Going to Apocalypse: Zombieland changed my life. Before that night, I didn’t have a great perception of raves or its communities. I honestly expected chaos and a lot of marijuana, not connection. Instead, I walked into a space defined by PLUR, and I didn’t just hear those values spoken, I felt them practiced with every exchange I had. I met people whose lives looked nothing like mine but felt instantly familiar. Registered nurses, firefighters, producers, students: people like me, people far from like me. For a few hours, our differences didn’t disappear, but they stopped keeping us so far apart throughout Los Angeles. We stood together, singing our hearts out to “Promises” by Nero, united by our love for this night at Queen Mary Waterfront rather than our backgrounds. That night showed me what unity actually looks like: not similarity, but shared presence. I’ll admit, it was hard to return to ordinary life after experiencing something like that. Everyday routines felt quieter. But instead of making me want to escape reality, that experience taught me how to properly experience it. Knowing that I’m earning the chance to return by working hard toward my career goals now feels like a blessing. PLUR didn’t stay at the rave, it followed me home after. Peace, love, unity, and respect aren’t ideals, they’re practices. I like to consider myself a “diplomat”. I know how to negotiate, and advocate, especially when someone else’s voice isn’t being heard. Unity and respect, to me, mean speaking up for others even if it’s inconvenient. As a community representative for my university’s housing council, I represent my entire apartment building, passing forward concerns and ensuring residents feel heard. I carry that same responsibility at my other job at a physical therapy clinic, where I advocate for patients’ needs to higher-ups because I want to see their progress by the next appointment. That care is rooted in love, the value at the heart of PLUR. My passion for a pre-health career comes from a genuine love for others’ well-being. Nothing feels more fulfilling than seeing a patient return the following week feeling stronger or maybe a little more hopeful. In pursuing my dream of becoming a cardiovascular perfusionist, I am building a life centered on service. This path isn’t about my success, but instead showing up everyday for others who need to feel the warmth of PLUR. To me, peace is a quiet reward for when love, unity, and respect are practiced consistently. Overall, PLUR has taught me that these values aren’t confined to a venue or a night, it’s something you create wherever you are. Whether I’m at a festival, in my clinic, or advocating for peers, it’s something I wear now every day.

Every acceptance, every breakdown, every breakup, every beefing episode, every crashout, every failure, every success, every interview, every 11 p.m. call, she was there. If I trace my life backward, she’s there for every canon event. Our friendship is built from moments that feel small until you stack them together. Hours-long album listens in the car, where we argued over which track was the best and replayed the bridge until it lost its magic. 1 a.m. karaoke sessions where we screamed lyrics we thought we knew, then realized we never really knew them. Pretending not to know each other while we worked at Domino’s, raising the cats in her backyard like they were our children, giving them names and arguing over who they loved more. Spontaneous road trips that were never too far, because her mom would get upset. Then came the moment that was supposed to separate us. I got into UCLA. You stayed back home and went to a local college. Everyone told me this was the beginning of the future I had been waiting to create. I believed them. But once I arrived, I went looking for you at UCLA, and I really couldn’t find you anywhere. Sometimes, I would stubbornly make an inside joke that belonged to us, then the silence taught me that no one here understood. In this loneliness, I realized what our friendship actually was. It wasn’t proximity, shared schedules or zip codes. It was a language from growing up together since eighth grade, one that no one would replace. You knew when my silence meant exhaustion. You celebrated my wins without envy and sat with me through my losses. From hours away, you still picked up my calls, still reminded me who I was before I started measuring myself by acceptances and rejections. Now, I’ve made friends here. People who make me laugh, who study with me, and know the version of me who grew from this campus. I’m grateful for them, but none of these friendships have the same original gravity as ours, the kind that was there before we had résumés and Linkedin profiles. Nonetheless, she is proof that growth doesn’t mean leaving people behind, it means taking them with you, because I can still hear her in my own voice sometimes. I still replay our albums on late drives, belting our favorite lyrics when I should be asleep, and measuring the distance I drive by how upset her mom might get. She is my constant reference point, and the friendship that taught me that no matter how far I go, home will always answer the phone.

Spider, I thought to myself as I walked by a dusky corner. I ignored it. “SPIDER!” a girl in my cabin shrieked. Everyone in our 6th grade science camp group screamed. I rushed over, grabbing a cup and a piece of paper before our chaperone could kill it. I insisted that we allow it to live; after all, we were in a cabin in the woods. Bugs were bound to enter. This was one of many experiences where I placed myself between a person and a bug, and tried with my best efforts as an 11-year old to elicit empathy from my peers. Some understood my captivation with the tiny creatures and embraced it as well, but others held to their fears or social conditioning that bugs are abhorrent. A student in my hiking group, Jaxon, dragged his foot along a pile of ants against the concrete, and I watched them fall apart like small clumps of spices. He did it to fluster me, but even in the insects’ death, I found them fascinating. My interest in insects had always been locked by not having a microscope. Eventually, I invested into one to further my interest in biology shortly after receiving my first paycheck. With microscopy, I found that with every magnification came a new society of splendidly complex microbes, imperceptible to the world of humans. I frequently applied Copper (III) Acetate to samples, which caused immobilization of microbes. This would make the small creatures vulnerable, not to larger organisms, but to something much smaller. Everyone on Earth was an unfortified target to the virus; the one creature that I could not see no matter how much I magnified, and one of a few concepts that we skipped over in AP biology. The virus was the same microorganism that caused my mom’s germaphobia, which played havoc in my life, and the same one to cause a global panic despite being practically invisible. I couldn’t see the virus, but I studied it, scrutinized it, and scheduled my day according to the germaphobia that it caused. The virus was a lock; and a microscope was not the key that I needed to uncover its secrets. After gaining admission to UCLA by showcasing my passion for Biology through essays, I decided to switch my major to Physiological Science, as I hope to apply my relentless curiosity in biology towards research that can advance medicine and life-saving intervention. This might involve a focus in immunology, microbiology, or neuroscience, where I will investigate the origin of addiction. I want to pursue these subjects to make change in the world, extending my skill of initiative from unlocking the secrets of viruses to the bounds of the mind in neuroscience. Looking back, I find that the key to uncovering all these secrets of the microcosmos was not solving stigma around insects, an improved microscope, or a better family situation; the key is myself. I am my own barrier, but also my own motivation. I am my interests, my faults, and finally, I am the very key that initiates the change that I wish to see.

Initially, perpetuating my sustainable lifestyle in a fast-paced university was a larger commitment than I expected. However, by reminding myself of the statistics of my ecological footprint, I always remember to make small intentional choices at the dorms that can accumulate to a larger lifetime impact. The origins of my sustainable mentality arose from science classes and the people I was raised by. While taking AP Environmental Science in eleventh grade, I learned that if everyone lived like me, we would need four Earths. This staggering statistic made me insecure about my negative footprint on the Earth, and brought me to begin practicing several sustainable habits. To me, walking up to a trash can with plastic to throw away has NEVER felt good. For this reason, I treat the root of the problem by avoiding single-use plastic products so more of my waste is either compostable or recyclable. I have taken it upon myself to always carry PHA (polyhydroxyalkanoate) straws that decompose within six weeks, or my favorite brand “These Straws Don’t Suck”, which are very strong paper straws. This way, when I grab coffee with a friend who is resentful about the advent of paper straws on campus, I can hand them a stronger and still sustainable alternative that will help them to realize that plastic straws, while durable, are not their only choice. A commitment that I had always prepared myself for when entering college was my goal of becoming vegetarian. However, converting to the UCLA meal plan system from convenient at-home cooking made it harder to commit. Therefore, I decided to change my diet one week day at a time. Currently, I only consume meat on Wednesdays and Fridays. My goal is to reduce this to only one day per week by the end of this year, and finally be completely vegetarian by my last year of college. Using an online water footprint calculator, I know that on my vegetarian days, I am using about 200 less gallons of water than my meat-eating days, which is a statistic that makes the slow cut of meat from my life absolutely worth it. To me, the goal of sustainable living isn’t about perfection, but progress. Finally, a lifetime goal I have is to found my own nonprofit that can advance climate change research and solutions, including the use of eco-bricking. Eco-bricking uses plastic bottles packed with plastic wrappers help build products such as furniture or buildings. Instead of constantly investing in new materials to fill empty space in daily utilities, such as walls or floors, eco-bricking could stimulate the economy as an elastic resource, and prevent plastic flow into the environment. Eco-bricking is a solution similar to recycling, where it impacts individuals by asking that they pack their plastic eco-bricks themselves with their daily leftover wrappers and such, or it could become a form of employment similar to recycling centers. While I can commit time to volunteering to these causes now, change-making involves exchange, which means I will need more money and promise to make larger differences; I want my future non-profit to offer incentive to those who eco-brick to help fight plastic overproduction. Until I reach my own financial stability, I will dedicate time through volunteering and small daily choices to demonstrate my commitment. Over time, these small, intentional choices can collectively make a larger difference that can even be calculated by the means of a simple online footprint calculator. By encouraging people close to me to adopt the same mentality, I am doing my part in preserving the planet that has nurtured the human species thus far.

My name is Sapna Drew; I am a second-year undergraduate student attending UCLA as a current Biology major, with intention to switch to major in Neuroscience or Physiological Science. Many of my true passions lay within the field of Film and TV production, which is my current minor but due to the high amount I owe in student loans, I must abide to a career that is financially promising, which is the reason I am pursuing a STEM major. Nonetheless, I love the sciences and becoming more knowledgeable in Neuroscience research, as they are intriguing fields to explore before I commit to a medical pathway. I always stay true to my passion of film production by being involved in my club's short films, screenwriting in my free time, and practicing photography and videography wherever I go, as long as I am able to carry my camera. I have always felt a little bit conflicted about my name, as it has never sounded particularly rhythmic to me. "Sapna" is an Indian name, as my mom was from India, meanwhile "Drew" is inherited from my dad, a white man born in New Jersey. My parents met in Florida, both managing gas stations at the time, and brought me into this world in Tampa. Growing up, I always felt a mix of worlds, feeling too "American" for my Indian side, and too "Asian" for my white side. Because of my mom's substance abuse issues, I fell out of touch with her, never truly gaining a grasp onto the Indian culture I could have inherited and passed down. In search of a true cultural belonging that I could perhaps be assimilated into, I inquired to my dad about his side's ancestry, in curiosity of whether I had been overlooking our European heritage. He mentioned that we have Italian and French ancestry, which impelled a newfound curiosity for Italian culture and how I might be able to connect nicely to it. I became intrigued by the music scene and lifestyles of youth, analyzing where Italians depart from other countries. This year, I began taking Italian classes at UCLA, and want to eventually visit Italy to test the speaking skills that I have been developing. Nonetheless, with each and every time my name pronunciation is asked to be clarified, I am reminded of where I come from, and who raised me. My parents were young and fascinated by each others' different cultures and upbringings, eventually spending enough time together to start a family. While I was born a sort of mix of cultures, not quite fitting to either, I can carry on their fascination that brought me into this world by investigating other societies, such as Italy. Patrick A. Visaggi's commitment to champion the rights of others and protect his community is a life standard that I will always admire and strive to live up to. I will do so by pursuing my academic and artistic passions, making both sides of my family, and hopefully an accomplished individual such as Patrick Visaggi, proud of my work. Though my path diverges from Patrick’s, focusing on Neuroscience and Film, I remain inspired by his commitment to community—a fundamental value for me to also carry as I learn to put my experiences towards helping others in my future medical career.

Warning: Spoilers for "Sound of Metal" on Amazon Prime Video "Sound of Metal", directed by Darius Marder, is not a film I entirely resonate with, as I am not a member of the deaf community, but with every watch, it has taught me a story of resilience and identity. "Sound of Metal", to me, transcends entertainment to become a reflection of the human condition as we adapt to challenges thrown at us at rapid-fire. The protagonist, Ruben Stone, a heavy metal drummer, faces a life-altering challenge when he begins to lose his hearing. Ruben is forced to grapple a future without sound, and seek a new identity, as his previous one is deeply intertwined with his passion for playing drums. While watching this movie, I have again and again contemplated how his situation might be avoidable. Doctors informed Ruben that his loss of hearing was tied to him consistently surrounding himself with loud environments as a drummer. Though it would have been hard for him to foresee this circumstance, I question whether Ruben would have avoided playing drums altogether if it meant that he could keep his hearing forever. In joining the deaf community, Ruben witnesses how they interpret deafness not as a disability, but a unique way of perceiving the world. This mindset has been very impactful for me, and has enabled me to push through circumstances flung at me, such as my mother’s periodic relapses. Ruben had recovered from addiction but was then faced with a completely new challenge of adapting to being deaf. Witnessing sobriety and deterioration constantly around me growing up has allowed me to see that life does not make promises, which is a theme encompassed in "Sound of Metal". It is especially seen when Ruben, at the end of the film, purchases cochlear implants, but learns that they do not even reflect traditional hearing. Though the film ends on this note, seeing Ruben’s pattern of acceptance leads me to believe that he will adapt once again, and that he will do it with grace. "Sound of Metal" speaks directly to my heart, as I have learned again and again that humans are malleable. We are blank canvases that grow resilient to physical and emotional turmoil. Whether watched for the first time or the hundredth, "Sound of Metal" allows me to acknowledge that familiarity brings me solace, but change is what allows me to appreciate what once was. In turn, I adapt, and I change, just as I am supposed to.

The dream version of my future self is a blank canvas, where I can express my creativity in ways that will be administrative to my peers and individuals across the world without having to individually meet them-- whether that be through innovations in biology or film, accommodating to their personal barriers that prevent them from contributing to a sustainable world.

How can a single bacterium of such insignificant size have a consequential effect on a person? On the dynamics of a city? On the globe? Floating on a rock in the middle of space, where physics are on a much larger scale, but still affected by a miniscule organism that lacks a conscience as far as we know. Immunology has had a very personal impact on my life. My mom is allergic to dog and cat dander, and I share the same allergy at a smaller severity. My parents stayed separated, but not divorced for a very long time due to financial struggle. My mom moved back into our home, where our hypoallergenic dog resides, when they finally got divorced with the same financial state. Though she had no visible reaction to the dog, she became extremely germophobic, and had me adapt to the same habits. I have to use gloves around the house, and sanitize constantly. I do most of the housework in order to protect her allergies from anything touched by dander from the dog. While exposing herself to the dog's dander could have built immunity, the argument would just become a gaslighting cycle between us. While committing to these habits, I would often ask myself: from what was I protecting myself from that required such extreme measures? The experience of Covid-19 in my sophomore year led me back to the same question. Within a month of the initial announcement of Covid-19, there were posters everywhere giving basic instructions on how to wash hands, and sanitizers at every store corner. As someone who lives in the bay area of California, I was able to witness an explosion of cases in the concentrated city of Fremont. I was very curious as to how such a small bacterium born somewhere across the world could have such a significant, global impact that could reach my city in such a short period of time. The question returned. What are we so desperately protecting ourselves from, that is not even visible to the plain eye? Is it really a microorganism with no conscience, floating in the middle of its own space, only apparent at 1000x magnification? While taking AP Biology in junior year, I became increasingly interested in the study of bacteria, having such interesting mechanisms like operons, which function as an on-off switch. Within two weeks of being employed as a seasonal cashier in junior year, I decided to invest into a microscope to explore the smaller worlds that bacteria reside in. This furthered my interest in immunology, as I began to apply my knowledge from AP Biology to what I was studying outside of school. I would list locations that I thought could be a good source of microorganisms, then sample and grow them at home until they were mature enough to study. While the most intriguing microorganisms were eukaryotes, the prokaryotic bacteria were always advantaged in samples with their ability to easily populate an area. Microbiology became a hobby that looked forward to everyday; I always kept some sampling equipment on me wherever I went. I found that the most visually boring things could be a micro-cosmos if looked at them in the right magnification. The medical field of immunology will always tie me back to my mother's allergies, and the germaphobia that I adopted over time. I wish to pursue it in order to settle the questions that have repeatedly crept back into my mind with repeating experiences with bacteria. The relationship between human immunity and bacteria is magnificent, and I truly wish to contribute to its study.

Something I would like to mention before discussing solutions is that I love all living things, especially, bugs, which are the basis of many ecosystems. I love all animals and their practicalities. If I could remove all humans permanently from the Earth to ensure that its natural beauty could be preserved, I absolutely would. Of course, not all humans would agree to this. In fact, I don't think anyone would agree to this. The effects of humans on the planet might be coming to an incorrigible end. It is difficult to persuade individuals of different backgrounds to care about a subject such as climate change or animal welfare that has become popularized in the recent decades, especially if they have been building towards goals related to industry or economic well-being all their career. Therefore, implementing solutions that can be used on a global scale will take some convincing, and their benefits will have to be emphasized the most. The first solution that I believe can be applied on a wide scale is eco-bricking. Eco-bricking uses plastic bottles packed with plastic wrappers that would otherwise be thrown away (and in many cases, end up in the environment) to help build products such as furniture or buildings. Instead of constantly investing in new materials to essentially fill empty space in daily utilities, such as walls or insides of benches, eco-bricking could stimulate the economy as an elastic resource, appeasing those who want to prioritize the economy over the environment, and prevent increasing plastic outflow into waste disposal centers. Eco-bricking could be a solution similar to recycling, where it impacts individuals by asking that they pack their plastic eco-bricks themselves with their daily leftover wrappers and such, or it could become a form of employment similar to recycling centers. The drawback to eco-bricking is that it does not address the root problem, which is overuse of plastic. The reason I believe eco-bricking is a good solution at the moment is because fully converting companies to paper or other material instead of plastic will not appease economists who prioritize gross domestic product. Therefore, eco-bricking is a good temporary solution as environmentalists brainstorm a way to address the root problem of plastic overuse. The second solution that I believe can be applied is improvement of welfare in meat-producing farms. Factory farms usually have the highest output of product, making prices cheaper, and allowing consumers to not question the origin of their food. However, not only is factory farming or "cage-free" farming morally wrong, but it leads to more contagious disease outbreaks and unhealthier food. While it takes up the least land, concentrated-feeding operations produce many pollutants that disturb surrounding ecosystems anyways. A way to combat the effects of CAFOS is for the government to subsidy factory farms to convert to spacious and healthier farms. Free-grazing has been pointed out to deplete vegetation, but if animals graze rotationally, there is enough time for vegetation to replenish. Eliminating factory farms completely would again, fluster the economy, therefore, factory farms simply need to be reformed, not removed. In conclusion, most changes that need to be made in the next few years to combat environmental crises will need to satisfy both economists and environmentalists, who each wish to prioritize their own fields. A production possibilities frontier will need to be created between the environment and the economy, with a priority set in between the two that can lead to long-term sustainability. My personal lifelong goal is to dedicate time and money to organizations that can help guarantee long-term sustainability, or create an organization that can fulfill this obligation that humans have to the planet.