Something I've discovered through my artistic journey is that the world is full of love. I see it in all things: how someone peels an orange, careful to keep it all in one piece, and shares it with their companion without a second thought. How a child carries their favorite stuffed animal with them every day, pointing out the things they see and learn. How a dog always returns to their owner if said owner appears to be in pain, making sure they're safe and well. Love manifests itself in different ways, but it's always present in some form or another. I've always considered myself a very loving person. I love unconditionally, I love deeply, and I love everything. I love my desk at school for holding all of my things and keeping me off my feet. I love the pond in my neighborhood for housing hundreds of fish and providing me with the sound of frogs at night. I love every person I come across for being a part of my life and my memories, if only for a moment. This loving nature is my favorite part of my personality, even when it leads to disappointment or heartbreak. Because of this, I use art as a medium to explore the different manifestations of love. Self love, sacrifice, hope, you name it--all kinds of love can be interpreted through the colors and symbols in my artwork. My goal is to make the viewer see love in everything I create, the same way I see love in everything around me.

Anxiety and self-doubt have plagued me ever since I was a child. Little things would scare me away from speaking my mind. Irrational fears would prevent me from having fun with my friends. No matter how insignificant, my mind would prepare for the worst, and I was miserable. My logic behind these fears was that, if I put myself forward, I would suffer more consequences than if not. Later, when I came out as transgender, that self-doubt only grew. I often worried that nobody would see me as a male, and that I would have to settle with the life I was given instead of forging a better one. If someone misgendered me at school, I stayed silent instead of defending myself. Throughout my youth, the fear was constant. "What if, on the way to my friend's party, we get into a car crash?" "What if, when I ask my classmate to stop saying mean things to me, he starts hitting me instead?" "What if, when I go into the men's restroom, somebody tells me I don't belong there?" I never gained the confidence to speak up...that is, until I heard Keep You Safe by The Crane Wives. The singer struggled just the same as I did: childhood anxiety and self-doubt. She learned that, regardless of her fears, time moved forward. She learned to accept her fears and act in spite of them, and by sharing her story through the song, I slowly gained the confidence to do the same. I still experience anxiety, but I no longer let it control me. As the song's lyrics say, "Nothing worth doing comes easy," and it's true. I push forward even when anxiety makes it hard, and I have this song to thank for my happier, more confident life.

"Why does your voice sound like a girl's voice?" As someone who works in the childcare industry, this is a question I am absolutely no stranger to, along with statements like "Those clothes look like girl's clothes," and "When I first met you, I thought you were a girl." Kids don't always understand what they're saying, and that's fine with me. They're kids. But, if I'm being absolutely honest, part of me hurts a little every time I hear things like this. No, it's not all because of the dysphoria it causes me as a young trans man. Rather, it's because I know that these kids are going to grow up receiving misleading information and homophobic and transphobic propaganda if they're left to learn about the LGBTQ+ community on their own. They don't know any better, but it should be our duty as a society to teach our children about the people around them. Some boys have girl voices, and some girls have boy voices. Some people are neither boys nor girls, and some people are a mix of the two. When I was a child, I didn't even know what the word "transgender" meant until I met my first transgender person. He taught me that, no, it is not the same thing as "gay" or "lesbian." He taught me that, despite being raised as one gender, it is possible for someone to be a different gender on the inside. He helped me realize that I, too, was transgender. And my mind was blown. There were signs all throughout my childhood. There was the way I tried to "trick" the other kids at summer camp into thinking I was a boy just for the fun of it. There was that time a child asked what gender I was, and I felt nothing but joy. There was that underlying belief I held that life as a boy would simply be easier than life as a girl. But I never connected the dots until I had another person to use as a reference. And while I'm proud of the journey I made to get where I am today, I wish that I could have had more information as I was growing up. Children only have access to the information we give them, and if we can't give them enough space to learn about themselves and the people around them, they're going to grow up confused and lost when they don't fit in the boxes that society has designed for them. They're going to feel like they're wrong somehow; they're going to feel like they made a mistake simply for being born the way they are. Children don't deserve that anxiety. Children deserve freedom, joy, and self-love. Children deserve the awareness and confidence necessary to live life as their true selves. I may not have had the information I needed as a child to realize what was different about me. But I still have time to change that for the children of the future. As a caretaker, and a soon-to-be adult, I have the chance to teach them how to be themselves, the chance to save them from self-doubt, the chance to open their eyes to who they can be. And you best believe I am going to take that chance.

Growing up gay and transgender, people everywhere tried to fit me into whatever box they deemed fit for my strange and imperfect identity. Half of my family disapproves of the people I love and the life I've designed for myself, including my own father, who has consistently refused to use my name and pronouns ever since I first came out despite my protest. When it feels like the whole world is against you, isolation comes naturally, and it's easy to lose hope--hope for a more accepting society, hope of finding people like you, hope of living authentically. But when my friends came around? Everything changed. When my old friend group had a falling out in the beginning of the pandemic, I believed I would never find another group of people to whom I connected so deeply and felt so affectionate towards. I was drifting alone in the sea without a lifeboat for many months--but one day, something as simple as a chat to organize an online gaming group turned into a second family. The people I am proud to call my friends today have been my lifeline, my one anchor to positivity and hope in the face of all the transphobia, homophobia, and assorted struggles I've had to go through. We find treatments for each other's pain, we find unity in our shared experiences, and we never hesitate to show each other our true feelings. I genuinely don't know where I would be if I didn't have them. Friendship, to me, is more than entertainment or simple companionship. My friends are my family, my lifeblood. They bring out the best in me, and I hope I do the same for them.

As a member of the LGBTQ+ community, I have had to face constant harassment from peers and family alike. It's always the same nonsense; apparently it is "unnatural" for me to love the way I do, and I am "destroying my body" by living as my authentic self. I generally consider myself a very confident person, and I don't let anyone tear my self-esteem down. However, not everyone can protect themselves emotionally the same way I can. I have lots of LGBTQ+ friends who are always hurt by the behavior of those around them, who have to be reminded over and over again that there is nothing wrong with them and that they deserve to be who they are freely. I cannot sit idly by while homophobes and transphobes believe it is okay for them to belittle and hurt others based on who they are. We are just the same as anyone else, and deserve to be treated with respect. And until me and my friends can go out in public without having to defend our right to exist, I will not stop fighting for that respect. I am passionate about pursuing equity between those who do not identify with the LGBTQ+ community and those who do. I am passionate about educating those who remain confused about who we are so they understand that we mean no harm. I am passionate about living authentically, and encouraging my peers to do the same. This is my truth.

Coming out as transgender to a family full of ignorance and miseducation was not easy, to say the least. There's no way to describe the pain I feel each day when I hear someone say my birth name or call me "she" despite my desperate attempts to appear as masculine as possible. It's even harder to describe how it felt having to sever contact with multiple family members because of the way they reacted when I told them the news. Even my school, which tries its best to create a positive environment for its LGBTQ+ students, has many flaws in the ways it treats such students. But my friends have been my strongest supporters since the very beginning, and we've been working together to make a change in the world around us. I am a member of my school's Human Equality Alliance club, in which we collaborate in order to improve the conditions LGBTQ+ people in our community. So far, we've started a petition to allow students to change their name in the school's database so transgender and nonbinary kids don't have to read their birth name every time they open their laptop. We've also done several interviews for the school newspaper in which we argue against discrimination and bullying, and describe the positive effects of treating LGBTQ+ students with common decency and respect. I do my best to share information and resources to help educate my peers every day. No, it's not much...but the best anyone can do is try. Little by little, by working together, we as a society can improve life for everyone around us.

Arts and entertainment are two very competitive industries, and when one plans to enter a combination of the two, that competition gets even more difficult. As an aspiring animator and visual effects designer, my future is uncertain and I'm not sure where my career will take me. I'm hoping that, one day, I will be able to work on a large-scale production and change the lives of its viewers--whether it's a film, a television show, or even a video game, I just want to leave positive effects on the people who enjoy the content I create. It won't be easy--but I have a steadfast plan. I'm considering multiple different colleges right now, each one with unique yet fitting programs that I feel will sufficiently prepare me for the world ahead of me. My top choice is exclusive, but it taught my father, and I would love to carry on the family legacy. In order to do so, I'm participating in several rigorous and high-level courses that will not only give me the mental capacity to attend such a demanding school, but will also help support my reputation as a diligent student. Once I graduate college, I am going to continue my learning with online courses as I search for internships and freelance work in my desired field. I may not yet be prepared to face the hardships of entering such a fierce industry, but I'm still growing, and have faith in my adaptability.

Teenagers are often told that our years in high school are going to be the best years of our life. However, with the constant stress of deadlines, debilitating workflow, and social pressure, it's easy to doubt this sentiment. Many of my close friends have dealt with clinical depression and anxiety throughout their academic careers, and I can't count the times I've stayed up late talking someone out of a dark place. But that's what you do when you love someone--you help them get through hard times. You remind them how you feel about them, you offer them advice and support, and you never allow them to feel undeserving of love. I've always considered myself a very loving person; I wear my heart on my sleeve and never hide how I feel about someone. With my strongest love language being words of affirmation, I constantly write poems and letters to the ones I care most about describing my feelings in detail. I know it will take more than a few notes to help my loved ones recover from emotional pain, but it's all worth it to see them smile.

Being gay and transgender is not easy--even in modern day. The children I work with after school never remember if I'm a boy or a girl. I get weird looks no matter which public restroom I use. Students call me slurs I wouldn't dare repeat to my face. My own father refuses to use my name and pronouns, no matter how many times I've tried to correct him. Each morning I have to wake up and prepare myself mentally for the struggles that will come throughout the day, knowing that I can't change anything yet. If ordinary teenage boys can exist without explaining themselves each day, why must I? However, even with all the dysphoria and transphobia I face on a daily basis, I persevere. I correct people who misgender me, I wear clothes that make me feel comfortable in my identity, and I talk to other LGBTQIA+ students in order to encourage them to be themselves and to love themselves. I don't let anyone wear me down, and I prove those who try to do so wrong. It's difficult, and there are some times when I feel like I can't keep fighting--and yet, here I am today. I love the person I've become, and I can't wait to see how I will change and grow even further as time goes on.