Sometimes I worry I'm going to regret everything. I worry I'll take the wrong path-engineering over storytelling, or storytelling over stability. That I'll wake up one day in a quiet apartment, surrounded by degrees and accomplishments, wondering why I feel like a stranger in my own life. The truth is, I've never had just one dream. I love aerospace engineering. I love orbit patterns and launch trajectories; the elegance of equations that can explain the motion of starts. But I also love crafting stories around kitchen tables, narrating Dungeons & Dragons games with a dozen accents and too many side plots. I love board games the build worlds and writing novels no one has read. And I love video games that make you cry not because of how they end, but because of what they made you feel on the way there. My dad is the one who showed me those worlds. He’s an engineer—sharp, mathematical, precise. But he’s also the reason I know the names of every Lord of the Rings character, the person who taught me strategy through endless board games and morality through the branching choices of story-driven RPGs. With him, there was never a divide between logic and imagination. He showed me that you could build rockets and build worlds. That duality—science and story, precision and creativity—has shaped everything I’ve become. I chose aerospace engineering because I genuinely love it. There’s something awe-inspiring about the idea of designing for the edge of possibility. But my dream job? It's not in a lab. It’s behind a narrative team at a game studio, guiding a story that teaches players something real about humanity without them realizing they’re learning. That’s why education matters so much to me. Because whether I become an engineer designing planetary landers or a writer designing emotional story arcs, the foundation is always the same: knowledge shared, curiosity sparked, voices heard. I want my future to reflect that balance. Through my degree, I plan to mentor younger students, especially those like me, whose interests feel too big to fit into one box. I want to create programs where kids can explore how STEM and storytelling intersect: how a video game needs both coders and creatives, how aerospace requires both physics and vision. I want to be the person who tells a student, “You don’t have to choose just one dream.” And I want to create art that educates. Games that teach cultural literacy by letting players live in another person’s shoes. Stories that open doors instead of building walls. I believe interactive media can be the most powerful teacher of all when done right. But if I’m being honest, I’m still scared. I’m afraid that I’m stretching myself too thin, that I’ll chase so many passions I won’t catch any of them. I lie awake wondering if the safest path is the one that will trap me, or if the dream job I chase will turn out to be a mirage. But I keep going anyway. Because fear doesn’t mean I’m on the wrong path, it means I care about getting it right. Through education, I’ve gained the tools. Through the arts, I’ve found my voice. And through cultural literacy, I’ve learned that every perspective matters—even the ones that don’t fit neatly on a résumé. Maybe there isn’t a wrong path. Maybe, if I keep learning, creating, and helping others do the same, the road I build will be uniquely mine. And maybe that’s enough.