As a little girl, I was completely obsessed with penguins. I thought (and still think) that they are adorable, so I basically infused penguins into everything. I had a large collection of over 100 stuffed penguins; my older brother bought me every one of the ‘Tacky the Penguin’ books, and we would read them together so often that I knew them by heart; I even had penguin-themed birthday parties for three consecutive years. Naturally, when I got my first iPod Touch for my fifth birthday, accompanied by an iTunes gift card to buy games with, the first thing I searched for was the word “penguin”. I was in luck: after downloading several penguin-themed apps, I scrolled down further to see a movie whose thumbnail image was that of an Emperor penguin with his chick on his feet. After only seeing the picture, I knew I had to have it. With my mom’s approval— it was my money to spend, after all, and if I wanted to spend it on a penguin movie, I could— I used the remainder of the gift card to buy ‘March of the Penguins’. ‘March of the Penguins’, a National Geographic feature film directed by Luc Jacquet and narrated by Morgan Freeman, has the viewer hooked from the moment that the rising sun illuminates the massive, blue-tinged Antarctic icebergs—and the long, straight line of Emperor penguins steadfastly waddling home. The movie follows these penguins as they find a mate, raise their chicks, and brave life in the harshest environment on the planet. To survive in this world of ice and snow, the penguins must weather blizzards, avoid deadly predators, and march hundreds of miles across the frozen terrain in order to hunt for food. But somehow, despite all the odds, the penguins not only survive, they thrive. One might think that birds fighting a constant battle for survival would be aggressive to one another, that they would try to eliminate the competition for such limited resources. That is not the case in these penguins. Rather than fighting each other, they work together as a group so that everyone in the flock has the best chance of survival. ‘March of the Penguins’ defeats the notion that animals are selfish and savage by showing how the penguins exhibit tenderness and devotion to their mates and chicks, and cooperation and community within the colony as a whole. The movie shows also the penguins’ courage in face of hardships that most other creatures would falter at—and that they draw that strength from their family. The penguins go to incredible lengths in order to provide for them; they show fondness and gentleness to their mate and chicks, and distress when they are hurt; they carve out time from the daily minutiae of survival just to be together. In showing these penguins’ faithfulness and care for their closest ones, ‘March of the Penguins’ makes a powerful statement about one of the most hotly-debated topics in the scientific community: whether animals are capable of emotion. The answer is clear to anyone who watches the film and observes the penguins caring for their families with such great devotion that it can only be described as love—a resounding “yes!” ‘March of the Penguins’ is more than a nature documentary. It is a stirring tale of resilience, perseverance, bravery, hope, and love. It is about more than the lives of penguins; it is about family. If I could watch only one movie for the rest of my life, I would choose ‘March of the Penguins’ without any hesitation.

The day is coming fast when the world will simply run out of fossil fuels. They are not renewable, so there's no way to replenish the oil supply once it’s gone. The world is so dependent on fossil fuels for many aspects of life that the idea that one day we won’t have it anymore sounds like the plot of an apocalyptic movie. However, this inevitable future is not the end of ordered society—it is an opportunity for a new beginning. There are clean, renewable, and sustainable options to power the world—and Earth provides them to us. Solar and wind power are easy and attainable to harness and use, created by Earth’s own natural processes. Unlike large power plants, solar panels and wind turbines can be built nearly anywhere, including otherwise unused areas of land. While they can be expensive to build, it pales when compared to the potential gain. Wind and solar are clean and reliable sources of power— the sun and the wind cannot be depleted like fossil fuels can, and they do not pollute the air and water supply like power plants do. Transitioning to greener power sources will allow us to reduce our carbon footprint, and in doing so help preserve our world. However, this change will only work if people from across the globe work together— it is the responsibility of every human to act in a way that is sustainable for the future, so that Earth will always support us. Earth is the only planet known to support life, and it is humanity’s duty to be responsible stewards of her. Our future depends on adopting environmentally friendly sources of power. Choosing a more green and sustainable society and lifestyle is not a radical or extreme choice-- it is the only choice for our world.

Ever since I was a little girl acting out elaborate adventures with my Barbie dolls, I have loved to tell stories. Astronaut Barbie and I fought alien invaders and explored distant planets together; Scuba Barbie and I rescued injured (stuffed) dolphins and discovered sunken treasures; Doctor Barbie and I cured the ailments and maladies of afflicted dolls, stuffed animals, and even my unamused cat. As I got older and grew out of my dolls, my love of storytelling evolved into a love of writing. To me, writing is not simply typing words into a blank document or physically putting pencil to paper; I am immersing myself into a whole new world that is entirely of my own making. I can create new places limited only by the bounds of my imagination and join my characters on an adventure of which I decide the scope and ending. Through my writing, I can briefly escape from the real world and constructively work out sadness and anger when life gets tough, and celebrate its beauty when I feel joyous. My characters not simply figments of my imagination; they are my friends. My writing is more than works of fictional entertainment; my stories are real to me. When I was seven years old, my family visited Everglades National Park for the first time. That visit set the course of my life; I was irrevocably changed, and I fell completely in love with the natural world that surrounds us and all of the creatures that humanity shares this planet with. Over the next several years, I learned everything I could about the environment and wildlife of my state—and the many threats to their continued survival. I involved myself in various activism groups to advocate for the preservation of irreplaceable natural resources. My writing skills came into play as I wrote speeches detailing my position and arguments and delivered them to city, state, and federal officials at various government and wildlife organization meetings. I participated in letter-writing campaigns to urge businesses to adopt more environmentally sustainable practices, to ask elected officials of all levels to vote against policies that would harm animals and nature, and to reach out to other advocacy groups for their support. Although I was but one voice out of many, I believe that my words truly did help make a difference in causes that I care deeply about. Benjamin Franklin once wrote, “If you would not be forgotten when you are dead and rotten, either write things worth the reading, or do things worth the writing.” I hope to do both of these things during my time in college and beyond. The pen is far mightier than the sword, and because of the power that well-crafted words can hold, I believe that it is every writer’s duty to raise awareness about what matters most to them. It is my goal to continue to use my skills as a writer to affect change for animals, and to give a voice to those who cannot speak for themselves.

For as long as I can remember, I have always loved penguins. Especially as a little girl, I was obsessed with them: I had a large collection of over 100 stuffed penguins; my older brother bought me every one of the Tacky the Penguin books, and we would read them together so often that I knew them by heart; I even had penguin-themed birthday parties for three consecutive years. Penguins were my favorite animal for many years, and still hold a special place in my heart. This is because, in addition to being adorable, I also found them fascinating. Penguins have so many unique adaptations that help them thrive in their home habitats, specialized hunting techniques, and advanced social structures and behaviors that set them apart from the rest of the animal world. Many penguins are also bisexual. Bisexual penguins were first ‘outed’ by an explorer named George Murray Levick in 1911. However, instead of excitement at having discovered a previously unseen aspect of penguin behavior, Levick was appalled. At the time, homosexuality in humans was considered a horrific offense because it was seen as ‘unnatural’. Finding that penguins, a wild animal unaffected by human societal expectations, could have same-sex partnerships, effectively threw a wrench in that bias. The scientific community scrambled to come up with plausible theories for this behavior—any explanation but the simplest: that the penguins were knowingly choosing a partner of the same sex just because that was what felt right to them. I am a bisexual woman. I came out several years ago, but I wasn’t proud of it. I was unsure of myself, constantly doubting whether I was a ‘real’ bisexual. I worried that I was faking it, that I didn’t really belong in the LGBTQ community, and worst of all: I worried that there was something ‘wrong’ with me. When I learned that some penguins are bisexual, too, my entire self-perception changed. If bisexuality was natural and beautiful in penguins, then there was nothing wrong with me as a bisexual human. I was not alone; rather, I was part of a much larger world. I was connected to not only the human LGBTQ community, but also to the natural world and the wild creatures that live in it. For the first time, I was able to hold my head up and say that I was proud to be bisexual. Learning about nature and wildlife helped me become more comfortable and secure in who I am and my place in the universe. It is my goal that by pursuing a degree in Environmental Studies, I can continue to learn about the environment and how it interacts with our human world. I hope that with an education in this field, I can help secure the future of animals and ecosystems important to me, just as they helped me. We humans like to think of ourselves as better than animals, and therefore completely separate from their world, but in my opinion, we are not. Understanding nature and the social behaviors of animals is important to understanding ourselves. Same-sex partnerships have been observed in thousands of animal species across the globe, but discrimination exists in only one: mankind. I think that if all humans behaved a little bit more like penguins, the world would be a much better, kinder place.

The sun beat down from a cloudless sky above the boardwalk I stood on. I looked below me to see an alligator, his powerful tail lazily sweeping side to side and propelling him gently through the still water to some destination that only he knew. Beyond his wake, sawgrass whispered and swayed in a nearly imperceptible breeze. A red-shouldered hawk called distantly from within a dome of bald cypress trees. I watched, silently and reverently, taking in the splendor that surrounded me with awe and wonder that such beauty existed on Earth. I was seven years old when my family visited the Florida Everglades for the first time. That visit set the course of my life; I was irrevocably changed, and I fell completely in love with the natural world and all of the creatures that humanity shares this planet with. Over the next several years, I learned everything I could about the environment and wildlife of my state—and the many threats to their survival. I first chose to get involved in environmental activism when I was nine years old. I learned that the Florida Fish and Wildlife Conservation Commission (FWC) was considering reducing protections on the endangered Florida panther, the state mammal and my favorite animal, and I was enraged. Even though I was just a kid, I knew that I had to do something about it. The opportunity came in the form of an upcoming FWC meeting, where I signed up for public comment to defend Florida panthers. I marched up to the podium, armed with my stuffed panther and a pink stool because I was too short to see the commissioners without it. As I spoke, my knees wobbled and my grip on my panther trembled; I worried that I would be told that I should not be there or have a say in their decisions. Instead, the chairman called me to the front, congratulated me on being brave enough to stand up for my beliefs, and gifted me his own FWC pin from his lapel—a keepsake that I still cherish. I walked out of that meeting with a newfound confidence in myself and a new drive to continue using my voice to enact change for animals. I have come a long way since that first meeting, advocating for the environment and wildlife in statewide issues, such as the 2016 and 2017 Florida black bear hunts, the River of Grass Greenway, and the ongoing Split Oak Forest controversy. I spoke to state and federal representatives and gave speeches at various government and wildlife organization meetings. Each issue I involved myself in came with ups and downs, fantastic groups of like-minded people and equally passionate opponents, days when it felt like we would never succeed, and sheer ecstasy when we prevailed. I learned to keep a level head and respect everyone I came into contact with, even those whose positions I fundamentally disagreed with. I discovered the value of perseverance in the face of what sometimes seemed like impossible odds. I realized that if I truly believe in something, I have to keep fighting for it. My love of the natural world motivates me to do everything I can to ensure its protection and to speak for those who have no voice. I want all wildlife and ecosystems to be protected for as long as life lasts. It is my goal that with a formal education on the workings of nature, wildlife, and how they interact with each other and our human world, I can continue to help make the world a better, greener place.

Have you ever read a book so impactful or haunting that it stayed with you, even after you closed it? The kind of book where you stared at the cover for a long time, the last line replaying over and over in your mind? William Golding’s "Lord of the Flies" was that book for me. The classic novella follows a group of boys whose plane crashed on a deserted island. At first, this seems like a fantastic adventure—no grownups, no school, no rules to follow. In the beginning, the boys are able to keep some semblance of order, building shelters on the beach and setting up a signal fire for anyone looking for them. However, as time passes, things begin to take a turn for the worse. Their tenuous society slips into anarchy and senseless violence; reason and logic are abandoned and actively ignored. "Lord of the Flies" is a cautionary tale about the inherent darkness and flaws of mankind, and that anyone, no matter how apparently competent or incorruptible, is capable of doing evil. It is about the danger of giving in to fear and of following a leader blindly. The book is about the constant struggle between the two sides of human nature, represented in the conflict between the characters Ralph and Jack: civilization versus savagery, democracy versus dictatorship. "Lord of the Flies" is not an adventure story like many other books set on uninhabited islands; it is a powerful statement about humanity. It brings to light the potential for terrible violence and depravity that exists in all human beings. No matter how advanced we as a society believe we are, or how far removed we think we are from the darkness that lives inside us, it is there. Denying that it exists only gives that unpleasant facet of human existence power. Only by acknowledging that side of us can we hope to overcome it. This is what makes "Lord of the Flies" such an important book, even though it is not the easiest. It talks about subjects that are often swept under the rug, and it forces the reader to take a hard look at themselves and their personal values. If I could choose just one book for everyone to read, it would be "Lord of the Flies" because of its core message that one must do what is right, even if it is hard.

I was still riding high on the excitement of the day when I fell in with the rest of the students in my group, heading into the dining area. We had gone ziplining over the rainforests on the slopes of Mount Arenal, Costa Rica. When the other teens from the service-learning group I was part of headed off to see what was being served, I sat down at one of the tables, pulled out a granola bar, and started to go through my pictures. It wasn’t long before one of the other girls came over to me, asking if I wanted anything to eat—I held up my granola bar as my answer, explaining briefly that I was vegan, and it wasn’t likely I would find anything I wanted. I did not expect her face to sour, as if I was some horrible bug she had stepped on. I never forgot the next thing she said to me, a statement that both dumbfounded and saddened me: “The animals can’t thank you, you know.” I have loved animals for as long as I can remember. That love motivated me to learn everything I could about their lives; when that thirst for knowledge led me to the truth about the needless suffering that countless animals are put through for no other reason than human exploitation, I was horrified and sickened. I wanted to do something to put a stop to it, even if it was the tiniest of ants against a steamroller. I was nine when I told my parents that I wanted to be a vegan, and I haven’t looked back since. I never once regretted my decision, even when it was hard. As a kid, I was made fun of and teased for being vegan, and even when no words were said about it, I felt left out and alienated. It was not easy to be the only kid at a birthday party not eating a slice of cake; it was not easy to be ‘that weird girl who doesn’t eat animal products’. Over time, however, I stopped caring what people thought of me: I was proud of being a vegan. In being vegan, I learned to stand up for myself and what I believed in; I learned to show respect to others even when we both disagreed. Going vegan was more than taking up a specialized diet to me: my whole lifestyle and worldview had fundamentally shifted. Veganism is about showing compassion for all creatures, especially those who cannot help themselves; it is about doing the least amount of harm possible to the world, the environment, and living creatures, in every aspect of life. Being a vegan is not one single action, it is a continuous choice every single day, even when it is not the easiest one. To me, being vegan is not a burden, it is a privilege. I do not walk this path in life because I want praise or gratitude, I have chosen this for myself because I love the earth and all its wonderful creatures. That love motivates me to do everything in my power to make the world a better place for animals. It is my goal that with a formal education in the workings of the natural world and how it interacts with human society, I can continue to be part of a growing movement for the better of the entire planet, and in doing so encourage others to go vegan. When I imagine a perfect future in which mankind can live in harmony with the environment, it is a vegan one.