I am a main character, unfortunately. Main characters are always in action, doing and making and constantly developing, everything working out eventually. Their life is never easy. Side characters usually remain static, and life is simple, with few trials or tribulations. I would like to be a side character, someone with wacky skills and plot-convenient connections, the sort of person who will help out the main character (or my friends). This is not the life I live. I’m always busy, always pushing myself, growing every day. No matter how hard I try, I’m a main character, for better or worse.

I could easily say that the quality I value most in myself is my perseverance, my hard work, my creativity. That would be a lie. As silly as it seems, the quality I value most in myself is the ability to ride a unicycle. Why? Because it’s fun. Because I know exactly two other people who can ride. One of them is the man who taught me to ride, and the other is my younger sibling. My ability to ride makes me unique. It’s a conversation starter, it’s a cool fact. Pretty much everyone is impressed by my unicycle. It’s also a good source of exercise, as riding the unicycle necessitates core strength, and has improved my balance. So my unicycle has helped me make friends and go outside more often, but it won’t help much overall throughout my life. Or maybe it will! I have come to the conclusion that while the unicycle itself is fun, it is a representation of deeper qualities that will move me toward success. Most obvious is my tenacity. It wasn’t easy to learn to ride, and hours upon hours of practice have gone into the skill. Regardless of how often I fell, I always got back on. This tenacity will, of course, serve me well in University and the job market, as it would for anyone. I just happened to one of the few people who developed perseverance through unicycling. Another quality I believe my unicycle represents is my tendency towards absurdity. I like to joke that if a career in Computer Science, my intended field, does not work out, I could always become a circus clown, as I can also juggle and I don’t mind wearing face paint. Out of my friends, I am most likely to look towards unconventional methods or original conclusions as a result of the strange skills I have developed. I am a staunch proponent of the value of interdisciplinary cooperation and understanding to work towards new and revolutionary conclusions that would otherwise be impossible. Tending toward the absurd is how genius ideas become world-changing reality. Since learning the unicycle, I have picked up a number of skills ranging from modern to traditional, each with varying degrees of utility or relation to the field of computer science. I sew, I knit, I press flowers, I clean and make jewelry out of animal bones or beads or both, I paint, I sculpt, I play the ukulele semi-well), I juggle, I design posters and other graphics, I create phone apps, I learn new coding languages, I pick locks, I practice ballet. Each of these skills, picked up alone in the solitude of my room has shifted my perspectives and how I look at and solve problems. My tendency toward ‘absurd’ or seemingly unproductive skills, as some of my hobbies are, has made me a more rounded individual and allowed me to solve problems more effectively. In addition, I find it easier to connect with people as it’s easier to find something in common to discuss. As I gain more uncommon skills, I will be even more effective in solving problems and in creating relationships, and I’m sure I will need to do both often through the rest of my life. So while I love riding a unicycle because it’s fun, perhaps it’s not as unhelpful as I initially thought.

I grew up as a (mostly) happy little girl. Then in 7th grade, I learned that transgender people exist. The revelation was earth-shattering. Suddenly everything in my life was recontextualized. This dissatisfaction I’d felt with my given name, my preference of pants to skirts and dresses, the deep discomfort I felt when being referred to as in feminine terms that I’d attributed to internalized misogyny. When imagining my future, there’d always been a disconnect between what I pictured and who I truly wanted to be that I had been unable to pinpoint, until now. Next came the denial. After all, I’d been happy even before I’d known, so what if I was just faking it? I was fine. Then I realized, I wasn’t fine, I was numb. I had ignored myself for so long that I hadn't realized how truly awful I felt. And with that realization came immense discomfort. Each ‘she’ or ‘her’ a punch to the gut, and hearing my given name was a stab in the back, a betrayal that my friends and family didn’t know they were committing. So I came out. I've been very lucky, and while not all of my friends and family are understanding or respectful, none have abandoned me. Life is still difficult, though it’s difficult in a different way. It’s always a fight to be seen as I truly am, to transition to a me that I can see myself being, but above all, I am fighting for a better future. I am not hiding behind others’ expectations of me. Each day I realize more and more of who I was and am, but despite the pain, I wouldn’t change the past even if given the chance. I have learned who I truly am, and who I can truly be.

I have been forced into being a role model. As a transgender man, I am presented with a choice every day. Do I hide myself and fit into the limiting binary box of ‘man’ as best I can, or am I open about my history and the difficulties I have belonging and transitioning? Most days, I choose to be open about myself, and this openness allows those around to be themselves as well. Two people have told me that they felt safe coming out as transgender because my example proved it was safe, and there are likely more. My mentorship guiding them through the difficulties of being an out transgender person in the school system. A few times people have requested my presence while coming out to teachers, knowing I’ll support them through something incredibly difficult. I say this not to brag, but because these experiences have convinced me that my honesty about my identity is helping those around me. I am a mentor, a trailblazer, and with each struggle for my right to existence, I make existence easier for those around me. I provide advice on coming out to friends, family, and authority figures. I explain how I changed my name both socially and legally, and how I’ve begun to transition medically. I am a shoulder to cry on and a listening ear when one needs to complain about the transphobia they face. I can’t make the life of my fellow transgender students easy, as life is never easy and being trans will always come with complications, but I can do my best to guide them through and to eliminate the unjust struggles they face.

I admire most a man who was born in a country that no longer exists, initially unremarkable as the third of ten children, and member of a band whose name translates to ‘Suddenly Jazz.’ He was also a revolutionary, intellectual, esteemed military man, and the first president of Burkina Faso. In addition, he wrote the country’s national anthem himself. Thomas Sankara, dealt a pessimistic lot in life as a black man living under French colonial rule, rose to both prominence and power yet refused to let either get to his head, choosing instead to limit the salaries of public servants, jog unaccompanied through the country’s capital city, and focus his energy on improving the lives of his citizens. He succeeded. He launched a mass vaccination campaign that vaccinated almost one third of the country over just a few years. He decreased infant mortality from 20.8% to 14.5%. He advanced women's rights by banning forced marriages and female genital mutilation, promoting contraception and women’s right to continue education even if pregnant, and appointing women to government positions. He made the official car of government employees as cheap as possible to minimize the burden on his citizens. He limited his own salary to $450 a month and owned little. Thomas Sankara was not perfect. His treatment of the native Mossi people remains contentious, and some of his administrative creations such as the Committee for Defense of the Revolution and the Popular Revolutionary Tribunal were plagued with corruption. Yet Sankara acknowledged and attempted to resolve these issues. He might have done so if not for his assassination. Above all, Sankara was concerned with the welfare of his citizens, of his fellow men and women. He truly cared. It’s an admirable sentiment that we all should mirror as best we can.

One of my favorite books is The Richest Man in Babylon, given to me in 7th grade by my history teacher. I’ve read it dozens of times since, and each I learn more despite the brief nature of the text. Of the lessons taught in the book, I am most impacted by the second Cure, ‘Control thy expenditures.’ Arkad, the Richest Man, warns us that what we consider to be necessary expenses will always be equal to our income unless we deliberately choose otherwise. This advice, valuable not despite but because of its simplicity, shocked me with its inherent sense when I first read it. And I’ve seen the principle behind it appear over and over in the years since. I’ve seen my friends spend as soon as they receive; money flowing through their hands like water so desperately trying to escape the clutches of a mountain stream for the more welcoming expanse of the ocean. I’ve seen my parents come upon windfalls and just as quickly come upon unexpected expenses of equal measure. I’ve seen countless rationalizations of why one truly ‘needs’ this thing or that. I aim not to fall prey to the same logic. Every time I am tempted to spend money, I remember this warning: “What each of us calls our 'necessary expenses' will always grow to equal our incomes unless we protest to the contrary.” I don’t always heed this advice, but because I have more times than not, I have saved large sums for the purpose of college and my future as a whole. The most helpful piece of advice I’ve ever received essentially boils down to ‘don’t spend all your money.’ Yet these 21 words have changed my view of spending and saving irrevocably.

How many roads must a man walk down? My favorite book is Douglas Adams’ The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy. My father gave me a copy 5 years ago. I immediately devoured it. I brought it to school with me every day and read it so thoroughly and repeatedly that the back cover and some pages detached from the book, though each was then carefully reattached with tape. I read the book daily, and I’d discuss the story for hours. Douglas Adams’ writing taught me what words could do. With his brilliant metaphors and his holistic approach to both characters and plot, his humorous situations and digressions force his audience to question life, humanity, and meaning, while simultaneously learning that Earth was commissioned by mice and listening to the gripes of a depressed robot with pains in his left diodes. In The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy, a supercomputer, Deep Thought, is built to find the answer to Life, the Universe, and Everything, and after 7.5 million years, an answer is found: 42. The mice realize that they don’t know the question, and they then commission the Earth as a biological computer to find the question, but the Earth is destroyed 5 minutes before the answer can be found, and the mice eventually fabricate the question ‘How many roads must a man walk down?’ so as not to lose their reputation. The book never truly makes a claim as to what the meaning of Life, the Universe, and Everything is, allowing the audience to create their own purpose in a random and uncaring universe. I love The Hitchhiker’s Guide both for its hilarity and its probing and painful questions about life and everything else, for Marvin, the depressed robot, and for a resigned yet vengeful bowl of petunias.

The biggest problem facing the world right now is economic inequity. Some countries enjoy economic prosperity and the higher quality of life that follows it, but those in the global south are still suffering from centuries of exploitation and colonialism. Even in wealthier nations such as the United States, there is a nearly insurmountable gap between the wealthy and the working class citizens. Over one tenth of American citizens live below the poverty line, and the wealth gap is currently greater than it was in Revolution-Era France during the time of public executions. Obviously, public executions, even if they were morally right, are not an effective manner of dismantling the power systems that currently exist. These systems, which continue to concentrate power in the hands of the wealthy at the expense of the poor both globally and nationally, need to be dismantled. One way of doing this is by cancelling student loan debt and providing free college to all. A more educated populace is a more economically efficient populace. Individuals will earn more overall, and families that no longer have to pay student loan payments when they restart will be able to reinvest that money in the local economy. An organization I'm part of, the Debt Collective, is currently organizing a national movement for the cancellation of all student debt, and I'm helping organize a demonstration outside my state capitol to illustrate the public demand for student loan debt cancellation. Economic inequity is a wide-reaching and long-lasting problem, and dismantling economic power structures will take a lot of time. However, we can start with the cancellation of student loan debt, and from there, continue on towards a more economically free, equitable, and productive world.

1a. “All influence is immoral … because to influence a person is to give him one’s own soul.” (Wilde). With all due respect to the iconic Oscar Wilde, I don’t believe the sharing of one’s soul is such a bad idea. Influence technically means the ability to affect people’s development or actions, but it cannot exist without something being shared—not lost, but transferred. 1b. I influence those around me by sharing my own truth. I came out as a transgender man almost 4 years ago. I could choose to be subtle or hide that piece of myself, but instead I am open about who I am, and this has allowed others around me to come out and live in their own truth. 2. My grandfather is currently dying of prostate cancer, and my mom has returned home to help my grandmother deal with his passing. Seeing him waste away when once he was larger than life has been humbling, to say the least. In answering this question, I have realized that I have not been dealing with this, but instead avoiding it. I’m going to try to call him and talk this afternoon. I’m going to talk to my teachers so they know what’s happening, and to my counselor to get some advice on grieving. I need to be kind to myself and my family, especially mom, who is losing her father. I will remember the man he is even as he becomes a man who was. 3a. I’m going into computer science. I taught myself HTML, CSS, and JavaScript while in middle school, and I am currently working on my second IT certification through my high school, but once I get to university, I’ll be majoring in computer science. I’m yet unsure what specification I’ll choose, but at the moment I’m interested in and learning about quantum computing. 3b. I love puzzles, and math and logic puzzles especially. Computer programming is very much a puzzle, both in creating new code and reading the code others have written. In addition, I love the knowledge of how computers work on every level, from transistors to servers to networks. It’s incredible to think how we’ve become so accustomed to such complex devices being readily available, and how we can use these devices to advance human progress in the future. My goal is to get a masters degree in computer science, and do research in the field of quantum computing to help human development in every area of life. 4. As much as the financial support would be beneficial, hearing Jack’s story has forced me to do some self-reflection on the limited time my grandfather has, and what I should be doing before he’s gone. Regardless of whether or not I win, I’m glad I found this scholarship as a reminder for me to use the time I’m given.

I’ve been questioning the meaning of life since about 4th grade. This wasn’t actually a good thing, as this is when I first became suicidal, but since I’ve been considering this for almost 10 years, I’ve come to a conclusion. One of the biggest questions I considered was how minuscule human actions are when compared to the enormity of the universe and the infinity of time. No matter how many lives I influence, that ripple effect will eventually cease. Even if I influence the life of every human that exists in the future, humanity will one day end. Even if I’m the one who establishes contact with an alien race, that race will also end eventually. Comparing the size of earth to the size of the universe yields a similar realization about the infinitesimal nature of human action. This leads to the question — if nothing I do has any influence in the grand scheme of things, then what’s the point of doing anything at all? I eventually came to the conclusion that while human actions are minuscule in comparison to the grand scale of the universe, it is humans that set the scale. And since humans set the scale, we are the ones who determine importance. I believe the meaning of life comes from the relationships we form with those around us. Humans determine importance, and humans are what’s important. And from this, human connection is the most important thing. The time I spend with my friends and family is my search to find the meaning of life. But when I do spend time with them, when I laugh so hard I can’t breathe, when I stay up late to comfort a crying friend, when my mom lets herself be vulnerable around me, I think I’ve already found it.

My family moved into our current house a year ago, and when we did, the yard was a barren wasteland. It was dirt when dry, and was tracked into the house when wet. Since we have dogs who don’t know enough to wipe their feet when they enter the house, something had to be done. We got to work covering the space with a barrier of carpeting and cardboard, and then bark chips. We were about halfway done when someone suggested we use the space for a garden. To make a long story short, we now have a few garden beds in our front yard, surrounded by bark chips. No more muddy paws. But maintaining our garden hasn’t been easy. I’ve certainly learned a lot. The first problem was the dirt we were using. The problem was, it wasn’t dirt. It was mostly clay. So we put in other material to aerate it, and used compost to give the soil some nutrients. Then we watered it. And watered it. And watered it. Turns out gardens need to be watered often. It also turns out that humans are not the only ones who like gardens. Rodents also like gardens. One in particular took a liking to our garden, and burrowed underneath it. It took great pleasure in eating the leaves off our tomato plants, but thankfully it never reached the roots, and our plants survived unharmed. We eventually filled the hole and placed a rock over the former opening, and our friendly little garden guest moved on. But regardless, we learned quite a bit from our first foray into gardening. For example, the garden beds with solid bottoms were never quite as happy as the garden beds that had free access to all the soil beneath it. While this may seem obvious to experienced gardeners, we were flying blind. We also learned that tomatoes and zucchini are extremely productive plants, as evidenced by the boxes of tomatoes and dozens of zucchinis we picked. Every day after school I’d pick a few cherry tomatoes as a snack. We gave tomatoes to all our next door neighbors, and I baked half a dozen loaves of zucchini bread for friends. One time, I confused the entire theatre department by bringing in a 8lb zucchini to a performance. (It was a gift for a friend who was coming to see the performance.) We still have frozen vegetables taking up space in our freezer. Hopefully we can eat them all before we start planting this spring. And we will be planting again this spring. It’ll be easier, since we won’t have to make the garden beds this time around, and we know better what we’re doing. While our tomatoes and zucchini were overwhelmingly successful last year, our broccoli and carrots were less so, and we’ll be focusing on them. I might be able to convince her to buy some saffron bulbs, although the temperature might be a little cold. I will be making more zucchini bread next fall. I thoroughly enjoyed starting a garden, and I hope I’ll be able to have one, however small, wherever I end up.

When I was born, the doctors said ‘it’s a girl,’ congratulated my parents, and sent the three of us on our merry way. To make a long story short, they were wrong. I am a transgender male, assigned female at birth, currently undergoing the process of medically transitioning. And the last 16 years have been quite the adversarial experience. Early on, there was little to indicate anything odd about my gender. In fact, the only sign of any complexity regarding my gender was how completely I detested my original name, the one I was given at birth. I did everything and anything to avoid being called my old name. At the time, I couldn’t figure out why it didn’t fit, all I knew was that it was completely and unchangeably wrong. Besides this, there was nothing in my childhood to indicate anything out of the ordinary. It wasn’t until 8th grade that I regularly started using the internet, and it was then I learned about queer identities. At first, there was no immediate moment of clarity, nor did I resist the idea. I was mostly neutral about it. Until I realized I wasn’t neutral. I was numb. I had ignored myself for so long that I hadn’t realized how awful I felt. As soon as I realized how numb I was, my shield fell. Each day it became more painful to live a lie. Each ‘she,’ each ‘her,’ each wrong name, I felt as if I was being stabbed. So I came out. I was 12 years old, I was terrified, I was unsure how my parents would respond, worried about being kicked out of my home. And when I came out, my mom laughed. Ouch. Since then, I have come out over and over again. To the rest of my family, to teachers, to my peers. From people who have known me since birth to people I’ve just met, I must decide whether to correct their assumptions, or to suffer in silence. I’ve been called slurs, bullied, ostracized and developed medical issues as a result of being trans. My freshman year, I avoided drinking water during the school day so I wouldn’t need to use the school bathrooms, leading to chronic dehydration that still affects me. I slouched for years to hide my chest, leading to shoulder and back problems. But I will never regret coming out. I am no longer stifled under a label that will never fit me. My parents tell me that after I came out, they noticed immediately how much happier I became. All of my friends use he/him pronouns for me. I changed my name legally two years ago. I have been on testosterone for almost 5 months, and I am saving money for top surgery later in life. Therapy has also helped. I have been able to reinvent myself, over and over again. I have overcome everyone’s expectations of myself, including my own, to become something truly incredible. Being transgender is exhausting and a colossal obstacle, but at the same time, it is wonderful. Coming out and transitioning — both socially and medically— is the best thing I’ve ever done. Each day I stand a little taller, breathe a little more freely, and I keep going. I know life will not always be as easy as it’s been thus far, (easy being a relative term,) but I’ve made it this far. I’ve taken the resilience I’ve been forced into, and applied it to my schoolwork, my friendships, and my future. And I know I can face any challenge that comes my way.

I love calculus. The 'problem' with calculus, or at least the way I'm being taught calculus, is that each part builds off the preceding section. So missing one day of class can make the next class somewhat confusing. Missing many makes the class nigh impossible. But nigh impossible means nearly impossible. Just as mostly dead is still partly alive, nearly impossible is still possible. I missed quite a lot of class last semester due to illness, and at times it felt impossible to catch up. Each day I'd come into class and realize how little I knew, how much I still had to learn. I came close to giving up. However, I'm a stubborn person. And stubbornness, when properly applied, is the same thing as persistence. So I spoke to my teacher. I borrowed two textbooks. I woke up early to talk to my teacher before class. I spent every off period in his room working on missing assignments. I stayed up late studying. And with each passing day, each question I answered, each mistake I made and corrected, I got a little bit better. One day, I finished an assignment and realized that I was no longer behind in the class. In fact, I was ahead, and all the extra time I'd spent on calculus outside of class meant by test grades were some of best in the class. Without even intending to, I'd reached such understanding that the people I'd been asking for help were now asking me how to solve problems. It was a strange feeling. I'll be keeping the textbooks for the rest of the year. I don't need them anymore, but I can always improve, and when I want to spend some time working on my calculus, I know they'll be there.

I have dealt with anxiety and depression for close to 7 years. When I entered high school, I was a mess, breaking down on the weekly and barely holding it together. Despite this, I managed to keep a 4.0 GPA, even through the end of my sophomore year, which coincided with the beginning of the COVID-19 pandemic and remote learning. It wasn't until spring 2021 that my academic record deteriorated, and did so in a dramatic way. Remote learning, combined with the lack of support received from teachers and the continual trauma of existing during a pandemic and watching those around me falling ill or dying, made good grades less of a priority. But despite *this*, my grades were still a priority, so as my mental health worsened, so did my academic performance, dragging my mental health down further. Oh, cruel irony. I finally reached the point where I could not lift my grades and ended the semester with a failing grade in US history and a few C's and D's. For someone terrified of failure, this was an awful moment. Yet, this was also one of the most crucial moments of my life in its change for the better. I had been standing on a tightrope with a bunch of boxes balanced precariously in my arms, unwilling to let them fall but unable to hold them any longer. Some boxes, upon falling, broke, while others survived, allowing me, for the first time, to chose which burdens I want to hold onto and which I may let go. I no longer hate myself, so who cares if my GPA isn't perfect? In my 'new' imperfections, I have the freedom to go above and beyond anything I'd expected of myself before, and to love myself while doing it.