I want to be seen as a role model without having to hide the flaws that make me unique—to set a genuine example of someone trying their best.

I don't love the ocean because I'm queer, but it certainly helps. Ocean life is often described as strange. Its environment is vastly different from our own in almost every way. The adaptations needed to survive in the depths are unlike any seen above the water’s surface, and as a result many aquatic life forms are not dissimilar to the designs of aliens found in popular culture. Transparent bodies, bulging eyes, tentacles, and hearts the size of cars: these are all things these creatures have developed due to their environment. They are an essential part of our planet—nothing alien about them—but to the average person, marine organisms are, in the original sense of the word, queer. I am also queer, both in the original and more modern sense. I am queer: I am neurodivergent and often struggle to relate to other people, I have very niche interests, and I don’t particularly care about following trends. And I am Queer: I feel no connection to womanhood or manhood. I believe femininity and masculinity are illusions, excuses to compartmentalize beauty and personality and herd people into boxes they didn’t choose. I use all pronouns because I identify with none of them. I am somewhat lucky because I can hide my queerness. I can wear dresses and heels and makeup, stop binding, grow out my hair. It’s not something that would make me happy, but it wouldn’t ruin my life. The anti-trans legislation currently being passed all over the US will not affect me because I do not need surgery or hormones, I do not play sports, I have no problem using the women’s bathroom or being referred to as she and her. I can blend into the background like an octopus, or retreat into my shell like a hermit crab. My visibly queer friends do not have that privilege. People I love are in danger when walking down the street. People I relate to are being killed for daring to exist. They are the coral and kelp who cannot escape, the sharks and whales who cannot hide. They are the ones who suffer due to a lack of human understanding. I want to go into marine conservation because when I look at the ocean, I see a community of unique, colorful, misunderstood creatures who are disregarded or threatened by much of humanity. People have struggled to empathize with them because of their differences, but they are just as complex and well-adapted as us (and yes, fish do feel pain). When I look at the ocean I see myself and my community. I see not only the suffering but the joy and love and staggering beauty of something determined to persevere. I want to help it flourish so that future generations might have a chance to see that beauty too. This scholarship will help me continue to fund my undergraduate degree at College of the Atlantic, where I am currently enrolled. In my short time there, COA has shaped my understanding of the natural world and opened my eyes to the kinds of injustices marine environments are facing, and I’m determined to make a difference.

I wrote this song at a really uncertain time in my life. I didn't really know who I was or where I was going. I was envious of my friend, who seemed to have such a perfect grasp on everything, and I wanted to ask her what I was missing—but I couldn't, so instead I asked for her support in the form of this song. I never played it for her, but whenever I start comparing myself to others, I come back to it. No matter how much advice you're given, you can't live off that alone—and what may work for someone else may not work for you. Sometimes what you really need is a hand to hold.