Creativity is a fundamental aspect of our being, an essential need that connects us to the world. I think creativity can come from many things, connection, love, or trauma. From a young age, I felt a strong urge to pursue an artistic path, using any tools and mediums available to me. I felt a need to create things. I remember being completely enchanted by animation; movies had this magical way of pulling me into their tiny worlds, especially the ones I watched on VHS. While animation holds a special place in my heart, I’m also excited to explore other artistic avenues like fashion design and writing children’s books. As I've matured, I've recognized that my passion for creativity is intimately linked to my desire for escapism and safety. Life’s challenges don’t hold me back; instead, I transform those experiences into fuel for my art. Even if I don’t always feel comfort or safety, I aim to provide warmth and security through my creations. My animated illustration vividly captures my creative process, beginning with how I recharge before diving into my art. In the chaos of a bustling home, I’ve found an unexpected sanctuary—the restroom. It’s my quiet retreat, where I can escape the noise and embrace my vulnerability. Through this intimate illustration, I portray a space that resonates deeply with me. The main characters represent significant parts of my journey: myself, as my mind; Roy, the glass bottle character, symbolizing my emotional state and the spectrum of my feelings; and Scratch, embodying trauma and the physical body. To rejuvenate my spirit, I often shower or engage in self-care rituals. This visual journey invites the audience into my world, where moments of introspection and the renewal of my creativity unfold. I drew a lot of inspiration from “Bee and Puppy Cat.” I first watched the show at 12, and it struck a chord with me. Now at 20, I recognize how profoundly I related to Bee's journey of navigating life without clear guidance or family support.

Addiction scares me. Growing up, it loomed over my family like a dark cloud, shaping our lives in ways I didn’t fully understand at the time. As a child, I vividly remember the men in my family struggling with various forms of addiction, whether it was smoking or alcoholism. Several memories stand out starkly. Most of these revolve around him consuming staggering amounts of alcohol, often coming home with large cases. The unsettling sight of him, intoxicated and belligerent, is etched into my mind. On particularly chaotic nights, he would blast music from his car, the bass reverberating through the neighborhood as he screamed about his paranoid hallucinations. His schizophrenia added another layer to his unpredictable behavior, creating a volatile mix that left my family on edge. In those moments of rage and fear, no one could calm him down—except, on occasion, my grandma, if she was lucky. But even she had her limits. There were times when his fear escalated to the point where he would call the police, convinced that something terrible was about to happen. I still think about those memories often, even as an adult now. In my family, the topic of drinking looms large, especially among the women. Many of my aunts developed a notorious habit of going out late into the night to indulge in alcohol. I vividly remember when my twin brother and I would sit wide awake with our mom and grandma, anxiously waiting for their return. I can still picture my grandma’s anxious face, her eyes filled with worry and fatigue as she cried, desperately trying to reach them on the phone. During those nights, she would stay up until 2 a.m., only to be met with silence and unanswered calls, which deepened her distress. Even now, as an adult, I feel the weight of family expectations bearing down on me. So many of the older relatives assume that I will follow the same path, often joking about handing me a beer before I’m even of legal age. One comment came from a 60-year-old cousin on my grandma’s side, teasingly offering me a drink as if it were completely normal. The thought repulses me, and I can’t shake the anxiety that when I finally turn 21, they’ll somehow pressure me to drink. Part of me believes they won’t truly push me, yet their constant remarks about it make me uneasy. I’m aware that addiction runs through our family history, and this realization scares me. It's a trait that makes me worry about my future. What if I find myself in a difficult situation later in life and, in a moment of weakness, I give in and start drinking? I’m unsure how I’ll be able to break the cycle, and I don’t know if I truly will. My twin brother and I have made a conscious effort to set strong boundaries regarding comments about substance use. We have repeatedly communicated our unwillingness to drink or smoke to our family. I hope we have conveyed how serious we are about our attitudes toward alcohol and cigarettes. I’ve done my best to be aware of my behaviors and possible inclinations in therapy, and I hope to maintain my principles in both my thoughts and actions.

I have no parents. My only parent was my mom and she passed away more than a year ago on August 4, 2021. I have never had direct contact with my father and he has never participated in raising me or my two siblings. My mom passed away when I barely turned 17, currently, I am 18. I remember a few days before my twins’ and I's 17th birthday (at 16) my entire family got sick with COVID-19 after a close family friend of ours decided not to disclose he was infected. This meant I couldn't attend important dates of an art program that would open me to many opportunities as I couldn't stand up without passing out and I couldn't eat without vomiting for a few weeks. Most of that time I couldn't leave my bed. I was lucky that I could still breathe but my mom on the other hand was not as lucky. Two days after my birthday (July 16, 2021) my mom began to struggle with breathing and it scared her. She decided to leave and drive herself to the hospital where she decided to go under anesthesia (medically induced coma). She didn't get better and her condition only got worse. A few weeks later she passed away in her sleep at around 8 in the morning from acute respiratory failure, COVID-19. I would say out of all my family members my mom supported me the most, although I confused her as I am neurodivergent. She did her best to support me by supporting my interests such as surfing and skating. She also tried to encourage me to talk to others which I continuously struggle with especially verbally and nonverbally. She encouraged me by suggesting for me to participate in after-school activities which I did do, specifically Art Club and STOKED. STOKED is a club for skateboarding, where you learn to skateboard, make a skateboard, and also volunteer to help your community. But she mostly understood and supported my passion for creating art. Which I have been doing ever since I could remember. She encouraged me in all my classes, more so in mathematics as I struggle with understanding math. One of the better things I remember before she passed away was when she observed me in my summer program, F2F (Film 2 Future). "You're smiling, you seem interested in what you're doing". This does sound insincere but considering how uninterested I was in most subjects, this was a change in how she saw me. After she passed away my family began to struggle with bills as she was the primary breadwinner. Which prompted me to reflect on my living conditions, which aren’t good. As me and my family are barely getting by and the only way for me to improve my environment would be academic. Which became my motivation for me to pursue an artistic career by pursuing an undergraduate degree at Otis College of Art and Design.