As someone passionate about mental health, emotional expression, and building meaningful connections, I’ve seen how difficult it can be for people to open up, especially in environments that thrive on appearances and quick judgments, like Love Island. Through managing anxiety and advocating for mental health, I’ve come to believe that creating safe spaces for vulnerability is key to forming genuine connections. This belief inspired my Love Island challenge idea, Inside Out. Inside Out combines vulnerability, humor, and flirtation by asking Islanders to share anonymous inner thoughts and then guess who said each one. Prompts might include “The moment I knew I liked someone in the villa,” “A fantasy I haven’t shared,” or “Something I wish I could say out loud.” After Islanders make their guesses, the author reveals themselves and acts out their thought with the Islander they believe best fits the moment. To keep the game lively and encourage connection even when guesses are wrong, the challenge includes playful twists called “love language roulette” dares. These mini-games take inspiration from the five love languages: physical touch, words of affirmation, quality time, acts of service, and receiving gifts. They offer Islanders a chance to participate in flirty or emotionally meaningful activities instead of sitting out or facing typical punishments. For example, an Islander who guesses incorrectly might hold eye contact with another contestant to build emotional tension, engage in a compliment battle to spark attraction through words, or slow dance to create a moment of romantic closeness. Using these dares instead of punishments helps maintain a playful atmosphere without the chaos of traditional truth or dare games. Even when guesses are wrong, Islanders still have a chance to form deeper connections or maybe even ignite something real. My experience as a mental health advocate and workshop creator has shown me the power of emotional honesty and trust. Through art therapy and community workshops, I’ve seen how sharing feelings in a safe space can transform relationships and build confidence. What makes this challenge especially meaningful is how it levels the playing field, giving everyone—especially those who haven’t yet found a connection—a safe and enjoyable chance to reveal deeper parts of themselves. Building on the game’s playful and emotionally engaging nature, Inside Out shifts the focus from surface-level attraction to emotional chemistry, creating space for bonds that might not have formed otherwise. This challenge reflects my commitment to fostering environments where people feel empowered to take emotional risks while still having fun. At its core, Inside Out creates space for honesty, heart, and realness that helps people not just play the game but possibly find something genuine. Designing this challenge extends my dedication to helping others express what they’re feeling, even when it’s difficult to put into words. I want to bring that same sense of openness and connection to a place where it is often missing, helping Islanders see, hear, and truly understand one another.

I once had a panic attack in the middle of a test. I do not remember what the test was on or what grade I got, but I remember not being able to catch my breath. It felt like I was running a race with no finish line. Even then, as I spiraled, my biggest concern was whether anyone would notice—not just because I felt embarrassed, but because I knew they would not be able to help me. People always say, "Just calm down," as if it were that easy. It does not matter that nothing is wrong. Your brain convinces you that everything is. I am not overwhelmed by one thing but by everything, all at once, trapped inside my head. That day, my anxiety attack began with a math question I could not answer. As I worried about getting it wrong, my thoughts spiraled out of control. I imagined failing the test, my grades dropping, and then failing school altogether. Then came the fear of disappointing my family, of becoming a failure, a burden. Before I knew it, I was questioning whether anything mattered at all. The worst part is that sometimes it feels like I bring it on myself, since a side effect of ADHD medication is increased anxiety. Still, my body had never betrayed me like that before. I had never broken down in class, and I was determined not to let it happen again. I started looking for help online, but most of the advice wasn’t intended for someone my age. Tips like taking a day off work or going to a nail salon didn’t fit a teenager’s life. That’s when I realized I would have to find my way to get better. So, I turned to art therapy because it made the most sense for me as an artist. As I used it to process my anxiety, I began to notice a shift—I was healing. Over time, I started using what I learned to help others by organizing mental health donation drives, creating resources, and speaking at events. The more I cared for myself, the more I realized how deeply I wanted to care for others as well. That realization shaped my future and inspired me to become a clinical child psychiatrist specializing in art therapy. I believe it is invaluable to have a provider who understands conditions like ADHD and anxiety not only clinically but also through personal experience. This perspective will allow me to truly meet others where they are and help them cope and overcome. Through my studies, I aim to discover more effective and practical ways to support mental health using nontraditional methods. My goal is to change how help is given to adolescents, especially those who don’t connect with traditional approaches. One way I plan to do this is by creating a nonprofit mental health art lounge. This will be a safe place where adolescents can try art therapy as an alternative way to heal, guided by art experts and mental health professionals. I am also working on a mental health curriculum for elementary schools. This curriculum will build upon a program I have already established, teaching students how to express their feelings, identify early signs of stress, and learn healthy coping strategies from the outset. Although I still struggle with anxiety, mainly because I continue taking ADHD medication that can sometimes make it worse, I have learned skills to manage, reduce, and avoid my triggers. This gives me hope that others can find better too, and that I can help them achieve it.

My favorite part of Wicked is Elphaba. She is misunderstood, mislabeled, and self-aware, a complex figure who defies the mold of a traditional hero, and that dichotomy interests me. Her beauty is not obvious at first glance; instead, it emerges through her resistance, sharpness, and honesty. From the very start, the film introduces Elphaba through others’ eyes. Rumors, Glinda’s retelling, and public judgment come before she is given a voice. The camera work, music, and lighting frame her as an outsider before she gets a chance to defend herself. This sense of being talked about rather than heard, seen but not understood, feels familiar. The film’s visuals deepen this sense of distance. Elphaba is often shown in shadows and cool tones, isolated both physically and emotionally. In contrast, Glinda appears in warm light and soft pastels, embraced and celebrated by the world around her. These visual choices reflect how society welcomes what is familiar while sidelining what is different. This tension becomes clear in the “ugly hat” scene. Glinda offers the hat as a joke meant to embarrass Elphaba. Yet Elphaba chooses to wear it anyway. The hat reflects how others view her—loud, awkward, and different. Instead of hiding, she claims it. This moment reframes dignity as self-definition, not conformity. Her emotional journey is expressed through music. Her songs begin quietly, filled with hesitation, then grow into fierce declarations of self-trust. The vocal cracks, minor keys, and swelling tempo capture the shift from silence to confidence. Glinda’s polished, performative singing stands in contrast. Elphaba uses her voice not to impress others but to release her truth. Her costume evolution follows this path as well. She starts wearing shapeless, practical clothing meant to make her invisible. As her confidence grows, her wardrobe becomes structured and bold, culminating in the iconic black dress and pointed hat. These pieces are not disguises; they become armor. Elphaba transforms what once marked her as dangerous into a symbol of power. This idea of transformation ties closely to how I understand beauty. I have chosen “Desolate Beauty” as my stage name because it captures the kind of beauty I see—one shaped by solitude, reflection, and resilience. Elphaba embodies this fully. She is broken but not defeated, feared but not fragile, alone but never insignificant. Her strength comes not from being chosen but from choosing herself. I connect with Elphaba because I recognize the space she occupies. I have been misunderstood and underestimated, and those experiences fuel my work in mental health advocacy and creative expression. My goal is to create spaces where others who feel unseen can find acceptance and strength by embracing their full selves. Wicked resonates with me because it challenges how we define beauty, difference, and belonging. It shows the power of standing firm in your truth, especially when it is uncomfortable or unpopular. This story is not just entertainment—it reflects my beliefs and the strength I strive to live by. That is why I am a fan.