“I’d like to ask: if we allow this book to be taken out of the curriculum, where is the line drawn?” After I delivered this line of my speech to the school board, I paused for a moment to take in the weighted reality of the situation. Among community discourse surrounding Marjane Satrapi’s Persepolis—a memoir that highlights the experience of an Iranian woman during the Islamic Revolution—the school district had pulled it from the curriculum around halfway through my freshman year and replaced it with Harper Lee’s To Kill a Mockingbird. As someone who understands the value of discussion and discourse, as well as the importance of involving oneself in current events, I sat down within the week and read the novel cover to cover to see what the fuss was about. Immediately afterward, I signed up to speak at the next school board meeting. Everybody who had addressed the issue before me had been a parent or educator, which made me—at a mere 15 years old—feel extremely out of place. But despite my fear and self-doubt, I emulated the novel’s protagonist by doing what was right instead of what was easy. Because I had read through the other pieces in the curriculum firsthand, I was able to ease the concerns that some community members held regarding the maturity of the content depicted within Perseoplis, pointing out that it contained no more violence than “The Most Dangerous Game,” no more sexual references than Romeo and Juliet, no more vulgar language than the school hallways that their children walked every day. I also emphasized that the school board, in removing the novel from the curriculum, was directly endorsing the idea that opposing viewpoints (the novel contains brief mention of anti-capitalist ideologies) are best handled through censorship. This, to me, held harmful implications that were only inflamed by the fact that Persepolis’ narration served to highlight the same real-world issues that To Kill a Mockingbird did, but were explained from the perspective of a racial minority—a voice that many people my age had not prior been exposed to—in place of a white one. This served to restrict students’ horizons instead of broadening them by exposing them to the same, overdone narrative they’d heard before in place of a new one. Above all else, I knew that the novel had helped me, encouraging me to stand up for my beliefs just as the protagonist had, and I was sure it could provide a similar benefit to my peers. And, a few weeks later, I watched it do exactly that, as it had been restored into its original lesson plans as a result of the few that had spoken in its favor—one of which had been me.

1 year is composed of 12 months. 52 weeks. 365 days. 8,760 hours. 525,600 minutes. In the last year, I’ve been busy creating my own numbers. 65 hours of completing the required driving practice to get my license; 183 days of mulling through my junior year of high school; 3 weeks of stressing over alterations for my shimmery purple prom dress. Also in the last year, 20,000 children in the United States—children just like me—died as a result of food security issues, losing their ability to experience their own numbers like I was. Millions others spent each of their 365 days wondering where their next meal would come from. Wondering if they’d be next. The unfortunate reality that less privileged individuals face isn’t something I’d ever been particularly blind to—I’d always been the kid curiously peering out the car window to examine the rows of tents along the bank of Pittsburgh’s rivers, feeling that burst of shame in my stomach as I witnessed people hustle past with a false sense of urgency to avoid making eye contact with the people inhabiting them. It wasn’t until 2020, however, that I realized that I could do something about it. I remember I first had the idea as I was tinkering with a pair of rubber-duck-turned-charms, while the news played in the background. I’d used the COVID-19 pandemic as the exigence for my new hobby of jewelry-making, and while it was great for passing my time at home, I knew I wanted something more from it. As I stared at my TV, the newscaster reporting record unemployment rates and inflated grocery prices, my means to get exactly that was born. One conversation with my parents, a couple of clicks, and a few product photos later, ForTheCause—my new Etsy shop—was brought into the world. And for every pair of earrings sold, 50% of the proceeds would be donated to No Kid Hungry. And with each jump ring and eclectic charm and handwritten thank you note, I was filled with the strident notion that I was bettering the life of somebody in need. 4 years, over 600 pairs of earrings, and 26,610 meals provided later, I can proudly say that my feeling was correct. Every opportunity to click the “donate” button filled me with that same overwhelming gratification as I’d felt the very first time. It was this unwavering feeling that solidified for me what I’d always believed—no matter what career path I end up pursuing, I know I want it to be one where I can help people. Because from each donation, I realized more and more the importance of helping those in need, of taking the steps to make a positive impact, even when it may be challenging to do so. I may not know how many years, months, weeks, days, hours, or minutes I have left. But what I do know is that I intend to spend every last one of them helping others and making a difference. One meal, one less kid wondering if they’ll make it to tomorrow, at a time.

1 year is composed of 12 months. 52 weeks. 365 days. 8,760 hours. 525,600 minutes. In the last year, I have been busy creating my own numbers. 65 hours were dedicated to completing the necessary driving time to get my license. 183 days were spent mulling over a beige desk to make it through my junior year. 3 weeks were spent stressing over the alterations of the shimmery purple dress that I’d wear to my first-ever school dance. Also in the last year, 20,000 children in the United States—children just like me—died as a result of food security issues, losing their ability to experience life—to create their own numbers—as I was. Millions of others spent each of their 365 days wondering where their next meal would come from. Wondering if they’d be next. The unfortunate reality of others being less privileged than I was is nothing I’d ever been particularly blind to—I’d always been the kid curiously peering out the car window to examine the rows of tents along the bank of Pittsburgh’s rivers or feeling that burst of shame in my stomach as I witnessed tens of people walk past with that false sense of urgency to avoid making eye contact with the people inhabiting them. It wasn’t until 2020, however, that I realized that I had the ability to do something about it. I remember I first had the idea as I was finicking with a pair of rubber-duck-turned-charms, while the news played in the background. I’d used the COVID-19 pandemic as the exigence for my new hobby of jewelry-making, and while it was great for filling up my newfound time at home, I knew I wanted something more from it. As I stared at the lady on my TV screen who was reporting record unemployment rates and inflated grocery prices, my means to get exactly that was born. One conversation with my parents, a couple of clicks, and a few product photos later, ForTheCause—my new Etsy shop—was brought into the world on the premises that for every pair of earrings sold 50% of proceeds would be donated to No Kid Hungry. And with each jump ring and eclectic charm and handwritten thank you note, I was filled with a strident notion that I was bettering the life of somebody out there. 4 years, over 600 pairs of earrings, and 26,610 meals provided later, I can proudly say that that feeling was correct. No matter the progress I made, every opportunity to click that bolded “donate” filled me with that same overwhelming sense of pride as it had the very first time—even if the number on my screen had jumped from 20 to 200. It was this unwavering feeling that solidified for me what I’d always believed—no matter what career path I end up finding myself on, I know I want it to be one where I am able to help people. I may not know how many years, months, weeks, days, hours, or minutes I have left. What I do know is that I intend to spend every last one of them helping others, and making a difference. One second, one meal, one less kid wondering if they’ll make it to see tomorrow, at a time.

The official definition of adolescence, as described by the Oxford Dictionary, is “the period following the onset of puberty during which a young person develops from a child into an adult.” Anybody who's actually lived through this period in time, however, knows that it is more accurately defined by a plethora of embarrassing moments, an excess of everchanging relationship statuses, and a surplus of new experiences, emotions, and challenges. Olivia Rodrigo’s latest album GUTS manages to flawlessly capture these aspects of growing up with songs like “Ballad of a Homeschooled Girl” and “Love is Embarrassing” while also going beyond the surface-level, pessimistic view of the teenage experience in the deluxe version, where listeners are introduced to the song “Stranger.” This song carries a much different energy than the prior songs on the album, as it describes Rodrigo’s recovery after a breakup from finding herself again to realizing her worth. From this, listeners are able to gauge that the real value of the teenage experience is in what we learn from these less-than-ideal situations; this stage of life occurs as individuals are growing up, maturing from childhood to adulthood, and as a result, the growth that takes place during this period is crucial for shaping an individual into who they are. Thus, the lyric I chose from this song that I feel best captures the essence of adolescence is: “And if I’m not enough for you, you’re not enough for me / I fought a million battles, but you can’t get to me now.” This outcome to the album leaves listeners with a more optimistic view of the challenges that Rodrigo describes in the prior songs, as she is ultimately left as a person who values herself more, has persevered through these obstacles, and has eventually grown as a result of it. This resonates with me on a very personal level, as one of the biggest challenges for me through adolescence has been maintaining my own self-worth through things like breakups, friendship struggles, and even just high school life in general. For a very long time, I struggled with feeling as if what I brought to the table was never quite good enough; I wasn’t getting the highest grades in my class, I had more than a few falling outs with old friends, and I didn’t seem to pique the romantic interest of others in the same way those around me could. On top of these pre-existing pressures, things like social media and coming-of-age movies perpetuate expectations of what the "perfect" teenage experience looks like, which only made my feelings of inadequacy stronger. As I continued to learn and grow, however, I slowly began to realize that my differences from those around me or influencers on social media were actually part of the beauty of growing up: everybody experiences and responds to things differently, which is what makes each individual unique. With this realization, I also began to develop the idea that there is no such thing as “good enough”, but rather there is value in the individuality of each individual. And as Rodrigo embraces in this lyric, this idea of espousing one's own self and realizing the value in our unique traits rather than constantly comparing them to those of others, is ultimately what growing up is about. Despite its challenges, adolescence shows us who we are, which makes it truly invaluable as an experience. This lesson, to me, is the most important takeaway from Olivia Rodrigo’s GUTS, and it’s one that I’ve carried with me ever since my first listen.

The heart, the pen, the sword. While vague in meaning, this age-old phrase constitutes the perfect trio, the perfect balance of traits all working in cohesion with one another. When applied to Netflix’s hit show “Stranger Things,” it becomes evident that by assigning each of these titles to a character, an ideal group is formed and ready to tackle whichever threat may come their way. Will is the heart. Despite his hardships, both in going to the Upside Down and in re-acclimatizing to the regular world after, his will (no pun intended) remains unwavering. How he prioritizes the well-being of his friends and family, and his clinging onto the way things were before the introduction of the supernatural, prove him as a sensitive, emotionally charged character whose heart ultimately drives him—and in turn the group—to do the right thing. On the other hand, Dustin is a bit different—his drive comes from logic. Seen throughout the show as the one who uses science, engineering, or just his general nerdy knowledge to the group’s advantage, his rational thinking allows him to tackle threats effectively despite any panic or fear he may be experiencing. This is valuable, as it allows the group to have a new perspective on problem-solving. Steve, as the cherry-on-top of the trio, serves as the sword for reasons aside from the obvious bat-wielding he does throughout the series. As the culmination of traits from the other two, his determination to keep the others safe in a way that is, at times, more realistic than inventing or playing by the textbook, makes him the one to take physical action to bring their battles to fruition. Together, the three of these characters would be virtually unstoppable, as their traits are complimentary without being entirely the same. Ultimately, this makes them a more diverse group in terms of skill sets and strengths and allows them to face and overcome any threat they may encounter alongside one another.

For as long as I am able to remember, I have always loved to negotiate. Whether my goal was an extra 30 minutes allotted to my reading time before bed from my parents or some of the ever-envied snacks my older brother was eating, I knew how to lay out an argument from a very young age. And every chance I got, that is exactly what I was doing. So much so, that my grandmother used to tell me that it was my tendency to “find a loophole in anything” that made her so confident that I would one day grow up to become a lawyer. Now, years later, with three years of experience being our high school’s mock trial captain and a year of interning with a local law office under my belt, it should come as no surprise that my grandmother’s intuition was right: I do plan on making a future for myself as a lawyer. I am drawn to this career not only because of my passion for the argumentative but also because I believe that in this field, I can make a serious difference within my community by representing those who cannot represent themselves. This is an extremely appealing factor for me, as I have learned through various community service activities that helping people is another thing I love doing. I believe that it is through the roles of individuals within a community, it is because of the contributions of specific individuals, that communities themselves are bettered. Additionally, while pursuing law, I plan to major in either political science or history—both things that I feel are just as important for law as the desire to help people. Whichever one I do not major in, I plan to pursue as my minor in college due to how essential I feel both topics are, especially when they work together. By understanding how government is structured, how it operated in the past in regards to law, and generally gaining insight on different kinds of individuals, I will be able to be a better lawyer, and even a better person, who is more equipped to make a difference and help those in need. This is ultimately where my passion lies, and that is why I have chosen both this career path, and these stepping stones to ultimately end up there. Regardless of which specific subject I end up majoring in and which I end up taking as my minor, and regardless of which kind of law I go into, I know I will be able to help people and make a true difference in the world.

I discovered my passion in 2020 during the COVID-19 pandemic. When the rest of the world stopped, I knew I needed to find some way to keep myself going. And after countless discarded hobbies (it turns out that crocheting is a lot harder than it looks and baking is only rewarding when the food actually tastes good…), I found my way to do exactly that: making jewelry. While making silly, unique earrings for myself, as well as my friends and family, provided me with a creative outlet and a way to pass the time, I knew I wanted to take it one step further. With each passing day of the pandemic, the media reported more and more about people who were struggling to maintain employment and support their families, and I wanted to use my newfound talent to help mitigate that and make a real difference in a time when it was needed most. And so, ForTheCause—the Etsy shop where I would sell my earrings and then donate 50% of the proceeds to charity—was born. And now, four years later, with approximately 24,730 meals worth of donations to date, I have gained the ability to support less privileged individuals in my community and globally, all while doing something that I love. The remaining 50% of my proceeds are invested back into inventory and supplies, so that the business is able to sustain itself and, in turn, help more people long term. Currently, with the pandemic largely in our past, I also vend at pop-up in-person markets in order to maximize both my sales and donations. To this day, I am grateful not only that I had the opportunity to create my business and provide for others in this way, but also for the support I have received along the way. It is because of my customers that I was able to take the COVID-19 pandemic—something unprecedented and unfortunate—and turn it into something positive for both myself and others. The exigence of my passion-driven mission may have been that I had spare time, but now the driving force that keeps my business going is the warm feeling I get inside when I am able to make a donation and know that I am doing good in the world. It truly is a special thing to experience, and I plan to continue my business into the future for this reason, and ForTheCause.

My mom dropped out of college when she got pregnant with my brother. While she has never regretted that decision and is now content in her life—both professional and otherwise—she has instilled in my brother and me a deep sense that we must go further than she did, and be more successful than her by going to college and getting good jobs. Even as I was brainstorming ideas for this essay, she suggested that I write about exactly that: success is taking what you were given and going beyond that by going a step further. But to me, I feel that success looks a little bit different. Now, let me be clear, I do see the merit in my mom’s definition of success, but I also think that her definition is just a little off. Even if you are granted admission to the top university and one day rise the ranks of your career field in order to bring in tons of money, what is the point of all of that if you find yourself miserable? And it was with this question that I had been wondering that I realized another flaw with my mom’s definition of success: it excludes a plethora of extremely successful people. Take my mom herself, for example. Despite not finishing college, she has ended up happy. She has a family and home she is proud of, and a job she loves. And it is because of my mom that I ask: if success doesn’t encapsulate that idea of truly living each day in the happiest way you can, then what is the point of striving for success? This question, along with my picture of what success looks like, is what has led me to my goals. Despite the fact that I want to go into law—a career field that is known for the money it brings in—for the right reasons: helping people is what makes me feel truly happy. Still, no matter how happy—or successful—this career may make me, I know the road to get there is not easy. With another seven years of schooling ahead of me after High School, I will surely acquire quite an excess of expenses along the way. And while I would absolutely consider this or anything else that allows me to meet my definition of success by helping others and making myself happy in the process to be worth every dollar, any help to mitigate these debts would allow me to get the ball rolling with less stress or apprehension. This is exactly what I feel that this scholarship could help me with: being able to achieve success with less of a burden on myself so that I can be truly happy. Truly successful. Additionally, this scholarship would also allow me to pay it forward in the long run by then using my career to serve my community and help others to be happier, effectively spreading the success. Either way, I believe that this scholarship represents amazing principles and it is an honor to even be considered. Thank you in advance for your time and consideration.

Inside Out was one of my favorite movies growing up. Sure, that was mostly because the main character, Riley, and I adorned the same name, but I also found the story of struggling with the mountains and valleys of growing up to be relatable. On top of that, the movie itself had a crucial impact on me. Being able to think of emotions—a hard concept for a child to fully wrap their head around—in a more simplified, characterized manner, made the whole process of experiencing both core emotions and new ones as I was growing and changing, much easier. Still, I never thought that as a seventeen-year-old, the sequel to this film would resonate with me in the same manner as the original one had, no matter how much I loved it. After all, I was older now, and I was not so sure that the movie would cater to me as much—I was no longer its target audience Yet still, as I sat alongside my mom upon the velvety, red seats in the theatre, shoveling warm, buttery handfuls of popcorn into my mouth, that is exactly what had happened to me as I was watching Inside Out 2. As a person who is naturally very anxious, I have always struggled with normal teenage problems such as “fitting in” or making it through stressful situations without being overly hard on myself or even not replaying embarrassing moments in my head over and over again, but to a more extreme extent than those around me. To visually see this represented onscreen, especially by a character who I related to so closely when I was in my youth, was like a warm, reassuring hug. Understanding that I was not alone in a lot of these feelings, nor was there anything inherently wrong with them, was extremely beneficial to both me and my confidence. Not only did the movie that I had pre-judged as a mere juvenile cartoon prove to me that it was so much more, but it also allowed me to grow as a person. Better understanding my own emotions and that others were experiencing the same thing made me more secure, in touch with myself, and ultimately, a better person than I was going into it. It is for this reason that I would say the movie Inside Out 2, along with the first movie in the franchise, have had the most impact on me.

One of the best days of my life was the day I drove my car over a cliffside… in Mario Kart. Okay, so maybe I was never the most skilled player—as evidenced by loss after loss against my family and friends—but that never diminished my love for the game. In fact, I would argue that it added to it. Masked behind each last (or second-to-last on a good day) place was a boatload (or should I say carload…) of giggles and evidently unjustified “smack talk.” While my wins may have been uncommon, the fun born from the game was not. I remember, for example, this one time, when my friend group had all congregated at our mutual friend’s house, colorful Nintendo Switch controllers in hand, to play the game with one another. As I sat there on a plushy cushion with those I held most dearly, surrounded by bowls of snacks, I was on my fifth race in a row of earning dead last, and yet, I was still wearing a goofy smile. I may have been losing the game, but I was doing it while having a good time with those that I love. And that itself was a win.

Green Eggs and Ham, authored by Dr. Seuss, was the first book that I ever read all on my own with absolutely no assistance from my parents or teachers. I still vividly remember being seated on my family’s sporadically striped couch, stumbling over certain words, sounding them out syllable by grueling syllable, and yet still—I made my way through the book with a smile on my face. Like many good readers, I started reading very young, and like many good readers, I spent years overlooking the triumph of pushing through some of my earlier reads, and the impact that those experiences have had on me. Don’t get me wrong, I wouldn’t say that now—11 whole years later—Green Eggs and Ham would make the list of my favorite books by any stretch of the imagination, but I can appreciate how classic picture books like that one have shaped me as a reader, and as a person. And that is because children’s books are not only the foundation of a good reader, but the foundation of core beliefs such as friendship, kindness, decision-making, and many other pillars of adolescence and adulthood alike. From books like Green Eggs and Ham, we learn how to overcome the initial fear of trying new things and to have an open mind while doing so; Mo Williams’ Don’t Let the Pigeon Drive the Bus teaches us the power of setting boundaries and making responsible decisions; Crockett Johnson’s Harold and the Purple Crayon sheds light on how to solve problems in a way that is imaginative and creative. All of these illustrated, juvenile books delivered bite-sized—or kids-sized—pieces of invaluable lessons that still come in handy today, even if most people do not stop to think about it like that. We are all compilations of the books we have read, of the knowledge we have consumed, from a young age, all the way through adulthood. It is because of this fact, because of the books that I persistently read through as a young child, that I am able today to embrace the best version of my adult self. The version of myself that can be brave like the characters in Green Eggs and Ham, tenacious like the characters in Don’t Let the Pigeon Drive the Bus, creative like the characters in Harold and the Purple Crayon, and at the same time, so much more than any of those authors could have ever imagined.

To many, Minecraft is a game best played on its default setting: survival. The thrill of grappling with mobs at night, scouring the woods for food when your health bar gets too low, or finally making your way to a standoff with the Ender Dragon makes the game a multi-faceted, adrenaline-packed adventure for its players. I, on the other hand, digress down a much different path when it comes to playing Minecraft. I prefer to play the game in creative mode. I know, I know, the blasphemy of the statement above has probably just made me the least cool candidate for this scholarship, but hear me out: while the community of players may view this mode of the game as a “cheat code” for the aforementioned activities, I’d present an entirely different angle. The appeal of creative mode comes not with the ease of collecting the accomplishments in the game, but rather the lack of expectation to collect them at all. For me, the beauty of creative mode is the added ability to appreciate new features of the game. Instead of focusing on the time-consuming nature of spending hours gathering materials, players can build effortlessly—making the only limit their imagination; instead of hunting for food to survive, players can befriend the animals they meet along the way; instead of a high-stress journey to “beat” the game or “win” by getting the most accomplishments, players can instead explore what in the game they enjoy doing. Overall, that is what resonates with me so heavily about creative mode—the ability to destress, explore the inner corners of my imagination, and make the map my own all at the same time.

Growing up, I was never quite a “girly girl.” I simply never had a strong inclination for stereotypically feminine things. I preferred cool-toned blues or earthy greens to candy-colored pinks; I would have rather gone fishing with my dad than dressed up for a tea party with my friend; I have seen every single movie released into Marvel’s cinematic universe to date. And that is the exact reason why Hailee Steinfeld’s voice acting for Spider-Gwen in Spider-Man: Into the Spiderverse, is my favorite rendition of the character. Not only did seeing a heroine who was just as successful, just as powerful, as her male counterpart make me feel more seen, more accepted in the male-dominant fanbase than I had been a fan of for years, but it also affirmed the ability to balance tom-boyish interests and attitude with standard femininity in a way that is integral to the identity of so many contemporary women. This made the exigence of the character’s on-screen presence valuable not only to me but to women everywhere who related to my feeling out of place as a fan of this industry. With great power comes great responsibility, a responsibility that Hailee Steinfeld not only met but exceeded with her portrayal of Spider-Gwen which helped to revolutionize the view of women in cinema by breaking gender stereotypes—one web at a time.

In my younger and more vulnerable years, I found myself turning over the details of F. Scott Fitzgerald’s 1925 novel The Great Gatsby in my mind. What had initially begun as a mere novel that I was required to check off the list of required reading for Advanced Placement Language and Composition, quickly rose to the ranks of books that I truly love. The grandeur exemplified throughout the story is addictingly alluring in a way that I feel other novels fall short. Fitzgerald’s depiction of the splendor associated with the American dream simply reached an unmatched level of detail—which is what kept the novel in my mind even long after the analysis essays and presentations associated with it were complete. No other media I had consumed had even come close to painting such vivacious imagery in my mind. That was until the movie came out. Now, typically, I am not the kind of person who enjoys movies based on novels, as I feel they always leave out vital details and end up altering the story to a point where it loses its merit. Baz Luhrmann, the director of The Great Gatsby movie, however, did exactly the opposite. Instead of botching the details, Luhrmann elevated each and every single one in a way that perfectly encapsulates the exact emotions embodied by Fitzgerald’s writing. For me, this is what carried the movie depiction of The Great Gatsby to the status of my favorite book-to-movie adaptation; it brought the author’s vision to life in a way that no other has done before. I remember dreading when my teacher had put the film on in the final weeks of school, gearing up for another two-and-a-half-hour, plot-hole-ridden, sad-excuse-for-inspired-by-a-book experience where I would zone out until the dreaded class periods had passed me by. But instead, I found myself genuinely captivated by the cinematography of the film. From the camera angles to the casting to the soundtrack, the movie truly did bring the novel, bring Fitzgerald’s vision, to life—it was able to embody the same energy, and evoke the same images, that my mind was creating as I read the novel, down to the infamous green glow, to the “shirt scene” where Gatsby is dazzling Daisy with his wealth. And to me, that is truly a magical, admirable thing. It is nearly impossible to come across. And yet, it is exactly what Luhrmann was able to do—beat on against the current, borne ceaselessly into the past.

“Once my student, always my student.” These six words have stuck with me ever since they had been embellished on the inside of a going away card gifted to me by my Kindergarten teacher as I was making preparations to transition from elementary school to middle school. This is why, although she may not be a high school teacher in the traditional sense, I would say that she has been the most influential teacher—one of the most influential people—both throughout my high school career and in my life in general. While I was still in the elementary school building, I maintained a close connection with this teacher, becoming a daily “bus time” helper in her classroom. From this, I gained real-world experience with responsibilities, helping her organize parts of her classroom or assisting in getting the younger kids on their buses in my later years. In addition to what that experience taught me, the real takeaway from it was how seamlessly she included me in the environment of her classroom while I was there. Whether it was listening to me talk about my day or giving me the leftover treats from whatever activity she had done with her kids that day, she always went out of her way to let me know that I was always welcome and included in her classroom—always one of her students. Even after I had “graduated” from her kindergarten class, she continued to show me a level of kindness and inclusion that propelled me through my later years of school. Once I had left the building and moved to the high school, she continued to teach me lessons applicable to real life and continued her never-faltering support. From compliments on my junior year prom dress to gifting me a British coin to put in my shoe on my wedding day (a tradition from her home country) to being an all-around great person, I do not think I would be who I am today without her. Knowing that I had that support available to me, no matter how old I got, inspired me to become not only a better student, but also a better person—one who was not afraid to make mistakes, one who helps those around me, one who knows how to learn and grow from each experience, and one who can someday apply the same proponents of kindness and inclusion to everything I do.

Concert friends—or those connections that you make briefly at concerts with the people around you—are what make the experience of a concert so special; you may be able to listen to the band’s music anywhere, but it is only through concerts that you are able to experience the community surrounding the music. This was a lesson that I learned in 2018 at a Twenty One Pilots concert—the first of many concerts that I would come to experience. On top of the band’s vivacious stage presence and appetite-inducing aroma of popcorn filling the stadium, the night was made special because of the people I was able to share it with. From compliments on my on-theme outfit to small talk with the people in seats near my mom and me, the sense of community surrounding this band was an energy you were able to feel in the atmosphere, which was exemplified best by the band’s song “Truce.” For this song, the two members of the band exit the stage, leaving only a screen recording featuring background graphics and sing-along-style lyrics. Despite the lack of the band’s presence, this had been my favorite moment of the night. The song itself, which talks about the idea of persevering through hardships with mental health, was always moving, but in that stadium, hearing the thousands of voices present sing it in unity, coupled with shouts of “You saved me!” or “Stay alive!” was nothing short of moving. It was clear at that moment the band had done something far more impressive than #1 songs on the charts or sold-out stadiums: they had created a community of individuals who had truly reaped the benefits of the art they were producing. Now, with fifteen more concerts under my belt, I can say with confidence that that moment I experienced at the Twenty One Pilots concert was not only my first but also my favorite. It was that that kept me coming back to this band, and coming back to concerts in general, more than the music itself. To feel like a part of something much bigger than oneself is a fulfilling feeling and honestly, one that I do not think can be beat. I had found a way for my mom—my favorite concert-going buddy—and I to spend more time together, and most importantly, I had found a sense of community, a place where I felt I truly belonged, along the way.

Dominant idealogy dictates that Taylor Swift makes solely songs about breakups. I am here to counter that not only do I disagree with the dominant idealogy, but that dominant idealogy is entirely wrong. While many songs within Swift’s discography do have breakups, love, or relationships as focal points, there is no shortage of other messages present within them, making each album a diverse spread of sounds, lyrics, and emotional takeaways. 1989 (Taylor’s Version), is no exception to this rule: “Clean” evokes a sense of inspiration, encouraging listeners to overcome the hardships associated with breaking bad habits or starting a new phase in life; “Shake it Off” asserts that the judgmental opinions of others should hold little value over one's behaviors or attitude; “Welcome to New York” discusses embracing change and finding a sense of belonging in new places. The culmination of these three songs has resonated with me a lot in the last year as I completed my junior year in high school. Finally an upperclassman, I felt that I should have everything figured out and yet, I felt more lost and overwhelmed than I had as a freshman. I was undergoing difficult changes within friendships, exploring the ups and downs of my first long-term relationship, and struggling with the newly everchanging nature of my daily life. While I may have been feeling like this, music like Swift’s helped me understand that I was not alone in any of these feelings. I was able to use the aforementioned lessons, take some deep breaths, and continue to face my challenges head-on. This was invaluable to me because obviously, change is an inevitable part of growing up. And while I may have been struggling to come to terms with it, this didn’t stop it from happening. With the positive messaging in Swift’s songs, I was able to apply a similar sort of persevering attitude to some of these issues and even though it did not make it a walk in the park, it made it a little bit easier. When I was navigating the loss of old friends, “Clean” was playing on my Spotify; while I was learning new aspects of the world around me, “Shake it Off” was blasting from my car’s speakers; as I was growing past these issues into the person I am now, I had the lyrics to “Welcome to New York” stuck in my head. And that is exactly why I am so sure that people have the meaning and the power of Taylor Swift’s songs misrepresented—I am living it.

The official definition of adolescence, as described by the Oxford Dictionary, is “the period following the onset of puberty during which a young person develops from a child into an adult.” Anybody who's actually lived through this period in time, however, knows that it is more accurately defined by a plethora of embarrassing moments, an excess of everchanging relationship statuses, and a surplus of new experiences, emotions, and challenges. Olivia Rodrigo’s latest album GUTS manages to flawlessly capture these aspects of growing up with songs like “Ballad of a Homeschooled Girl” and “Love is Embarrassing” while also going beyond the surface-level, pessimistic view of the teenage experience in the deluxe version, where listeners are introduced to the song “Stranger.” This song carries a much different energy than the prior songs on the album, as it describes Rodrigo’s recovery after a breakup from finding herself again to realizing her worth. From this, listeners are able to gauge that the real value of the teenage experience is in what we learn from these less-than-ideal situations; this stage of life occurs as individuals are growing up, maturing from childhood to adulthood, and as a result, the growth that takes place during this period is crucial for shaping an individual into who they are. Thus, the lyric I chose from this song that I feel best captures the essence of adolescence is: “And if I’m not enough for you, you’re not enough for me / I fought a million battles, but you can’t get to me now.” This outcome to the album leaves listeners with a more optimistic view of the challenges that Rodrigo describes in the prior songs, as she is ultimately left as a person who values herself more, has persevered through these obstacles, and has eventually grown as a result of it. This resonates with me on a very personal level, as one of the biggest challenges for me through adolescence has been maintaining my own self-worth through things like breakups, friendship struggles, and even just high school life in general. For a very long time, I struggled with feeling as if what I brought to the table was never quite good enough; I wasn’t getting the highest grades in my class, I had more than a few falling outs with old friends, and I didn’t seem to pique the romantic interest of others in the same way those around me could. On top of these pre-existing pressures, things like social media and coming-of-age movies perpetuate expectations of what the "perfect" teenage experience looks like, which only made my feelings of inadequacy stronger. As I continued to learn and grow, however, I slowly began to realize that my differences from those around me or influencers on social media were actually part of the beauty of growing up: everybody experiences and responds to things differently, which is what makes each individual unique. With this realization, I also began to develop the idea that there is no such thing as “good enough”, but rather there is value in the individuality of each individual. And as Rodrigo embraces in this lyric, this idea of espousing one's own self and realizing the value in our unique traits rather than constantly comparing them to those of others, is ultimately what growing up is about. Despite its challenges, adolescence shows us who we are, which makes it truly invaluable as an experience. This lesson, to me, is the most important takeaway from Olivia Rodrigo’s GUTS, and it’s one that I’ve carried with me ever since my first listen.

For as long as I am able to remember, I have always loved to negotiate. Whether my goal was an extra 30 minutes allotted to my reading time before bed from my parents or some of the ever-envied snacks my older brother was eating, I knew how to lay out an argument even from a young age. And every chance I got, that is exactly what I was doing. So much so, that my grandmother used to tell me that it was my tendency to “find a loophole in anything” that made her so confident that I would one day become a lawyer. Now, years later, with three years of experience being our high school’s mock trial captain and a year of interning with a local law office under my belt, it should come as no surprise that my grandmother’s intuition was right: I do plan on making a future for myself as a lawyer. I am drawn to this career not only because of my passion for the argumentative but also because I believe that in this field, I can make a serious difference within my community by representing those who cannot represent themselves. This is an extremely appealing factor for me, as I have learned through various community service activities that helping people is another thing I love doing. I believe that it is through the roles of individuals within a community, it is because of the contributions of specific individuals, that communities themselves are bettered. While I know the passion and fervor that are necessary for pursuing this career field are certainly there, an approximate seven years of schooling after high school will undoubtedly create a plethora of debts, which is exactly what I believe obtaining this scholarship would help with. From covering book costs to paying portions of student loans, the magnitude to which this scholarship could be beneficial to me is truly untapped. This scholarship would not only help me to make my career goal of becoming a lawyer, just as my grandmother had predicted I one day would, a reality but would also allow me to pay it forward in the long run by then using my career to serve my community and help others, which is ultimately the real prize. Either way, I believe that this scholarship represents amazing principles and it is an honor to even be considered. Thank you for your time and consideration.

I discovered my passion in 2020 during the COVID-19 pandemic. When the rest of the world stopped, I knew I needed to find some way to keep myself going. And after countless discarded hobbies (it turns out that crocheting is a lot harder than it looks and baking is only rewarding when the food actually tastes good…), I found my way to do exactly that: making jewelry. Making and selling earrings not only provided me with a creative outlet but also allowed me to help others, with 50% of my Etsy proceeds being set aside and donated to No Kid Hungry. With approximately 24,730 meals worth of donations to date, I have gained the ability to support less privileged individuals in my community and globally, all while doing something I love. While I don’t plan on pursuing jewelry making as a career, I do believe that the skills I’ve learned from this journey will allow me to be successful no matter where I end up. From problem-solving to communication to time management, running an Etsy business has given me invaluable experience. But, above all else, it corroborated my long-standing belief that I wanted to pursue a field where I can help and support those who need it. I believe it is truly crucial for human beings to uplift one another and provide support to those who may not have it, which is why I currently plan to pursue something in the law field. I may not know exactly which type of law I want to go into or where I want to go to school yet, but I do know that no matter what, I will retain the desire to support people and better the world around me.