When I was younger, there wasn't much to do around me. Growing up in the Venezuelan dictatorship didn't give me much time to think beyond how dinner would be made or how much water we had left for the week. In such a small, repressed world, I only felt alive in the moments when my mother sat beside me to read me stories, stories where little girls like me grew up to be princesses, warriors, movie stars; in places where the least of their worries was being trapped between the wars and conflicts of adults. I thought it would be my only window to freedom. But when I got older, and words ceased to be the property of books and became my own tools of creation, opportunities that had seemed impossible opened up before me. I grew up telling my own stories, my own fantasies, putting on paper a future that years later would become a reality, dreaming of being the person I am today. I wrote about escaping my political and economic confinement. I wrote about studying at a good school. I wrote about finding love, traveling, working, eating without counting pennies, about having a little house in the mountains, about painting my nails a thousand colors, about seeing snow. I felt I could achieve anything; the sky was the limit. Writing became a way to visualize, feel, and almost attain everything I wanted to experience in my life. I managed to leave Venezuela, and I went to an excellent school that gave me the critical and creative mind I needed to spread my wings. I met people, I went to parties, I ate apple pie, I participated in competitions, I discovered playwriting and screenwriting. I had the opportunity to present my story at a theater festival where the ovations and support given by those closest to me made me understand that this is my path, that everything I have achieved and will achieve, everything began and will begin on a blank page, with a pencil or a keyboard, on paper or a screen. The sky is not a limit, it's a new challenge, a challenge that begins at college, somewhere where it snows. But despite moving towards a brighter future, the distance from my culture, my homeland, and my family never felt great. I always kept our beliefs and traditions close to my heart; I never forgot the taste of our food or the rhythm of our music. And even though I'm far away, my art, my writing, my short films always bear a Venezuelan, Latin American mark, a mark of identity not only of a country that survives but also of a soul that never forgets. And in the middle of my journey, I will take time to look back and see them, the girls of today, especially Venezuelan girls, so many young women like me, wanting to escape their cages. Writing is the rescue I will use to teach them to look between the bars of fear and need, to give them the courage to break free. That’s why it’s so important for me to go to college, get the knowledge I need, so I can make stories that inspire them, that fill them with joy, sadness, rage, whatever works as a catalyst to help them achieve their dreams and break the chains we are born with. That is my mission.

When I was younger, there wasn't much to do around me. Growing up in the Venezuelan dictatorship didn't give me much time to think beyond how dinner would be made or how much water we had left for the week. In such a small, repressed world, I only felt alive in the moments when my mother sat beside me to read me stories, stories where little girls like me grew up to be princesses, warriors, movie stars; in places where the least of their worries was being trapped between the wars and conflicts of adults. I thought it would be my only window to freedom. But when I got older, and words ceased to be the property of books and became my own tools of creation, opportunities that had seemed impossible opened up before me. I grew up telling my own stories, my own fantasies, putting on paper a future that years later would become a reality, dreaming of being the person I am today. I wrote about escaping my political and economic confinement. I wrote about studying at a good school. I wrote about finding love, traveling, working, eating without counting pennies, about having a little house in the mountains, about painting my nails a thousand colors, about seeing snow. I felt I could achieve anything; the sky was the limit. Writing became a way to visualize, feel, and almost attain everything I wanted to experience in my life. I managed to leave Venezuela, and I went to an excellent school that gave me the critical and creative mind I needed to spread my wings. I met people, I went to parties, I ate apple pie, I participated in competitions, and I discovered playwriting and screenwriting. I had the opportunity to present my story at a theater festival where the ovations and support given by those closest to me made me understand that this is my path, that everything I have achieved and will achieve, everything began and will begin on a blank page, with a pencil or a keyboard, on paper or a screen. The sky is not a limit, it's a new challenge, a challenge that begins at college, somewhere where it snows. But despite moving towards a brighter future, the distance from my culture never felt great. I always kept our beliefs and traditions close to my heart; I never forgot the taste of our food or the rhythm of our music. And even though I'm far away, my art, my writing, my short films always bear a Venezuelan, Latin American mark, a mark of identity not only of a country that survives but also of a soul that never forgets. And in the middle of my journey, I will take time to look back and see them, the girls of today, especially Venezuelan girls, so many young women like me, wanting to escape their cages. That’s why it’s so important for me to go to college and get the knowledge I need, so I can make stories that inspire them and fill them with the courage to break the chains we were born with. The advice I would give to any student in my situation is that there is always a light waiting for you in the darkness. Sometimes it seems impossible to achieve your dreams, and most people will tell you it is, but ultimately, you and only you set the limits of what you can do and how much you can endure. Don't let others' judgments stop you.

When I was younger, there wasn't much to do around me. Growing up in the Venezuelan dictatorship didn't give me much time to think beyond how dinner would be made or how much water we had left for the week. In such a small, repressed world, I only felt alive in the moments when my mother sat beside me to read me stories, stories where little girls like me grew up to be princesses, warriors, movie stars; in places where the least of their worries was being trapped between the wars and conflicts of adults. I thought it would be my only window to freedom. But when I got older, and words ceased to be the property of books and became my own tools of creation, opportunities that had seemed impossible opened up before me. I grew up telling my own stories, my own fantasies, putting on paper a future that years later would become a reality, dreaming of being the person I am today. I wrote about escaping my political and economic confinement. I wrote about studying at a good school. I wrote about finding love, traveling, working, eating without counting pennies, about having a little house in the mountains, about painting my nails a thousand colors, about seeing snow. I felt I could achieve anything; the sky was the limit. Writing became a way to visualize, feel, and almost attain everything I wanted to experience in my life. I managed to leave Venezuela, and I went to an excellent school that gave me the critical and creative mind I needed to spread my wings. I met people, I went to parties, I ate apple pie, I participated in competitions, I discovered playwriting and screenwriting. I had the opportunity to present my story at a theater festival where the ovations and support given by those closest to me made me understand that this is my path, that everything I have achieved and will achieve, everything began and will begin on a blank page, with a pencil or a keyboard, on paper or a screen. The sky is not a limit, it's a new challenge, a challenge that begins at college, somewhere where it snows. But despite moving towards a brighter future, the distance from my culture, my homeland, and my family never felt great. I always kept our beliefs and traditions close to my heart; I never forgot the taste of our food or the rhythm of our music. And even though I'm far away, my art, my writing, my short films always bear a Venezuelan, Latin American mark, a mark of identity not only of a country that survives but also of a soul that never forgets. And in the middle of my journey, I will take time to look back and see them, the girls of today, especially Venezuelan girls, so many young women like me, wanting to escape their cages. Writing is the rescue I will use to teach them to look between the bars of fear and need, to give them the courage to break free. That’s why it’s so important for me to go to college, get the knowledge I need, so I can make stories that inspire them, that fill them with joy, sadness, rage, whatever works as a catalyst to help them achieve their dreams and break the chains we are born with. That is my mission.

When I was younger, there wasn't much to do around me. Growing up in the Venezuelan dictatorship didn't give me much time to think beyond how dinner would be made or how much water we had left for the week. In such a small, repressed world, I only felt alive in the moments when my mother sat beside me to read me stories, stories where little girls like me grew up to be princesses, warriors, movie stars; in places where the least of their worries was being trapped between the wars and conflicts of adults. I thought it would be my only window to freedom. But when I got older, and words ceased to be the property of books and became my own tools of creation, opportunities that had seemed impossible opened up before me. I grew up telling my own stories, my own fantasies, putting on paper a future that years later would become a reality, dreaming of being the person I am today. I wrote about escaping my political and economic confinement. I wrote about studying at a good school. I wrote about finding love, traveling, working, eating without counting pennies, about having a little house in the mountains, about painting my nails a thousand colors, about seeing snow. I felt I could achieve anything; the sky was the limit. Writing became a way to visualize, feel, and almost attain everything I wanted to experience in my life. I managed to leave Venezuela and I went to an excellent school that gave me the critical and creative mind I needed to spread my wings. I met new people, I went to parties, I fell in love with my amazing girlfriend, I ate key lime pie, I participated in competitions, and I discovered playwriting and screenwriting. I had the opportunity to present my story at a theater festival where the ovations and support given by those closest to me made me understand that this is my path, that everything I have achieved and will achieve, everything began and will begin on a blank page, with a pencil or a keyboard, on paper or a screen. The sky is not a limit, it's a new challenge, a challenge that begins at college, somewhere where it snows. But despite moving towards a brighter future, the distance from my culture, my homeland, and my family never felt great. I always kept our beliefs and traditions close to my heart; I never forgot the taste of our food or the rhythm of our music. And even though I'm far away, my art, my writing, my short films always bear a Venezuelan, Latin American mark, a mark of identity not only of a country that survives but also of a soul that never forgets. And in the middle of my journey, I will take time to look back and see them, the girls of today, especially Venezuelan girls, so many young women like me, wanting to escape their cages. Writing is the rescue I will use to teach them to look between the bars of fear and need, to give them the courage to break free. I want to go to college to get the knowledge I need, so I can make stories that inspire them, that fill them with joy, sadness, rage, whatever works as a catalyst to help them achieve their dreams and break the chains we are born with. That is my mission.

When I was younger, there wasn't much to do around me. Growing up in the Venezuelan dictatorship didn't give me much time to think beyond how dinner would be made or how much water we had left for the week. In such a small, repressed world, I only felt alive in the moments when my mother sat beside me to read me stories, stories where little girls like me grew up to be princesses, warriors, movie stars; in places where the least of their worries was being trapped between the wars and conflicts of adults. I thought it would be my only window to freedom. But when I got older, and words ceased to be the property of books and became my own tools of creation, opportunities that had seemed impossible opened up before me. I grew up telling my own stories, my own fantasies, putting on paper a future that years later would become a reality, dreaming of being the person I am today. I wrote about escaping my political and economic confinement. I wrote about studying at a good school. I wrote about finding love, traveling, working, eating without counting pennies, about having a little house in the mountains, about painting my nails a thousand colors, about seeing snow. I felt I could achieve anything; the sky was the limit. Writing became a way to visualize, feel, and almost attain everything I wanted to experience in my life. I managed to leave Venezuela, and I went to an excellent school that gave me the critical and creative mind I needed to spread my wings. I met people, I went to parties, I ate apple pie, I participated in competitions, I discovered playwriting and screenwriting. I had the opportunity to present my story at a theater festival where the ovations and support given by those closest to me made me understand that this is my path, that everything I have achieved and will achieve, everything began and will begin on a blank page, with a pencil or a keyboard, on paper or a screen. The sky is not a limit, it's a new challenge, a challenge that begins at college, somewhere where it snows. But despite moving towards a brighter future, the distance from my culture, my homeland, and my family never felt great. I always kept our beliefs and traditions close to my heart; I never forgot the taste of our food or the rhythm of our music. And even though I'm far away, my art, my writing, my short films always bear a Venezuelan, Latin American mark, a mark of identity not only of a country that survives but also of a soul that never forgets. And in the middle of my journey, I will take time to look back and see them, the girls of today, especially Venezuelan girls, so many young women like me, wanting to escape their cages. Writing is the rescue I will use to teach them to look between the bars of fear and need, to give them the courage to break free. I want to go to college to get the knowledge I need, so I can make stories that inspire them, that fill them with joy, sadness, rage, whatever works as a catalyst to help them achieve their dreams and break the chains we are born with. That is my mission.

When I was younger, there wasn't much to do around me. Growing up in the Venezuelan dictatorship didn't give me much time to think beyond how dinner would be made or how much water we had left for the week. In such a small, repressed world, I only felt alive in the moments when my mother sat beside me to read me stories, stories where little girls like me grew up to be princesses, warriors, movie stars; in places where the least of their worries was being trapped between the wars and conflicts of adults. I thought it would be my only window to freedom. But when I got older, and words ceased to be the property of books and became my own tools of creation, opportunities that had seemed impossible opened up before me. I grew up telling my own stories, my own fantasies, putting on paper a future that years later would become a reality, dreaming of being the person I am today. I wrote about escaping my political and economic confinement. I wrote about studying at a good school. I wrote about finding love, traveling, working, eating without counting pennies, about having a little house in the mountains, about painting my nails a thousand colors, about seeing snow. I felt I could achieve anything; the sky was the limit. Writing became a way to visualize, feel, and almost attain everything I wanted to experience in my life. I managed to leave Venezuela, and I went to an excellent school that gave me the critical and creative mind I needed to spread my wings. I met people, I went to parties, I ate apple pie, I participated in competitions, I discovered playwriting and screenwriting. I had the opportunity to present my story at a theater festival where the ovations and support given by those closest to me made me understand that this is my path, that everything I have achieved and will achieve, everything began and will begin on a blank page, with a pencil or a keyboard, on paper or a screen. The sky is not a limit, it's a new challenge, a challenge that begins at college, somewhere where it snows. And in the middle of my journey, I will take time to look back and see them, the girls of today, so many young women like me, wanting to escape their cages. Writing is the rescue I will use to teach them to look between the bars of fear and need, to give them the courage to break free. I want to go to college to get the knowledge I need, so I can make stories that inspire them, that fill them with joy, sadness, rage, whatever works as a catalyst to help them achieve their dreams and break the chains we are born with. That is my mission.

When I was younger, there wasn't much to do around me. Growing up in the Venezuelan dictatorship didn't give me much time to think beyond how dinner would be made or how much water we had left for the week. In such a small, repressed world, I only felt alive in the moments when my mother sat beside me to read me stories, stories where little girls like me grew up to be princesses, warriors, movie stars; in places where the least of their worries was being trapped between the wars and conflicts of adults. I thought it would be my only window to freedom. But when I got older, and words ceased to be the property of books and became my own tools of creation, opportunities that had seemed impossible opened up before me. I grew up telling my own stories, my own fantasies, putting on paper a future that years later would become a reality, dreaming of being the person I am today. I wrote about escaping my political and economic confinement. I wrote about studying at a good school. I wrote about finding love, traveling, working, eating without counting pennies, about having a little house in the mountains, about painting my nails a thousand colors, about seeing snow. I felt I could achieve anything; the sky was the limit. Writing became a way to visualize, feel, and almost attain everything I wanted to experience in my life. I managed to leave Venezuela, and I went to an excellent school that gave me the critical and creative mind I needed to spread my wings. I met people, I went to parties, I ate apple pie, I participated in competitions, I discovered playwriting and screenwriting. I had the opportunity to present my story at a theater festival where the ovations and support given by those closest to me made me understand that this is my path, that everything I have achieved and will achieve, everything began and will begin on a blank page, with a pencil or a keyboard, on paper or a screen. The sky is not a limit, it's a new challenge, a challenge that begins at college, somewhere where it snows. And in the middle of my journey, I will take time to look back and see them, the girls of today, so many young women like me, wanting to escape their cages. Writing is the rescue I will use to teach them to look between the bars of fear and need, to give them the courage to break free. I want to go to college to get the knowledge I need, so I can make stories that inspire them, that fill them with joy, sadness, rage, whatever works as a catalyst to help them achieve their dreams and break the chains we are born with. That is my mission.

When I was younger, there wasn't much to do around me. Growing up in the Venezuelan dictatorship didn't give me much time to think beyond how dinner would be made or how much water we had left for the week. In such a small, repressed world, I only felt alive in the moments when my mother sat beside me to read me stories, stories where little girls like me grew up to be princesses, warriors, movie stars; in places where the least of their worries was being trapped between the wars and conflicts of adults. I thought it would be my only window to freedom. But when I got older and words ceased to be the property of books and became my own tools of creation, opportunities that had seemed impossible opened up before me. I grew up telling my own stories, my own fantasies, putting on paper a future that years later would become a reality, dreaming of being the person I am today. I wrote about escaping my political and economic confinement. I wrote about studying at a good school. I wrote about finding love, traveling, working, eating without counting pennies, about having a little house in the mountains, about painting my nails a thousand colors, about seeing snow. I felt I could achieve anything; the sky was the limit. Writing became a way to visualize, feel, and almost attain everything I wanted to experience in my life. I managed to leave Venezuela, I went to an excellent school that gave me the critical and creative mind I needed to spread my wings. I met people, I went to parties, I ate apple pie, I participated in competitions, I discovered playwriting and screenwriting. I had the opportunity to present my story at a theater festival where the ovations and support given by those closest to me made me understand that this is my path, that everything I have achieved and will achieve, everything began and will begin on a blank page, with a pencil or a keyboard, on paper or a screen. The sky is not a limit, it's a new challenge, a challenge that begins at university, somewhere where it snows. And in the middle of my journey, I will take time to look back and see them, the girls of today, so many young women like me, wanting to escape their cages. Writing is the rescue I will use to teach them to look between the bars of fear and need, to give them the courage to break free. I want to be in a creative writing program, or at least in a club or workshop, so I can write stories that inspire them, that fill them with joy, sadness, rage, whatever works as a catalyst to help them achieve their dreams. That is my mission for this new chapter in my life.