“7 million adults aged 65 years and older are affected by depression.” “Major depression is most likely to affect people between the ages of 45 and 65.” Confronted with these statistics, I realized how little I knew about some of the most prominent issues plaguing American society. It dawned on me that the pandemic only accentuated these numbers; visitation rights from old-age homes were restricted due to safety concerns, which likely emphasized sentiments of isolation. In an attempt to address this issue, I aimed to combine my love of psychology, history, and community into a cohesive volunteer project entitled “Anecdote Boat”. A virtual interview podcast that gives Senior Citizens (who are American immigrants like my own grandparents) a platform, “Anecdote Boat” gives them an opportunity to speak with others and share their unique outlooks and stories on their life experiences. Inspired by the work I had done with my Grandmother for a project in the 7th grade, I recalled how fascinated I was by her fortitude and strength when faced with immigration from her home to America, escaping an anti-bourgeois, and Chinese communist regime. Upon hearing my grandmother’s unique and fervent story, I realized how many other American immigrant Senior Citizens like her had incredible stories, but no audience to listen and tend to those stories and no medium to share them through. Sponsored by Human Good, the 5th largest operator of senior living homes, my podcast aimed to catalogue the pitfalls, the serendipities, the bittersweet goodbyes, and the joyous highlights of each subject’s life. After finishing the project, I realized just how diverse the group I interviewed was. While some interviewees recalled what it was like living in a pre-Sandinista Venezuela and immigrating to the U.S., others recalled what it was like to have deadly infections before modern-medicine in rural parts of the South. As each interview took approximately two hours, I felt immensely connected to each participant by the end, having deeply understood their origin story and their purpose during their lifetime. Ultimately, I learned that every participant wanted the same thing at the end of the day: to be heard and appreciated through their own unique talents, gifts, and ways of storytelling. To have significance and to develop their own voice. It was this community service project that woke me up to the fact that regardless of age, gender, sexual orientation, background, or socio-economic status, it is deeply ingrained in human nature to find the highest form of self-expression, and to indulge in other means when lost. Between my parents, myself, my classmates, and the interviewees, I understood that we are all overall the same. It was this community service project that changed the way I empathize with others. As a wise man Socrates once said “Be kind, for everyone you meet is fighting a hard battle.” If every single person truly took the time to understand the pain of their perceived enemies, then the world would be a much safer, caring, and wholesome place for future generations to come.

My interest and fascination with psychology began at a young age. I was nine years old when I was exposed to Professor Jane Elliott's illustrative “Brown-Eyed and Blue-Eyed” social experiment, which shows the impact of social division and being discriminated against based on physical prejudice. The significant findings of this experiment immediately resonated with me as a Eurasian growing up in Mainland China, where I too often felt singled out for my lack of pure Chinese features. I pondered questions surrounding nature versus nurture. Was prejudice biological or the result of relentless social conditioning? How does herd mentality contribute to the need to discriminate against isolated groups of individuals? With free time outside of school mainly focused on the performing arts, I was eager to use summers to venture into these unknown areas of discovery. I discovered EXPLO, a summer program that allowed me to fertilize the seed of my curiosity and delve into a wide variety of intellectual arenas in a college setting. Every day, I would excitedly rush across campus to my psychology, philosophy, and forensic science classes. My summer was an exploratory dive into what motivates people’s behaviors, Socratic seminars around Nietzsche, and analyses of crime scenes - these allowed me to further explore my questions, even conducting my own social experiment on how people are driven by herd mentality to buy into otherwise irrational behaviors. That summer opened my eyes to the power of courageously trying new things, acquiring knowledge, asking relevant questions, and applying learnings. Back at school, I even used my newfound learnings regarding herd mentality to convince bashful students to dance in a school music video for the International AEFE competition. Nominated by my class to lead the dance film to the song “American Boy,” I had to conceptualize and produce the 3-minute video in numerous locations across L.A. Although winning was great, I was most proud of what we accomplished in only three sessions over two weeks, with just one day to film 30 inexperienced dancers. This taught me that although the end product is important, mastering the process and successfully communicating with others (through my understanding of human behavior) is the greatest victory. The application of psychology in my life is far-reaching, even contributing to my love for songwriting and its integration into history and civil rights. Wanting to better understand why differences in society are met with contempt and fear, I engrossed myself in studying key moments in time. I spent years delving into the psychology of social justice, cataloguing the multifaceted perspectives on gender equality, and examining how racism manifested itself through microaggressions. Incorporating my knowledge of psychology into my passion for music, I eventually composed a song dedicated to the ongoing struggle for civil rights in the United States; this won the 2018 Robert F. Kennedy Human Rights Speak Up & Sing Out Music Contest, and was broadcast on Capitol Hill. Whether I was singing to myself in my bedroom or performing my songs in front of thousands of people in a crowd, I realized that my understanding of music and psychology had the power to connect minds beyond that of words themselves. My piano bench my abode, I spent countless hours, striking ivory chords and furiously scribbling ideas in my notebooks, trying to reconcile the past and the present, and make music out of the discord. Meanwhile, I continued to do what I love, supporting people in the community by singing — whether performing at American Cancer Society events or animating fundraising benefits for children. Studying psychology would not only afford me the ability to develop a comprehensive foundation in the way people think and behave, but would also allow me to apply it to a variety of career paths, whether or not artistically-driven. Since I am pursuing psychology at Harvard and music business at Berklee College of Music for my dual degree program, I know that my expertise in both these fields will give me the ability to share my unique understanding of the world in a powerful way. I see my position as one of empowerment, to bridge not only cultures but ways of thinking about certain social issues; I see every new song I write as an opportunity to promote discourse and take a step towards creating change. I am now cognizant of the fact that my voice can have a tidal wave impact on others if I choose to use it wisely and for the greater good. Just as my idols used their voices to help uplift others in their own communities, I am finally growing into my own as an upcoming social rights activist, songwriter for freedom, and a voice to chime for change.

“… From sea to shining sea...!” Singing the Mandarin version of "America the Beautiful" in a recording studio, clutching the microphone in nervous excitement, I imagined the millions of people who would watch the 2014 Super Bowl Coca-Cola commercial aiming to celebrate the multi-cultural identity of America. Following a nationwide search, I was proud to be representing my country where different cultures were embraced. I ended a promo for the commercial with “If you can’t speak someone else’s language, you can use music to communicate.” Although it represented what I believed to be a realistic portrayal of modern-day America, the campaign proved controversial and Coca-Cola had to censor YouTube comments such as "this girl doesn't even speak English” questioning why they had let me sing a quintessentially American song in a language other than English for an event as cherished as the Super Bowl. At age 11, I was deflated by the criticism, wanting to share with critics that I did in fact speak English and had assiduously translated the English into Chinese, trying to capture the nuance of the lyrics. Ironically, just a few years earlier, when living in China, I wasn’t considered Chinese enough. At eight years old, only a month after being thrust into the Beijing school system, I stood with both arms out in punishment, speechless in front of the class, as my teacher threatened to hit the waiguoren (foreigner) for my clumsy non-Chinese method of solving a math problem. Spending my childhood across three continents with a Chinese-American mom and French dad, multiculturalism was my norm. I learned Chinese, English, and French simultaneously, and for much of my childhood, felt comfortable and even grateful for my ability to participate in all three cultures, whereas these experiences left me feeling inadequately able to represent any of them. Wanting to better understand why differences would prompt fear and be met with contempt, I engrossed myself in studying key moments in history. My piano bench my abode, I spent countless hours, striking ivory chords and furiously scribbling ideas in my notebooks, trying to reconcile the past and the present, and make music out of the discord. Meanwhile, I continued to do what I love, supporting people in the community by singing — whether performing at American Cancer Society events or animating fundraising benefits for children. Unexpectedly, songwriting and singing became tools for me to speak out and attempt to bring about change. Through songwriting, my indignation became my inspiration. Years spent in my room drafting songs related to social justice, gender equality, and racism eventually led to composing a song dedicated to the ongoing struggle for civil rights in the United States that won the 2018 Robert F. Kennedy Human Rights Speak Up & Sing Out Music Contest, and was broadcast on Capitol Hill. Whether I was singing to myself in my bedroom or performing my songs in front of hundreds of people, I realized that music has a power to connect beyond that of words themselves. Today, I am no longer the nervous 11-year-old who would stay quiet in the face of criticism and racially-charged judgments. Instead, I see my position as one of empowerment, to bridge not only cultures but ways of thinking about certain social issues; I see every new song I write as an opportunity to promote discourse and take a step towards creating change. “One child, one teacher, one book, one pen can change the world”. Malala Yousafzai risked her entire life for this philosophy. As a girl making my way into this world, I am eternally grateful to the women who came before me and sacrificed their freedoms, so I could have mine. With access to scholarships, the stress that comes with paying for my studies (I continuously tutor and take on jobs) at universities like Berklee College of Music and Harvard University would be alleviated. Furthermore, this would allow me to focus uniquely on my studies, and grant me the freedom to focus on my mission to serve the world.

Stolen to Golden (Ekphrastic Poem) Here I am, alone, Standing, yet resting in this deserted zone, Where green, gloomy skies, Meet crusty, dry, red canyons. Can you hear my cries? I put on a mask, so I can veil my soul. But my stare is so ruthless, it burns like hot coal, Or is it innocent, is it perfect and whole? Must I stay here for long, must I remain in isolation? To all, I have a neutral disposition. And the world wants to know, where I shall go, From the earth to the heavens, to the remains below? Who knows, is it my perplexing expression? Is that why I am such an obsession? Am I famed for my past? My haunting history? The time I was taken to a man with cruel intentions? That it was 1911, The papers went wild. Now every woman, man, and child, Knows of my infamous smile that went on For miles and miles. Meanwhile, I remain in the City of Love, Where even spirits who speak from above, Can say that I am almost like a dove, a symbol of peace and innocent smiles Yet a powerful muse, who was victim of a ruse. If you carefully read along, then swiftly like the notes in a song, You will find out who I am, as this poem has the clues.

Happiness: Perfectly landing a crumpled paper toss into the trash. Stepping out into the rain on a whim, Spontaneous comebacks that are more witty than brash, Applying Korean face masks to rejuvenate my skin. A slight exchange of a smirk with a stranger on the street. The tousled fur of my Pomeranian's stomach, begging to be caressed. Combing back gelled hair, scented, moist, and neat. Letting out the truth, long awaited to be confessed. Earth, Wind, and Fire, on a Saturday night. Frankie Vallie’s falsetto, smooth, buttery heaven. Escaping to a party, after a week of endless plight. Netflix on a Friday, nosebleeds and Eleven. Drive-in movie theatres, spontaneous occasions. Spicy food, that makes you cry and simultaneously rejoice. Flowers so aromatic and vast, you fail to put a vase in. Laughing until I’m deep in pain, and hoarse all through my voice. Winning after failure, trial after trial. Nailing a presentation, but then exiting in style. Confronting all my demons after living in denial, Wearing different hats, a life that's versatile.

"Black Water" is a song that addresses the deep-rooted suppression of human freedom that people are still subjected to on a global scale, such as human trafficking (particularly women and children), gender discrimination, and the suppression of people's liberties to speak their thoughts without fear for their lives. The chorus utilizes the metaphor of water, which is normally cleansing and transparent, but is now muddied by the polluting societal norms that the "victim" believes is one of the "natural" elements of life, like water.

Harvard Haze by Cybèle 1. American Boy - Kanye West and Estelle 2. September - Earth, Wind, and Fire 3. Yada Yada - Anderson .Paak 4. B.S. - H.E.R. and Jhene Aiko 5. Superstar - Jamelia 6. Shake it Off - Mariah Carey 7. She Works Hard - Donna Summer

“…From sea to shining sea...!” Singing the Mandarin version of "America the Beautiful" in a recording studio, clutching the microphone in nervous excitement, I imagined the millions of people who would watch the 2014 Super Bowl Coca-Cola commercial aiming to celebrate the multi-cultural identity of America. Following a nationwide search, I was proud to be representing my country where different cultures were embraced. I ended a promo for the commercial with “If you can’t speak someone else’s language, you can use music to communicate.” Although it represented what I believed to be a realistic portrayal of modern-day America, the campaign proved controversial and Coca-Cola had to censor YouTube comments such as "this girl doesn't even speak English” questioning why they had let me sing a quintessentially American song in a language other than English for an event as cherished as the Super Bowl. At age 11, I was deflated by the criticism, wanting to share with critics that I did in fact speak English and had assiduously translated the English into Chinese, trying to capture the nuance of the lyrics. Ironically, just a few years earlier, when living in China, I wasn’t considered Chinese enough. At eight years old, only a month after being thrust into the Beijing school system, I stood with both arms out in punishment, speechless in front of the class, as my teacher threatened to hit the waiguoren (foreigner) for my clumsy non-Chinese method of solving a math problem. Spending my childhood across three continents with a Chinese-American mom and French dad, multiculturalism was my norm. I learned Chinese, English, and French simultaneously, and for much of my childhood, felt comfortable and even grateful for my ability to participate in all three cultures, whereas these experiences left me feeling inadequately able to represent any of them. Wanting to better understand why differences would prompt fear and be met with contempt, I engrossed myself in studying key moments in history and attempting to look beyond my privileged international upbringing. My piano bench my abode, I spent countless hours, striking ivory chords and furiously scribbling ideas in my notebooks, trying to reconcile the past and the present, and make music out of the discord. Meanwhile, I continued to do what I love, supporting people in the community by singing — whether performing at American Cancer Society events or animating fundraising benefits for children. Unexpectedly, songwriting and singing became tools for me to speak out and attempt to bring about change. Through songwriting, my indignation became my inspiration. Years spent in my room drafting songs related to social justice, gender equality, and racism eventually led to composing a song dedicated to the ongoing struggle for civil rights in the United States that won the 2018 Robert F. Kennedy Human Rights Speak Up & Sing Out Music Contest, and was broadcast on Capitol Hill. Whether I was singing to myself in my bedroom or performing my songs in front of hundreds of people, I realized that music has a power to connect beyond that of words themselves. Today, I am no longer the nervous 11-year old who would stay quiet in the face of criticism and racially-charged judgments. Instead, I see my position as one of empowerment, to bridge not only cultures but ways of thinking about certain social issues; I see every new song I write as an opportunity to promote discourse and take a step towards creating change. Years later, at the Clive Davis Theater in the Grammy Museum, I take a deep breath and sing the opening line from my song, "Proclamation"— “I have faith in humanity, rising from sorrow, we’ll lead.”

“…From sea to shining sea...!” Singing the Mandarin version of "America the Beautiful" in a recording studio, clutching the microphone in nervous excitement, I imagined the millions of people who would watch the 2014 Super Bowl Coca-Cola commercial aiming to celebrate the multi-cultural identity of America. Although it represented what I believed to be a realistic portrayal of modern-day America, the campaign proved controversial and Coca-Cola had to censor YouTube comments such as "this girl doesn't even speak English” questioning why they had let me sing a quintessentially American song in a language other than English for an event as cherished as the Super Bowl. At age 11, I was deflated by the criticism, wanting to share with critics that I did in fact speak English and had assiduously translated the English into Chinese, trying to capture the nuance of the lyrics. Spending my childhood across three continents with a Chinese-American mom and French dad, multiculturalism was my norm. I learned Chinese, English, and French simultaneously, and for much of my childhood, felt comfortable and even grateful for my ability to participate in all three cultures, whereas this experience left me feeling inadequately able to represent any of them. Wanting to better understand why differences would prompt fear and be met with contempt, I engrossed myself in studying key moments in history and attempting to look beyond my privileged international upbringing. My piano bench my abode, I spent countless hours, striking ivory chords and furiously scribbling ideas in my notebooks, trying to reconcile the past and the present, and make music out of the discord. Meanwhile, I continued to do what I love, supporting people in the community by singing — whether performing at American Cancer Society events or animating fundraising benefits for children. Unexpectedly, songwriting and singing became tools for me to speak out and attempt to bring about change. Through songwriting, my indignation became my inspiration. Years spent in my room drafting songs related to social justice, gender equality, and racism eventually led to composing a song dedicated to the ongoing struggle for civil rights in the United States that won the 2018 Robert F. Kennedy Human Rights Speak Up & Sing Out Music Contest, and was broadcast on Capitol Hill. Whether I was singing to myself in my bedroom or performing my songs in front of hundreds of people, I realized that music has a power to connect beyond that of words themselves. Today, I am no longer the nervous 11-year old who would stay quiet in the face of criticism and racially-charged judgments. Instead, I see my position as one of empowerment, to bridge not only cultures but ways of thinking about certain social issues; I see every new song I write as an opportunity to promote discourse and take a step towards creating change. I now recognize that my educational opportunities and the ability to express myself through language and music are essential in my mission to help the voiceless members of the world be heard. Therefore, I am choosing to pursue a dual degree at Berklee School of Music (for Music Business) as well as a degree in Psychology at Harvard University. At these two institutions, I will enhance my skillset and be given the tools I need to empower people to rise up against inequality and challenge the status quo in a peaceful and creative way.

The Critical Thinker The human race has seen some extraordinary people, and they have come and gone through the centuries, leaving huge impacts in people’s lives or none at all. When you hear the words “critical thinker”, the first people that come to mind are maybe Gandhi or Leonardo Da Vinci. You would never think of a singer like Beyoncé. But why wouldn’t you? Beyonce is a critical thinker because she is able to objectively analyze and evaluate a situation (the music business), and act upon it. She knows the right content to put out there and knows how to adapt quickly to the entertainment scene and has been doing so actively throughout her career. She is one of the best-selling music artists of all time, selling over 100 million records as a solo artist, is the most nominated woman in award history, has 28 Grammys under her belt, and has managed to be in the center of the public eye for the last 2 decades. She makes it seem so effortless. But behind all the glitz and glamour, is an ingenious human being who always thinks of ways to reinvent herself. Singers in the music industry can have little to no control of their career because they could’ve easily gone under the wrong management or made mistakes in the early stages of their career. Beyoncé Giselle Knowles Carter made sure to never have that happen by being grounded, an excellent strategist, a forward thinker and a detailed planner. And, Beyonce probably made the best decision at the beginning of her career when she joined a girl group called “Destiny’s Child”, and they rose together to fame in the late 90s. She had lots of help from her father, as the manager, and her mother, for mutual support. Beyoncé could’ve easily risen to fame as a solo artist, but knew that if she could be the centerpiece of Destiny’s Child, with her incredible vocal abilities, when her solo career began, she would have all her supporters from her girl group to buy her future records. And in her solo career, she began her own record label, Parkwood Entertainment, so she could make deals on her own terms and have as much creative freedom as possible. As well as taking steps in her musical career, she partnered with brands to make her own clothing lines, perfume lines, and a music service with her husband, Sean Carter. But the real icing on the cake was when Beyonce began starring in movies, and she garnered lots of success for her film roles. And what do all these things have in common? They’re all different steps she took to progress her career. She didn’t always have the same team for music videos, tours, and for representation. Nor did she always produce the same music or sell the same way. Her risk taking led her to progression in her career. From narcissistic music producers who are only willing to make lucrative decisions and not take big risks, to the media who always pick at the trivial physical flaws of music artists, it is very easy for the artist to succumb to the pressure and ride in the same creative train that everyone else is expected ride, taking no huge risks at all and consequently failing to progress. Beyoncé is a different case. The media mogul and entrepreneur is constantly finding ways to keep her audience interested and craving for more. She doesn’t like being predictable and avoids it as much as possible by always experimenting with new styles of music and ways to “sell” herself. Every album she makes shows a new side of her creative perspective and it may not only be the content and lyrics of the album, but the way she releases her album and the smart marketing tactics she uses to boost her sales. Normally, an artist’s record label gets to decide how to market an album with a set budget and deadline. But in Beyonce’s case, she is the one controlling how her album is marketed or in this matter, if it even is marketed, and which streaming services you can listen to her album on. On top of that, she likes to drop the album with little to no warning at all, through her social media. Her spontaneity and ability to drop records on a whim without warning is what is incredibly endearing. And, for the last three years, she has remained very present in the media, despite her lack of interviews and talk show appearances. For example, in 2016, she recently dropped a visual album called “Lemonade” with practically no warning at all, and the only way to stream the album is to pay for a subscription to her husband’s streaming service, Tidal, which was flopping. But thanks to perfect timing, marketing, the fact she hadn’t made music in three years which increased the demand of content from her, her album was extremely successful despite how expensive it was. And out of her recent album success, she has embarked on her “Formation World Tour”, which became her highest grossing tour to date. By staying focused and using her critical thinking skills to analyze the music industry, Beyonce has steadily risen to fame and her music empire. Through her hard work and ambitious mindset, she has revolutionized the music industry and paved the way for women who want to start businesses and to thrive in their fields. She continues to grow creatively and redefine what it means to be a successful female singer in the 21st century. As a woman hoping to pursue music as well, I have always looked up to Beyonce as a role model. Her work ethic, her tenacity, her unrelenting attitude are all incredibly inspiring. In the future, I hope to have my own record label and represent POC artists, as well as bring Asian artists to the mainstream so that I too can help broadcast my message to a larger audience.

“…From sea to shining sea...!” Singing the Mandarin version of "America the Beautiful" in a recording studio, clutching the microphone in nervous excitement, I imagined the millions of people who would watch the 2014 Super Bowl Coca-Cola commercial aiming to celebrate the multi-cultural identity of America. Following a nationwide search, I was proud to be representing my country where different cultures were embraced. I ended a promo for the commercial with “If you can’t speak someone else’s language, you can use music to communicate.” Although it represented what I believed to be a realistic portrayal of modern-day America, the campaign proved controversial and Coca-Cola had to censor YouTube comments such as "this girl doesn't even speak English” questioning why they had let me sing a quintessentially American song in a language other than English for an event as cherished as the Super Bowl. At age 11, I was deflated by the criticism, wanting to share with critics that I did in fact speak English and had assiduously translated the English into Chinese, trying to capture the nuance of the lyrics. Ironically, just a few years earlier, when living in China, I wasn’t considered Chinese enough. At eight years old, only a month after being thrust into the Beijing school system, I stood with both arms out in punishment, speechless in front of the class, as my teacher threatened to hit the waiguoren (foreigner) for my clumsy non-Chinese method of solving a math problem. Spending my childhood across three continents with a Chinese-American mom and French dad, multiculturalism was my norm. I learned Chinese, English, and French simultaneously, and for much of my childhood, felt comfortable and even grateful for my ability to participate in all three cultures, whereas these experiences left me feeling inadequately able to represent any of them. Wanting to better understand why differences would prompt fear and be met with contempt, I engrossed myself in studying key moments in history and attempting to look beyond my privileged international upbringing. My piano bench my abode, I spent countless hours, striking ivory chords and furiously scribbling ideas in my notebooks, trying to reconcile the past and the present, and make music out of the discord. Meanwhile, I continued to do what I love, supporting people in the community by singing — whether performing at American Cancer Society events or animating fundraising benefits for children. Unexpectedly, songwriting and singing became tools for me to speak out and attempt to bring about change. Through songwriting, my indignation became my inspiration. Years spent in my room drafting songs related to social justice, gender equality, and racism eventually led to composing a song dedicated to the ongoing struggle for civil rights in the United States that won the 2018 Robert F. Kennedy Human Rights Speak Up & Sing Out Music Contest, and was broadcast on Capitol Hill. Whether I was singing to myself in my bedroom or performing my songs in front of hundreds of people, I realized that music has a power to connect beyond that of words themselves. Today, I am no longer the nervous 11-year old who would stay quiet in the face of criticism and racially-charged judgments. Instead, I see my position as one of empowerment, to bridge not only cultures but ways of thinking about certain social issues; I see every new song I write as an opportunity to promote discourse and take a step towards creating change. Years later, at the Clive Davis Theater in the Grammy Museum, I take a deep breath and sing the opening line from my song, "Proclamation"— “I have faith in humanity, rising from sorrow, we’ll lead.”

“…From sea to shining sea...!” Singing the Mandarin version of "America the Beautiful" in a recording studio, clutching the microphone in nervous excitement, I imagined the millions of people who would watch the 2014 Super Bowl Coca-Cola commercial aiming to celebrate the multi-cultural identity of America. Although it represented what I believed to be a realistic portrayal of modern-day America, the campaign proved controversial and Coca-Cola had to censor YouTube comments such as "this girl doesn't even speak English” questioning why they had let me sing a quintessentially American song in a language other than English for an event as cherished as the Super Bowl. At age 11, I was deflated by the criticism, wanting to share with critics that I did in fact speak English and had assiduously translated the English into Chinese, trying to capture the nuance of the lyrics. Spending my childhood across three continents with a Chinese-American mom and French dad, multiculturalism was my norm. I learned Chinese, English, and French simultaneously, and for much of my childhood, felt comfortable and even grateful for my ability to participate in all three cultures, whereas this experience left me feeling inadequately able to represent any of them. Wanting to better understand why differences would prompt fear and be met with contempt, I engrossed myself in studying key moments in history and attempting to look beyond my privileged international upbringing. My piano bench my abode, I spent countless hours, striking ivory chords and furiously scribbling ideas in my notebooks, trying to reconcile the past and the present, and make music out of the discord. Meanwhile, I continued to do what I love, supporting people in the community by singing. Unexpectedly, songwriting and singing became tools for me to speak out and attempt to bring about change. Through songwriting, my indignation became my inspiration. Years spent in my room drafting songs related to social justice, gender equality, and racism eventually led to composing a song dedicated to the ongoing struggle for civil rights in the United States that won the 2018 Robert F. Kennedy Human Rights Speak Up & Sing Out Music Contest, and was broadcast on Capitol Hill. Whether I was singing to myself in my bedroom or performing my songs in front of hundreds of people, I realized that music has a power to connect beyond that of words themselves. Today, I am no longer the nervous 11-year old who would stay quiet in the face of criticism and racially-charged judgments. Instead, I see my position as one of empowerment, to bridge not only cultures but ways of thinking about certain social issues; I see every new song I write as an opportunity to promote discourse and take a step towards creating change. Years later, at the Clive Davis Theater in the Grammy Museum, I take a deep breath and sing the opening line from my song, "Proclamation"— “I have faith in humanity, rising from sorrow, we’ll lead.”

“…From sea to shining sea...!” Singing the Mandarin version of "America the Beautiful" in a recording studio, clutching the microphone in nervous excitement, I imagined the millions of people who would watch the 2014 Super Bowl Coca-Cola commercial aiming to celebrate the multi-cultural identity of America. Following a nationwide search, I was proud to be representing my country where different cultures were embraced. I ended a promo for the commercial with “If you can’t speak someone else’s language, you can use music to communicate.” Although it represented what I believed to be a realistic portrayal of modern-day America, the campaign proved controversial and Coca-Cola had to censor YouTube comments such as "this girl doesn't even speak English” questioning why they had let me sing a quintessentially American song in a language other than English. At age 11, I was deflated by the criticism, wanting to share with critics that I did in fact speak English and had assiduously translated the English into Chinese, trying to capture the nuance of the lyrics. Ironically, just a few years earlier, when living in China, I wasn’t considered Chinese enough. At eight years old, only a month after being thrust into the Beijing school system, I stood with both arms out in punishment, speechless in front of the class, as my teacher threatened to hit the waiguoren (foreigner) for my clumsy non-Chinese method of solving a math problem. Spending my childhood across three continents with a Chinese-American mom and French dad, multiculturalism was my norm. I learned Chinese, English, and French simultaneously, and for much of my childhood, felt comfortable and even grateful for my ability to participate in all three cultures, whereas these experiences left me feeling inadequately able to represent any of them. Wanting to better understand why differences would prompt fear and be met with contempt, I engrossed myself in studying key moments in history and attempting to look beyond my privileged international upbringing. My piano bench my abode, I spent countless hours, striking ivory chords and furiously scribbling ideas in my notebooks, trying to reconcile the past and the present, and make music out of the discord. Meanwhile, I continued to do what I love, supporting people in the community by singing — whether performing at American Cancer Society events or animating fundraising benefits for children. Unexpectedly, songwriting and singing became tools for me to speak out and attempt to bring about change. Through songwriting, my indignation became my inspiration. Years spent in my room drafting songs related to social justice, gender equality, and racism eventually led to composing a song dedicated to the ongoing struggle for civil rights in the United States that won the 2018 Robert F. Kennedy Human Rights Speak Up & Sing Out Music Contest, and was broadcast on Capitol Hill. Whether I was singing to myself in my bedroom or performing my songs in front of hundreds of people, I realized that music has a power to connect beyond that of words themselves. Today, I am no longer the nervous 11-year old who would stay quiet in the face of criticism and racially-charged judgments. Instead, I see my position as one of empowerment, to bridge not only cultures but ways of thinking about certain social issues; I see every new song I write as an opportunity to promote discourse and take a step towards creating change. Years later, at the Clive Davis Theater in the Grammy Museum, I take a deep breath and sing the opening line from my song, "Proclamation"— “I have faith in humanity, rising from sorrow, we’ll lead.”

"You better not be trippin’ over none of those guys, none of these guys. Why see all the pain and sorry? Matter fact, by tomorrow, It’ll fade away.” Sharing my song of female empowerment with my grandmother, she seemed proud of me for using my talent, music, as a tool to inspire other women to reach and aspire for greatness. Staying with my grandparents over the summer break, I used my time writing songs. As I dove into the dumplings, my grandmother started talking as if to get something off of her chest. “You know,” she said, “I was thinking about the song you shared with me. About women being independent. Life is not as straightforward as that.” She went on to explain that after she got married with my grandfather, she had to make very difficult decisions that tested her faith as both a wife and a woman with her own ambitions in life. Just when my grandmother fell pregnant with their third child, my grandfather was offered his first post-graduate job. Although she only had one more year to finish her research for her PhD in biology, she had no other choice but to abandon her doctorate and accompany him with her other two young children to New Haven, CT to his new post at Yale. When I asked her why she didn’t just finish her studies, and then join him later, she explained that my granddad, especially as a recent immigrant from China “was lucky to get such a prestigious job, and it didn’t even seem in the realm of possibility that as the wife I would not join him.” Prior to having such a discussion with my grandmother, I had always perceived women’s inequality from my vantage point, in the classroom where I knew that my grandma went back to finish her doctorate in her mid-50’s. After all her children had all left home with their college tuition paid off, I never really understood why it mattered so much to her, why it was so significant that she could go back to living in a dorm room for her studies. I realized the most important thing to do to help women in society was to have an empathetic understanding for their past as well as a clear direction for the future. In accordance with this, I believe that women deserve bigger platforms in order to communicate our stories and message with larger audiences.

In 1903, Marie Curie won her first Nobel Prize (with her husband) for their work on the study of radiation; she was the first woman to receive this award. 8 years later, she received a second for the discovery of Polonium and Radium. She also gained worldwide fame. During World War I, some doctors discovered that using X-rays, the location of the wounds of many soldiers could be detected very effectively. By setting up trucks called “Petites Curies”, it is estimated that Marie Curie was able to save around 1 million lives.

“…From sea to shining sea...!” Singing the Mandarin version of "America the Beautiful" in a recording studio, clutching the microphone in nervous excitement, I imagined the millions of people who would watch the 2014 Super Bowl Coca-Cola commercial aiming to celebrate the multi-cultural identity of America. Following a nationwide search, I was proud to be representing my country where different cultures were embraced. I ended a promo for the commercial with “If you can’t speak someone else’s language, you can use music to communicate.” Although it represented what I believed to be a realistic portrayal of modern-day America, the campaign proved controversial and Coca-Cola had to censor YouTube comments such as "this girl doesn't even speak English” questioning why they had let me sing a quintessentially American song in a language other than English for an event as cherished as the Super Bowl. At age 11, I was deflated by the criticism, wanting to share with critics that I did in fact speak English and had assiduously translated the English into Chinese, trying to capture the nuance of the lyrics. Ironically, just a few years earlier, when living in China, I wasn’t considered Chinese enough. At eight years old, only a month after being thrust into the Beijing school system, I stood with both arms out in punishment, speechless in front of the class, as my teacher threatened to hit the waiguoren (foreigner) for my clumsy non-Chinese method of solving a math problem. Spending my childhood across three continents with a Chinese-American mom and French dad, multiculturalism was my norm. I learned Chinese, English, and French simultaneously, and for much of my childhood, felt comfortable and even grateful for my ability to participate in all three cultures, whereas these experiences left me feeling inadequately able to represent any of them. Wanting to better understand why differences would prompt fear and be met with contempt, I engrossed myself in studying key moments in history and attempting to look beyond my privileged international upbringing. My piano bench my abode, I spent countless hours, striking ivory chords and furiously scribbling ideas in my notebooks, trying to reconcile the past and the present, and make music out of the discord. Meanwhile, I continued to do what I love, supporting people in the community by singing — whether performing at American Cancer Society events or animating fundraising benefits for children. Unexpectedly, songwriting and singing became tools for me to speak out and attempt to bring about change. Years spent in my room drafting songs related to social justice, gender equality, and racism eventually led to composing a song dedicated to the ongoing struggle for civil rights in the United States that won the 2018 Robert F. Kennedy Human Rights Speak Up & Sing Out Music Contest, and was broadcast on Capitol Hill. Whether I was singing to myself in my bedroom or performing my songs in front of hundreds of people, I realized that music has a power to connect beyond that of words themselves. Today, I am no longer the nervous 11-year old who would stay quiet in the face of criticism and racially-charged judgments. Instead, I see my position as one of empowerment, to bridge not only cultures but ways of thinking about certain social issues; I see every new song I write as an opportunity to promote discourse and take a step towards creating change. Years later, at the Clive Davis Theater in the Grammy Museum, I take a deep breath and sing the opening line from my song, "Proclamation"— “I have faith in humanity, rising from sorrow, we’ll lead.”

To alleviate my loneliness due to COVID-19 isolation, I turned to self-development which inspired me to not only look inwards but outwards. Due to certain family health concerns, I was not allowed to interact with others. Instead of focusing on the standardized tests I had planned to take or people I couldn’t see, I looked for ways to escape feeling trapped in seclusion. Spending time on self-development, I read books like High Performance Habits by Brendon Burchard and did Bob Proctor meditations. Noticing many of my classmates feeling lonely as well, I used what I learned and tried to motivate them to make paradigm shifts. My renewed sense of optimism also gave me the courage to try new virtual approaches to share my music to help others. I produced online concerts to thank healthcare workers and successfully composed, recorded, and produced, with the help of my classmate/producer, “Flower of Hope,” a fundraiser theme song that I was commissioned to write for the American Cancer Society West Region. In a funny way, my desire to help others during COVID-19 gave me the opportunity to try (and succeed at!) new things that were outside my comfort zone.

To alleviate my loneliness due to COVID-19 isolation, I turned to self-development which inspired me to not only look inwards but outwards. Due to certain family health concerns, I was not allowed to interact with others. Instead of focusing on the standardized tests I had planned to take or people I couldn’t see, I looked for ways to escape feeling trapped in seclusion. Spending time on self-development, I read books like High Performance Habits by Brendon Burchard and did Bob Proctor meditations. Noticing many of my classmates feeling lonely as well, I used what I learned and tried to motivate them to make paradigm shifts. My renewed sense of optimism also gave me the courage to try new virtual approaches to share my music to help others. I produced online concerts to thank healthcare workers and successfully composed, recorded, and produced, with the help of my classmate/producer, “Flower of Hope,” a fundraiser theme song that I was commissioned to write for the American Cancer Society West Region. In a funny way, my desire to help others during COVID-19 gave me the opportunity to try (and succeed at!) new things that were outside my comfort zone.

“…From sea to shining sea...!” Singing the Mandarin version of "America the Beautiful" in a recording studio, clutching the microphone in nervous excitement, I imagined the millions of people who would watch the 2014 Super Bowl Coca-Cola commercial aiming to celebrate the multi-cultural identity of America. Following a nationwide search, I was proud to be representing my country where different cultures were embraced. I ended a promo for the commercial with “If you can’t speak someone else’s language, you can use music to communicate.” Although it represented what I believed to be a realistic portrayal of modern-day America, the campaign proved controversial and Coca-Cola had to censor YouTube comments such as "this girl doesn't even speak English” questioning why they had let me sing a quintessentially American song in a language other than English for an event as cherished as the Super Bowl. At age 11, I was deflated by the criticism, wanting to share with critics that I did in fact speak English and had assiduously translated the English into Chinese, trying to capture the nuance of the lyrics. Ironically, just a few years earlier, when living in China, I wasn’t considered Chinese enough. At eight years old, only a month after being thrust into the Beijing school system, I stood with both arms out in punishment, speechless in front of the class, as my teacher threatened to hit the waiguoren (foreigner) for my clumsy non-Chinese method of solving a math problem. Spending my childhood across three continents with a Chinese-American mom and French dad, multiculturalism was my norm. I learned Chinese, English, and French simultaneously, and for much of my childhood, felt comfortable and even grateful for my ability to participate in all three cultures, whereas these experiences left me feeling inadequately able to represent any of them. Wanting to better understand why differences would prompt fear and be met with contempt, I engrossed myself in studying key moments in history and attempting to look beyond my privileged international upbringing. My piano bench my abode, I spent countless hours, striking ivory chords and furiously scribbling ideas in my notebooks, trying to reconcile the past and the present, and make music out of the discord. Meanwhile, I continued to do what I love, supporting people in the community by singing — whether performing at American Cancer Society events or animating fundraising benefits for children. Unexpectedly, songwriting and singing became tools for me to speak out and attempt to bring about change. Through songwriting, my indignation became my inspiration. Years spent in my room drafting songs related to social justice, gender equality, and racism eventually led to composing a song dedicated to the ongoing struggle for civil rights in the United States that won the 2018 Robert F. Kennedy Human Rights Speak Up & Sing Out Music Contest, and was broadcast on Capitol Hill. Whether I was singing to myself in my bedroom or performing my songs in front of hundreds of people, I realized that music has a power to connect beyond that of words themselves. Today, I am no longer the nervous 11-year old who would stay quiet in the face of criticism and racially-charged judgments. Instead, I see my position as one of empowerment, to bridge not only cultures but ways of thinking about certain social issues; I see every new song I write as an opportunity to promote discourse and take a step towards creating change. Years later, at the Clive Davis Theater in the Grammy Museum, I take a deep breath and sing the opening line from my song, "Proclamation"— “I have faith in humanity, rising from sorrow, we’ll lead.”

“…From sea to shining sea...!” Singing the Mandarin version of "America the Beautiful" in a recording studio, clutching the microphone in nervous excitement, I imagined the millions of people who would watch the 2014 Super Bowl Coca-Cola commercial aiming to celebrate the multi-cultural identity of America. Following a nationwide search, I was proud to be representing my country where different cultures were embraced. I ended a promo for the commercial with “If you can’t speak someone else’s language, you can use music to communicate.” Although it represented what I believed to be a realistic portrayal of modern-day America, the campaign proved controversial and Coca-Cola had to censor YouTube comments such as "this girl doesn't even speak English” questioning why they had let me sing a quintessentially American song in a language other than English for an event as cherished as the Super Bowl. At age 11, I was deflated by the criticism, wanting to share with critics that I did in fact speak English and had assiduously translated the English into Chinese, trying to capture the nuance of the lyrics. Ironically, just a few years earlier, when living in China, I wasn’t considered Chinese enough. At eight years old, only a month after being thrust into the Beijing school system, I stood with both arms out in punishment, speechless in front of the class, as my teacher threatened to hit the waiguoren (foreigner) for my clumsy non-Chinese method of solving a math problem. I learned Chinese, English, and French simultaneously, and for much of my childhood, felt comfortable and even grateful for my ability to participate in all three cultures, whereas these experiences left me feeling inadequately able to represent any of them. Wanting to better understand why differences would prompt fear and be met with contempt, I engrossed myself in studying key moments in history and attempting to look beyond my privileged international upbringing. My piano bench my abode, I spent countless hours, striking ivory chords and furiously scribbling ideas in my notebooks, trying to reconcile the past and the present, and make music out of the discord. Meanwhile, I continued to do what I love, supporting people in the community by singing — whether performing at American Cancer Society events or animating fundraising benefits for children. Unexpectedly, songwriting and singing became tools for me to speak out and attempt to bring about change. Through songwriting, my indignation became my inspiration. Years spent in my room drafting songs related to social justice, gender equality, and racism eventually led to composing a song dedicated to the ongoing struggle for civil rights in the United States that won the 2018 Robert F. Kennedy Human Rights Speak Up & Sing Out Music Contest, and was broadcast on Capitol Hill. Whether I was singing to myself in my bedroom or performing my songs in front of hundreds of people, I realized that music has a power to connect beyond that of words themselves. Today, I am no longer the nervous 11-year old who would stay quiet in the face of criticism and racially-charged judgments. Instead, I see my position as one of empowerment, to bridge not only cultures but ways of thinking about certain social issues; I see every new song I write as an opportunity to promote discourse and take a step towards creating change. Years later, at the Clive Davis Theater in the Grammy Museum, I take a deep breath and sing the opening line from my song, "Proclamation"— “I have faith in humanity, rising from sorrow, we’ll lead.”

“…From sea to shining sea...!” Singing the Mandarin version of "America the Beautiful" in a recording studio, clutching the microphone in nervous excitement, I imagined the millions of people who would watch the 2014 Super Bowl Coca-Cola commercial aiming to celebrate the multi-cultural identity of America. Following a nationwide search, I was proud to be representing my country where different cultures were embraced. I ended a promo for the commercial with “If you can’t speak someone else’s language, you can use music to communicate.” Although it represented what I believed to be a realistic portrayal of modern-day America, the campaign proved controversial and Coca-Cola had to censor YouTube comments such as "this girl doesn't even speak English” questioning why they had let me sing a quintessentially American song in a language other than English for an event as cherished as the Super Bowl. At age 11, I was deflated by the criticism, wanting to share with critics that I did in fact speak English and had assiduously translated the English into Chinese, trying to capture the nuance of the lyrics. Ironically, just a few years earlier, when living in China, I wasn’t considered Chinese enough. At eight years old, only a month after being thrust into the Beijing school system, I stood with both arms out in punishment, speechless in front of the class, as my teacher threatened to hit the waiguoren (foreigner) for my clumsy non-Chinese method of solving a math problem. Spending my childhood across three continents with a Chinese-American mom and French dad, multiculturalism was my norm. I learned Chinese, English, and French simultaneously, and for much of my childhood, felt comfortable and even grateful for my ability to participate in all three cultures, whereas these experiences left me feeling inadequately able to represent any of them. Wanting to better understand why differences would prompt fear and be met with contempt, I engrossed myself in studying key moments in history and attempting to look beyond my privileged international upbringing. My piano bench my abode, I spent countless hours, striking ivory chords and furiously scribbling ideas in my notebooks, trying to reconcile the past and the present, and make music out of the discord. Meanwhile, I continued to do what I love, supporting people in the community by singing — whether performing at American Cancer Society events or animating fundraising benefits for children. Unexpectedly, songwriting and singing became tools for me to speak out and attempt to bring about change. Through songwriting, my indignation became my inspiration. Years spent in my room drafting songs related to social justice, gender equality, and racism eventually led to composing a song dedicated to the ongoing struggle for civil rights in the United States that won the 2018 Robert F. Kennedy Human Rights Speak Up & Sing Out Music Contest, and was broadcast on Capitol Hill. Whether I was singing to myself in my bedroom or performing my songs in front of hundreds of people, I realized that music has a power to connect beyond that of words themselves. Today, I am no longer the nervous 11-year old who would stay quiet in the face of criticism and racially-charged judgments. Instead, I see my position as one of empowerment, to bridge not only cultures but ways of thinking about certain social issues; I see every new song I write as an opportunity to promote discourse and take a step towards creating change. Years later, at the Clive Davis Theater in the Grammy Museum, I take a deep breath and sing the opening line from my song, "Proclamation"— “I have faith in humanity, rising from sorrow, we’ll lead.”

“…From sea to shining sea...!” Singing the Mandarin version of "America the Beautiful" in a recording studio, clutching the microphone in nervous excitement, I imagined the millions of people who would watch the 2014 Super Bowl Coca-Cola commercial aiming to celebrate the multi-cultural identity of America. Following a nationwide search, I was proud to be representing my country where different cultures were embraced. I ended a promo for the commercial with “If you can’t speak someone else’s language, you can use music to communicate.” Although it represented what I believed to be a realistic portrayal of modern-day America, the campaign proved controversial and Coca-Cola had to censor YouTube comments such as "this girl doesn't even speak English” questioning why they had let me sing a quintessentially American song in a language other than English for an event as cherished as the Super Bowl. At age 11, I was deflated by the criticism, wanting to share with critics that I did in fact speak English and had assiduously translated the English into Chinese, trying to capture the nuance of the lyrics. Wanting to better understand why differences would prompt fear and be met with contempt, I engrossed myself in studying key moments in history and attempting to look beyond my privileged international upbringing. My piano bench my abode, I spent countless hours, striking ivory chords and furiously scribbling ideas in my notebooks, trying to reconcile the past and the present, and make music out of the discord. Meanwhile, I continued to do what I love, supporting people in the community by singing — whether performing at American Cancer Society events or animating fundraising benefits for children. Unexpectedly, songwriting and singing became tools for me to speak out and attempt to bring about change. Through songwriting, my indignation became my inspiration. Years spent in my room drafting songs related to social justice, gender equality, and racism eventually led to composing a song dedicated to the ongoing struggle for civil rights in the United States that won the 2018 Robert F. Kennedy Human Rights Speak Up & Sing Out Music Contest, and was broadcast on Capitol Hill. Whether I was singing to myself in my bedroom or performing my songs in front of hundreds of people, I realized that music has a power to connect beyond that of words themselves. Today, I am no longer the nervous 11-year old who would stay quiet in the face of criticism and racially-charged judgments. Instead, I see my position as one of empowerment, to bridge not only cultures but ways of thinking about certain social issues; I see every new song I write as an opportunity to promote discourse and take a step towards creating change. Years later, at the Clive Davis Theater in the Grammy Museum, I take a deep breath and sing the opening line from my song, "Proclamation"— “I have faith in humanity, rising from sorrow, we’ll lead.”

“…From sea to shining sea...!” Singing the Mandarin version of "America the Beautiful" in a recording studio, clutching the microphone in nervous excitement, I imagined the millions of people who would watch the 2014 Super Bowl Coca-Cola commercial aiming to celebrate the multi-cultural identity of America. Following a nationwide search, I was proud to be representing my country where different cultures were embraced. I ended a promo for the commercial with “If you can’t speak someone else’s language, you can use music to communicate.” Although it represented what I believed to be a realistic portrayal of modern-day America, the campaign proved controversial and Coca-Cola had to censor YouTube comments such as "this girl doesn't even speak English” questioning why they had let me sing a quintessentially American song in a language other than English for an event as cherished as the Super Bowl. At age 11, I was deflated by the criticism, wanting to share with critics that I did in fact speak English and had assiduously translated the English into Chinese, trying to capture the nuance of the lyrics. Ironically, just a few years earlier, when living in China, I wasn’t considered Chinese enough. At eight years old, only a month after being thrust into the Beijing school system, I stood with both arms out in punishment, speechless in front of the class, as my teacher threatened to hit the waiguoren (foreigner) for my clumsy non-Chinese method of solving a math problem. Spending my childhood across three continents with a Chinese-American mom and French dad, multiculturalism was my norm. I learned Chinese, English, and French simultaneously, and for much of my childhood, felt comfortable and even grateful for my ability to participate in all three cultures, whereas these experiences left me feeling inadequately able to represent any of them. Wanting to better understand why differences would prompt fear and be met with contempt, I engrossed myself in studying key moments in history and attempting to look beyond my privileged international upbringing. My piano bench my abode, I spent countless hours, striking ivory chords and furiously scribbling ideas in my notebooks, trying to reconcile the past and the present, and make music out of the discord. Meanwhile, I continued to do what I love, supporting people in the community by singing — whether performing at American Cancer Society events or animating fundraising benefits for children. Unexpectedly, songwriting and singing became tools for me to speak out and attempt to bring about change. Through songwriting, my indignation became my inspiration. Years spent in my room drafting songs related to social justice, gender equality, and racism eventually led to composing a song dedicated to the ongoing struggle for civil rights in the United States that won the 2018 Robert F. Kennedy Human Rights Speak Up & Sing Out Music Contest, and was broadcast on Capitol Hill. Whether I was singing to myself in my bedroom or performing my songs in front of hundreds of people, I realized that music has a power to connect beyond that of words themselves. Today, I am no longer the nervous 11-year old who would stay quiet in the face of criticism and racially-charged judgments. Instead, I see my position as one of empowerment, to bridge not only cultures but ways of thinking about certain social issues; I see every new song I write as an opportunity to promote discourse and take a step towards creating change. Years later, at the Clive Davis Theater in the Grammy Museum, I take a deep breath and sing the opening line from my song, "Proclamation"— “I have faith in humanity, rising from sorrow, we’ll lead.”

The original intention was to compose a piece of music that would be suitable for instance, in a movie score. It struck me as inspiration one day when I was sitting atop the piano, and all of a sudden I felt this impulse to play a melody in what I perceived to be A major, atop a variation in the bass clef. Composed in C# minor, I transition from a Perfect 5th to Minor 6th and Major 6th intervals in the bass clef of the Grand Piano to progressively add more suspense through chromaticism, a trademark of the original James Bond theme. The finished product sounds akin to an apprehensive scene in a movie. The feeling evoked is meant to be cinematic and incredibly dynamic.