Defining my identity is something I have always struggled greatly with. When I was 12, I started to grapple with my gender expression, exploring a variety of presentations and labels that never seemed to quite fit. I experimented with presenting myself as agender, androgynous, and transmasculine, yet still failed to find a way to comfortably identify myself. Contributing to my ongoing distress and discomfort was the realization that I wasn't in a position to safely come out to my family, and I was obliged to conceal the struggle in order to maintain the peace at home. I tried to dismiss the sordid feeling that constantly crawled under my skin, the odd weight of having to be perceived as anything at all. I looked online for a label that might work for me, but nothing useful came of the search. Nobody at school or in my friend groups discussed these kinds of problems, so I was again obliged to keep quiet and struggle in silence. Feeling like an anomaly, I remember believing that I was the problem, that there was something deeply wrong with me. I descended into an obsessive sense of self-hatred and denial of the fact that I was queer at all. Growing up in a Hindu community in Texas, I observed how the queer-friendly aspects of Hinduism went overlooked. I saw the bigotry towards LGBTQ+ folks expanding in my community, despite Hinduism's encouragement of acceptance towards all individuals. While many Hindus recognize that there's no fundamental reason to reject people of any background, I observed the result of colonization and assimilation into the conservative attitudes rooted in the South. When I was 13, I decided to choose to distance myself from my religious community, alienating myself from my deeply faithful and religious family. I felt more alone than I'd ever felt before, but I could not bring myself to face the community once I observed how attitudes towards the LGBTQ+ community had been changed. When I was 14, the world shut down due to the COVID-19 pandemic. Feeling stuck as I was confined to an unaccepting household, I desperately needed to get the weight of my identity off my chest. Although I still hadn't found the right label, I decided to refer to myself as female-to-male transgender for the time being. As my communication had been confined to technology, I made the mistake of coming out to a teacher via e-mail. My parents saw the response to my e-mail as a notification on my phone, and my attempts to conceal what I'd been feeling was gone. Evidently, their response was less than ideal. It was the isolation due to quarantine regulations that would lead my psychological condition to worsen. I remember having no motivation to care about online schooling, as a failing grade could not disappoint my parents more than I already had. The world that the pandemic had constricted me to had utterly collapsed, and the claustrophobic feeling of being trapped with people that were incapable of accepting who I am made me feel utterly hopeless. In the months that followed my accidental outing, I became forlorn to the point of attempting to take my life. Since then, I've grown to believe that I am living my second shot at life, and I believe that this time, I will exist as myself. I know firsthand the damage that living inauthentically can do, and have since sworn never to hide myself again. I now identify as genderqueer, and I express myself in the way that feels comfortable. I will never again force myself to change who I am.

As a queer South Asian American raised in Texas and majoring in theatrical sound design, fitting in and finding a community has not necessarily been an easy task. My art is the most valuable tool I possess for being able to communicate, to combat cultural stigmas, and most importantly, to tell the stories that need to be told. I believe that this scholarship will be a valuable tool in allowing me to continue my studies and help to support, inform, and enrich my cultural, social, and artistic community. To begin with, communication has never quite come easily to me. While self-awareness and recognizing my thoughts, feelings, and needs was doable, putting these seemingly fleeting concepts into words has really never quite worked for me. Initially, connecting with music is how I first realized the value of sound and music as a tool for expression, as I gradually became frustrated as I felt stuck, unable to express myself. 13-year-old me playing the piano would have been mind-blown by my eventual discovery of conceptual theatrical design, as observing the intricacies of every technical element collaborating to demonstrate an overall concept was a truly incredible thing upon my introduction to theatre. I was immediately captivated, and decided not long after this discovery that this is what I wanted to do with my life. Theatre has taught me to incorporate and concentrate larger-than-life emotions into music and sound--the crushing weight of grief in a soundtrack for "A Monster Calls," the conflicting self-discovery and loss in the original "Spring Awakening," the greed and magic running wild in "The Tempest." Theatre has shown me the beautiful capacity for expression uniquely possessed by sound design. Furthermore, as an Asian-Indian American student pursuing higher education in the arts, I am able to combat cultural stigmas and discouragement surrounding the arts as a field of higher study. While India is a country of incredibly rich background in all areas of art, the notion that the arts are not a valuable field is becoming increasingly common against both Indian and Indian-American communities as our society learns to undervalue and overlook careers in the fine arts in exchange for higher-paying careers. As an Asian-Indian American student pursuing theatre, I am able to encourage awareness and acceptance of the importance of these studies. I'm thrilled when a family friend or community member asks about my plans past high school, as this allows me to normalize students of my background pursuing the arts, and to explain and inform my peers of the value and importance of similar careers. Lastly, I am pursuing a career in theatre to support the LGBTQ+ community. This community is integral to my life and to my self-expression, and I believe that this community is often overlooked and deprived of opportunities to have our stories told and listened to. I have observed how powerful theatre is as a tool for encouraging empathy and fostering connections, and I believe that theatre is an integral way to help the stories of my community be seen and heard. I've observed the visceral reactions audiences experience when our stories and issues are directly in front of them, looking them in the eyes, and I understand firsthand that those reactions are powerful. As I continue my studies in theatre, I vow to never allow my communities to go unheard. I refuse to let the arts be undervalued. My life's work will be dedicated to helping people see how the world could be, and any financial support to my education will allow me to support all of the people that deserve to finally be seen

As a queer South Asian American raised in Texas and majoring in theatrical sound design, fitting in and finding a community has not necessarily been an easy task. My art is the most valuable tool I possess for being able to communicate, to combat cultural stigmas, and most importantly, to tell the stories that need to be told. I believe that this scholarship will be a valuable tool in allowing me to continue my studies and help to support, inform, and enrich my cultural, social, and artistic community. To begin with, communication has never quite come easily to me. While self-awareness and recognizing my thoughts, feelings, and needs was doable, putting these seemingly fleeting concepts into words has really never quite worked for me. Initially, connecting with music is how I first realized the value of sound and music as a tool for expression, as I gradually became frustrated as I felt stuck, unable to express myself. 13-year-old me playing the piano would have been mind-blown by my eventual discovery of conceptual theatrical design, as observing the intricacies of every technical element collaborating to demonstrate an overall concept was a truly incredible thing upon my introduction to theatre. I was immediately captivated, and decided not long after this discovery that this is what I wanted to do with my life. Theatre has taught me to incorporate and concentrate larger-than-life emotions into music and sound--the crushing weight of grief in a soundtrack for "A Monster Calls," the conflicting self-discovery and loss in the original "Spring Awakening," the greed and magic running wild in "The Tempest." Theatre has shown me the beautiful capacity for expression uniquely possessed by sound design. Furthermore, as an Asian-Indian American student pursuing higher education in the arts, I am able to combat cultural stigmas and discouragement surrounding the arts as a field of higher study. While India is a country of incredibly rich background in all areas of art, the notion that the arts are not a valuable field is becoming increasingly common against both Indian and Indian-American communities as our society learns to undervalue and overlook careers in the fine arts in exchange for higher-paying careers. As an Asian-Indian American student pursuing theatre, I am able to encourage awareness and acceptance of the importance of these studies. I'm thrilled when a family friend or community member asks about my plans past high school, as this allows me to normalize students of my background pursuing the arts, and to explain and inform my peers of the value and importance of similar careers. Lastly, I am pursuing a career in theatre to support the LGBTQ+ community. This community is integral to my life and to my self-expression, and I believe that this community is often overlooked and deprived of opportunities to have our stories told and listened to. I have observed how powerful theatre is as a tool for encouraging empathy and fostering connections, and I believe that theatre is an integral way to help the stories of my community be seen and heard. I've observed the visceral reactions audiences experience when our stories and issues are directly in front of them, looking them in the eyes, and I understand firsthand that those reactions are powerful. As I continue my studies in theatre, I vow to never allow my communities to go unheard. I refuse to let the arts be undervalued. My life's work will be dedicated to helping people see how the world could be, and any financial support to my education will allow me to support all of the people that deserve to finally be seen.

Growing up, I first discovered a passion for learning through reading, burning through novels like kindling since elementary school. Reading everything I could get my hands on, I vividly remember insisting on bringing a book everywhere I went, visiting the school library every chance I got, and having to put books back on the shelf when the stack of titles in my arms appalled my parents during visits to the local library. I learned quickly how ingrained storytelling was in our everyday lives, from my grandfather's ghost stories to the books we were assigned in school. When I was eight years old, I began taking piano lessons. Although I recall struggling to find the motivation to practice, something about the ring of the shiny keys of my teacher's Wurlitzer upright piano gradually began to seem appealing. As both my skill and motivation increased, I discovered a newfound adrenaline in making it all the way through piece after piece. I began to love feeling the rush of energy as muscle memory and weeks of practice overpowered the waves of anxiety that came before a performance, allowing the music to float around the church where we held recitals. Listening to my fellow students perform became almost meditative as I learned to allow the music to quiet my mind. In middle school, my musical escapades furthered as I joined orchestra to fill an elective, deciding that if I liked the piano, I'd surely love the strings as well. Learning to play in an ensemble didn't come quite as easily as I'd hoped, as moving from a solo instrument to a large string ensemble requires quite a bit of learning to listen and adapt to the fellow musicians around you. While being in an orchestra worked absolute wonders for my technical and theory-based skills as a musician, these developments weren't the most impactful tactic that I learned. Instead, the most vital skill I took from orchestra was being able to conceptualize music. While solo piano comes with a slew of symbolism, orchestra introduced me to the art of longer-form storytelling through music while also encouraging my fellow musicians and I to learn about the deeper meaning behind each piece we played, fostering a newfound maturity and complexity in the way we approached music. Learning the empathetic detail behind every piece of music I heard and played led me to my next conquest: theatrical sound design. Before I was formally introduced into theatre, the idea of conceptual composition led me to composing my own music. I fiddled with my keyboard and experimented with melodies on my violin, but didn't break the surface of composition until high school. Armed with a MIDI controller and a composition software, I showed up to tech crew interviews for my school's play and made it onto the sound crew. Connecting my love of literature and storytelling with my passion for music allowed me to learn the art of conceptual sound design and communication through audio. Theatre is where I learned how truly powerful art is as a medium for fostering understanding and compassion between ourselves. I learned how the portrayal of all kinds of stories can deeply impact participants whether they're onstage, backstage, or in the audience. The detail behind every meticulous aspect of a show is incredibly conducive to breaking the barriers we carry throughout our lives, allowing us to profoundly communicate with and teach each other in a unique medium. My lifelong love for learning led me to my decision to pursue professional theatre, working to expand the understanding and compassion of my peers through stagecraft.

Working with the Jordan High School theatre company has helped me find and refine my passion for creating, shaping the key principles that I’ll carry with me with every step into the world of professional art. The first belief that theatre has helped me develop is that there’s always more than what meets the eye. As I learned the fundamentals of conceptual design, I realized the intricacy and intent behind every aspect of a production, down to the finest details: the engravings on cutlery, the timing of a lightning strike sound, the color of the curtains. Theatre spaces are covered floor-to-ceiling in the tiniest details that reveal the characters’ and plot’s deepest intricacies, as long as one knows where to look. Working alongside creators with the passion to hone every detail to encapsulate the perfect symbolism taught me the importance of critical thinking and analysis, and that few things should be taken at face value. Furthermore, I learned that no matter how magnitude differs between shows, no story is more important than another. It took time to truly be able to observe how important theatre is as a tool for developing empathy and understanding. Theatre provides a multisensory, vivid, and raw emotional experience, allowing the audience to see the world through different lenses and walk in each others’ shoes. The bonds formed by the company working together to build shows are like no other, as forming friendships and supporting each other during the winding process of putting together a story has gifted me and many of my peers with long-lasting, impactful relationships. Whether you’re in the audience or a company member, theatre allows everyone to take a step back and observe each other in the visceral, beautiful emotion that storytelling creates. Finally, my experience so far has left me with the philosophy that I choose to live fully through every day: humanism. Humanism is the belief in one another and our collective ability to act in the world’s best interest. It’s the belief that our experiences and relationships are our reason to live amidst the world’s chaos, and this is a principle fundamental to all aspects of theatre. I see this when we do our pre-show rituals, and we connect with and listen to each other. I see it in the crowds at conferences when people from all walks of life come together to celebrate our art. It’s in the tears shed during a heart-wrenching performance and in the warm hugs on closing night. I have lived these things, and these experiences have shaped my belief that theatre proves humanity’s goodness. We earnestly try to understand each other through song and dance and speech, and we fight tooth and nail to create this love for ourselves. My experience with the Jordan High School Theatre Company has demonstrated the importance of the love, connection, and understanding fostered by educational theatre. Under the direction of my brilliant teachers, Heather Villano and Andrew Midkiff, I've been inspired to share my craft with others and forge my own path. Mrs. Villano has taught me the importance of building and maintaining strong interpersonal connections through her tough-love style of teaching, yet relentless kindness. Mr. Midkiff has demonstrated the importance of making the choices that are right for you, and has shown his students that Jordan Theatre Company will always be a place for them to return to. Conclusively, theatre has left me with an endless amount of benefits, so I share the ones that I hope everybody gets a chance to feel for themselves. It’s the best feeling in the world.

As a queer South Asian American raised in Texas and majoring in theatrical sound design, fitting in and finding a community has not necessarily been an easy task. My art is the most valuable tool I possess for being able to communicate, to combat cultural stigmas, and most importantly, to tell the stories that need to be told. In my pursuit of higher education, I will use this scholarship to fund my studies and the development of my career, allowing me to continue to use theatre as a tool to serve the communities I represent. To begin with, communication has never quite come easily to me. While self-awareness and recognizing my thoughts, feelings, and needs was doable, putting these seemingly fleeting concepts into words has really never quite worked for me. Initially, connecting with music is how I first realized the value of sound and music as a tool for expression, as I gradually became frustrated as I felt stuck, unable to express myself. 13-year-old me playing the piano would have been mind-blown by my eventual discovery of conceptual theatrical design, as observing the intricacies of every technical element collaborating to demonstrate an overall concept was a truly incredible thing upon my introduction to theatre. I was immediately captivated, and decided not long after this discovery that this is what I wanted to do with my life. Theatre has taught me to incorporate and concentrate larger-than-life emotions into music and sound--the crushing weight of grief in a soundtrack for "A Monster Calls," the conflicting self-discovery and loss in the original "Spring Awakening," the greed and magic running wild in "The Tempest." Theatre has shown me the beautiful capacity for expression uniquely possessed by sound design. Furthermore, as an Asian-Indian American student pursuing higher education in the arts, I am able to combat cultural stigmas and discouragement surrounding the arts as a field of higher study. While India is a country of incredibly rich background in all areas of art, the notion that the arts are not a valuable field is becoming increasingly common against both Indian and Indian-American communities. It's easy for the arts to become an increasingly undervalued and overlooked field, but as an Asian-Indian American student pursuing theatre, I am able to encourage awareness and acceptance of the importance of these studies. Living in a community with a significant Desi community has been an absolute blessing, and I'm thrilled when a family friend or community member asks about my plans past high school. I embrace the opportunities to normalize students of my background pursuing the arts, and I hope to continue doing so as I progress in my career. Lastly, I believe in the power of theatre as a tool to develop connection and understanding across cultural groups. Theatre provides a multisensory, vivid, and raw emotional experience, allowing the audience to see the world through different lenses and walk in each others’ shoes. The bonds formed by the company working together to build shows are like no other, as forming friendships and supporting each other during the winding process of putting together a story has gifted me and many of my peers with long-lasting, impactful relationships. Whether you’re in the audience or a company member, theatre allows everyone to take a step back and observe each other in the visceral, beautiful emotion that storytelling creates. I have lived these connections, and these experiences have shaped my belief that theatre proves humanity’s goodness. We earnestly try to understand each other through song and dance and speech, and we fight tooth and nail to create this love for ourselves.

As a sound designer, my favorite piece I've created is an unrealized design for Frank Wedekind's 1891 "Spring Awakening: A Children's Tragedy." This design integrates ciphers and music by translating words into notes. Each scene in the play corresponds to a word in German or Latin, as the show is set in provincial Germany and Latin is repeatedly studied and referenced throughout the play. Each word has a specific emotional meaning that can't be fully translated to English. I translated the words by assigning letters to notes or chords, creating several cipher patterns with several unique combinations of notes and letters corresponding to the underlying meaning of each cipher. For example, the words "Fas" (Latin, meaning a God-given or inherent right/moral correctness) and "Nefas" (Latin, meaning something condemnable, God-forsaken, or morally reprehensible) are translated with a simple scale cipher, in which each alphabet corresponds with notes in an ascending pattern, starting with the note A1. The simplicity of this cipher reflects the moral objectivity conveyed by the words. The integration of ciphers as a whole is due to the show's central theme of the conflicts and struggles between censorship and knowledge. The ciphers are meant to resemble the consequences and implications of concealing knowledge, as the play follows three children who are left in the dark about the truths of life, reproduction, and morality. The incorporation of a hidden element into the music represents the eerie unrest, unease, and conflict that censorship creates throughout the show.

Working in the theatre has helped me find and refine my passion for creating, shaping the key principles that I’ll carry with me with every step into the world of professional art. The first belief that theatre has helped me develop is that there’s always more than what meets the eye. As I learned the fundamentals of conceptual design, I realized the intricacy and intent behind every aspect of a production, down to the finest details: the engravings on cutlery, the timing of a lightning strike sound, the color of the curtains. Theatre spaces are covered floor-to-ceiling in the tiniest details that reveal the characters’ and plot’s deepest intricacies, as long as one knows where to look. Working alongside creators with the passion to hone every detail to encapsulate the perfect symbolism taught me the importance of critical thinking and analysis, and that few things should be taken at face value. Furthermore, I learned that no matter how magnitude differs between shows, no story is more important than another. It took time to truly be able to observe how important theatre is as a tool for developing empathy and understanding. Theatre provides a multisensory, vivid, and raw emotional experience, allowing the audience to see the world through different lenses and walk in each others’ shoes. The bonds formed by the company working together to build shows are like no other, as forming friendships and supporting each other during the winding process of putting together a story has gifted me and many of my peers with long-lasting, impactful relationships. Whether you’re in the audience or a company member, theatre allows everyone to take a step back and observe each other in the visceral, beautiful emotion that storytelling creates. Finally, my experience so far has left me with the philosophy that I choose to live fully through every day: humanism. Humanism is the belief in one another and our collective ability to act in the world’s best interest. It’s the belief that our experiences and relationships are our reason to live amidst the world’s chaos, and this is a principle fundamental to all aspects of theatre. I see this when we do our pre-show rituals, and we connect with and listen to each other. I see it in the crowds at conferences when people from all walks of life come together to celebrate our art. It’s in the tears shed during a heart-wrenching performance and in the warm hugs on closing night. I have lived these things, and these experiences have shaped my belief that theatre proves humanity’s goodness. We earnestly try to understand each other through song and dance and speech, and we fight tooth and nail to create this love for ourselves. Conclusively, theatre has left me with an endless amount of benefits, so I share the ones that I hope everybody gets a chance to feel for themselves. It’s the best feeling in the world.

From the quiet keys of a piano to the layers of a theatrical underscore, my experience finding a voice has been valuable. I have never had an easy time communicating, as at an early age I developed an unfortunate idea that social and physical cues are irrelevant. This inability left me experiencing a wealth of emotions I did not have the words to describe, nor the means to express. I realized this was an issue during the pandemic, when the effects of social isolation combined with my long-lasting ineptness when it came to communication at last started to affect me. A solution came in the realization that a tool I had for years was the key to expressing these emotions: the piano. Having taken lessons since the second grade, it became apparent that for years, I had been using the instrument as a form of emotional expression without ever realizing it. I’d play pieces from years ago and feel nostalgia, I’d play an excerpt from Khatachurian’s Spartacus and Phrygia to release energy when I felt anxious, I’d practice the first few bars of the Howl’s Moving Castle theme to calm myself down when stressed. In the approximate year following this realization, playing and recording music became a form of solace. When I was 14, I bought myself a resold Ableton Live Suite license and a MIDI controller, and was introduced to the world of digital composition. I felt that the world was at my fingertips, the little keyboard granting me access to any instrument I liked, all of which I could tailor to express whatever I liked. In high school, it occurred to me that theatre may be a suitable medium to apply these skills, though I knew little about what theatrical conceptual design was like. The first show I sound designed for, Monty Python’s "SPAMalot", was a welcome introduction to the technology and facilities involved in sound design, but I did not realize the extent to which conceptual sound design was capable of conveying stories and experiences. I first felt that I was able to make an impact with sound while working on an unrealized design for Frank Wedekind's "Spring Awakening." Revolving around a world not unlike our own, plagued with censorship and misinformation, this play conveys the disastrous aftermath resulting from these societal ills and the hope that the future will be different. My design for this show incorporated auditory ciphers, layering words translated to sounds into my music. I chose words in German or Latin that reflected thematic elements in each scene, then "translated" these words to notes by assigning letters to specific notes. These ciphers helped me convey emotions that I didn't even know existed prior to this design. In a scene where a character's funeral takes place following his funeral, the German word "zerrissenheit" conveyed alienation and estrangement as the character's family curses him for his manner of death. The piece contained a repeating chord progression in which chords corresponded to letters, conveying a certain "torn-to-pieces-ness" that words can't quite convey. This design taught me the power sound has to enhance emotion, and therefore enhance the impact stories have on audiences. I learned how I could take the lessons that playwright Frank Wedekind taught his audiences in 1891, and convert them to an auditory format relevant to modern audiences. The journey from silence to sound has gifted me with a new way of experiencing the world, and inspired me to pursue a Bachelor of Fine Arts in Sound Design. I am inspired by the endless ways sound design can motivate expression and storytelling.

From the quiet keys of a piano to the layers of a theatrical underscore, my experience finding a voice has been valuable. I have never had an easy time communicating, as at an early age I developed an unfortunate idea that social and physical cues are irrelevant. This inability left me experiencing a wealth of emotions I did not have the words to describe, nor the means to express. I realized this was an issue during the pandemic, when the effects of social isolation combined with my long-lasting ineptness when it came to communication at last started to affect me. A solution came in the realization that a tool I had for years was the key to expressing these emotions: the piano. Having taken lessons since the second grade, it became apparent that for years, I had been using the instrument as a form of emotional expression without ever realizing it. I’d play pieces from years ago and feel nostalgia, I’d play an excerpt from Khatachurian’s Spartacus and Phrygia to release energy when I felt anxious, I’d practice the first few bars of the Howl’s Moving Castle theme to calm myself down when stressed. In the approximate year following this realization, playing and recording music became a form of solace. When I was 14, I bought myself a resold Ableton Live Suite license and a MIDI controller, and was introduced to the world of digital composition. I felt that the world was at my fingertips, the little keyboard granting me access to any instrument I liked, all of which I could tailor to express whatever I liked. In high school, it occurred to me that theatre may be a suitable medium to apply these skills, though I knew little about what theatrical conceptual design was like. The first show I sound designed for, Monty Python’s "SPAMalot", was a welcome introduction to the technology and facilities involved in sound design, but I did not realize the extent to which conceptual sound design was capable of conveying stories and experiences. I first felt that I was able to make an impact with sound while working on an unrealized design for Frank Wedekind's "Spring Awakening." Revolving around a world not unlike our own, plagued with censorship and misinformation, this play conveys the disastrous aftermath resulting from these societal ills and the hope that the future will be different. My design for this show incorporated auditory ciphers, layering words translated to sounds into my music. I chose words in German or Latin that reflected thematic elements in each scene, then "translated" these words to notes by assigning letters to specific notes. These ciphers helped me convey emotions that I didn't even know existed prior to this design. In a scene where a character's funeral takes place following his funeral, the German word "zerrissenheit" conveyed alienation and estrangement as the character's family curses him for his manner of death. The piece contained a repeating chord progression in which chords corresponded to letters, conveying a certain "torn-to-pieces-ness" that words can't quite convey. This design taught me the power sound has to enhance emotion, and therefore enhance the impact stories have on audiences. I learned how I could take the lessons that playwright Frank Wedekind taught his audiences in 1891, and convert them to an auditory format relevant to modern audiences. The journey from silence to sound has not only gifted me with a new way of experiencing the world, but positively altered my understanding of the world around me. I am enthused and inspired by the endless ways sound design can motivate expression and storytelling.

I pride myself as a literary and film enthusiast. From a young age, I've had an endless capacity for books and movies, and as a result of this, discovered the works of S.E. Hinton. Introduced to her work by reading The Outsiders in class, I was quickly exposed to her other works, and what would become both one of my favorite books and movies: Rumble Fish. Rumble Fish tells many stories. It tells a tale of a dysfunctional family, of morality, of violence, of social issues, and of living in a world that you don't quite fit in. Blending a captivating plot with characters that spark curiosity and empathy with social topics that must be discussed, the book invites socioemotional growth. The movie adaptation takes these themes to another level with stylistic choices that further affirm the distinct uniqueness of the characters, applying these choices to motifs in the book. The main character, Rusty-James, aspires to be exactly like his brother, constantly restless and looking for a fight. He is perceived as a troublemaker and an outcast. Rusty-James has a brother referred to only as the Motorcycle Boy. He is colorblind and tunes out of conversations often, has trouble with the police, and is described as defying most elements of society. In the book's climax, the Motorcycle Boy breaks into a pet store to set free several Siamese fighting fish, as he believes they are like him their solitude and helplessness. He believes that freeing them in the river will mean that they won't have to fight. Most fascinatingly, in the film adaptation, the fish are the only part of the movie that aren't displayed in black-and-white color grading. Another prominent aspect of the film is the use of underscoring as a reflection of tension and action in the movie. Written by Stewart Copeland, drummer of the band The Police, the use of a sound similar to that of early street rock music is a unique choice that had early influences of my decision to pursue a career in sound design. Even before I had no particular interest in pursuing sound design, the music in this movie resonated with me, and I got my first glimpse into analyzing a conceptual underscore. Coppola's desire to use underscoring as a symbol for running out of time adds an entirely new layer to the story, highlighting tensions throughout. Both Coppola and Hinton present incredible interpretations of Rumble Fish, showcasing the themes of isolation, perspective, and morality through their respective methods. The adaptation preserves every element integral to the heart of Rusty-James's story, building on the central themes through unique use of color and cinematography. The themes of perceiving the world a certain way, and therefore sometimes struggling to communicate, are themes that resonate deeply with me. It is easy to feel alienated and abandoned, and this story is a realization that one is likely not alone in feeling that way. Reminiscent of a quote from Hinton's most famous novel, The Outsiders, "things are rough all over." Conclusively, Rumble Fish tells an informative, emotional, and relatable tale that both spurred the interests I pursue today and contributed to my understanding of myself through its depiction of interpersonal and emotional themes.

I identify myself as a humanist. To me, this means a belief in mankind's ability to improve the world through the arts and sciences, a belief in passion. This philosophy has fueled my engagement in the community, notably in my efforts to help improve literacy and access to books and literature in my community. I run an organization helping to increase awareness of censorship and to support local libraries. Additionally, I've coordinated service efforts as an officer of the Jordan High School Theatre, leading and participating in food and clothing drives and student mentorship efforts. Humanism encourages the idea that in a sea of pervasive chaos, it is the duty of individuals to be a positive force. Even the smallest effort to improve the world goes a long way in asserting mankind's ability to persist and to serve one another. This belief has guided me into pursuing an education in the theatre arts, and I am committed to dedicating my life to this unique, beautiful form of storytelling. There truly is magic in theatre.

From the quiet keys of a piano to the layers of a theatrical underscore, my experience finding a voice has been valuable. I have never had an easy time communicating, as at an early age I developed an unfortunate idea that social and physical cues are irrelevant. This inability left me experiencing a wealth of emotions I did not have the words to describe, nor the means to express. I realized this was an issue during the pandemic, when the effects of social isolation combined with my long-lasting ineptness when it came to communication at last started to affect me. A solution came in the realization that a tool I had for years was the key to expressing these emotions: the piano. Having taken lessons since the second grade, it became apparent that for years, I had been using the instrument as a form of emotional expression without ever realizing it. I’d play pieces from years ago and feel nostalgia, I’d play an excerpt from Khatachurian’s Spartacus and Phrygia to release energy when I felt anxious, I’d practice the first few bars of the Howl’s Moving Castle theme to calm myself down when stressed. In the approximate year following this realization, playing and recording music became a form of solace. When I was 14, I bought myself a resold Ableton Live Suite license and a MIDI controller, and was introduced to the world of digital composition. I felt that the world was at my fingertips, the little keyboard granting me access to any instrument I liked, all of which I could tailor to express whatever I liked. In high school, it occurred to me that theatre may be a suitable medium to apply these skills, though I knew little about what theatrical conceptual design was like. The first show I sound designed for, Monty Python’s SPAMalot, was a welcome introduction to the technology and facilities involved in sound design, but I did not realize the extent to which conceptual sound design reached until roughly a year later. With a year’s worth of experience in theatre and an induction into the International Thespian Society, I was allowed to attend the Texas State Thespian Festival, competing in sound design with William Shakespeare’s The Tempest. It was then that I understood that every miniscule component of these projects has a valuable meaning. The lightning that strikes in Act 1, Scene 1 not only indicates that a storm is afoot, but is an early representation of the power dynamic between Ariel, Prospero, and all else present throughout the story. The epiphanies that resulted from this project may be equated to the wealth of knowledge that comes from learning another language, for since then I have seen the world in ways I never could have previously imagined. I watch Francis Ford Coppola’s adaptation of Rumble Fish and I observe that the unique use of underscoring is a reflection of the main character’s mental state, providing me with a multifaceted perspective of the story. I watch a production of Hamlet and I note that the synchrony of the sharp ambient tone playing underneath the dialogue and the characters’ physicality indicates a shift in a character’s motivation throughout the show. The journey from silence to sound has not only gifted me with a new way of experiencing the world, but positively altered my understanding of the world around me. I am enthused and inspired by the endless ways sound design can motivate expression and storytelling.

From the quiet keys of a piano to the layers of a theatrical underscore, my experience finding a voice has been valuable. I have never had an easy time communicating, as at an early age I developed an unfortunate idea that social and physical cues are irrelevant. This inability left me experiencing a wealth of emotions I did not have the words to describe, nor the means to express. I realized this was an issue during the pandemic, when the effects of social isolation combined with my long-lasting ineptness when it came to communication at last started to affect me. A solution came in the realization that a tool I had for years was the key to expressing these emotions: the piano. Having taken lessons since the second grade, it became apparent that for years, I had been using the instrument as a form of emotional expression without ever realizing it. I’d play pieces from years ago and feel nostalgia, I’d play an excerpt from Khatachurian’s Spartacus and Phrygia to release energy when I felt anxious, I’d practice the first few bars of the Howl’s Moving Castle theme to calm myself down when stressed. In the approximate year following this realization, playing and recording music became a form of solace. When I was 14, I bought myself a resold Ableton Live Suite license and a MIDI controller, and was introduced to the world of digital composition. I felt that the world was at my fingertips, the little keyboard granting me access to any instrument I liked, all of which I could tailor to express whatever I liked. In high school, it occurred to me that theatre may be a suitable medium to apply these skills, though I knew little about what theatrical conceptual design was like. The first show I sound designed for, Monty Python’s SPAMalot, was a welcome introduction to the technology and facilities involved in sound design, but I did not realize the extent to which conceptual sound design reached until roughly a year later. With a year’s worth of experience in theatre and an induction into the International Thespian Society, I was allowed to attend the Texas State Thespian Festival, competing in sound design with William Shakespeare’s The Tempest. It was then that I understood that every miniscule component of these projects has a valuable meaning. The lightning that strikes in Act 1, Scene 1 not only indicates that a storm is afoot, but is an early representation of the power dynamic between Ariel, Prospero, and all else present throughout the story. The epiphanies that resulted from this project may be equated to the wealth of knowledge that comes from learning another language, for since then I have seen the world in ways I never could have previously imagined. I watch Francis Ford Coppola’s adaptation of Rumble Fish and I observe that the unique use of underscoring is a reflection of the main character’s mental state, providing me with a multifaceted perspective of the story. I watch a production of Hamlet and I note that the synchrony of the sharp ambient tone playing underneath the dialogue and the characters’ physicality indicates a shift in a character’s motivation throughout the show. The journey from silence to sound has not only gifted me with a new way of experiencing the world, but positively altered my understanding of the world around me. I am enthused and inspired by the endless ways sound design can motivate expression and storytelling.

From the quiet keys of a piano to the layers of a theatrical underscore, my experience finding a voice has been valuable. I have never had an easy time communicating, as at an early age I developed an unfortunate idea that social and physical cues are irrelevant. This inability left me experiencing a wealth of emotions I did not have the words to describe, nor the means to express. I realized this was an issue during the pandemic, when the effects of social isolation combined with my long-lasting ineptness when it came to communication at last started to affect me. A solution came in the realization that a tool I had for years was the key to expressing these emotions: the piano. Having taken lessons since the second grade, it became apparent that for years, I had been using the instrument as a form of emotional expression without ever realizing it. I’d play pieces from years ago and feel nostalgia, I’d play an excerpt from Khatachurian’s Spartacus and Phrygia to release energy when I felt anxious, I’d practice the first few bars of the Howl’s Moving Castle theme to calm myself down when stressed. In the approximate year following this realization, playing and recording music became a form of solace. When I was 14, I bought myself a resold Ableton Live Suite license and a MIDI controller, and was introduced to the world of digital composition. I felt that the world was at my fingertips, the little keyboard granting me access to any instrument I liked, all of which I could tailor to express whatever I liked. In high school, it occurred to me that theatre may be a suitable medium to apply these skills, though I knew little about what theatrical conceptual design was like. The first show I sound designed for, Monty Python’s SPAMalot, was a welcome introduction to the technology and facilities involved in sound design, but I did not realize the extent to which conceptual sound design reached until roughly a year later. With a year’s worth of experience in theatre and an induction into the International Thespian Society, I was allowed to attend the Texas State Thespian Festival, competing in sound design with William Shakespeare’s The Tempest. It was then that I understood that every miniscule component of these projects has a valuable meaning. The lightning that strikes in Act 1, Scene 1 not only indicates that a storm is afoot, but is an early representation of the power dynamic between Ariel, Prospero, and all else present throughout the story. The epiphanies that resulted from this project may be equated to the wealth of knowledge that comes from learning another language, for since then I have seen the world in ways I never could have previously imagined. I watch Francis Ford Coppola’s adaptation of Rumble Fish and I observe that the unique use of underscoring is a reflection of the main character’s mental state, providing me with a multifaceted perspective of the story. I watch a production of Hamlet and I note that the synchrony of the sharp ambient tone playing underneath the dialogue and the characters’ physicality indicates a shift in a character’s motivation throughout the show. The journey from silence to sound has not only gifted me with a new way of experiencing the world, but positively altered my understanding of the world around me. I am enthused and inspired by the endless ways sound design can motivate expression and storytelling.

From the quiet keys of a piano to the layers of a theatrical underscore, my experience finding a voice has been valuable. I have never had an easy time communicating, no matter the medium, as at an early age I developed an unfortunate idea that social and physical cues are irrelevant. This inability left me experiencing a wealth of emotions I did not have the words to describe, nor the means to express. I realized this was an issue during the pandemic, when the effects of social isolation combined with my long-lasting ineptness when it came to communication at last started to affect me. Even now, I’m compelled to research words to correctly name what I felt, as the best I can hope to express it is by describing the feeling as overwhelmed and isolated. A solution came in the realization that a tool I had for years was the key to expressing these emotions: the piano. Having taken lessons since the second grade, it became apparent that for years, I had been using the instrument as a form of emotional expression without ever realizing it. I’d play pieces from years ago and feel nostalgia, I’d play an excerpt from Khatachurian’s Spartacus and Phrygia to release energy when I felt anxious, I’d practice the first few bars of the Howl’s Moving Castle theme to calm myself down when stressed. In the approximate year following this realization, playing and recording music became a form of solace. When I was 14, I bought myself a resold Ableton Live Suite license and a MIDI controller, and was introduced to the world of digital composition. I felt that the world was at my fingertips, the little keyboard granting me access to any instrument I liked, all of which I could tailor to express whatever I liked. In high school, it occurred to me that theatre may be a suitable medium to apply these skills, though I knew little about what theatrical conceptual design was like. The first show I sound designed for, Monty Python’s SPAMalot, was a welcome introduction to the technology and facilities involved in sound design, but I did not realize the extent to which conceptual sound design reached until roughly a year later. With a year’s worth of experience in theatre and an induction into the International Thespian Society, I was allowed to attend the Texas State Thespian Festival, competing in sound design with William Shakespeare’s The Tempest. It was then that I understood that every miniscule component of these projects has a valuable meaning. The lightning that strikes in Act 1, Scene 1 not only indicates that a storm is afoot, but is an early representation of the power dynamic between Ariel, Prospero, and all else present throughout the story. The epiphanies that resulted from this project may be equated to the wealth of knowledge that comes from learning another language, for since then I have seen the world in ways I never could have previously imagined. The journey from silence to sound has not only gifted me with a new way of experiencing the world, but positively altered my understanding of the world around me. I am enthused and inspired by the endless ways sound design can motivate expression and storytelling. My goal is to continue to find ways to apply sound design to storytelling through the theatre medium, focusing on expressing the humanistic aspect of theatre and to make impactful connections with the hearts of audiences. I want to use sound to give voices to those who haven't found them yet.

Attached below is a piece designed for Act 1, Scene 1 of Frank Wedekind's 1891 version of Spring Awakening: A Children's Tragedy, along with the project data for the piece in the program Ableton Live. My sound design for Frank Wedekind’s Spring Awakening encompasses a central concept of censorship and morality. The show explores conflict between censorship and knowledge, such as Wendla’s insistence on learning how children are born while her mother insisted that it would be wrong to tell the truth, and as Melchior’s essay was condemned for exploring objective facts about censored topics. Significant conflict between morality and immorality is depicted as well, such as when Melchior’s parents debate whether or not his essay was inherently wrong and as Moritz is both condemned and praised for his suicide. My design explores these themes by utilizing auditory encryption of abstract concepts, establishing both verbal and musical motifs that are hidden within the underscoring to reflect the prominence of censorship depicted in the show. Words taken from Latin, Greek, German, and English were carefully chosen to represent the main themes in each scene, then encrypted into the scene’s music through an auditory cipher. Act 1, Scene 1 explores themes of censorship, coming-of-age, adolescence, loss of innocence, and truth as a 14-year-old girl, Wendla Bergmann, laments the fact that her mother treats her like a child, thinking Wendla is too young to understand the world, while Wendla argues otherwise. In this scene, the Latin phrase "Innocentia Amissa" is encrypted in the underscoring. The noun "innocentia" translates to innocence. The verb "amittere" means "to lose" in the sense of having something taken away or no longer possessing it. "Amissa" is the past participle of this verb, so this phrase emphasizes the state or condition of having lost innocence, often with a focus on the process or experience of the loss. The underscoring attached contains this phrase, encrypted by assigning a musical note to each letter. For example, the letter A is equal to the note C3 on a piano, the letter E is equal to the note B3, and so on, and this pattern is repeated sequentially for both vowels and consonants. This is an example of what creativity means to me. Creativity is finding versatile, even abstract ways to discuss inherently humanistic themes, especially through the application of creativity in my favorite medium, the theatre. To possess and to apply creativity to the act of storytelling is to add another layer of unique communication to the development of a story's inherent message.

My leadership experiences include serving as a historian and vice president for the Jordan High School Sexuality and Gender Alliance and serving as a treasurer for the Jordan Theatre Company. To begin with, my experience with the Sexuality and Gender Alliance is important to me because it means serving, expanding, and supporting the local LGBTQ+ community. The club primarily conducts regular social and informational events, helping people make friends, stay informed of what's going on in the LGBTQ+ community on a larger scale, and working to grow, support, and recognize the unique and amazing individuals within our community. Additionally, our club has made significant connections with other similar groups in the area as well, coordinating district-wide social events to celebrate LGBTQ+ communities across the Katy area. Being able to take part in leadership for this club means a lot to me because it means providing a supportive community for those who may not have that community otherwise. It means getting the chance to show someone that they are valued, that their identity is valid, and that everybody, no matter who they are, is somebody to be proud of. Furthermore, I participate in leadership as a Thespian Officer, serving as Jordan High School Thespian Troupe 10042's treasurer. I get the opportunity to work with a group of people, talented in all areas of theatre. My job as treasurer includes coordinating membership, tracking the thespian point system in our community, and assisting our Philanthropy chairperson in finding ways to reach out and support the larger community in our area. As theatre is what I intent to pursue as a lifelong career, being a Thespian Officer and getting a chance to serve and support the backbone of Jordan Theatre Company is something I am incredibly proud of. Getting to coordinate company events, lead workshops, and work with incredible people provides a sense of the inner workings of a theatre, the qualities required to be a leader in this field, and a strong sense of community and resolve. In conclusion, my experiences in student leadership as integral parts of who I am today. I am incredibly grateful for the opportunities I have been given. Expanding on my participation in Jordan Theatre Company, participation in theatre has led me to pursue the arts as a lifelong career. This scholarship would ease the financial strain of pursuing a BFA degree, making it feasible to successfully achieve my goals. This scholarship would enable me to contribute positively to society by continuing to be an artist, telling stories and sharing my own experiences through the unique medium that is theatre. The craft has the ability to change lives, contributing to our understanding of ourselves and society as a whole through innovative and humanist storytelling. Additionally, if given the opportunity, I intend to continue pursuing efforts to support and strengthen the LGBTQ+ community in any way I can. I intent to continue to find volunteer opportunities wherever the future takes me, be an active participant in social or informational groups that benefit the community, and to share my experiences as part of this beautiful, vibrant community.