Mental health care and upkeep are essential in today's society. Many people associate mental illness with negative stigmas, especially in situations of cultural opposition. My family is from Tripoli, Lebanon. This is a country in the middle east, where values such as mental wellness are not understood. Additionally, men are not encouraged to share emotions and be vulnerable openly within society, as they are to be caretakers. Due to the lack of mental health acknowledgment, I grew up around in Lebanon, I knew how important this topic was. I could see people breaking all around me, and not being able to seek help. Often, people did not even know help was available and simply did not understand the concept of therapy and psychiatry. My family was full of trauma while I was growing up. My father passed away when I was two years old, and I do not know that my mother ever recovered. She has suffered from Major Depressive Disorder (MDD) since then and has never expressed wanting to seek help due to the negative stigma back home in Lebanon. My four sisters and I grew up in a house that always felt heavy. There always seemed to be a black cloud hanging over our heads, and that cloud was my mother's disorder. My mother's MDD impacted me more than I realized. I often went to school on an empty stomach from kindergarten on, because she could not get herself out of bed to help me prepare breakfast or a lunch to take to school. The lack of nourishment impacted my physical and emotional development. When I got home from school I was frequently ignored. I would sometimes excitedly bring home perfect grades from school just to have my mom glance at them and turn back to whatever Arabic soap opera was on that week. I was frequently lashing out at others due to my inner pain. I know now that I was projecting, and that my mother's unwellness had become my own. When I was eighteen and started university, I was able to utilize a therapy resource included in my tuition. While this was a good start, I believe I needed something more intense and frequent. I was suffering from incredibly low self-esteem, and that became evident from the relationships I was forming, both romantic and platonic. When I was twenty-one, I began more consistent therapy with an agency close to my home. I was nervous at first, and my mom would often tell me only "crazy" people would do such a thing. I had to commit to my wellness and put everyone else feelings aside. Going to therapy was a difficult start at first. It meant I had to acknowledge the hurt from my mother growing up as well as other traumatic experiences I had dealt with. However, I can now say I am in a wonderful place. I take care of myself, I still go to therapy, and I am my own best friend. The tools I have learned from therapy will remain with me lifelong, and I am grateful for this. I am not studying to become a therapist myself for marginalized groups and communities. I now attend Gallaudet University's social work program for the Deaf and Hard of Hearing (DHH) communities. While I am a hearing person, I have always wanted to work with minority communities. I am excited to make a difference for others the way my therapist has made a difference for me. Cheers to breaking down cultural barriers to necessary services.

I am currently a first-year social work student at Gallaudet University for the Deaf/HH. I attend as a hearing student, seeking to work with the DHH communities. One thing I loved about Gallaudet was the inclusive environment for BIPOC and students with disabilities. My classmates all vary in age, race, gender and sexuality. It makes me feel more comfortable and at ease as a first-generation Middle Eastern from Lebanon, seeing that all my classmates are different from one another. I have always struggled with debilitating Major Depressive Disorder and Obsessive-Compulsive Disorder. While these two have negative stigmas attached to them and often are not considered "real disabilities", they have impacted my life immensely. As a child and eventual teenager, I remember struggling with intrusive thinking to the extent that I would sit and partake in compulsions for hours at a time. The depression made me sad, but the OCD took so much out of me. I am still impacted by symptoms of both today, but I am in treatment. I am incredibly proud of how I advocated for myself in the process of seeking treatment as a low-income Medicaid user. In terms of debt, I plan on taking out a loan for my final year (which would be 2023-2024). I know that social work salaries are not exactly the best financially, but I could not live with myself if I went with another career that paid more than I had no drive to do. I have ALWAYS wanted to do social work, and I am doing it. I plan on paying back my debt by living a minimalist lifestyle post-graduation. Once I am licensed, I will look into getting a job as a mental health counselor, and eventually work my way into disability advocacy. Any money that I have as disposable income from my future career will go directly toward my debt. While many may find the minimalist lifestyle to be difficult and unreasonable, it is something I am used to. I am currently living a minimalist lifestyle as I am trying to get through my first year at Gallaudet with little to no debt. I have to live by a very strict and tight budget as my internship is unpaid, but knowing that I am working towards a career of being able to help others every day makes this all worth it. I know I will leave graduate school with debt, and I do worry about how I will get past this debt. However, I know that a life worth living is a life in which I am helping others, and I will figure this out one way or another.

Through writing, I have gotten to know myself as an individual, a daughter, a sister, a therapist, a friend and now a social worker. Writing has allowed me the reprieve of understanding my life and the chaos within it. There have been times, particularly times when I was struggling with mental illness, where I have taken every deep-rooted thought in my brain and put it down on paper, and this process has allowed me great healing. Growing up, I found peace in reading books. It was not an easy upbringing being an Arab-American Muslim living in a post-9/11 world. Often, I have struggled with my two identities. One is an all-American girl who has wanted to acquiesce to social norms, while the other is my Lebanese persona who wants nothing more than to please my mother by passing on the culture and Islamic values. Through reading books, I was able to escape into worlds that were none of these. I could put myself into the shoes of an Italian adventurist, or a European pop star! I did not have to deal with my realities when I was reading. I have always wanted to give others this same feeling of peace I found in books. I have always wanted to touch others with my writing, and for this reason, I began to write on a more casual note. Therapeutically, I would incorporate situations from my own life in my writing, but entertainingly, I would give it a fictional story. I feel that this has been a productive way of touching the lives of others who may be able to relate to my story while giving them a story to relate to. Living life in the crossfire of two separate, powerful, all-encompassing identities is difficult, and even more so when you feel like you are the only one going through the identity struggle/crisis. I sometimes wish I could have read more fictional stories of adolescents growing up struggling with their identity while trying to please their families. Alternatively, I would have loved to see some poetry surrounding the same topic. While stories of this type have not been available to me, I would like to create them myself. I have already found great deals of peace in writing things down and creating short stories/poetry, but I would love to take it a step further and write for an audience. If I am selected for this scholarship, I will be able to pursue a course within my university to better hone my writing skills and learn how to touch lives with the written word. After all, the difficulties of life can feel less heavy when we have books to escape into and relate to.

I was twenty-one when I received a phone call from my best friend to come and pick her up, as she simply could not deal with her abusive partner any longer. When I did arrive at her house, I discovered she had been badly beaten. My best friend is a Deaf woman. The Deaf and Hard of Hearing (DHH) communities are at a higher risk for domestic violence, and she is just one example of many who have not been able to escape their situations. This night began a long process of helping my friend leave this relationship, pack her things, file a police report with law enforcement and overall do what needed to be done for her safety and well-being. The one thing that I realized from this experience is that it is far too difficult for the DHH communities to get the help they need to leave potentially dangerous situations. Often, especially if they are in a relationship with a partner who is hearing, they will be ignored by law enforcement when calling for help. Most of the time, they are not provided with language or cultural accommodations, meaning they are kept silent while their partner has every opportunity to explain the situation and assure everyone that they are just fine. I know this to be a common occurrence because this was my friend's experience. When it came time to apply for Master's programs, I knew one thing to be true: I wanted to help DHH victims of domestic violence. I wanted to be there to provide them with the cultural and language accommodations they need, I wanted to help them leave their situation if that's what they wish and I wanted to help them get back on their feet. I wanted to be there when and if they decided to involve law enforcement. I just wanted to be there for them. I applied to Gallaudet University, a school for the DHH community. I am currently wrapping up my first year in their social work program, and I have learned so much essential knowledge I will need to carry me throughout my career. I have been able to apply some of this knowledge in my field placement/practicum. I work with youths who are experiencing housing instability and homelessness, many of who are victims of domestic violence themselves. While my position now is only to be a therapist, I am soon diving into the world of case management for a more hands-on approach. Throughout my career in social work for the DHH, I will provide stability to survivors of DV through a mental health counseling approach. I will also do advocacy work, and help those who have been kept silent in the past find the courage and the resources to speak up for themselves. I am not entirely sure of what the future holds for myself and my career, but I will make a difference, and that is a non-negotiable.

There was a time when I felt like I was trapped in a cage. This cage blocked out all light, people and opportunities. I was simply a girl in a cage with no way out, and no understanding of why I was in there, to begin with. It felt like a cruel game life was playing. Why was I brought into a world that I did not understand, and that did not understand me? It was when I was an adolescent that I truly began to understand my experience when my mom attempted suicide for the first time following a mental break. My father passed away when I was very young, and my mother never really sought help or processed this experience. This is when I realized that I was not the only one in a cage. When the doctor diagnosed her with Major Depressive Disorder, I knew that what I felt had a name, and it ran in my family's genetics. My mother began her journey to wellness, and as she began to participate in therapy sessions and meet with a psychiatrist regularly, I knew there was a way out of my situation. I was diagnosed with Major Depressive Disorder, Obsessive-Compulsive Disorder and Generalized Anxiety Disorder when I was eighteen years old. All three are equally as terrifying, but at least now I knew what I was dealing with. Of course, these labels mean nothing compared to the symptoms that come with them. I began to go to weekly therapy sessions, utilizing the support available to me through my university and creating coping skills that worked for me. Little by little, I found the courage that had existed within me all along. I began to hang out with peers and also hang out with myself. I learned that I had hobbies I enjoyed, and that brought me peace. The best part is that I discovered music, and the major positive impact it has had on my path to recovery. I still remember the day I felt it. I was in a meeting during a suicide-prevention training course I was taking, and we were doing role-plays. Somebody cracked a joke, and I laughed, along with the rest of the room. Then, I realized: the cage no longer existed. I felt connected to people. I could see the light even on darker days. I felt happy. This is also when I knew I wanted to make a difference for others. I went on to apply for an MSW (Master's in Social Work) program for the Deaf and Hard of Hearing, which are massively underserved communities. I am now in this program and work with youths who remind me of myself when I was an adolescent. Youth who are depressed, struggling to cope and finding life to be more difficult than they'd hope. With the training I am getting in school and through fieldwork, I am able to make a difference in these youths' lives. My years in the cage will never be erased, I still acknowledge that depression is a part of me. However, it is a part of me that I have been able to cope with, understand and tame. I am so incredibly grateful to be in the place that I am today, mentally, and I will pay this forward in every way I can.

I was two years old when my father passed away. Diagnosed before I was born, he was found to have developed a soft tissue cancer named synovial sarcoma. He fought as hard as he could, for as long as he could. He often said that he just wanted to make it long enough to see his eldest daughter marry (there are five of us!), but that was an unrealistic wish as this cancer was aggressive and unforgiving. My mother, at the time a 32-year-old Muslim-American living in post 9/11, a non-English speaker and a homemaker now had to get herself together and put a roof over our heads and food on our table. She had to fight. She had to fight through oppressive American Welfare systems, she had to fight to get a job as an older woman wearing a traditional hijab and she had to fight to keep her mental health in check throughout the chaos. My mother is the best example of a fighter that I know because she did it. She raised my four sisters and me. She kept us fed, clothed, warm, happy and loved. However- I do have the awareness to realize that it should not have been this difficult for her. This is why I chose the career path of social work. I am currently a first-year graduate student at Gallaudet University in Washington D.C., in their social work program. This program specifically teaches students how to work with Deaf and Hard of Hearing communities, which are populations that are massively underserved in today's society. I have seen how my family has struggled with being marginalized, and now I want to fight to make a difference for other marginalized groups. I would like to work in policy, helping to amend and create policies that serve minorities. I think America today is far too focused on serving the majority, on serving those with the most power. Those who are in marginalized groups are not listened to, and not heard when it comes to serious issues within society. This is not the ideology that America was built on, and things need to change so minorities are not overlooked and ignored. This country needs to be accessible to everyone, and not just the most powerful, majority groups. If I got one quality from my mother, it's that I am a fighter. I have fought to better my mental health, even when I felt like being emotionally well was entirely out of reach. I have fought to get through my undergraduate education, funding myself entirely and working while learning. I am now fighting to finish my graduate education to be able to make a difference for others and to be able to fight for others. If considered for this scholarship, I will use the funds to get through the remainder of my graduate program and begin my career in social work and policy/advocacy. I want to make sure the system is accessible, equal and accommodating for all, no matter where an individual comes from, no matter whether they are able-bodied or not, and no matter what they believe in.

The US Constitution has laid the foundation for American citizens in terms of our natural-born rights and has continued to protect these rights for decades. However, as an American-Muslim woman, my rights no longer feel like my rights. My rights continue to be stripped away as the years go on, and the facade that is "The Constitution" has fallen apart. My mother and father immigrated to the US after their marriage in 1987, and started their family here, eager to live "The American Dream". The American Dream was particularly more achievable at their age, and they were able to sustain themselves while enjoying their lives and the family they began to build together. When my father died, I was merely two years old. My mother now had five girls to care for. Attempting to get things together for her family and to put food on our table was not easy, at all. My mother had to navigate the welfare system, eventually, get a job with no help from our absent social worker, and was discriminated against for years following 9/11. While we did make it and were able to grow up with a roof over our heads, not being a white American family meant we did not get the same care and concern as others may have received. My mom was often asked if she, "could speak English" instead of being provided with an interpreter. This is just one example of the many times we have been discriminated against. Today, at my age and an entire generation ahead, things are only declining. Inflation is on the rise, people are hungry and cannot afford food, and I no longer have reproductive rights in many states. The way America is headed is entirely anti-constitutional and does not support the ideology of Church Vs. State. The constitution supports a white and Christian America, and not the true America. America is not supposed to be uniform and confirmative. We all look different, and we all believe in different things. Why are we all being forced out of our rights due to the religious ideology of the White Man? Why must I hypothetically carry a child to term when I am a human with free will? Why can I not practice this free will? Clearly, I am not passionate about the Constitution, but I am passionate about civil rights. I want to fight for rights that should be innate, natural and born with. I am currently in a social work graduate program with a focus on Deaf and Hard of Hearing communities, and I want to specifically work with marginalized groups who are struggling due to today's political climate surrounding gender/sexuality, disability and race. I will advocate for others the way my family needed to be advocated for going forward. Although realistically, I cannot change things on a widespread scale, I want to make the American Dream a bit dreamier for people who are considered disposable by the systems that overrule this country.

I still remember the day it happened, my uncle called my mom and told her to bring her kids to the hospital. We needed to say goodbye to my dad. I was just four at the time, and my oldest of five sisters was 10. My father was losing his battle with cancer after two years of putting up his best fight. My father at age 30 was diagnosed with synovial sarcoma, which is a rare soft tissue cancer. It started in his lungs and went into his spine, despite his not being a smoker. This took all of us by surprise. Why him? Why my dad? He was amazing. He loved the Yankee's and was truly a die-hard fan. I wore one of his hats all the time throughout my childhood. He also found solace in music most of the time. I still listen to the CDs he burnt today. Before he passed, he made CDs for each of my four sisters and me, with our pictures and names on them. I still carry around a walkman with me to listen to these CDs. It's nice to feel like he's with me on my most difficult days. My mom struggled with her mental health following my father's death. It was not easy to raise five girls with her lack of fluency in the English language and inability to drive. She quickly sorted herself out, found work, got her driver's license and became our breadwinner. While she was able to put a roof over our heads and food on our table, we were never emotionally tended to. I grew up not knowing how to regulate my emotions and this affected my development, especially in the school setting. My mom would often yell whenever she expressed any sort of emotion, so I did not know what a healthy relationship looked like. She never did re-marry, and never did seek help for her struggles. Due to this, I sought out negative relationships my entire life. I did not know any better, after all, I had never seen a healthy relationship. I have spent a little over five years working to better myself through counseling and my understanding of what a healthy relationship should look like. I also grieved the loss of what could have been, had cancer not plagued my family. I wonder if life would be any easier. I wonder if I would've been able to enjoy my undergraduate experience, and have my dad worry about my tuition. I wonder if we would listen to the same music, or if he would pick on me for my indie alternative tunes. I wonder if my mom would be happy if my dad were still here. It is incredibly painful to imagine and fantasize about the "what if's?", but I remind myself that this is where I am, this is what has happened and the show must go on. I am now studying to become a social worker in a graduate program, with a focus on the Deaf and Hard of Hearing communities. As a first-generation college student, I want to help other minority youths through their struggles, and I intend on making a difference in the way I hoped I would be helped throughout my childhood. I hope and pray everyday that I am on the right path, and that my father would be proud of me.

Growing up, I knew there was something different about me. It did not have a name, and it carried no label, but it was always there. I always visualized it as a dark cloud rising over me, keeping me from seeing and communicating with others. Sometimes this darkness manifested in eating inconsistencies, mood fluctuations and unkind behaviors toward others. This darkness was attached to me, but I did not know how to explain to people that it was not the entirety of me. I grew up in what some would consider a broken family. After the passing of my father at age two, my immediate and extended family struggled emotionally. See, my father was a glue of sorts. He held everyone together. When he passed, everything sort of fell apart. The structure and foundation of the family had been taken from us. As Lebanese Americans, we are taught to hold these feelings inside. We need to be strong, we cannot waver. However- this logic failed us all. What were we to do with all these feelings inside? Some of my family succumbed to heroin and opioids, and some abused alcohol. Many are just shells of who they were before, unable to process these emotions and make sense of them. My experience with my mother was different. This was firsthand. My mother immigrated from Lebanon to America at seventeen years old to marry my father. They married, they were happy and they had five kids, with me being the youngest. My father was the provider, my mother was the caretaker and homemaker. When he passed, things shifted uncomfortably. My mom suddenly had to provide for five kids, learn English, learn how to drive and start working. She was consistently stressed, and apprehensive and showed many signs of what I know now can be labeled depression. This depression made her hard, where she was once soft. She was no longer warm. She no longer hugged or expressed love. She put food on the table, clothes on our backs and a roof over our heads, what more did we need? I was fourteen when she was diagnosed with major depressive disorder and put on SSRIs, or, selective serotonin reuptake inhibitors and suicidal ideations were a symptom she experienced. She stopped medication immediately and refused therapy. Her refusal to care for herself and her mental health has spilled over and therefore affected me. Having a depressed mother, especially during such formative teenage years, meant I did not know how to integrate into society like the other teenagers. I didn't know how to pack a lunch, and would often show up to school with a granola bar. I did not know how to practice hygiene. I did not know how to talk to people. I had no friends at school, and I went home to face more loneliness. This is when the dark cloud started to become noticeable. It was not until I was able to pursue the undergraduate degree that I could seek therapeutic services on campus, free of charge. I don't tell many people this, but therapy has saved my life, in more ways than one. I cannot change the fact that my mom, and extended family, refuse to get help, but I can control my wellness and I am grateful for that opportunity. I am now in a Master's of Social Work program for the Deaf to become a counselor myself. I hope to help people the way I was helped, and the way I wish my family was helped.

My father passed away due to a rare, aggressive soft-tissue cancer that developed first in his lungs and spread to his spine where it was entirely inoperable. This cancer, named synovial sarcoma, took my father and completely changed the trajectory of my life and the future I would have had. I was two years old when this occurred, and had four older sisters, with the oldest being ten. My mom now had to figure out how to put food on the table, and clothes on our backs while maintaining a house for five young girls. My mother and father both immigrated from a small town in Lebanon to America when they married at 18 years old. My mother did not get a chance to pursue higher education, as marriage in Lebanese culture is emphasized and she was encouraged to marry young. She moved here with no knowledge of English, no higher education and did not learn how to drive. My father was supposed to be the provider, but he got sick so suddenly and unexpectedly that there was no time to make arrangements. My mom had to go from stay-at-home mom to full-time provider AND parent. While I was very young and not entirely conscious of the situation, I know these were incredibly dark times for my family. There was no time for grieving, arrangements had to be made. My mother suffered from a major depressive disorder which was triggered by my father's death and the stress of the transition. Her mother, my maternal grandmother, also died incredibly young due to brain cancer. My mom, before the age of thirty, had to watch the two most important people in her life die. However- she had no choice. She had to get it together for her girls. She had to persevere. My mother taught me everything I know about perseverance. She quickly and diligently got her life together to care for us, despite her troubling mental state after my father's death. Between navigating the welfare system, obtaining a driver's license and a car, and getting a full-time job while still learning the English language, I often-time reflect and wonder to myself how she did it. My maternal grandfather and step-grandmother encouraged my mother to re-marry. They did not want her to have to worry about making ends meet or having to do too much to care for and provide for us simultaneously. Culturally, it would have been more appropriate, and much easier, to simply remarry. However, my mother emphasizes this every time she tells this story, she said, "absolutely not". She would be figuring this one out on her own, and she would do the best for us and for the sake of our late father. When I think about the difficult things I have been through in my life, such as getting stuck in Lebanon during the war, living in America after 9/11 as an American Muslim, getting through undergraduate and working full-time to pay for my degree all while navigating mental health struggles, I think of my mom. I think of how she never wavered, even when circumstances were at their worst. I think of how she, with the help of therapy, managed to overcome such adversity. I think of how proud my father would be of her. If I know anything about perseverance, I learned it all from my mom, my hero.

I am currently a graduate student pursuing my master's in Social Work for the Deaf and Hard of Hearing communities. God willing, InshAllah, once I graduate with this master's degree, I would love to work in foster care/adoption, as well as mental health counseling for the Deaf and Hard of Hearing. I am immensely passionate about mental health, and I believe this stems from having been surrounded throughout my childhood by family members who desperately needed help after the death of my father, but did not have access to it or had little to no awareness of mental health. I would like to be the person that I wish my family had while I was growing up. I fully believe that if they had access to counseling or a therapist, they would all be in better positions today. For this reason, I am passionate about mental health counseling accessibility and ensuring that everyone, even those with low income, has access to mental health assistance through policy. My main goal in life is to be someone my father would be proud of, and I know that InshaAllah, once I obtain this master's degree, he will me. In regards to helping my community, I was a volunteer for the Suicide HelpLine through my undergraduate Alma Mater, Caldwell University. Through this work, I would take phone calls from individuals in crisis considering self-harm and/or ending their life. I would listen to their stories, (which is often what they appreciate, somebody to listen to) and help them create a safety plan to ensure they do not partake in any self-harm as a short-term goal. I would then refer them to a long-term outpatient mental health clinic depending on where they were located and what their budget was. This work was difficult, but only solidified the fact that I want to help people in any way that I can. Being a Muslim brings up a whirlwind of feelings for me. Growing up, I was not the most religious, and I had to find meaning in my Muslim identity myself. Through prayer, conversations with God and life experiences I have come to realize that Islam is comfort. Islam is going home and having faith to lean back on after a difficult day. Islam is giving to others, without wanting anything in return. Islam is love, and the remembrance to give it to those who need it. Islam is peace, even when the world is chaotic. As an American-Muslim, I would be honored to be awarded a scholarship such as this one to continue to assist those in need of mental health services, to help others like my faith has encouraged me to.

"The Kite Runner" is a phenomenal, heartfelt and life-changing historical fiction book written by Khaled Hosseini. This story takes place in Afghanistan during the war, and the storyline surrounds how one child. Amir, bonded with his servant's son. This servant's son, Hassan, was less educated and had very little money, but he was as loyal as could be. He stood by Amir's side throughout the entire novel, even enduring abuse to ensure that Amir would not have to. This was all done even though Amir would make fun of Hassan, treating him as less than simply because of social status and income level. After a major betrayal on Amir's part, in which he watched Hassan suffer abuse at the hands of a bully, the servant's son still stood by his side and referred to him with the highest honor until his death. This story is about one man's journey to self-awareness and understanding loyalty, friendship and love. This book resonated with me, a first-generation university student in my family. After my father died in 2002, my mom took my sisters and me to Lebanon for a few months every year. This was during a major civil war. Just when things would calm down again, my mom would take us to Lebanon, only for things to become scary once we arrived. We would often wake up to the smell of smoke and the sound of explosions in neighboring towns, and we would be stuck until conditions improved enough to get to an airport. When this all happened, it would have been extremely easy to fall into a spiral of negative thinking and fear, and while it would have been completely valid had I did fall into a depression, I was supported by my family and friends. To know that I had been surrounded by such love during such dark and terrifying times in my life, meant the world to me. My family did not have money, we were low on the social ladder and survived on welfare, but this did not matter to my friends and the people that truly cared and loved me. It was through this care and love that I managed to get through the most difficult times in my life. I related to the character from "The Kite Runner", Hassan in this aspect. I was a humble child, similar to him, and I loved my friends with everything I had despite my lack of material possessions. None of that mattered to me, all that mattered and still does matter is love. I am a graduate student at Gallaudet University, working to receive my master's degree in Social Work for the Deaf/Hard of Hearing. I am immensely grateful to have ended up here and find the best reward in helping others. I would like to help children and adolescents similar to Hassan in the future. Youth who have not had the best of cards dealt to them, who perhaps grew up in poverty and may not have the social support to lean on during difficult times. It would be my greatest honor to be of service to others with unfortunate circumstances, specifically those who immigrated to America for asylum. If I win this scholarship, I can better fund my final year in graduate school and hopefully become the social worker I've always dreamt of becoming. Thank you for your consideration.