There are three core aspects to my identity: the Melancholic Writer, the Conflicted Daughter, and the Burnt-Out Scholar. You asked for my story, and typically I focus on only one or two of these things in my essays. However, you will have the fortune to see me discuss all three. I’m starting with Burnt-Out Scholar because that’s more recent. I may have started unable to read in the 2nd grade and got diagnosed with ADHD, but my mother fought with the school to have me repeat a grade and get an IEP. Since then, I turned out to be an honors student, took AVID in middle school, and took academically challenging classes in high school. My mother stressed the importance of education, saying to do whatever it takes to ensure success. That almost proved fatal since I struggled with mental health in middle school and often went to the counselor’s office to try to find methods to cope, and was diagnosed with polycystic ovarian syndrome in high school due to poor eating and risked brain damage from sleep deprivation. All those factors made it difficult to stay motivated in school and to find enjoyment in living when I was tied down to school. That all came from being a Melancholic Writer. A quick lesson from the four humors. The Greeks believed that the body has four substances that determined your temperament. In my case, melancholy – also known as black bile – makes a person morose, erratic, sick in the mind. It was considered dangerous up until Problemata XXX noted that melancholic people tended to be philosophers, artists, poets, and overall, intelligent. If I had been born during the Renaissance or Romantic era, I might have been considered a prodigy, but I was born in this century, so I was a weirdo by the standards of other children my age. It was hard enough being neurodivergent and susceptible to bullying at that age. I was having difficulty taking interest in anything that wasn’t playing outside and collecting rocks, or art in school, before I got held back a grade. It all got worse in tenfold when my mother got fed up with my troublemaking older half-brother and decided she needed a break from my children. She sent me and my younger brother to live with our father, and there I learned my father had a wife and children before me. Technically, my father is still married to that woman. My mother and father thought I wouldn’t notice the situation, but I did, by the curse of my own mind and awareness at merely eight years old. I learned to cope with these thoughts through art and reading, and later turned to writing to tune in to my feelings. My love for writing would get me through so much that I can’t mention here, and now, I’m pursuing a career in creative writing. This scholarship will help me achieve that if granted because, despite being a first-generation student, my family won’t help financially. I’ve made plans to help myself through college and minimize debt. I know that if I start working while I take online classes, I can accumulate money for an apartment when I move to take in-person classes and pay tuition. I have roughly $37,000 left for tuition and need to make $15,130.50 because that’s the amount of rent I will pay for the time I’ll be staying in an apartment. Any scholarships I can attain will be of great aid and allow my to not take out any loans.

I want to be the greatest writer of my era. You get that sort of ambition from seeing all your favorite authors have books relevant to today’s world and have their works adapted to movies or TV shows, and after consuming so many marvelous movies with your eyes, adoring the stories you’re shown and wishing to reenact them. And as a child with an overactive imagination, I would spend hours putting myself in the places of my favorite characters and going on the most wondrous and thrilling adventures. I would make the most beautiful realms of glowing, colorful fauna and abstract creatures just to interact with them in my head. It only sharpened when exploring music. Classical was exceptional in capturing the flutter and grace of emotions like joy or the heavy, dragging weight of a cello accompanied by piano in a minor chord to make bittersweet melancholy. Or when I listen to metal with the trill of guitar and suspenseful bass to brood with thought. Listening to music has advanced the tone and color of my writing. In fact, the best way to describe myself is as a romantic. Not in the sense of love, but in the era and the ideology with an emphasis on emotion, individualism, and imagination, to reject social normality and embrace creativity. Even when I thought I would have a career in the math or science field, there was that vital essence that gave me life and would entice me to center a career around story-making. After all, stories are crucial to humanity. From Shakespeare’s plays remaining relevant to Homer’s Iliad and Odyssey, such writing prevails because they strike wonder. They make us reflect on man; we empathize and see ourselves in the characters, the hope that we can embody their values; and the reflection of our society. All this makes me want to bring back these ideals to a society that views art as a commodity and spectacle. That artists have to constantly stand out to make a living rather than enjoy making art because we have to keep up with the rigorous pace of capitalism. When capitalism and the Industrial Revolution’s factories rose, romanticism and melancholy began to die because they had no use there. A person who contemplated life, who sank into thought, was labeled as faulty by men with greed in their hearts. Yet they still want to indulge in art and hoard it without understanding its meaning. And when I see the state of this country, it makes me want to act. I learned through all my books that inaction is the enemy of progress. I want to make stories that make people want to act. Whether it’s through political advocacy, campaigning to reform the education system that won’t fail children, feeding the hungry, or critiquing the wrongdoing of this government. That is all something I can do by making something of myself and using my influence. I will do that by starting with books and script writing. I want to be remembered for my writing, but I want it to be remembered because it helped people. That it brought back an appreciation for art and film in an oversaturated market. That it caused many others to make change and perhaps inspired them to make their own revolutionary art.

I want to be the greatest writer of my era. You get that sort of ambition from seeing all your favorite authors have books relevant to today’s world and have their works adapted to movies or TV shows, and after consuming so many marvelous movies with your eyes, adoring the stories you’re shown and wishing to reenact them. And as a child with an overactive imagination, I would spend hours putting myself in the places of my favorite characters and going on the most wondrous and thrilling adventures. I would make the most beautiful realms of glowing, colorful fauna and abstract creatures just to interact with them in my head. It only sharpened when exploring music. Classical was exceptional in capturing the flutter and grace of emotions like joy or the heavy, dragging weight of a cello accompanied by piano in a minor chord to make bittersweet melancholy. Or when I listen to metal with the trill of guitar and suspenseful bass to brood with thought. Listening to music has advanced the tone and color of my writing. In fact, the best way to describe myself is as a romantic. Not in the sense of love, but in the era and the ideology with an emphasis on emotion, individualism, and imagination, to reject social normality and embrace creativity. Even when I thought I would have a career in the math or science field, there was that vital essence that gave me life and would entice me to center a career around story-making. After all, stories are crucial to humanity. From Shakespeare’s plays remaining relevant to Homer’s Iliad and Odyssey, such writing prevails because they strike wonder. They make us reflect on man; we empathize and see ourselves in the characters, the hope that we can embody their values; and the reflection of our society. All this makes me want to bring back these ideals to a society that views art as a commodity and spectacle. That artists have to constantly stand out to make a living rather than enjoy making art because we have to keep up with the rigorous pace of capitalism. When capitalism and the Industrial Revolution’s factories rose, romanticism and melancholy began to die because they had no use there. A person who contemplated life, who sank into thought, was labeled as faulty by men with greed in their hearts. Yet they still want to indulge in art and hoard it without understanding its meaning. And when I see the state of this country, it makes me want to act. I learned through all my books that inaction is the enemy of progress. I want to make stories that make people want to act. Whether it’s through political advocacy, campaigning to reform the education system that won’t fail children, feeding the hungry, or critiquing the wrongdoing of this government. That is all something I can do by making something of myself and using my influence. I am doing that by writing books that I plan to publish in a year or so. Right now, I have to be mindful of resources. I need to go to college, work to pay off my tuition and housing, and build a name for myself to ensure my work won't flop. I want to be remembered for my writing, but I want it to be remembered because it helped people. That it brought back an appreciation for art and film in an oversaturated market. That it caused many others to make change and perhaps inspired them to make their own revolutionary art.

I have been anxious about student loan debt ever since my Virtual Business mentor showed my class a documentary about it and how many students go on to pay their loans for the majority of their lives. It seriously made me reconsider college. Thankfully, I have a scholarship that will cover half my tuition, but I am still taking precautions, laying the groundwork ahead of time, and setting up nets to soften my fall. Even if I'm still continuing to apply for scholarships, I know I can't entirely depend on winning them. Thus, I am starting work in August while I take online classes for the first few months. The first and most desirable job is being a sales associate at Spirit Halloween. Their average hourly pay is $16.90. My classes are 9-5, meaning I go to school for 8 hours, I sleep for 9 hours, and that leaves me 1 hour for homework and 6 hours to work. If I don’t have to make changes to this, I can make $101.40 per day ($709.80 if I work all week) to put towards an apartment when I move to be closer to campus. You see, I learned that a huge factor in student loans is housing and food. You already know what your tuition is, but I learned from friends who are going to college that those immediate expenses are what get them. Everyone needs to eat, pay rent, and pay for transportation to campus. I’m reducing that worry by getting an apartment that is a 10-minute walk from campus and close to all the grocery stores, so I don’t have to pay for a car or gasoline. I have factored in my monthly rent when I get my apartment and have a roommate, which is $720.50, but I’m not factoring in my utilities and groceries yet. I just know that my bachelor’s program lasts 27 months, 6 of which I’m spending online, leaving me to save for 21 months of rent, getting it at $15,130.50. So working now will ease my burden down the line and act as a buffer. And for the first year of school, I don’t have to worry about tuition because it’s paid for by my college’s scholarship, leaving me to pay only around $37,000 for the second year. I know it’s a lot of money, but since I’m aware of it, I will be able to counter it with ease. I will still work while taking in-person classes, likely for higher wages, take out as few loans as possible, and graduate with minimal debt. This plan is for a little over two years. It’s clear, has a goal, and I can still adapt to change if anything comes up. However, I will still continue to apply to scholarships in hopes that I don’t have to carry everything on my own when I leave for college.

I want to be the greatest writer of my era. To become the modern Shakespeare. To remain relevant centuries after my death. Shakespeare did that by delving into human emotion and psyche because that is universal and will always appeal to man. And my current work is based on the usage of AI in today’s society, the harms, what it’s doing to people, and what it’s doing in the world of art. It’s a message that needs to be heard in such a time susceptible to erratic changes. But I’m waiting another year or so to publish it to ensure that I make publicity and network at college to ensure my book doesn’t flop. As much as I’m excited to become an author, it’s a financial investment that I can’t do on a whim. However, I can tell you about how I want it to make waves in society, and maybe get the honor of having it labelled as a “banned book.” Think for a moment. Should a book be removed from schools and restricted in libraries simply because adults deem it inappropriate and fear it will cause “dangerous thoughts”? I think not, as someone who has read many banned books and is deeply disgruntled by the thought that other states put such restrictions on books. Authors like George Orwell, Margaret Atwood, and Suzanne Colins, have brought me awareness of the importance of dystopian novels to critique the real world. The people who ban books don’t do it to protect children. They do it so that they can protect their own egos and not be intellectually challenged when their children start asking big questions. You may be familiar with the statistic that about 130 million U.S. adults (54% of those aged 16–74) read below a sixth-grade level, as provided by the National University. That statistic will continue to worsen when education gets gutted, and the younger generation becomes dependent on AI to do the work for them. That terrifies me because I have already seen students in high school use AI to write their essays, and it’s even happening with college students. If I can make myself known and publish my book while America is still literate, I can use my name, my network, and money to give back to education. There’s so much that I could do, from advocating for better policies to aiding teachers, and that’s something that needs to be done. Not for greatness, but because I want better for people. I’m angry. I’m angry with the way things are. I wonder why horrible and ignorant people get to make life worse for the majority who exist and try to live despite such debilitating hate. Perhaps that anger will never go away, but I will do my best to quell it through my actions. In fact, let me talk about a song by my favorite band, Queen. “Under Pressure,” with its themes of economic stress, homelessness, and inaction, became my philosophy. “'Cause love's such an old-fashioned word… And love dares you to care for… The people on the edge of the night… And love dares you to change our way of… Caring about ourselves…” Its call for empathy touched me and reminded me that even when I question the human race, I should still meet it with love and understanding so I can do my best to undo wrongs and suffering.

College means the difference between thriving and living miserably. That might be dramatic, but it feels that way. I remember a statistic from one of my teachers, who taught AP government and macroeconomics, that showed the significant leap between an associate’s and a bachelor’s degree. It was the average earnings that each level of education made, from some high school education to a master’s degree. That stuck with me. I had been hearing so much about the student debt crisis, how students take out loans during college and spend their lives repaying them with interest, and how graduates are saying that college is no longer worth it. I was scared about how I would turn out in a few years. I was already burned out in high school, and I wanted to pursue a career in writing because I was tired of my academically challenging classes. But I worried that I would regret going to college for writing. I even considered jumping right into publishing after graduation. I knew what to do in theory. Market myself and promote books through social media to build an audience when I publish, but I questioned if I would be able to handle self-publishing with everything when I wanted to focus on writing. I was even skeptical about whether I should attend certain schools for the scholarships they’re offering because I wasn’t sure if it would keep me out of debt in the long run of four years. Yet I remember something from Virtual Business that convinced me to continue to college. “College is for networking. It is not supposed to be a repeat of high school. If you don’t network, you’re missing out on a lot.” Thankfully, I settled on Full Sail University. Their accelerated program to graduate in two years instead of four gave me a clearer picture of my future. They would give me lifelong access to their resources after graduation, and a lot of their alumni go on to produce famous works. Not to mention, they gave me a scholarship that covers half my tuition, which will pay for that first year while I can work and accumulate more scholarships during that time to pay for my second year and take care of housing. I really want to be a renowned writer. I want to make stories that challenge ideas and shape the future. I’ve been writing since 6th grade and refining that craft to ensure it’s worthy and praised when it debuts. Writing is one of the most vital things to society throughout history. It has changed the way we think, how we view things, and how we speak. I want to be part of that history for when the 21st century comes to pass.

My mom had a saying. “Una persona que trabaja lo valorará más que aquella para quien resultó fácil conseguirlo.” Or something like that. She wanted to say that a person who works hard to get what they want will be much more appreciative than a person who has things come easily to them. And it’s true in many cases. I’ve written many stories about my struggles through many scholarship applications. From having been diagnosed with ADHD and having to be held back a grade, living in a cramped and cluttered apartment until I moved after my freshman year, having a mom get involved in a cult known as Scientology, struggling with mental health and not being able to tell my family about it, and even risking brain damage caused by sleep deprivation to keep my grades up in the remaining years of high school. When I look back, I often think, “Wow… I had so many setbacks.” I could have been the worst version of myself. I could have given up on myself, not applied myself in school, given up on life, and lived resentful of everything that had happened to me. Or maybe not lived at all. I often go back to those moments of pain when I’m writing for scholarships, but for this one, I want to remember all the good that happened that got me to this place. I would have graduated last year and left home at 17 for college, ill-prepared and unaware of what I now know about college. I’m content with the place I’m at. Despite my mother joining a cult, we would move to Bakersfield in a bigger home that finally gave me room to breathe and leave home more often without worrying about Scientologists abruptly visiting us. I would finally regain my will to live by looking at the silver lining and seeing that I had not let misfortune keep me dilapidated on the ground as it pummeled me. And that despite my ambition, I learned I didn’t have to ruin my health and didn’t have to maintain a 4.0 because by then, many colleges wanted me to attend their campuses. And by graduation, I was adorned with cords and medals and had plans to attend Full Sail University, with half my tuition paid. I was assured that I could manage student debt and still depend on other scholarships to ensure I have minimal debt. I appreciate how far I have come, and I also remind myself that there are many others like me, if not worse, struggling and doing their best to hold on. It’s because humans have an innate instinct to have better lives. To thrive instead of survive. So high-achieving students from disadvantaged backgrounds deserve that opportunity because they have faced adversity and persisted. That in itself is admirable, and you can be certain that they will work as hard as anybody else who didn’t have to go through that.

I want to be the greatest writer of my era. Bold words, I know, but it’s the truth. That is the pinnacle of my ambition and essence because I am a writer. It comes before anything, even my identity as a first-generation student. Especially because in the last seven years, I have been clawing my way to become a writer in a rapidly changing world that wants to render the pleasure of reading and writing literature obsolete through AI. I still cling to that dream, and I am proof that history tends to favor the underdog because, despite my hardship, I am off to Full Sail University with half my tuition paid in recognition of my writing ability. I’ve even had English teachers see my writing, visibly pause to take it all in, and tell me it has something special, potential even. All these things have told me that my career in writing will prove impactful and quintessential to the future. I started as a girl living with the equivalent of divorced parents, since they lived separate lives due to far too many faults, mainly due to my father’s infidelity. My mother was trying to support two sons from a previous marriage in Nicaragua, while my father was trying to achieve the finer things in life with his limited education. I was in the middle of it all, having to adapt to the volatile landscape caused by the choices of the adults in my life. When my half-brothers moved in, I had to endure taunting from what were essentially strangers in my own home, and my mother would do nothing when I pleaded for her to intervene. I had to wait at school hours after pick-up because she was busy, but the head office threatened to call CPS on my mother if she continued to arrive late. I got put in the after-school program so she wouldn’t have to deal with that. Since that program ended at 6 PM, I had more free time at my disposal and would use that time to read. I felt like I could breathe again. I had space to myself and didn’t have to worry about it being trampled on, like how my home was by my brothers. That reading would soon become a love for writing, and I started writing my own stories far into middle school. By then, my brothers moved out, but life was not done throwing obstacles at me. My mother got involved with a cult known as Scientology, and she would not listen to me even if I showed her evidence of their abuses. I was terrified. She forced me to come with her to get audited to stop being affected by my reactive mind. All words used by Scientology’s religious dogma. Thankfully, by some divine intervention, we moved to Bakersfield. A place where Scientology couldn’t reach me, and I could finish my high school education in peace. If not for that, I don’t know where I’d be.

I’m not going to act like math is my life and that I want to pursue a career in it, but I love how I get to utilize it for all my games and favorite pastimes. What started with a competitive streak in multiplication against my classmates would become a skill I decided to weaponize for the sake of winning family game night. The first thing I had to tackle was how to consider probabilities when playing Desmoche, taking in the number of players and multiplying them by nine, and when we make the trade, I give away the card that is least likely to make me win while ensuring it couldn’t benefit my competitors. Then, I would start calculating the probability of certain cards being drawn, adjust my strategy accordingly, while strategically relinquishing and withholding certain cards. You see, with Desmoche, you could have a card that another opponent needs to win the game. You can’t always know what cards they need, but it does help to wait a bit to see what cards they take from the pile and make an educated guess. Like the one time a bunch of club cards were drawn, yet no one could take them, letting me know that if I can make a match, I should give up my clubs. But you also have to be mindful of number matching. For example, a four being drawn and not collected would mean that no one had two fours to match, and I could likely discard them if I had to make a match. These were all variables I had to keep track of in my mind, and I was great at it. Imagine my delight when I would use math to give my Pokémon the best stats. Originally, I kept a notebook of the EVs battling different Pokémon would give before I found online forums, along with the inclusion of how to use the vitamins and berries, which I first dabbled in when playing Pokémon Ruby and would use greatly in Pokémon FireRed. I had to consider what moves to give my Pokémon the advantage. Different types could be suited for either Attack or Special Attack, and have to give them a move that would raise either in setup. To this day, my brother cannot beat me in a battle because I spent hours versing myself in that special interest.

“Why is it that all those who have become eminent in philosophy or politics or poetry or the arts are clearly of the atrabilious temperament?” - Problemata XXX If you’re not familiar with the “atrabilious temperament,” it is melancholy. The substance that makes all geniuses, something that today’s society will never treasure nor recognize even if flaunted before it. Keep up because I’ll have to give you an introduction to ensure you’re not lost. The four humors were established by the ancient Greeks, specifically philosophers, who believed the body has four fluids and that the most dominant fluid determined your personality. Blood makes you cheerful and sociable. Phlegm makes you calm and difficult to anger. Yellow bile makes you ambitious and short-tempered. And finally, the one considered most dangerous, black bile, which produces melancholy. At first, having too much melancholy was thought to be harmful. It makes you erratic, sick in the mind. It’s an emotion that is so vague and has seemingly no origin or reason to be felt. But when Problemata XXX appeared, it changed the impression of melancholy and dissipated the idea that it was dangerous. Having melancholy gives life texture. If you could step back and look at the world, distance yourself, and see how finite and ephemeral the existence of the present day is, that one day you and everything around you will fade away, you cherish it more. You gain wisdom from such thoughts. Thus, it became apparent that melancholy and all its heavy emotions are the price one pays for intellectual greatness. Now, before you brush me off for using an “outdated pseudoscience,” I will say this. The four humors are not fluids, not in the traditional sense, but byproducts of our thoughts and emotions. A person develops black bile because they dare delve deeper than the surface that no other person would dare to do. Such as the meaning of life and the purpose of living, and when we find the answer, our hearts cry while also trembling in awe. We see the beauty in things that seem ordinary, and we treasure it because no one else seems to see its value. And back then, it was something to chase, to cultivate, to revel in. Take the great philosopher Nietzsche, for example. You may be baffled to think that a nihilist, a man who proclaimed God as dead, could be someone who sees things for what they are. To that I say, “Yes.” Even if Nietzsche found life to be meaningless, he embraced existence and cherished life with all the pain and struggle that came with it. Nietzsche used his pain, his chronic illness, as fuel for his strength, creativity, and spiritual growth, rather than a reason to reject life. He is a melancholic, through and through. And yet his work would be bastardized by his sister to fit the Nazi regime. Why? Because she did not understand him or his thoughts. In fact, that is the curse most melancholics face in today’s society. Going back to the transition of the Romantic era into the Industrial Revolution, factories began emerging. Rigorous work life does not care for the people who “waste” time by thinking about mortality and contemplating the existence of the universe. Efficiency and consistency were prioritized, and melancholy was a threat to both. And just like that, melancholy, which used to be celebrated and coveted, was branded as something broken within a person. What was the essence of a great thinker became the mark of a sickly, disordered mind. All ensured that the hustle and bustle of work would not be interrupted. Now I am stuck here in a society that values superficial happiness. I can still remember my first dose of melancholy. I was in third grade, only eight years old. At church, I would be sent to the corner because I asked questions about God. At the time, I didn’t understand why and was angry, which would get me sent to the corner for my sin of wrath while other kids played. I was forced to mull my thoughts and wonder why these holy people would punish a child for asking why Pokémon cards are demonic, or what part of the Bible says I can’t wear my favorite cartoonish shirts. I also remember how the meager amount of friends became almost none in 4th grade. All of a sudden, I stopped wanting to run around on the playground and just… sit. I spent hours daydreaming, lost in deep thought, wondering why my life is the way it is. My favorite time of the year became winter because if you sat in one spot of the jungle gym, you could see the snowy tops of mountains peaking over the landscape of buildings. I started spending my time staring at those powdery white mountains through winter, and yearned for that biting at my heart when the snow melted from them. No one understood what was wrong with me, and I was immediately left behind for being deemed broken. But my mind quickly started conjuring the ideas of scientists and philosophers who were long dead. How time should be relative because a year is dependent on the Earth’s rotation around the sun, and therefore, time is different on other planets, and could mean a human would age differently. How I was experiencing all these thoughts and emotions while no one else my age was, and that they will never experience what I’m feeling and vice versa. And I did prove to have academic excellence. I was reading above grade level, so much so that when I got to middle school, teachers had to take away my books so I wouldn’t be reading during class. I was already familiar with many scientific terminologies and studies because I read them before. But it’s in high school that I finally learned about Romanticism and every ideology that made me myself. So I am that mad genius. The one thought to be too weird, eccentric, creepy, and morose because no one else around me is willing to take time to think and instead clings to their shallow way of life to have constant joy. Now, I’m not saying that I despise happiness; I’m saying that I loathe joy that has no gratitude. What is melancholy, if not the thing that makes you appreciate joy? Am I lonely and feel as if no one understands me? Yes. Would I trade the black bile in the veins to be like every common person? Absolutely not. I would not be the artist, the romantic, the profound thinker I am, without melancholy. That’s like asking me to gouge out my eyes and heart. Think about it. If we purged melancholy, wouldn’t that eliminate the thinking required for it? The willingness to sit and think about difficult questions. To see the world as it is, no matter how painful, and still love it all the same. Today’s society has not cured sadness. It simply made melancholy unacceptable. Taboo, even. You’re expected to be constantly positive, constantly optimizing, constantly productive, and you’ve rendered yourself exhausted. And for that, I pity you. I am not broken. I am something that is functioning in this broken society. I do not need to be fixed. I just wish I could meet another melancholic romantic like myself. To exchange and share such thoughts. I have to do that through my writing. I can feel as if I am speaking to you through these pages and hope that the thoughts I poured will be some that you will carry.

I am the daughter of a mother who fled Nicaragua due to debt and political instability, and a father who left Mexico because he was the youngest of his brothers and the only one my grandfather wouldn’t pay to send him to school. Obviously, that means both of them separated due to conflicting cultures. So I was raised by my mother, and occasionally saw my father. My mother put an emphasis on education and fought to have me repeat the 2nd grade when I was unable to read and got diagnosed with ADHD. I couldn’t fathom why education was so important until I later learned both of my parents’ stories. My mother had to leave two sons from her last marriage in Nicaragua, and she still wanted to provide for them. Thus, our finances had to be split. For us in our tiny apartment, and for my half-brothers in Nicaragua. As for my father, who was a farmer, he sent all of his children to school except for my father, hoping he’d stay to help take care of the animals. As a boy, my father took care of cows and sheep, and helped carry grain on his back to the market, while his meals consisted of beans. So, I quickly learned that I was supposed to fulfill their dreams by getting an education and earning more money than both of them. And I did that. I was essentially a star student in high school. I was part of the NSHSS, I took honors and AP classes, and I took Virtual Business to develop soft skills for the workplace. But before that, I struggled deeply at home. That cramped, small apartment became home to my brothers from Nicaragua, and my youngest brother, who had just been born. I went from being an only child to an ignored middle child. My brothers got the attention. The eldest was in high school to pursue a better education than he would have had in Nicaragua. My second oldest brother was a troubled kid in middle school. And my youngest brother was the baby. I was expected to step up and help out domestically. That was until my troubled brother got into hot water, my mother snapped, and she decided she needed a break from all her children. My brothers went with my mother’s relatives while I was sent to live with my father for a bit. There, I learned my father had a wife and two daughters before me. I was excited, thinking I would have sisters to play with, but I soon realized that they hated me. They hated me so much that they would frame me for things they did and purposefully get me in trouble. I realized I couldn’t depend on either of my parents. My mother expected too much of me as her only daughter, and my father did not protect his youngest daughter from her older sisters. I got into a university that is paying half my tuition while I apply for scholarships, make plans to work, and further my career as a writer. After all, the best revenge is being successful for yourself. It still hurts though. Especially after I met with my father one time and he told me that he paid for my sisters’ college, but he would not pay for mine, saying that I should not depend on his money. Not that I expected him to pay my college, but it still hurt knowing he expected that and would refuse to help me. Essentially repeating what my grandfather did.

I struggle with my worth and often end up being self-deprecating. I admire my peers and find myself wishing I had been able to do as much as they could. However, I will do my best not to put myself down when it comes to my achievements. Immediately, my place in the NSHSS (National Society of High School Scholars) comes to mind for maintaining a grade above a 3.0 throughout high school. This, along with NHS (National Honor Society), though I ended up leaving it after being under the impression I had to pay a subscription for benefits. However, they were labels because I did not have money to travel to events they would invite me to, many of which my other classmates got to attend. So those things can go right out the window with what makes me. So I will tell you my struggles and perseverance as a student with ADHD. I may have attended advanced classes at the honors, AP, and college level (specifically dual enrollment), but I had severely overestimated my ability to remain composed under pressure. I struggled with turning in assignments because if my work was not perfect, I felt it was not worthy of being turned in. That didn't affect me much when I had time during freshman year and the first half of sophomore year, but when deadlines started piling up, some of my grades tanked, and I tried to recover by staying up late. Yet that proved to be fatal when my health suffered in junior year. In my first semester during junior year, I had a 4.0, but by the second semester, I had Cs in four classes. Technically, I had a 3.33, but I still felt inadequate and like a failure. I was not kind to myself despite doing better than my average classmate. It's just that when I looked at my peers who were outstanding and taking on more than myself, I forgot that I had to do double the effort to be at their level. While compensating for my work, I lost sleep and would forget to eat due to my nervous system not registering hunger. I had to be taken to a doctor after months without menstruating, and I was found to have pre-diabetic symptoms and polycystic ovarian syndrome because of my poor eating. To add insult to injury, I was told if I continued being sleep-deprived, I could risk brain damage. So senior year, I had to take it easier. I took 5 classes instead of 6, ensured that I was eating by sending reminders, and went to bed at 8 PM no matter what class assignments I had to do that night. It was especially baffling to my classmates in Virtual Business that I wouldn't always stay after school to work; even my team for the Finance Competition would urge me to stay longer. Yet, I had to hold firm. I didn't want to explain that I bombed my health because I still wanted to be deemed competent while not being entirely self-sacrificing. I know it was disappointing, but I had to maintain some semblance of a balanced school and personal life. I didn't get to attend many D&D Club sessions despite being the president and had to leave it in the care of the rest of the club's council. I had to submit college applications and look over what they were offering me in scholarships in comparison to the cost of tuition, so I wouldn't end up in debt later. There was so much I had to compromise and had to learn to accept that I couldn't do it all. By the time I graduated, I had a 3.4 and was given many cords to remind me of my accomplishments. A cord for NSHSS, to remind me I never went below a 3.0. A medal from the Finance Competition in San Bernardino, along with a cord for Virtual Business. A cord for meeting A-G requirements. And finally, a cord for the Spanish Honors Society and having done AP Spanish. In the end, I decided to attend Full Sail University to do something I love... creative writing. I even applied for one of their scholarships specifically for creative writing, in which I demonstrated my skills as a writer, and the money given was enough to cover half my tuition. Now, I simply hope that what I have written can convey the arduous journey I went through and show you that I am still triumphant despite it. Thank you for your consideration.

I am off to pursue a bachelor's in creative writing at Full Sail University because I want a career in writing, preferably as an author or screenwriter. It's an accelerated program, so I will graduate in two years instead of four. My tuition is $70,0100, but after my Creative Minds scholarship (given to me by the college) and federal pell grants, I only have to pay around $37,000. That's the first beast I'm Thus, I can focus on working and securing funding for tuition during my first academic year, and that's before I have to move to Florida to continue my education on campus. I have been proactive in utilizing my skills learned in Virtual Business for all areas of my life. I learned how to make a resume and cover letter, budget, and pay pills. It's the reason why I'm being mindful not to take out loans. Currently, those skills are being applied to jobs in my area. In August, I will be working at Spirit Halloween for $16.90 while I take online classes. This will give me time apply for a Discover Student credit card to build a credit score when I sign the lease for my apartment. I have looked into for rent and utilities, and I will be having a roommate to pay half the rent ($800 for each) to cut down on costs. However, things such as groceries are yet to be considered since that's a year away and will remain a lower priority until then. That's the plan for the first year. Vague in my eyes, but I will reap bountiful fruits nonetheless. If I can focus on making money, I can gain more independence when it comes to building my brand as a writer. Currently, I have been building an anonymous social media profile for my short stories and building a following of readers on Instagram and SnipFic. It's been helpful to get feedback from an audience that enjoys my writing because when it comes to publishing books, you can be an amazing writer, but you will get lost in the sea of self-published books and names of authors who are still trying to make it big. By doing this beforehand, I will get to be well established by the time I'm out of college. And if my writing proves to be great, truly great. I will pay to enter writing competitions for big money prizes that will go to tuition and housing. I may only be 18 with a dream to become the greatest writer of my era, but I have a plan. If I begin fostering my independence, making my brand, and continue to claw my way up, I know there will be nothing getting between me and my dream.

When I started elementary school, I hated books. Mostly because I didn't know how to read. I couldn't grasp such incomprehensible letters on the pages, and I was diagnosed with ADHD later that same year. It got so bad that I had to repeat 2nd grade on my mother's behalf because she wanted to make sure I could read. At first, I resented her for it. I was left behind while all my friends went on to the 3rd grade. I had to take RSP (Resource Specialist Program) classes and got an IEP. However, that turned out to be the greatest blessing in disguise. Not only did I become one of the best students and win awards, but I quickly came to adore reading. My favorite series was Lemony Snicket's "A Series of Unfortunate Events." I especially loved the author's usage of literary devices, as well as the way he interrupted his writing to elaborate on words I did not understand. That series is what ended up getting me hooked on dictionaries to read books beyond my grade level and made the perfect foundation when I discovered my love for writing in middle school. It was so extreme that I would stay up late, or even pull an all-nighter, to write my own stories and post them on online forums for people to read. When I wasn't writing, I was reading all the obscure books in my middle school library as reference. To the point my teachers had to take away my books to get me to pay attention in class. All while my classmates were dealing with the same situation, only with their phones instead. I can simply go on about all the books I've read, but I will hit the word limit while doing so. I can talk about how the exploration of allegory and symbolism led me to explore philosophy, and how that vice led to a penchant for finding all the controversial and banned books. I can tell you how many times I've read "The Handmaid's Tale" and "1984" because of their relevance in today's society. But instead, I will tell you what I'm doing now because of these books. These books made me a profound reader and an incredible writer. If you were to look inside my skull, you would see that my brain is engraved with the words from pages I've read. I graduated from high school with a college reading level and am going off to Full Sail University to get a bachelor's in creative writing. Currently, I have a work-in-progress dystopian novel centered on the usage of AI in art mediums and how it's squandering the potential and ambition of young people. I have chosen to devote my life to writing at the ripe age of 12 because that is what I love, and as I've grown while witnessing the conflicts that media literacy declines have caused, I'm even more determined to pursue this career. I have the ambition and passion to change our society. If the simple action of a mother advocating for her daughter's education led to this, imagine what I could do if I became a prominent writer in the field and came to advocate for children's education.

I was branded as the loud kid from the moment I entered elementary school. The worst part is that I didn’t realize it. For me, my volume was just my normal speaking voice and I would get frustrated with my teachers every time they told me not to shout while I spoke. It turns out I was breathing with my diaphragm and that gave me a voice that drew attention to me every time I spoke. The worst part is that I loved to talk. So every day, I would struggle with the fact that kids would avoid me and tell me to be quiet for something I couldn’t help. Though I can’t blame them. I must have been hurting their ears. Thankfully, I was able to utilize that strong voice in my after school program's choir and theater. While most singers struggled to project, I did it effortlessly. For the first time, I was proud to be loud. Soon, that would translate into my presentation skills during AVID in middle school that would later be refined in high school through Virtual Business. Though I think the best part about being loud is that it’s impossible for me to go unnoticed. I easily draw the attention of my teachers and constantly participate during class discussion. At some point, I also forced my classmates to recognize me and forbade them from ever letting me disappear into the background. I practically engraved myself into the memories of others. Now I’m one of the best public speakers amongst my class. I’m often the first one to present. I get full points on volume and audience engagement. I even auditioned to be a graduation speaker and was the first to do the interview. I didn’t get the part. But I still got to present the speech in English class and caused a girl to cry from my speech on legacy. How legacy is something we all leave behind through the people we meet rather than the achievements we have accomplished. My English teacher loved it so much and asked if she could use my speech as an example for future speeches.i said yes, of course. Soon, I’ll be off to pursue a Bachelor’s in Creative Writing where my words in books will have just as much meaning as my spoken ones. And who knows, I might find other ways to utilize public speaking beyond presentations for things like activism, motivational speeches, lectures, and whatnot.

Writing is an important art form just as any other media. It evokes emotion and forces the reader to contemplate thought. I remember being a young girl who discovered a passion for reading that would later become a passion for writing. It was there I decided, "I want to be the next biggest writer and inspire many young people like myself." Tell me of a book you love. Either from the present or the past. Do you remember getting lost between the pages? Perhaps even wanting to be part of that world? Do you remember wanting to be in shoes of the protagonist and contemplating what you would do in that position? Books provide a form of respite and console the young mind when it has to make due with the harsh reality it is facing. The wonderful thing about writing is the expanse of the author's mind and their ability to walk you through it. An author will conjure worlds from the most abstract concepts that have the chance to manifest in the real world because they're tied to human nature. 1984 and the eradication of thought and changing the past to fit the narrative. The Hunger Games and trying to maintain your humanity in the games while trying to survive, and then start a revolution to dismantle an unjust system and lose sight of mission when all you want to do is to eradicate those who maintain the system. The Handmaid's Tale and how society ends up oppressing women by deciding what is best for them and "protecting" them from men. All these are topics a relevant and are a mirror to our society. Books are some of the most accessible art mediums and therefore important to the distribution of controversial ideas and alternative thoughts. My current project is a book on the usage of AI and how that might look like in society. Much like 1984, it will delve into thought. How these machines are rendering humans incapable of thinking and rendering them incapable of anything meaningful and profound. Today, we see that literacy rates are declining, students let AI do their homework, and there is an overall hatred for humanity because they can't see beyond their own wants. It will also take from Fahrenheit 451 and Brave New World on the loss of individuality if we let AI do our writing, art, homework. It cannot think, and inept of capturing the human experience. It isn't the AI's fault. No, the fault lies with the people who are pushing it to be used in hopes of making art into cheap labor to capitalize on. They will take from the artist and feed their soul into the machine to produce an abomination of mankind simply because they can't satiate their bottomless greed.

My parents are not helping me with my higher education, and I have had to excel in my studies to get the degree I want. Thankfully, I am off to Full Sail University on a $30,000 scholarship for a Bachelor's in Creative Writing, but I need to cover the rest of my tuition with more scholarships. I plan to make an impact through my writing because the most profound experiences are the ones you make people live through. I want to be one of the greatest writers to ever live and have people remember me after death. In fact, let me tell you my love story and how I see romance so you can taste a bit of my writing. Now, my sexuality wasn't something I contemplated, I like both men and women, but didn't realize I could date whomever I wanted until my teenage years. However, I was weary about getting into a relationship. Growing up, I saw how couples would have their love turned fickle by time for a variety of reasons. The lady withered and could no longer be loved by her man, and he would turn cold and unkind until his lady could no longer bear it. Or they simply were so immature and would begin to purposefully hurt one another to retaliate against their partner. I simply vowed to be careful when it came to choosing a partner. In a way, separating my sexuality from my appreciation for beauty allowed me to understand my emotions better. I could love a woman for the way she was kind to the world and understanding, and I could love a man because he was a nurturer and considerate. Seeing the person prevented me from falling in love with the idea of them. However, I had not truly fallen in love until I had met my beloved Judas. I remember it vividly. A friend brought a classmate into the D&D club I was a part of. Immediately, I saw a reflection of their soul in the way they presented themself. The colorful hair and the quirky little earrings of rats, pompoms, skeletons, fuzzy worms, and even Dr. Pepper. I thought, "You're so cool... You'd probably never want to be friends with me." I would later find out they were trans, but that didn't matter. He is a human all the same and I wanted a connection all the same. I wanted to get to know him, be his friend, and understand him, without realizing I was stumbling down the road to love. It started small. Letting them ramble about all the things they found interesting. Consoling them if his parents got overbearing and wouldn't let him foster independence. And then my Judas told me about his experience dating. Both genders. He was hurt and wounded, and I came to bandaged them up. I understood what the Greeks meant when it felt as if Eros had shot them. I had fallen in love. I cared deeply for this person and and was in awe in the sheer beauty of his soul. Somehow, I ended up in a relationship with a trans man, and I adore the fact I have my freedom to be with him because to my parents he is my "girl best friend." I know that with my writing, I can encapsulate human experiences and make people understand. I can change their way of thinking and force them to put aside their prejudice because the driving force is empathy and love. That I can eradicate whatever irrational thought and emotion is clouding their head and make them see.

Does creative writing count as an art form? If you don’t think so, it does. Much like how an artist will stir the hearts of those who lay eyes on their creations, a writer can evoke the most heart-wrenching thoughts and force a reader to walk a mile in the tumultuous journeys fabricated by their mind. Just like cave paintings, a written language and storytelling is a defining trait of humanity. That’s what entranced me about reading. Every form of expression and imagination became a more mature version of playing pretend in elementary school. However, it wasn’t until middle school that I was actually exposed to the idea of writing through fanfiction. A girl’s favorite piece of media, and being able to insert herself into the world to interact with the beloved characters. What more could see want? Well, to write her own fantasy books that will have young children like her enamored with her storytelling. And that’s exactly what I want to do. I may be no Shakespeare, but oh to have your work immortalized and loved for centuries after your death. Dare I say, it made me a better thinker. I sometimes wonder if I was a poet from the Romantic era considering how much of the ideology I carried without knowing it could be classified as Romantic. Pardon my morbid thoughts on death. I am quite the melancholic. Not in the sense that my sorrow comes from unknown roots, but from knowing too much. Out of the four humors, melancholy was revered. A melancholic person’s wisdom comes from spending countless hours mulling abstract thoughts in their head that most people are too cowardly to even entertain. Often times, melancholics are lonely because they can’t stand not being around others who can’t reflect for the life of them. Yet we wouldn’t trade our knowledge for blissful ignorance and conform just because ordinary people say so. All these thoughts came to me from reading and writing. Writing is the most sacred art form because it’s not always meant to entertain like a play. Much like a painting, it’s supposed to make you look deep within your soul and confront emotions you didn’t know were buried there. To bash it open like a pomegranate and disect it to extract the succulent, ruby fruit from within. Then with patience you savor the juice of the seeds that bursts on your tongue from when your teeth gently sink into the delicate flesh.

My family is a mess you see. I could probably make a telenovela out of it. My father came from Mexico looking for a better income since he grew up on a ranch. My mother faced a lot of financial instability in Nicaragua and needed a way to send money to her sons. Somehow they met, and I was born, completely unaware of the injustices I would have to overcome. Both my parents resent each other, and in turn, caused me to resent some parts of myself. My mother would lament the way Mexicans supposedly talked, and constantly corrected my Spanish if I used words she didn’t deem proper. My father would also nitpick at tendencies I picked up from my mother, saying I nagged like my mother and wasn’t proper Mexican because I ate food from her home country. Then I was in for a rude awakening when I discovered my father had many children before me. He tended to be absent for work as most Latino fathers do, and left me to be raised by my mother. However, he once brought me to meet my older siblings who were only a few years older than me. He did not protect me when they took out their anger on me. I understand they were children, but I shouldn’t have taken the brunt of my father’s shortcomings. It only got worse in high school. He told me he paid for their college, a few of which haven’t done anything with their degrees, yet he won't help me for my college for reasons I cannot fathom. Yet he's the one telling me to apply to MIT and Harvard when he doesn’t know anything about student loans. My mother was a wonderful woman, but she became a Scientologist. If you don’t know, it's a cult. That’s all I need to say, and I feel bad because I know they’re taking advantage of her emotionally vulnerabilities and want to take her money. She won’t listen to my pleas, so I’m left on my own to make my own path. The biggest thing I got out of this family is resilience and spite. Thankfully, my mother strove for my education despite my ADHD hindering me at first in school. She let me be held back in second grade because I wasn’t on par with my peers, and it helped me. With an IEP, I was able to continue through middle school and high school as an honors student. Even now, I'm part of the National Society of High School Scholars, and many colleges have offered me scholarships to attend their schools. As of now, I’m going to Full Sail University on a Creative Minds Scholarship for creative writing; most of which will pay my tuition. I want to make a life out of my writing, get my mother the help she needs so that she can leave Scientology, and make enough money to help my younger brother also get through college, who is also going through the same hurts I did growing up in this family.

Writing is an exhilarating experience. There's so much fun in complex world-building, plot-making, and character development. I began writing in sixth grade for the enjoyment of changing the endings of my favorite shows and media, but soon it became my artistic expression that I would hone for years. Writing helped me throughout emotionally excruciating times. I won't get into the personal details. It would feel as if I were to expose a very messy and raw side of myself, but to summarize, I made poems and short stories based on small concepts such as burnout, lethargy, and anguish. I found that the solemn short stories and poems were cathartic, soothing my woes like a balm to a gushing wound. I also adored taking inspiration from Romantic Era writings because they resonated with my writing style, and it sparked my interest in publishing my works. Once I got better, I decided to expand on writing through my schoolwork. I enrolled in advanced classes such as Pre-Honors English, Gate, and AP English during high school. My objective was to keep honing my writing and learn other forms such as argumentative essays to build on my experience with plot-making. I also joined a creative writing club that didn't last long because they didn't hold meetings that often. I've also reached out to newspapers and magazines to publish my works. I'm also looking to join writing competitions once my financial situation gets better. Once I graduate high school, I hope to become a renowned author or journalist. Other than that, I adore using my writing capabilities to help my peers and friends. I occasionally proofread and offer feedback for essays and CERs to my peers to meet the rubric's criteria. However, I get to exercise my technique and display my experience when it comes to making D&D (Dungeons & Dragons) campaigns. I taught the DMs (Dungeon Masters; think of them as the narrator) how to make stories to keep their players engaged while also ensuring that they don't abandon the campaign, a common problem due to too much improvisation. It's called "sandwiching", and you do it by having a beginning and an ending to act as the bread of your story. Everything else that you put in between will be the rising actions, climax, and falling action. They found it very helpful. Since writing is a big part of myself, and since I'm in the Virtual Business course at my school, I'm working on making a company with affordable editorial and marketing services. Though, I know that's not always promised with AI threatening the livelihood of writing, I need to stretch myself out and seize every opportunity I come across.

Setting foot into my education was arduous because of my upbringing. My family faced financial struggles and lived in a cramped apartment. I rarely saw my father, and often, relatives took turns caring for me while my mother worked. I didn't recognize her as my mother until I was around four or five years old. Therefore, no one prepared me for school, and it was a jostling experience when I was abruptly put into kindergarten at Bella Vista Elementary. At first, I didn't take school seriously; I viewed it as just another place to play while my mom worked. This mindset was my first stumble. I struggled to communicate with my teacher and classmates because I primarily spoke Spanish. I often fought with my mother about attending school and doing my homework. I struggled to communicate with teachers and peers because I spoke mostly Spanish. I had to be held back a year in 2nd grade because I could not grasp the material, had to take ASL, and was put into an IEP for the fact I had ADHD. I would not have known I had this until 8th grade when looking at my medical records because my mother hid it from me and didn't want to put me in Special Education. I was upset at all this, but thanks to my mom, I did get better with the extra help. I had a lot more fun learning in the RSP (Resource Specialist Program) classes provided by my IEP which I would later graduate from in 4th grade. I took pleasure in doing my homework, occasionally turning it in the same day, and would jump at the opportunity to take on extra credit assignments. It didn't stop there. When I got to Macy Intermediate, I was in AVID throughout middle school, I became self-taught in creative writing and earned an award for advanced English, took afterschool chemistry classes taught every Thursday by my 8th-grade science teacher and learned to play piano due to free lessons at a nearby park. This foundation prepared me for high school. In my freshman year at Schurr High School, I joined the school choir, took Pre-Honors English, conducted a survey for my science class, and appeared on Spartan News for an interview. Later, my mom had to abandon her old job and move us to Bakersfield. It was a bit disheartening having to leave my friends, but this new opportunity opened up doors I had never imagined at Centennial High School. Now, as a junior, I am a member of the National Society of High School Scholars (NSHSS), the Spanish Honors Society, and the Science Honors Society. I am taking the Virtual Business class and various advanced courses. Additionally, I am in the process of creating my sole proprietorship and hope to develop it into a formidable company by the time I graduate. My mother has been my biggest support through all of this and has had to make a few self-sacrifices financially to get me here. I am indebted to her, and I hope to repay her once I finish my higher education so that she can live comfortably.