When I was a little kid, I was really smart. At least, that's what I've been told. I was placed with all the higher up kids so I never really felt too much smarter than anyone else. I remember being able to pick up on skills so quickly that I would advance a grade a head in math or reading. I was a teacher's favorite, a focused, hard worker who always seemed to get everything correct. As I got older, that began to change. I've always been really hyper. Sure, kids are hyper, but take a kid on 400 mg of caffeine and times it by ten, and that's basically ten-year-old me. I was, as you can probably tell, a little much, but it never interfered with my studies or social life, so everyone just brushed it off as enthusiasm. When I began sixth grade, something was different. I started having trouble focusing, and my hyper personality became too much. I actually began to get lower grades than usual. I didn't know how to cope, and I didn't know what was wrong with me. I felt lost, and alone, and frustrated that I couldn't seem to get work done. Later that year, I got my ADHD diagnosis. Honestly, it felt kind of good putting a name to the feeling, to the way my brain was working. I didn't know it then, but looking back now, as a rising high school junior, a lot of the things I did as a child made a whole lot more sense than it did before. However, things only got worse from there. Middle school was, to put it lightly, rough. I entered my 7th grade year sitting in my room on a zoom call in my bed. Covid had hit in late 6th grade, putting a halt to the world I knew before. If I was struggling back then, that was nothing comparing to what was happening now. I just couldn't motivate myself to do anything. I tried and tried to start work but I would just sit there, head in my hands, grasping at straws. That was the year I nearly failed out of school. My ADHD symptoms were significantly heightened by the constant isolation and exposure to excessive screentime. For days, I would sit in bed, my room covered in dirty clothes and scattered papers, barely motivated to do anything. When I got to high school, I finally received accommodations. And, needless to say, I've gotten much better. But that doesn't mean my ADHD has gone away. I still struggle, weekly if not daily, to get things done. I've had emails home and parent teacher conferences even this past year. My ADHD makes it so much harder to learn, take in information, process, and get things done without getting distracted. But I am not my ADHD. It may be a part of me, but I control it, not the other way around. To be more successful and thrive in school, I started taking medication for my ADHD, and it's helped a lot. I've been really good at self-advocating for my accommodations. I now get longer time limits on assignments and extra notes from teachers. I found out in early high school that music helps me focus so much that I now wear headphones in all my classes. I have found ways to overcome the challenges. ADHD will always be a part of me. It's just a matter of learning to love it.

When I was about nine years old, my parents took me to see my first ever musical, The Lion King, in Chicago. Before this, I had never heard of theatre or a musical before, and I didn't know what to expect. I remember sitting in my seat in the third row of the dimly lit theater, a playbill in my hands and my eyes focused on the stage. I remember a preshow announcement, and the lights going dark. From the moment I saw the first actor emerge onto the stage, I was entranced. As I watched the musical, I remember this strange feeling of belonging I had never experience before. I was entertained, of course, but I also felt enlightened, captivated, on the edge of my seat with excited anticipation. As I walked out of the theatre that day, a strange warmth filled my chest. I may not have known that feeling then, but as I look back at it now, I understand the feeling clearly; longing, ambition the first emergence of passion to fire my soul into determination. I believe I knew, from that very moment, that I wanted to be like those actors on stage when I grew up. I had carried this passion with me for a long while, but it lay dormant until I arrived at my first day of high school. After that show in the small Chicago theatre, I had little to no more experience with the theatre world, apart from an off-Broadway production here and there. But when I got to high school, everything changed. I went to my school's Varsity Production of The Bomb-Itty of Errors and the fiery beast within me awoke once again. After seeing that production, I decided to audition for our school's fall play. It is now junior year, and I have been in about 13 school productions since then, both acting and on crew. I am now a member of the International Thespian Society, and will hopefully become an Honors Thespian by the end of my junior year. A lot of people don't seem to understand why I keep pursuing theatre or why I want to do it for the rest of my life. The answer is more complicated than I can answer in words, but I will try. Theatre, in my mind, is such a noble, complicated, well-loved act. As an actor, that moment of being on stage and hearing the audience lean forwards in their seats and applaud for you is the most gratifying experience in the world. I, as an actor, want to make audiences feel. I want to leave them with something to think about, want to change their way of thinking. I want to leave a little kid in the audience with the same sense of longing that I received long ago. My passion for theatre stems from my passion to entertain, to change, to impact the world in a way that all people can enjoy. Theatre is my life, my love, my everything, the only thing I want to do with my life. I love the people, the work, the crew, the repertoire, the laughter, the tears, everything. I want to do this for the rest of my life.