I grew up poor and I don't mean to start this essay off as a sob story or meant for whoever is reading this take pity on me, but because it was objectively true. I wasn't just “we didn’t have the newest phone” poor, but the kind of poor where even small joys felt distant, and the future felt far far away and cloudy. I was only focused on the here and the now. Things like wondering if I was going to eat in the evenings after school let out. But in that struggle, the only solace I found was in music. Youtube was free. I watched as many Lindsey Stirling videos that I could get my hands on. I didn't know how exactly I was going to be like her, but I was determined to try. Middle school was the turning point. I joined the orchestra, borrowing an instrument from the school because buying one wasn't even a possibility even if I wished on a star. I was determined to become the first chair violist if it was the last thing I did. Every bow, every note, felt like a tiny rebellion against the world I thought I was trapped in. I crowdfunded for things I needed like strings, rosin, even a viola of my own when I realized this wasn't just going to be a hobby. I worked for anything I needed to keep playing. Music was my means for survival. When life outside the practice room was messy and uncertain, music was the only thing that mattered to me. It was proof that I could create something beautiful even when I had nothing. That passion carried me forward. I practiced for hours, learning to listen, to shape sound with my own hands, to let music speak when I didn’t have the words. Before I came to college I knew I wasn't going to let music go. Even if I set the viola aside, I had to keep my connection somehow. My freshman year I joined my college's jazz and acapella group and I fell in love with singing. I had never thought I could be a singer, but after my first year of college as just an English major in her silly chorus I knew I needed more. Now, I’m a music and English double major in college, studying voice, chasing the same feeling I first found in middle school: the feeling that my life, however complicated, can be turned into art. Music saved my life. It gave me hope when hope was scarce, a voice when I didn’t know how to speak, and a way to claim a place in a world that often felt like it had no room for me. Every note I sing carries the memory of that borrowed instrument, that rickety old viola I managed to buy after months of fundraising, that relentless belief that I deserved to be heard. Music taught me that even when life is hard, we can still create something beautiful—and in that, I found myself. I'm never going to let music or my voice go.

Lines 1229 - 1264 of The Wife of Bath's Tale by Geoffrey Chaucer: 1229 "Chese now," quod she, "oon of thise thynges tweye: 1220 To han me foul and old til that I deye, 1221 And be to yow a trewe, humble wyf, 1222 And nevere yow displese in al my lyf, 1223 Or elles ye wol han me yong and fair, 1224 And take youre aventure of the repair 1225 That shal be to youre hous by cause of me, 1226 Or in som oother place, may wel be. 1227 Now chese yourselven, wheither that yow liketh." 1228 This knyght avyseth hym and sore siketh, 1229 But atte laste he seyde in this manere: 1230 "My lady and my love, and wyf so deere, 1231 I put me in youre wise governance; 1232 Cheseth youreself which may be moost plesance 1233 And moost honour to yow and me also. 1234 I do no fors the wheither of the two, 1235 For as yow liketh, it suffiseth me." 1236 "Thanne have I gete of yow maistrie," quod she, 1237 "Syn I may chese and governe as me lest?" 1238 "Ye, certes, wyf," quod he, "I holde it best." 1239 "Kys me," quod she, "we be no lenger wrothe, 1240 For, by my trouthe, I wol be to yow bothe -- 1241 This is to seyn, ye, bothe fair and good. 1242 I prey to God that I moote sterven wood, 1243 But I to yow be also good and trewe 1244 As evere was wyf, syn that the world was newe. 1245 And but I be to-morn as fair to seene 1246 As any lady, emperice, or queene, 1247 That is bitwixe the est and eke the west, 1248 Dooth with my lyf and deth right as yow lest. 1249 Cast up the curtyn, looke how that it is." 1250 And whan the knyght saugh verraily al this, 1251 That she so fair was, and so yong therto, 1252 For joye he hente hire in his armes two. 1253 His herte bathed in a bath of blisse. 1254 A thousand tyme a-rewe he gan hire kisse, 1255 And she obeyed hym in every thyng 1256 That myghte doon hym plesance or likyng. 1257 And thus they lyve unto hir lyves ende 1258 In parfit joye; and Jhesu Crist us sende 1259 Housbondes meeke, yonge, and fressh abedde, 1260 And grace t' overbyde hem that we wedde; 1261 And eek I praye Jhesu shorte hir lyves 1262 That noght wol be governed by hir wyves; 1263 And olde and angry nygardes of dispence, 1264 God sende hem soone verray pestilence! Consent and Sovereignty in The Wife of Bath’s Tale In The Wife of Bath’s Tale, Geoffrey Chaucer presents consent in marriage as an active and verbal transfer of authority rather than passive obedience. Focusing on lines 1219–1264, the tale’s climactic transformation scene, I argue that Chaucer presents consent not as passive agreement or obedience, but as an active transfer of authority that must be freely spoken. Chaucer’s careful staging of dialogue, conditional choices, and performative speech acts reveals that marital harmony depends not on the knight’s preference, but on his willingness to relinquish control. By posing consent as something that must be articulated rather than assumed, Chaucer reframes marriage as a negotiated relationship grounded in verbal and ethical choice. The passage begins with a demand for choice. “Chese now,” the woman commands, presenting the knight with “oon of thise thynges tweye” (1219). The verb “chese” immediately establishes her authority, but the structure of the choice itself is revealing. Each option is framed entirely in relation to the knight’s desires and fears—either he gains fidelity at the cost of beauty, or beauty at the risk of infidelity (1220–1226). Grammatically, the woman’s future behavior is contingent upon his decision, yet rhetorically, the knight is trapped. The form of the choice exposes how traditional marital power masquerades as agency while actually restricting meaningful consent. The knight’s response marks an ethical shift. After he “avyseth hym and sore siketh” (1228), signaling internal struggle, he does not select either option. Instead, he says, “I put me in youre wise governance” (1231). “Put me” emphasizes voluntary action, while “governance” invokes political authority rather than romantic affection. Chaucer uses formal diction here to frame consent as a serious moral act, not an emotional impulse. The knight’s speech transforms the exchange from a problem of preference into a question of rule. The repetition of “cheseth youreself” (1232) reinforces this transfer of power. Choice, previously forced upon the knight, is now returned back to the woman. The knight’s earlier silence gives way to a full relinquishment of decision-making. His statement, “as yow liketh, it suffiseth me” (1235), deliberately echoes the language of satisfaction and sufficiency, suggesting that consent involves accepting another’s will as complete rather than conditional. The woman immediately names what has occurred: “Thanne have I gete of yow maistrie” (1236). Importantly, Chaucer places this recognition in her voice, emphasizing that consent must be acknowledged by the one who receives it. Her rhetorical question—“Syn I may chese and governe as me lest?” (1237)—shows that mastery is defined not by outcome but by authority over choice itself. The knight’s reply, “I holde it best” (1238), confirms that this arrangement is not coerced. Only after this verbal exchange does the woman promise transformation. Her vow to be “bothe fair and good” (1241) collapses the earlier binary that structured the knight’s dilemma. Chaucer suggests that the opposition between beauty and fidelity was an illusion sustained by male control. Once sovereignty is granted, the conditions that necessitated suspicion disappear. The transformation is thus moral before it is physical. The final lines complicate the scene rather than resolving it neatly. Though the woman “obeyed hym in every thyng” (1255), this obedience follows the establishment of her mastery. The way Chaucer sequenced the scene matters. Obedience that comes after consent is categorically different from obedience demanded in advance. By structuring the passage so that governance precedes compliance, Chaucer distinguishes consent from submission. The form of the narrative enacts the argument it advances. This understanding of consent as spoken sovereignty is prepared for earlier in The Wife of Bath’s Tale and fulfilled in the transformation scene. The knight’s original crime—the rape of a young woman—represents the most extreme violation of consent, defined by the absence of speech, negotiation, or recognition of female will (888–892). His punishment, which requires him to discover what women most desire, reframes consent not as sexual access but as acknowledgment of authority. When he reports that women desire “sovereynetee / As wel over hir housbond as hir love” (1038–1039), the answer establishes sovereignty as the ethical opposite of his original violence. The wedding-night scene shows this lesson rather than simply repeating it. The Wife of Bath’s Prologue reinforces this emphasis on verbal authority by repeatedly linking marital harmony to moments when power is explicitly granted through speech. The Wife describes her marriages as structured by argument and rhetorical struggle rather than silence, claiming “the governance of hous and land” and even control over her husbands’ speech (223–225). Her happiest marriage begins only when her fifth husband verbally yields authority and tells her to do “as thee lust the terme of al thy lyf” (809–812). As in the tale, peace follows not obedience enforced by force, but sovereignty conferred through spoken consent. The tale’s conclusion further confirms this logic. The Wife’s closing prayer curses husbands who refuse to be “governed by hir wyves” (1262), extending the lesson of the knight’s marriage outward to all marriages. Though exaggerated, the prayer reinforces the tale’s moral structure, which is refusal to recognize female authority leads to conflict, while submission to governance enables joy. Chaucer’s humor does not undermine this claim but enhances it, allowing the tale to assert its argument through performance. Taken together, the wedding-night scene functions as a condensed version of the entire tale’s argument. Chaucer consistently uses dialogue, conditional choices, and reversals of authority to show that consent in marriage is not a one-time agreement but a continual practice of recognizing another’s right to choose. By aligning marital harmony with the free and verbal surrender of power, Chaucer suggests that consent is not simply part of marriage—it is the condition that makes marriage possible.

Many people learn how to survive, but not always how to dream. For much of my life, I navigated the world with limited resources, whether financial, emotional, or social. I remember afternoons spent at my local library, clutching a stack of YA novels I could borrow for free. I would curl into the corner in a beanbag chair waiting for my mom to pick me up after working yet another night of over time. I found comfort in losing myself in stories where girls like me—if not exactly like me—could take up space, make mistakes, and still be allowed to grow. For those few hours, I could be someone else entirely. Books became my refuge and my first taste of freedom, a small act of dreaming in a life often constrained by circumstance. One experience that taught me both independence and courage came when I traveled alone to a writing retreat on the coast of Oregon. After months of crowdfunding and generosity from my peers I was able to treat myself and take a trip far, far away. I had never been so far from home by myself, and every step—boarding the plane, navigating airports, booking a hotel—was a test of my confidence and resourcefulness. But once I arrived, standing in a cabin overlooking the foggy Pacific Ocean with nothing but my laptop and my thoughts, I felt an unfamiliar but very nice clarity. I spent days writing, reading, and learning how to trust my own voice. That retreat showed me that even when I feel small in the world, I can carve out space to grow, create, and dream. This summer, I am taking the next step by studying abroad in London through a three-week program hosted by Meredith College where I'm working towards a Bachelor's of Arts in Music and English. The city’s rich literary history and vibrant cultural life will immerse me in perspectives I can’t find here in Raleigh. I am excited to explore neighborhoods where writers once walked, attend workshops, and experience the ways storytelling shapes a global community. My writing retreat in Oregon taught me that I am capable of navigating the unfamiliar, and London is the first step toward a lifetime of exploration. I want to see the world, gather stories, and grow as both a writer and a person. Studying abroad will allow me to move beyond surviving the circumstances I was given and toward creating a life that is fully my own.

I knew I was meant to tell stories from the moment I was born. Whether through my voice or written word, I knew it was my absolute passion. I've been using my imagination before I even knew what to call it. When I was younger I would ask my mom to write down the stories I would tell so that I could read them back when I was older, that was how much words and writing meant to me. I believe that writing can make people feel things that they had never even considered before. I believe writing to be one of the most overlooked art forms. While some people may simply see words and blocks of text on a page, I see new worlds and ideas that can evoke emotions people didn't even know they had. I write because I want to share all the wild stories that have been living in my brain for far too long. I want the characters that I hold so dearly to my heart to grace other people with their presence. My dream career is to be an author and success is not my main goal, my main goal is for my work to mean something to someone. I write stories because I want to share them. I want people to find the same importance in them that I have found. I believe my art can create a better world because I write so much of myself into all of my work and I feel as if what I have to say is important and meaningful. My greatest wish is for someone to read my work and feel grateful that they did. I want someone to take what I had to say and share it with others because it meant so much to them. I write about topics that I find important, such as what it means to grow up as a black girl in this society and how that can affect someone's upbringing. It breaks my heart when someone finds something I have written to be relatable, however, it makes me happy knowing that they have found something/someone they can relate to and they feel less alone because of my work. I think the use of language is one of the most powerful tools and I do my best to use it to my advantage. I use words to spark wonder because a lot of my pieces drip with nuance and I love writing that can be analyzed, I find that it makes it all the more special. I increase awareness by writing narratives that may not have been explored from a certain point of view. I can create dialogue because the written word is something to be discussed, to be dissected, it is not meant to sit, it is meant to ruminate. I can evoke emotions by writing my raw and true narrative. I write because it is how I feel. My work is a product of my emotions and I find that beautiful. I am passionate about what I do, and writing is what I do best.

I have been playing musical instruments since I was nine years old starting with a classical guitar. I have always been “musically-inclined”, I play a plethora of instruments such as Classical Guitar, Electric Guitar, Ukulele, Piano, Viola, and now handbells. Recently I have picked up handbells and doing so has been one of the most wonderful experiences that I’ve had. I started handbell ringing a couple of months ago as an high school class and I know that it’s an instrument that I want to pursue for a very long time after I graduate. Handbells is an instrument that I have never thought of before and when I found out it was a class offered at Northwest School of the Arts I knew I had to try it out. Doing so I’ve met so many good friends who enjoy ringing as much as I do. The class is very tight-knit, there are only about eleven of us and we all enjoy what we do dearly. It would make me incredibly happy to find a handbell ensemble somewhere while I pursue higher education because just like my other instruments I have no intention of stopping. My absolute favorite piece that we have played in our handbell ensemble is “Prelude on Adeste Fideles” composed by Mitchell Eithun. There were so many fun techniques like the shake, martellato lifts, LVs, Thumb ramps, vibrato, echos, swings. I loved this piece dearly. It was quite hard at first but when you find what you’re doing fun it got easier and easier. However, I do have a silly story from the first time we performed this specific song. It is very important that the table is far enough away from other things because during our performance during one of the swing sections, the top treble bells swung a little to farm back and rammed into a drum set during it. We continued to ring but it was an absolute disaster! I think of the moment whenever I think of Prelude on Adeste Fideles. I think it’s funny looking back, (the drums and the bells were perfectly fine), but it reminded me of how much we all love the instrument. In handbells now we are learning two pieces, one called Air (which I can’t seem to remember the name of) and one called *Ayre* which was composed by one of the people in our handbell class. I love how everyone is so creative and loves music when they’re in the handbell classroom. I hold handbells near and dear to my heart and I hope to continue pursuing the art form.

One of the first novels I read when I was twelve years old was White Oleander by Janet Fitch. I am not sure if I should have been reading that when I was a young girl but I am glad I did because it influenced the way I thought things through in a very good way. White Oleander by Janet Fitch deals with many themes such as the complexities of Mother-Daughter relationships, the nature of good and evil, identity and self-discovery, dependency, and loss. The story is raw and complex and emotional and it was one of the most evocative reads I have ever experienced, even when I was younger. It is a story I believe everyone should experience reading at least once. The story follows a young girl named Astrid who is navigating foster care after her Mother is convicted of murder. It makes you ask yourself what is truly important to you. It's compelling, it's real, the prose is absolutely beautiful, and I love everything about this book. Astrid is a compelling character and she is so... real, which I think is the best you can get when it comes to fiction. She is relatable and you really begin to feel for her as the story progresses. The relationship between her and her Mom is so interesting and it keeps you at the edge of your seat as you read it. The themes are so perfectly portrayed through the writing and the characters. I think everyone who can handle this kind of material should read White Oleander, it is one of my absolute favorite novels.

“Ah how shameless -- the way these mortals blame the gods. From us alone, they say, come all their miseries, yes, but they themselves, with their own reckless ways, compound their pains beyond their proper share.” - The Odyssey, Homer. The relationship between mortals and gods is a central theme in Homer's "The Odyssey". This paragraph encapsulates this by illustrating the dynamic between them and highlighting the idea of personal agency in the face of adversity. At first glance, Zeus's complaint over mortals blaming the gods for their miseries may seem like a simple condemnation of human ingratitude. However, looking deeper into the text reveals the complexity and blurriness of the relationship between mortals and gods in Greek mythology. The gods in "The Odyssey" often intervene in the affairs and actions of mortals, shaping their destinies and influencing the course of events. Yet, Zeus suggests that mortals are quick to put all their troubles solely to divine intervention, absolving themselves of any responsibility for their own actions. This is a complex interplay between fate, free will, and divine intervention. Do the humans truly believe they have no part in their struggles? Or because of the influence of the gods, is their free will compromised? Do they have a right to believe they have no part in their hardships? There is no doubt that gods have a hand in the mortal's misery but how much of it is their fault? Will humans ever admit to exacerbating their own miseries? It is morally right if they do without the god's admittance in the matter? The line "From us alone, they say, come all their miseries" reflects the tendency of mortals to view the gods as omnipotent beings who control every aspect of their lives. This belief diminishes accountability for their own choices and behaviors, shifting blame onto external forces beyond their control. It speaks to a broader human likelihood to seek external explanations for misfortune rather than examining one's role in contributing to it. However, Zeus's rebuke does not set the gods free of their culpability in human suffering. Throughout "The Odyssey," the gods often manipulate mortals for their own purposes, testing their virtue or punishing them for perceived offenses. This compound interaction between divine intervention and mortal agency smudges the lines of responsibility, raising questions about free will and fate. Zeus acknowledges that mortals "compound their pains beyond their proper share" through their own reckless actions. This acknowledgment underscores the importance of personal agency and accountability in shaping one's destiny. While the gods may influence the course of events, mortals ultimately have the power to choose their actions and determine their own fates. By engaging in this behavior, mortals inflame their own suffering, exceeding the bounds of what might be considered their "proper share" of misfortune. The theme of personal responsibility in "The Odyssey" extends beyond the relationship between mortals and gods to encompass broader moral and ethical considerations. Throughout the poem, characters face moral dilemmas and must navigate the consequences of their choices. Whether it be Odysseus's prideful boasting that leads to his prolonged journey home or the suitors' reckless disregard for hospitality and propriety, the actions of mortals have consequences that shape their destinies. In conclusion, Zeus's lamentation in "The Odyssey" encapsulates the complex relationship between mortals and gods, highlighting the theme of personal responsibility in the face of adversity. While the gods may influence the course of events, mortals possess agency and must be held accountable for their actions. The paragraph serves as a reminder that blaming external forces for misfortune is ultimately futile, and true empowerment comes from recognizing and embracing one's own agency in shaping one's destiny. While it can be taken at face value---people have a hard time taking responsibilities for the things they have part in---it is not that simple once you look past the surface.

I knew I was meant to tell stories from the moment I was born. Whether through my voice or written word, I knew it was my absolute passion. I've been using my imagination before I even knew what to call it. When I was younger I would ask my mom to write down the stories I would tell so that I could read them back when I was older, that was how much words and writing meant to me. I believe that writing can make people feel things that they had never even considered before. I believe writing to be one of the most overlooked art forms. While some people may simply see words and blocks of text on a page, I see new worlds and ideas that can evoke emotions people didn't even know they had. I write because I want to share all the wild stories that have been living in my brain for far too long. I want the characters that I hold so dearly to my heart to grace other people with their presence. My dream career is to be an author and success is not my main goal, my main goal is for my work to mean something to someone. I write stories because I want to share them. I want people to find the same importance in them that I have found. I believe my art can create a better world because I write so much of myself into all of my work and I feel as if what I have to say is important and meaningful. My greatest wish is for someone to read my work and feel grateful that they did. I want someone to take what I had to say and share it with others because it meant so much to them. I write about topics that I find important, such as what it means to grow up as a black girl in this society and how that can affect someone's upbringing. It breaks my heart when someone finds something I have written to be relatable, however, it makes me happy knowing that they have found something/someone they can relate to and they feel less alone because of my work. I think the use of language is one of the most powerful tools and I do my best to use it to my advantage. I use words to spark wonder because a lot of my pieces drip with nuance and I love writing that can be analyzed, I find that it makes it all the more special. I increase awareness by writing narratives that may not have been explored from a certain point of view. I can create dialogue because the written word is something to be discussed, to be dissected, it is not meant to sit, it is meant to ruminate. I can evoke emotions by writing my raw and true narrative. I write because it is how I feel. My work is a product of my emotions and I find that beautiful. I am passionate about what I do, and writing is what I do best.