school and the sense of creative freedom each artwork I had ever made provided. It was then that I decided I wanted to become an elementary-level art teacher. I attended a Vanguard school and achieved good grades, particularly in math and science. Consequently, my teachers and parents agreed that I was "too smart" to major solely in art, also citing the lower earning potential of teachers. So, with reluctance, I chose engineering. I detested engineering. I would bring sketchbooks and colored pencils to class, taking requests from my classmates for drawings during lectures instead of paying attention. The only classes I enjoyed were calculus and history. Unsurprisingly, my first year of college did not go well academically. When my parents separated and my mother was laid off from her job, I eagerly seized the opportunity to return home and offer support. I took on two part-time jobs and enrolled in classes at the local community college. That lasted for 2 semesters before I just began working full-time. Then life began to happen as life does, I went through some tribulations and turned to substance abuse to get through it. I can proudly say I have years sober and am back in school finally pursuing that degree. When I got sober I went to a women's detox, then to a sober living home. I became the assistant house manager, and eventually the house manager for 18 months, helping 14 other residents navigate life and sobriety. I still sponsor women and chair meetings in my home group, to help give back to the program that allowed me to live my life again. I moved out of the sober living in May of 2023, and into an apartment of my own. With the money I save by paying down my student loans, I want to purchase a home when I graduate. It's a simple thing, but it means a lot to me. I have so many fond memories of my grandparent's house and all the life lived there. Unfortunately, when they passed, due to family disagreements we lost the house. In an ideal world, I could purchase the lot the house was on and build my own home, but even if not that, I would like a home where family members come for holidays or if anyone is in a tough spot they know they can come. This invitation would be extended to the ladies I sponsor in the program as well. As someone who knows what it feels like not to believe you have a place in the world, I would like to have for myself and provide others some semblance of belonging.

In elementary school, my favorite teacher was Mr. Everett, the art teacher. I vividly remember eagerly anticipating the days when our elective class was art, excited to see the imaginative creations he had planned for us. My affinity for art didn't go unnoticed by my grandmother, who, from that day forward, declared that she would only accept hand-drawn cards from me, nothing purchased from a store. My grandmother was my closest friend during my childhood. She had been diagnosed with breast cancer around the time my mother discovered she was pregnant with me. The doctors delivered the devastating news that the cancer was too advanced and she wouldn't live to see me born. In that moment, she turned to prayer, dedicating her life to God with the fervent wish to live long enough to meet her youngest child's first baby. I was blessed to have my grandmother until just one month shy of my twenty-third birthday. Fast forward to my high school graduation, when the daunting decision of choosing a collegiate major loomed. I recalled the pure joy I felt awaiting art class in elementary school and the sense of creative freedom each artwork I had ever made provided. It was then that I decided I wanted to become an elementary-level art teacher. I attended a Vanguard school and achieved good grades, particularly in math and science. Consequently, my teachers and parents agreed that I was "too smart" to major solely in art, also citing the lower earning potential of teachers. So, with reluctance, I chose engineering. I detested engineering. I would bring sketchbooks and colored pencils to class, taking requests from my classmates for drawings during lectures instead of paying attention. The only classes I enjoyed were calculus and history. Unsurprisingly, my first year of college did not go well academically. When my parents separated and my mother was laid off from her job, I eagerly seized the opportunity to return home and offer support. I took on two part-time jobs and enrolled in classes at the local community college. They placed me in engineering technologies, which allowed me to take Art History and Art Appreciation as electives. Needless to say, I excelled in my art and math classes that semester and was not particularly enthusiastic about returning to the university and Engineering 101. I did go back for one semester, which I ultimately did not complete before dropping out to take a full-time job, doing what I believed a responsible adult whose college experience hadn't worked out would do. While working that job, I explored painting for the first time, using acrylics on canvas as an occasional form of therapy and a way to escape the monotony of daily life. It wasn't until after my grandmother passed, when we discovered a chest in her room filled with every card, project, or simple drawing I had created for her since elementary school, that I realized I wasn't one of those college dropouts who went to school aimlessly, lacking any real passion. I allowed the opinions of others to overshadow what I instinctively knew was right for me and to stifle my love for artistic creation. Therefore, I am returning to college this fall to pursue that art degree, with the hope of one day becoming the kind of inspiration for a future little creative that Mr. Everett was for me so long ago. I want to help them understand that happiness in life isn't solely defined by monetary gain, but by fulfilling an intrinsic desire that brings joy and peace to their soul, whatever that may be for them.

Ever since childhood, books have served as my cherished sanctuary, a vital escape from the often-harsh realities of life. Growing up in a household where one parent bravely battled substance abuse and the other worked tirelessly through the night to provide for my younger brother and me, nighttime became my refuge. Within the pages of any book I could find, the struggles, pressures, and disappointments of the real world would gently fade away as I became completely immersed in the narrative. My literary journey began with a precious "Precious Moments" Bible for children, a thoughtful gift from my grandmother. The combination of its gentle illustrations and engaging storytelling made the principles of the Bible accessible, allowing me, as a young child, to grasp the profound love of God and the comforting promise that He would never leave nor forsake me. As I grew older and my reading abilities matured, my literary tastes expanded to include the adventures of "The Baby-Sitters Club," the thrilling chills of "Goosebumps," the historical insights of the "American Girl" series, and the intricate mysteries crafted by Agatha Christie. Through these diverse stories, I came to understand that life presents challenges for everyone, and it isn't always a smooth, carefree path. Yet, the majority of the books I devoured offered a sense of hope, often concluding on a happy note. Even those narratives that didn't culminate in a traditional "happily ever after" invariably imparted valuable life lessons. Reading allowed me to accept the inevitable ups and downs of life with greater ease. I vividly recall a book where a young girl facing abuse adopted the powerful mantra of "why not me?" instead of "why me?" The strength inherent in those words resonated deeply within my twelve-year-old self, a sense of understanding and relatability that continues to offer solace even now, in my adult years. Straight after high school, I enrolled in college, initially aspiring to become an elementary school art teacher. However, the well-intentioned persuasions of my parents and teachers led me down a different path, into the realm of engineering. It proved to be a disheartening experience, and after two years, I made the decision to drop out and enter the workforce. Two decades after my high school graduation, at the age of thirty-eight, I felt a compelling urge to re-enroll and finally complete my degree. During that pivotal time, I encountered a book about a woman in her mid-forties who resolved to reclaim her life and pursue genuine happiness. This narrative deeply resonated with my own journey, mirroring where I currently find myself. Even now, after a long and demanding week at work, books remain my steadfast companions. They allow me to mentally leave the stresses of my job behind and once again escape into the boundless realm of imagination. While it is often a world of make-believe, I firmly believe that these cherished retreats into my own inner world are what help me maintain my sanity on many days.

When I was in elementary school, my favorite teacher was Mr. Everett, the art teacher. I remember eagerly waiting for the days when our elective class was art, so I could see what exciting creations he had planned for us. When my grandmother noticed my affinity for art, she told me that from that day forward, I should only accept hand-drawn cards from her, nothing bought from a store. Fast forward to when it was time for me to graduate high school and choose a collegiate major. I remembered the joy I felt anticipating art class in elementary school and the creative freedom each work of art I ever made gave me, and I decided I wanted to be an elementary-level art teacher. I went to a vanguard school and made good grades, especially in math and science, so my teachers and my parents were in agreement that I was too smart to major in just art, and that teachers don't make a lot of money. So, begrudgingly, engineering it was. I hated engineering. I would bring sketchbooks and colored pencils to class and take requests from my classmates on what I would draw each day during lectures, instead of actually paying attention to the lectures. The only classes I enjoyed were my calculus and history classes. Needless to say, I didn't fare well academically my first year in college, so when my parents separated, and my mom was laid off from her job, I jumped at the chance to come home and help out. I got two part-time jobs and took classes at the local community college. Seeing my major was engineering, they put me in engineering technologies, and this allowed me to take Art History and Art Appreciation as my electives. Needless to say, I excelled in my art and math classes that semester and was not too keen on returning to the university and Engineering 101. I went back for a semester that I ended up not completing before I dropped out and got a full-time adult job and did what I thought a responsible adult who college did not work for would do. While working that regular job, I delved into painting for the first time and used acrylics on canvas as an occasional form of therapy and relaxation to escape the monotony of regular life. It wasn't until my grandmother passed, and we found every card, project, or simple drawing I had drawn for her since elementary school in a chest in her room, that I realized I wasn't one of those college dropouts who went to school with no purpose and had no real passion for anything in life. I had just allowed the opinions of others to cloud what I knew was right for me and stifle my love for artistic creation. So I'm returning to college this fall to pursue that degree in art and maybe one day become the sort of inspiration for a little future creative that Mr. Everett was for me so long ago, and I can help them to know that happiness in life isn't defined by monetary gain, but by fulfilling an innate desire within that brings joy and peace to your soul, whatever that may be for you.

I remember being a kid, and when my parents would have friends and family over and they would yell for one of us kids to come bring them a refill, I learned early on that if I was close enough, Mom would leave a little in her wine coolers that I could sip while I got their refills. The first time I got drunk, I was 13, and it was a party for my father and uncle. My cousin and I found the Jell-O shots in the refrigerator, and that was it. My cousin woke up sick with a headache, and I just wanted more. In college, during my first attempt at higher education, there were instances where I would get drunk at a party and maybe do something crazy or embarrassing, but everyone does that in college, right? It wasn't until I fell into a deep depression, my grandparents had both died, I was living in College Station working at the university with no real friends or family near me, that my sick mind told me all I needed to do was move back home to Houston and I would be all better. That didn't exactly work out like that. Living in Houston with family members who also suffered from addictions of their own enabled my dependency to grow. It wasn't until I had been put out of several family members' homes, was living out of a hotel, and had actually had to spend a couple of nights sleeping outside, that I realized this was not the life God intended for me. I found a women's detox (the only free women's detox in the state of Texas, which is supported ONLY through donations and other members of the program of Alcoholics Anonymous), and I was there for three weeks before I had to be hospitalized. My addiction had caused acute pancreatitis. I had two cysts on my pancreas, one was four inches, and it had caused my stomach to shrink. I went from 200 lbs. normally to 98 lbs. But I called SIR House, sober living homes for women, and they came and got me from the hospital. I stayed there for four months before they made me the assistant house manager, then a month later, I became the house manager. I managed a house of up to 14 other women at a time while working a job and saving to get myself to a point where I could be successful on my own. I moved out, yet I keep in contact with the ladies of the house and the board members. I have helped three other ladies work through the twelve steps of Alcoholics Anonymous, and I remain active in my home group, even though I have moved 30 minutes away. It's my way of keeping connected with the people who helped me to do what I was unable to do on my own. My major is actually art. For me, my art is a way that I can escape into the colorful world of my imagination and let go of whatever I'm feeling, be it happy, angry, joyous, or free. And I'd like to use my art and just my testimony to let others know it is possible. I got sober at 36, returned to college at 38, and I'm still reaching goals beyond my own expectations of myself, and I want to help others to know they can do the same.

My favorite creation is my current profile picture. A friend went on a cruise and bought a painting that inspired her. Running non-profit sober living homes for women, she wanted similar pieces for the three homes but couldn't afford them. She asked my friends and me, who also enjoy painting, to do something reminiscent of the original. The logo for the sober living homes has a dandelion whose petals are being blown away and a dove perched on the flower, so I incorporated aspects of that into the painting I did. When my friend saw it, she cried and wanted my piece to go into her home. That's partly why it's my favorite, but also because of how it could speak to the ladies in the sober living homes working to get their lives back on track. The way the petals are blown across the piece could symbolize freedom from their past. Or maybe they see the hand and attribute that to the security of the sober living home and the promise of what that offers them, or possibly just the blend of colors, similar to all the different women living in the homes and how different walks of life have brought them together. For more empathetic people, such as myself, developing a connection with a person doesn’t require a lot of effort, regardless of whether that connection is amicable, neutral, or uncongenial. But for others, building connections may not come so easily, especially in this detached society. But somewhere, we need to find a common ground, because I do believe empathy is a necessary trait for success. Perhaps the art hanging in their homes can provide another common ground, and a way for them to connect to one another. Lastly, it's my favorite because it took the longest to complete and conceptualize, and I just think it looks cool. The process of creating this piece was particularly meaningful for me. I spent a lot of time thinking about the symbolism I wanted to convey and how it might resonate with the women in the sober living homes. I wanted to create something that would not only be visually appealing but also offer a message of hope and healing. Each brushstroke was made with intention, and I found myself fully immersed in the creative process. It was a therapeutic experience, allowing me to reflect on themes of resilience, recovery, and the power of community. The positive feedback I received from my friend further validated the effort and emotion I poured into the artwork, making it all the more special to me.

My favorite creation is my current profile picture. A friend went on a cruise and bought a painting that inspired her. Running non-profit sober living homes for women, she wanted similar pieces for the three homes but couldn't afford them. She asked my friends and me, who also enjoy painting, to do something reminiscent of the original. The logo for the sober living homes has a dandelion whose petals are being blown away and a dove perched on the flower, so I incorporated aspects of that into the painting I did. When my friend saw it, she cried and wanted my piece to go into her home. That's partly why it's my favorite, but also because of how it could speak to the ladies in the sober living homes working to get their lives back on track. The way the petals are blown across the piece could symbolize freedom from their past. Or maybe they see the hand and attribute that to the security of the sober living home and the promise of what that offers them, or possibly just the blend of colors, similar to all the different women living in the homes and how different walks of life have brought them together. I would like to think my work hanging in the house helps to bring the ladies together. For more empathetic people, such as myself, developing a connection with a person doesn’t require a lot of effort, regardless of whether that connection is amicable, neutral, or uncongenial. But for others building connections may not come so easily, especially in this detached society. But somewhere we need to find a common ground, and I think they can connect through the artwork. Lastly, it's my favorite because it took the longest to complete and conceptualize, and I just think it looks cool. The process of creating this piece was particularly meaningful for me. I spent a lot of time thinking about the symbolism I wanted to convey and how it might resonate with the women in the sober living homes. I wanted to create something that would not only be visually appealing but also offer a message of hope and healing. Each brushstroke was made with intention, and I found myself fully immersed in the creative process. It was a therapeutic experience, allowing me to reflect on themes of resilience, recovery, and the power of community. The positive feedback I received from my friend further validated the effort and emotion I poured into the artwork, making it all the more special to me.

When I was in elementary school, my favorite teacher was Mr. Everett, the art teacher. I remember eagerly waiting for the days when our elective class was art, so I could see what exciting creations he had planned for us. When my grandmother noticed my affinity for art, she told me that from that day forward, I should only accept hand-drawn cards from her, nothing bought from a store. Fast forward to when it was time for me to graduate high school and choose a collegiate major. I remembered the joy I felt anticipating art class in elementary school and the creative freedom each work of art I ever made gave me, and I decided I wanted to be an elementary-level art teacher. I went to a vanguard school and made good grades, especially in math and science, so my teachers and my parents were in agreement that I was too smart to major in just art, and that teachers don't make a lot of money. So, begrudgingly, engineering it was. I hated engineering. I would bring sketchbooks and colored pencils to class and take requests from my classmates on what I would draw each day during lectures, instead of actually paying attention to the lectures. The only classes I enjoyed were my calculus and history classes. Needless to say, I didn't fare well academically my first year in college, so when my parents separated, and my mom was laid off from her job, I jumped at the chance to come home and help out. I got two part-time jobs and took classes at the local community college. Seeing my major was engineering, they put me in engineering technologies, and this allowed me to take Art History and Art Appreciation as my electives. Needless to say, I excelled in my art and math classes that semester and was not too keen on returning to the university and Engineering 101. I went back for a semester that I ended up not completing before I dropped out and got a full-time adult job and did what I thought a responsible adult who college did not work for would do. While working that regular job, I delved into painting for the first time and used acrylics on canvas as an occasional form of therapy and relaxation to escape the monotony of regular life. It wasn't until my grandmother passed, and we found every card, project, or simple drawing I had drawn for her since elementary school in a chest in her room, that I realized I wasn't one of those college dropouts who went to school with no purpose and had no real passion for anything in life. I had just allowed the opinions of others to cloud what I knew was right for me and stifle my love for artistic creation. So I'm returning to college this fall to pursue that degree in art and maybe one day become the sort of inspiration for a little future creative that Mr. Everett was for me so long ago, and I can help them to know that happiness in life isn't defined by monetary gain, but by fulfilling an innate desire within that brings joy and peace to your soul, whatever that may be for you.

When I was in elementary school, my favorite teacher was Mr. Everett, the art teacher. I remember eagerly waiting for the days when our elective class was art, so I could see what exciting creations he had planned for us. When my grandmother noticed my affinity for art, she told me that from that day forward, I should only accept hand-drawn cards from her, nothing bought from a store. Fast forward to when it was time for me to graduate high school and choose a collegiate major. I remembered the joy I felt anticipating art class in elementary school and the creative freedom each work of art I ever made gave me, and I decided I wanted to be an elementary-level art teacher. I went to a vanguard school and made good grades, especially in math and science, so my teachers and my parents were in agreement that I was too smart to major in just art, and that teachers don't make a lot of money. So, begrudgingly, engineering it was. I hated engineering. I would bring sketchbooks and colored pencils to class and take requests from my classmates on what I would draw each day during lectures, instead of actually paying attention to the lectures. The only classes I enjoyed were my calculus and history classes. Needless to say, I didn't fare well academically my first year in college, so when my parents separated, and my mom was laid off from her job, I jumped at the chance to come home and help out. I got two part-time jobs and took classes at the local community college. Seeing my major was engineering, they put me in engineering technologies, and this allowed me to take Art History and Art Appreciation as my electives. Needless to say, I excelled in my art and math classes that semester and was not too keen on returning to the university and Engineering 101. I went back for a semester that I ended up not completing before I dropped out and got a full-time adult job and did what I thought a responsible adult who college did not work for would do. While working that regular job, I delved into painting for the first time and used acrylics on canvas as an occasional form of therapy and relaxation to escape the monotony of regular life. It wasn't until my grandmother passed, and we found every card, project, or simple drawing I had drawn for her since elementary school in a chest in her room, that I realized I wasn't one of those college dropouts who went to school with no purpose and had no real passion for anything in life. I had just allowed the opinions of others to cloud what I knew was right for me and stifle my love for artistic creation. In thr journey I battled the loss of my grandparents, alcohol addition (I'm 4 years sober) and even at one point homelessness, but I was able to live through all of that and still come out on top. So I returned to college in fall of 2023 to pursue that degree in art and maybe one day become the sort of inspiration for a little future creative that Mr. Everett was for me so long ago, and I can help them to know that happiness in life isn't defined by monetary gain, but by fulfilling an innate desire within that brings joy and peace to your soul, whatever that may be for you.

When I was in elementary school my favorite teacher was Mr. Everett, the art teacher. I remember eagerly waiting for the days when our elective class was art, so I could see what exciting creations he had planned for us. When my grandmother noticed my affinity for art, she told me from that day forward, should only accept hand-drawn cards from her, nothing bought from a store. Unfirtunately life didn't lead me towards being that elementary school art teacher and after a couple horrible undergraduate years, as an engineering major I had to drop out and get a real job. While working that regular job, I delved into painting for the first time and used acrylics on canvas as an occasional form of therapy and relation to escape the monotony of regular life. It wasn't until my grandmother passed, and in a chest in her room, we found every card, project or simple drawing I had drawn for her since I was in elementary school that I realized I wasn't one of those college dropouts who went to school with no purpose and had no real passion for anything in life. I had just allowed the opinions of others to cloud what I knew was right for me and stifle my love for artistic creation. So I'mback in college now trying to pursue that degree in art and maybe one day become the sort of inspiration for a little future creative that Mr. Everett was for me so long ago, and I can help them to know that happiness in life isn't defined by monetary gain, but by fulfilling an innate desire within that brings joy and peace to your soul, whatever that may be for you.

When I was in elementary school my favorite teacher was Mr. Everett, the art teacher. I remember eagerly waiting for the days when our elective class was art, so I could see what exciting creations he had planned for us. When my grandmother noticed my affinity for art, she told me from that day forward, should only accept hand-drawn cards from her, nothing bought from a store. Fast forward to when it was time for me to graduate high school and choose a collegiate major. I remembered the joy I felt anticipating art class in elementary and the creative freedom each work of art I ever made gave me, and I decided I wanted to be an elementary-level art teacher. I went to a vanguard school and made good grades, especially in math and science, so my teachers and my parents were in agreeance that I was too smart to major in just art, and teachers don't make a lot of money. So begrudgingly, engineering it was. I hated engineering, I would bring sketchbooks and colored pencils to class and take requests from my classmates on what I would draw each day during lectures, instead of actually paying attention to the lectures. The only classes I enjoyed were my calculus classes and my history class. So needless to say I didn't fair well academically my first year in college, so when my parents separated, and my mom was laid off from her job, I jumped at the chance to come home and help out. I got 2 part-time jobs and took classes at the local community college. Seeing my major was engineering, they put me in engineering technologies for a major, and this allowed me to take Art History and Art Appreciation as my electives. Needless to say, I excelled in my art and math classes that semester and was not too keen on returning to the university and engineering 101. I went back for a semester that I ended up not completing before I dropped out and got a full-time adult job and did what I thought a responsible adult who college did not work for would do. While working that regular job, I delved into painting for the first time and used acrylics on canvas as an occasional form of therapy and relation to escape the monotony of regular life. It wasn't until my grandmother passed, and in a chest in her room, we found every card, project or simple drawing I had drawn for her since I was in elementary school that I realized I wasn't one of those college dropouts who went to school with no purpose and had no real passion for anything in life. I had just allowed the opinions of others to cloud what I knew was right for me and stifle my love for artistic creation. So I'm returning to college this fall to pursue that degree in art and maybe one day become the sort of inspiration for a little future creative that Mr. Everett was for me so long ago, and I can help them to know that happiness in life isn't defined by monetary gain, but by fulfilling an innate desire within that brings joy and peace to your soul, whatever that may be for you.

My favorite creation is my profile picture. A friend on a cruise bought a painting that inspired her. Running non-profit sober living homes for women, she wanted similar pieces for the three homes but couldn't afford them. She asked my friends and me, who also enjoy painting, to do something reminiscent of the original. The logo has a dandelion whose petals are being blown away and a dove perched on the flower, so I incorporated aspects of that. When my friend saw it, she cried and wanted my piece for her home. That's partly why it's my favorite, but also because of how it could speak to the ladies in the sober living homes working to get their lives back on track. The way the petals are blown across the piece could symbolize freedom from their past. Or maybe they see the hand and the security of the home, or the blend of colors and how different walks of life have brought them together. Lastly, it's my favorite because it took the longest, and I just think it looks cool.

When I was in elementary school, my favorite teacher was Mr. Everett, the art teacher. I remember eagerly waiting for the days when our elective class was art, so I could see what exciting creations he had planned for us. When my grandmother noticed my affinity for art, she told me that from that day forward, I should only accept hand-drawn cards from her, nothing bought from a store. Fast forward to when it was time for me to graduate high school and choose a collegiate major. I remembered the joy I felt anticipating art class in elementary school and the creative freedom each work of art I ever made gave me, and I decided I wanted to be an elementary-level art teacher. I went to a vanguard school and made good grades, especially in math and science, so my teachers and my parents were in agreement that I was too smart to major in just art, and that teachers don't make a lot of money. So, begrudgingly, engineering it was. I hated engineering. I would bring sketchbooks and colored pencils to class and take requests from my classmates on what I would draw each day during lectures, instead of actually paying attention to the lectures. The only classes I enjoyed were my calculus and history classes. Needless to say, I didn't fare well academically my first year in college, so when my parents separated, and my mom was laid off from her job, I jumped at the chance to come home and help out. I got two part-time jobs and took classes at the local community college. Seeing my major was engineering, they put me in engineering technologies, and this allowed me to take Art History and Art Appreciation as my electives. Needless to say, I excelled in my art and math classes that semester and was not too keen on returning to the university and Engineering 101. I went back for a semester that I ended up not completing before I dropped out and got a full-time adult job and did what I thought a responsible adult who college did not work for would do. While working that regular job, I delved into painting for the first time and used acrylics on canvas as an occasional form of therapy and relaxation to escape the monotony of regular life. It wasn't until my grandmother passed, and we found every card, project, or simple drawing I had drawn for her since elementary school in a chest in her room, that I realized I wasn't one of those college dropouts who went to school with no purpose and had no real passion for anything in life. I had just allowed the opinions of others to cloud what I knew was right for me and stifle my love for artistic creation. So I'm returning to college this fall to pursue that degree in art and maybe one day become the sort of inspiration for a little future creative that Mr. Everett was for me so long ago, and I can help them to know that happiness in life isn't defined by monetary gain, but by fulfilling an innate desire within that brings joy and peace to your soul, whatever that may be for you.

In elementary school, Mr. Everett, the art teacher, was my favorite. I eagerly awaited art class. My grandmother, noticing my love for art, wanted only my hand-drawn cards. In high school, my grandmother, who valued education but hadn't finished school herself (married with her first child at 15), got her GED and enrolled in college. I typed her handwritten papers. When I graduated high school, she graduated from college at 68 with a social work degree. I remember her holding her degree and saying to me that that degree, was for the both of us Remembering the joy of elementary art and the creative freedom it gave me, I wanted to be an elementary art teacher. But at my vanguard school, I excelled in math and science. Teachers don't make much money, so I begrudgingly chose engineering. I hated engineering. I would bring sketchbooks and colored pencils to class and take requests from my classmates on what I would draw each day during lectures, instead of actually paying attention to the lectures. I only enjoyed calculus and history. I didn't do well academically. When my parents separated and my mom was laid off, I came home, worked part-time, and took community college classes. As an engineering technologies major, I took Art History and Art Appreciation. I excelled in art and math but didn't want to return to university engineering. I dropped out, got a full-time job, and did what I thought a responsible adult would do. I painted with acrylics as therapy, escaping regular life. After my grandmother passed, we finally opened the larges chest she kept at the foot of her bed and inside we found every card and drawing I'd made for her since elementary school. I realized in that moment, I had a passion, but let others' opinions cloud my artistic love. So, I'm returning to college, finally, to pursue that degree in art and maybe one day become the sort of inspiration for a little future creative that Mr. Everett was for me so long ago, in hopes I can help them to know that happiness in life isn't defined by monetary gain, but by fulfilling an innate desire within that brings joy and peace to your soul, whatever that may be for you. My grandmother showed me it is never too late to fulfill a dream nor to stop learning. Learning is growth, and in life, either we grow, or we perish.

In elementary school, Mr. Everett, the art teacher, was my favorite. I eagerly awaited art class. My grandmother, noticing my love for art, wanted only my hand-drawn cards. In high school, my grandmother, who valued education but hadn't finished school herself (married with her first child at 15), got her GED and enrolled in college. I typed her handwritten papers. When I graduated high school, she graduated from college at 68 with a social work degree. I remember her holding her degree and saying to me that that degree, was for the both of us Remembering the joy of elementary art and the creative freedom it gave me, I wanted to be an elementary art teacher. But at my vanguard school, I excelled in math and science. Teachers don't make much money, so I begrudgingly chose engineering. I hated engineering. I would bring sketchbooks and colored pencils to class and take requests from my classmates on what I would draw each day during lectures, instead of actually paying attention to the lectures. I only enjoyed calculus and history. I didn't do well academically. When my parents separated and my mom was laid off, I came home, worked part-time, and took community college classes. I dropped out, got a full-time job, and did what I thought a responsible adult would do. I painted with acrylics as therapy, escaping regular life. After my grandmother passed, we finally opened the larges chest she kept at the foot of her bed and inside we found every card and drawing I'd made for her since elementary school. I realized in that moment, I had a passion, but let others' opinions cloud my artistic love. So, I'm returning to college, finally, to pursue that degree in art and maybe one day become the sort of inspiration for a little future creative that Mr. Everett was for me so long ago, in hopes I can help them to know that happiness in life isn't defined by monetary gain, but by fulfilling an innate desire within that brings joy and peace to your soul, whatever that may be for you. My grandmother showed me it is never too late to fulfill a dream nor to stop learning. Learning is growth, and in life, either we grow, or we perish.

When I was in elementary school my favorite teacher was Mr. Everett, the art teacher. I remember eagerly waiting for the days when our elective class was art, so I could see what exciting creations he had planned for us. When my grandmother noticed my affinity for art, she told me from that day forward, should only accept hand-drawn cards from her, nothing bought from a store. Fast forward to when it was time for me to graduate high school and choose a collegiate major. I remembered the joy I felt anticipating art class in elementary and the creative freedom each work of art I ever made gave me, and I decided I wanted to be an elementary-level art teacher. I went to a vanguard school and made good grades, especially in math and science, so my teachers and my parents were in agreeance that I was too smart to major in just art, and teachers don't make a lot of money. So begrudgingly, engineering it was. I hated engineering, I would bring sketchbooks and colored pencils to class and take requests from my classmates on what I would draw each day during lectures, instead of actually paying attention to the lectures. The only classes I enjoyed were my calculus classes and my history class. So needless to say I didn't fair well academically my first year in college, so when my parents separated, and my mom was laid off from her job, I jumped at the chance to come home and help out. I got 2 part-time jobs and took classes at the local community college. Seeing my major was engineering, they put me in engineering technologies for a major, and this allowed me to take Art History and Art Appreciation as my electives. Needless to say, I excelled in my art and math classes that semester and was not too keen on returning to the university and engineering 101. I went back for a semester that I ended up not completing before I dropped out and got a full-time adult job and did what I thought a responsible adult who college did not work for would do. While working that regular job, I delved into painting for the first time and used acrylics on canvas as an occasional form of therapy and relation to escape the monotony of regular life. It wasn't until my grandmother passed, and in a chest in her room, we found every card, project or simple drawing I had drawn for her since I was in elementary school that I realized I wasn't one of those college dropouts who went to school with no purpose and had no real passion for anything in life. I had just allowed the opinions of others to cloud what I knew was right for me and stifle my love for artistic creation. So I'm returning to college this fall to pursue that degree in art and maybe one day become the sort of inspiration for a little future creative that Mr. Everett was for me so long ago, and I can help them to know that happiness in life isn't defined by monetary gain, but by fulfilling an innate desire within that brings joy and peace to your soul, whatever that may be for you.

The world around me inspires me to be an artist for a couple of reasons. Art is a form of release for me, it brings peace and relaxation when life becomes overwhelming and stressful and I need to escape the monotony. But most importantly, art allows me to find beauty in the simplest things and in things that may not usually evoke thoughts of because and peace. The great hip-hop philosopher, Tupac Shakur once wrote, Did you hear about the rose that grew from a crack in the concrete? Proving nature’s laws wrong it learned to walk without having feet. Funny it seems, but by keeping its dreams, it learned to breathe fresh air. Long live the rose that grew from concrete when no one else ever cared. Art inspires me to see the roses growing from the dark crevices of this hard concrete world and to take a moment and revel in the beauty of that.

When I was in elementary school my favorite teacher was Mr. Everett, the art teacher. I remember eagerly waiting for the days when our elective class was art, so I could see what exciting creations he had planned for us. When my grandmother noticed my affinity for art, she told me from that day forward, should only accept hand-drawn cards from her, nothing bought from a store. Fast forward to when it was time for me to graduate high school and choose a collegiate major. I remembered the joy I felt anticipating art class in elementary and the creative freedom each work of art I ever made gave me, and I decided I wanted to be an elementary-level art teacher. I went to a vanguard school and made good grades, especially in math and science, so my teachers and my parents were in agreeance that I was too smart to major in just art, and teachers don't make a lot of money. So begrudgingly, engineering it was. I hated engineering, I would bring sketchbooks and colored pencils to class and take requests from my classmates on what I would draw each day during lectures, instead of actually paying attention to the lectures. The only classes I enjoyed were my calculus classes and my history class. So needless to say I didn't fair well academically my first year in college, so when my parents separated, and my mom was laid off from her job, I jumped at the chance to come home and help out. I got 2 part-time jobs and took classes at the local community college. Seeing my major was engineering, they put me in engineering technologies for a major, and this allowed me to take Art History and Art Appreciation as my electives. Needless to say, I excelled in my art and math classes that semester and was not too keen on returning to the university and engineering 101. I went back for a semester that I ended up not completing before I dropped out and got a full-time adult job and did what I thought a responsible adult who college did not work for would do. While working that regular job, I delved into painting for the first time and used acrylics on canvas as an occasional form of therapy and relation to escape the monotony of regular life. It wasn't until my grandmother passed, and in a chest in her room, we found every card, project or simple drawing I had drawn for her since I was in elementary school that I realized I wasn't one of those college dropouts who went to school with no purpose and had no real passion for anything in life. I had just allowed the opinions of others to cloud what I knew was right for me and stifle my love for artistic creation. So I'm returning to college this fall to pursue that degree in art and maybe one day become the sort of inspiration for a little future creative that Mr. Everett was for me so long ago, and I can help them to know that happiness in life isn't defined by monetary gain, but by fulfilling an innate desire within that brings joy and peace to your soul, whatever that may be for you.

I was born 4 days before Christmas, while my mother was on holiday break during her senior year of high school. My grandmother had been diagnosed with an aggressive form of cancer around the time when my mother found out she was pregnant with me, and the doctors said she would not live to see me be born. She immediately began trial chemotherapy and radiation treatments and was able to turn that prognosis around in time to see me enter this world. Since my mother still had another semester to finish her high school career, the agreement between my parents and grandparents was that my grandparents would keep me until my mother graduated. But the thing about grandparents and grandchildren is that when you get them together, rarely do they want to be apart. So my stay with my grandparents changed from one semester, until when I started school when I was 4. I was always a pretty bright child, and my grandparents constantly told me how smart I was. Once my grandmother saw I had a love for drawing, she declared she never wanted another store-bought card from me for any occasion ever again. When it was time for me to attend middle school, my school administrators came to my parents and wanted me to take a test to attend a school for gifted and talented students. I passed and went to the Vanguard middle school. It was not too long before I got ready to start high school (and was about to take another placement test) when my grandmother came to me and told me she always instilled in me the importance of getting an education, but she never achieved one of her own. She had her first child at 14 and dropped out of school. So when I went to take my high school placement test, my grandmother went and took the tests to get her GED. We both passed and when I started the Vanguard high school program, my grandmother began her collegiate career at Texas Southern University. I remember my grandmother had a computer but she was not very fond of it, so she would handwrite all her papers and I would type them up. One summer I was staying with her, so she took me to her English class. When the teacher asked a grammatical question, none of the students raised their hand, but I knew the answer so I raised mine. My grandmother chastised me and told me to put my hand down, but her professor retorted and asked if I knew the answer since none of his students did. When I answered correctly, the professor laughed, and my grandmother said that was the last time she was taking me to class with her. When I got my high school diploma, my grandmother graduated with her Bachelor's in Social work, and I remember her whispering to me that that was OUR degree. When I got ready to go to college, my parents nor my teacher shared my sentiment on pursuing a degree in art and being an elementary-level art teacher. They replied teachers didn't make much money and I was too smart for that. So I majored in engineering and was miserable and eventually dropped out. When my grandmother passed there was a chest we found in her room filled with every card I had drawn for her since the day she told me she would only accept hand-drawn cards from me. I'm returning to school to earn that second degree of OURS.

I first realized I was depressed when my grandmother died and my mother came to me and asked me what was wrong. Without thinking I replied, ' I feel like I've had this happy place all my life that I could always go to, then one day I woke up and my happy place is gone, and I can't find it anywhere.' My first reaction was self-medicating through alcohol, then I tried a therapist, who prescribed some pills, but they made me sick so I turned back to my first solution. That lead to an ongoing battle with depression and alcoholism that spiraled for over a decade. It wasn't until I felt at my lowest, mentally physically, spiritually, and emotionally that I finally surrendered and was able to get the help I so desperately needed. I sought help, worked a program, made connections with others who had suffered like me and found a solution so they were able to share what gave them freedom with me. I grew up a Christian, but when I lost myself, I lost my faith but this program helped me to restore my connection to a power greater than myself, whom I choose to call God. With the restoration of my faith and in finding freedom from the bondage my depression and addiction held me to, I wanted to give back what was so freely given to me and that lead me to make connections and forge friendships with others like me who had found the same freedom and those still in search for it. On the pathway to mending the wreckage of my past, I was able to get a job in the same field where my past had caused me to be ostracized from before. Being away from the field and going through the lows I experienced, helped me to accept how much I enjoyed my job and I'm able to show gratitude for my job by showing up, not just physically, but in a full scope of my capabilities, at work daily. I used to love to draw and paint, and my grandmother was the first person to really nurture that love and creativity within me. I wanted to be an elementary-level art teacher when I graduated from high school, but my parents and teachers shunned that idea because I was 'too smart for that' and 'teachers don't make a lot of money', so I went into engineering and I was miserable and never finished getting my degree. After what I've been through and how I was able to come out with a renewed positive outlook despite the darkness of my past, I know now that I want to pursue what makes me happy and having a high-paying job means nothing if I'm not at peace and it doesn't bring me joy. So now I've enrolled in college again to finally pursue my degree in art. I'm not yet sure if I want to be a teacher or use my creativity in another way, but I do know I am in pursuit of freedom, joy and inner peace. It took me going through a very dark place for me to find joy in the sunlight of the spirit.

The dream version of my future self is happy. A woman unapologetically bold and aware of herself in all arenas of life. She is not afraid to live in color and the world around her is happier from the aura of love and peace she exudes. She is safe and confidant in a room full of people, yet just as content decompressing alone. She walks in faith under the hedge of protection from a loving God who leads and guides her to the path to righteousness. I am a wife, a mother, a friend, a daughter, and loved.