In my late preteen and early teen years, I felt like I was a doll controlled by other people outside of my world. I felt like a filler person. I did not know how to find myself or find who I wanted to be or who I thought I was. I believed that breathing, eating, and sleeping were the only things I was good at, and I would not get anywhere in life. I never realized that role models could forever change your life. Some people's role models could be a parent, a relative, or even a celebrity who inspires others to be like them. I did not find my role model until I was fifteen, and little did I know he would impact my life and future in many ways. My sophomore English teacher, Mr. Randolph, had the ambition to teach fifteen and sixteen-year-olds the proper rules of grammar and how to interpret the meanings of books. He liked to call himself "Dad" in a lot of his assignments. I found it funny but also ironic, knowing that he taught us a lot of things about grammar rules and life in general. His goal was to make sure we knew what we were doing for college once we left his class at the end of the year, and he did just that. At first, I despised English classes as teachers made lessons too complex and were very strict when it came to their classes and work. I had the same thoughts about this class when I first sat down at the desk in his overly decorated classroom. I was right, it was a very strict and tough class, but I never realized that this class made me realize the potential I had for writing. As I paid attention to his lessons, I looked at his writing style, which was a personal and free writing style, not as formal as a newspaper, and usual English writing styles, but it had humor and personality to it, like it came directly from the heart and his mind speaking for him, but through words. I always thought the free, personal writing style was cool, but seeing a teacher do it made me realize that there were many other ways to express myself and other topics in typed and written words. I was focused on culinary because it was one of my interests, something I considered for college and maybe even professionally. As my sophomore year continued into the second semester, I realized that the culinary industry was tough and not for me, especially since I am often described as sensitive and as someone who cannot handle confrontation as well as others. I found myself in a black hole for a few months, not knowing for sure what I wanted to do for college. I felt behind as other people stepped over me with their ideas in their hands, ready to walk down a path of success. During this gap, I found myself intrigued by writing and wanted to do more of it outside of school. On the weekends, I wrote whatever I pleased, not caring if it was not "professional writing" or not. I constantly found myself wanting to write and read more, whether it was romance or writing about troubled feelings. I realized this was something I loved to do, and I continued to do it. For some assignments, he would require us to write an essay about the book we were reading or a personal essay. At first, I would have mentally hit my head against the desk and complain about writing an essay, but then, I was excited. I was finally able to write in the way that felt like me ever since I saw the way he wrote without a care in the world—humorous, with personality with every word. Ever since writing and reading became my two favorite hobbies, I started looking into what I could do in college for both. Creative writing and journalism were the two majors that instantly caught my eye. With just typed words on a document, I could write in any style and let others see my personality. Some of my friends would praise my work, and it made me feel nice, knowing that people liked my creations. I knew not everyone had the same writing style and taste, but it was nice knowing that I could create things that people enjoyed reading about that did not feel like a chore for them. I finally felt like I had a part of my messed-up life figured out. I still find it funny how my entire life flipped after realizing the freedom I had with writing. No rules—well, grammar rules—and no guidelines, just your thoughts and beliefs written on a document or a piece of paper. As I pursue this passion and, ideally, a successful profession in the future, I hope to be able to express to others, either verbally or through typed words, that observing something about someone and acting upon it can transform your life in ways you might not have considered possible. Almost two years later, I still carry on this passion and plan to major in journalism and become a journalist in the future. Every day, I am thankful to myself and to Mr. Randolph, of course, for finding myself and the potential that I have in a profession that I feel confident in. I no longer let other people dominate me; instead, I have taken control of my own body, finding my true self: a writer, a reader, someone who wants to share stories, real or fiction, for others to read.