For most of my life I lived with my step mother, Lorene. Lorene was an incredibly perceptive person. Within a couple minutes of meeting someone she was able to have a strong understanding of them: their desires, their insecurities–what made them tick. She had the kind of personality that drew people in close, captivating them. To say that I loved her would be an understatement. When I was 9 she was diagnosed with glioblastoma multiforme, an incredibly aggressive form of brain cancer. For 7 long years she soldiered on, surpassing the odds. And then those 7 years drew to a heartbreaking close. As hard as it is to emotionally deal with, it has given me drive. I know that whatever path I end up pursuing, I want to make a positive difference in this world. She would expect that of me. Don’t be mistaken: it’s not an obligation for me; I don’t feel indebted to follow a certain path to appease her. I’m living my life in a way that aligns with her personal philosophy because I believe it just as much as she did. Lorene always assured me that I would thrive in all of my future aspirations. That assurance has been a great source in giving me the courage to chase the things I want in life. Currently, I go to a rigorous college in the hopes of getting a degree in Computer Science. A past version of me would be too afraid to attempt such a thing. I told myself I was not left-brained enough to succeed, not enough of a logical thinker. With the perspective grief has given me, I now understand that life is too valuable to not seize the opportunities we are too scared to take. I could fail radically–I’m OK with that. What I’m not OK with is denying myself the opportunity to at least try. Even in failure, there are still invaluable experiences and knowledge that are gained along the way. Lorene lived a life where she didn’t take the “safe” path. She took chances, she chose to live her life in a way that didn’t anxiously await death after diagnosis. Even after her second brain surgery she was still making plans with my father. She planned things as mundane as taking the dogs swimming to things as grand as buying a property and homesteading. Bruised from blood transfusions and fatigued from radiation therapy, she still saw a future. Those plans may not have been realized, but it’s the fact that she made them in the first place. In a bittersweet way, it’s inspiring. In the wake of her death, I have transformed myself into a planner like her. The choices I make build toward the small and large goals I have set. When I sign up for an intimidating class, I do it not for the sake of just completing it and obtaining a grade, but because I know the skills I will acquire in the class will build toward the career plans I have for myself. Even with my emotional state I have this planning mindset, as I know that effort put forth towards healthy emotional regulation will contribute to the relationships that will nurture me to be my most successful self. Of course, not everything can be easily boiled down to “I have X plan, so I must work toward it by doing Y.” Life is more complicated and abstract than that. However, the notion of always seeing a bright and positive future is one that sticks with me, motivating me in the face of any obstacle.

"The existence of god can be proved in five ways. The first and more manifest way is the argument from motion. It is certain, and evident to our senses, that in the world some things are in motion. Now whatever is moved is moved by another, for nothing can be moved except is in potentiality to that towards which it is moved; whereas a thing moves inasmuch as it is in act. For motion is nothing else than the reduction of something from potentiality to actuality. But nothing can be reduced from potentiality to actuality, except by something in a state of actuality. Thus that which is actually hot, as fire, makes wood, which is potentially hot, to be actually hot, and thereby moves and changes it. Now it is not possible that the same thing should be at once in actuality and potentiality in the same respect, but only in different respects. For what is actually hot cannot simultaneously be potentially hot; but it is simultaneously potentially cold." (Feinberg 17) In his book Summa Theologica, 13th century philosopher and theologian Saint Thomas Aquinas pinpoints the five ways in which he believes the existence of god can be proven. For the first way to prove God's existence, Aquinas draws upon an interconnectedness between "potentiality" and "actuality", arguing that the external force that converts potentiality to actuality needs to concretely exist in order for this conversion to be carried out. Following this line of logic, Aquinas posits that all of the activity in our universe can be traced back to one singular external force with "actuality": God. Aquinas first supports his argument by introducing the reader to the concept of "motion". Throughout the passage, Aquinas uses the word motion as a catch-all for the activities of the world and greater universe. This definition of motion accounts for both the literal, mechanical sense of motion and the metaphysical sense--ideas, motivations, and emotions. With this concept in hand, Aquinas states that motion is governed by "potentiality" and "actuality". Aquinas first explores potentiality, stating that "whatever is moved is moved by another, for nothing can be moved except it is in potentiality to that towards which it is moved..." (Feinberg 17). While seemingly abstract at first glance, Aquinas is actually employing a logical appeal as the foundation of his argument. As seen in science, objects have varying degrees of potential energy. This potential energy can be transformed into kinetic energy (the energy of motion). There is no kinetic energy without potential energy first being present. Both energies are ever-present in the world, cyclically converting from one form to the other. With this notion of potentiality established through logical deduction, Aquinas links it with "actuality", positing, "For motion is nothing else than the reduction of something from potentiality to actuality. But nothing can be reduced...except by something in a state of actuality". Understanding that a change from potentiality to actuality is motion, it can be inferred that "something in a state of actuality" is an external force. Without an external force, no change can be made. Aquinas' declaration that this external force has "actuality" blends in with his previous logical appeals--if the external force does not exist, how can that transition be bridged? Motion taking place is not a random fluke, but a process dependent on other interworking parts. Extending his logical foundations, Aquinas is able to more explicitly connect potentiality and actuality to God's existence through examining the relationship between wood, fire, and heat. Aquinas asserts that "which is actually hot, as fire, makes wood, which is potentially hot, to be actually hot, and thereby moves and changes it". While a seemingly simple deduction, this line serves to reinforce the notion of a real, external force being the driver for motion. The wood itself does not result in heat, but it is the influence of the fire that results in the wood producing heat. Aquinas expands on this example by outwardly stating "Now it is not possible that the same thing should be at once in actuality and potentiality in the same respect, but only in different respects. For what is actually hot cannot simultaneously be potentially hot; but it is simultaneously potentially cold." Again, Aquinas' investment in the idea that motion requires an external force is front-and-center in this excerpt. Aquinas is more explicit here in his implication that a singular entity is not capable of producing change just by existing in its current form. If something already IS something it cannot BE that same thing--that's simply not how change fundamentally works. According to him, no matter what, there is an influence stemming from a third-party that causes the change. Taking into account the omnipresent need for an external force for motion to take place, one can surmise that there is a hierarchy to motion. If nothing is able to change without an outside influence, there must be a chain of command that can be traced. In the case of the heat produced by the wood and fire, the hierarchy would be heat, fire, wood, the person who cut the wood, the tree that grew the wood, and so on. If one keeps following this hierarchy, they eventually arrive at the question of what is the greatest external force presiding over all of these changes. To Aquinas, the answer to that question is God. God, an external force with actuality, is the one allowing for the transition between potentiality and actuality for everything in the universe. All other external forces, potentialities, and actualities are simply byproducts of God's overarching influence. By virtue of being an external force, God is guaranteed existence under Aquinas' reasoning.

Before 2021, I had never been to a therapy appointment in my life. I had heard whisperings of therapy before from people in my inner circle--couple's therapy for the friend whose parents were struggling, substance abuse therapy for the cousin I wasn't in touch with anymore. It was in my periphery, but just barely. In October 2021 my stepmother passed away from a lengthy battle with glioblastoma multiforme--the medical name for her form of aggressive brain cancer. As strange as this will sound to you, I genuinely did not expect it to happen. Cancer almost always has a connotation with death but for so many years she beat the odds. For a cancer with an average of 12-18 months of life after diagnosis, she had managed 7 whole years. I thought to myself, "Well, if she's come this far she must be the outlier of all outliers." Death was not even a possibility in my mind. It sounds delusional--and maybe I was to a degree--but when everyday you walk that thin line between stability and grief, your brain manages to do everything in its power to make you forget that the line even exists. In my early-morning high school language arts class, my dad texted me she had passed. Within five minutes I was walking down the hallway with a school counselor, tears peeking out from my reddened waterline. I drove myself home in her car she had let me borrow. When I got home, I took one last look at her. Surreal, heartbreaking, but also strangely relieving. The suffering had drawn to a close. The hours-long nap I took afterward guaranteed that I wouldn't have to see the hospice nurses and other medical staffers remove her body from the home. Then came the "Sorry For Your Loss" cards, the gifts from coworkers, the awkward conversations with the neighbors who saw her being removed that, in their essence, amounted to "I'm sorry, that sucks. Here's my acknowledgment that it sucks." That following summer I was enrolled in a youth-grief therapy program called Judi's House. The program worked by taking in grieving youth, dividing them up by their age group, and then moving said groups through a step-by-step workshop of sorts. Day 1 was introductions, day 2 was sharing our stories, and so on. The majority of the program was comprised of younger children, so myself (17) and one other girl (18) made up the smallest group by far. To be frank, it was too much attention and focus that grieving 17 year-old me was comfortable with. In the beginning, there was a good amount of dead air, "I pass", and lackluster eye contact. I won't go into the details, but I will tell you what I took away from the program: You are never as alone in your situation as you think and grief is anything but a linear trend. That first point was certainly a 180 compared to my feelings at the start of my grief journey. When placed in the bubble that is a high school, I found it impossible to relate to others while I was struggling. The person sitting next to me would be lamenting a breakup while I was struggling to even go to class most days. It's hard, but your environment needs to fit you and your needs. Judi's House was an exponentially better fit for me to confide in others compared to my high schooler peers. My relationships also underwent a transformation from experiencing grief. The beginning was riddled with avoidant behaviors--I'd deliberately ignore the people who cared about me out of a sense of not wanting to appear "weak". Therapy, time, and reflection has helped me heal this flawed pattern of thinking. Instead of withdrawing, I seek connection whether I am the one struggling or someone else is. My philosophy is that any small gesture can mean the world to someone, so it's better to do something instead of nothing. That "someone" includes yourself as well. Although I am still in the early stages of figuring out what I want for myself in a career, losing my stepmother and the experience associated with that provide me with an outline. This outline is that whatever I end up doing, I want to leave the world a better place than when I came into it. With this outline I do not have monumental expectations--I know I'm not going to be the one who cures glioblastoma or solves world hunger, but I put stock in the little things I can do to help. Right now, I'm interested in software engineering. The beauty of software engineering lies in the accessibility of the projects one makes. For the people who don't have a Judi's House to go to or a strong local support network to connect with, an online platform can help serve those needs. Maybe it's a discussion forum for support, a video game to relax someone's mind, or a self-care app to remind people to make time for themselves. Whatever it is, I want it to make people feel understood, heard, and accepted no matter what.

A technology that inspires hope within me for making the world a better place is the Internet. I'm aware that an answer like that can come with disagreement.The Internet can be a double-edged sword at times: with connection can also come division. Despite this, I wholeheartedly believe the Internet is a net-positive. There are two primary reasons for my answer: accessibility to education and community. In terms of educational accessibility, the Internet is unrivaled. Yes, there are some sites and corners of the Internet that are rife with misinformation, but with the ability to properly discern what sources can be trusted, the Internet has an immense wealth of information people can tap into. Trusted news publishers, academic research papers, and more can be accessible with a mere search query. Never before has humanity had such large access to information on anything and everything. You no longer have to make a trip to the library or go to an educational institution to pick up information and skills--simply pop your questions into your preferred search engine or watch a well-edited, concise video on the topic. For those who struggle with access to traditional educational materials (such as lower-income individuals, individuals who have a disability that prevents them from easily leaving the house, etc) the Internet is able to bridge what would otherwise be a cavernous gap. As Internet connectivity becomes more and more prioritized by our society (which trends indicate is happening), the more education will be equalized among society. The Internet has also been a robust asset for individuals seeking community beyond what is local to them. For those living in communities that do not accept them as they are, the Internet can act as a gathering place for them to find others like them. Bonding through shared interests, these individuals can form relationships that aid them in persevering through their current circumstances. One of the most prominent examples of this phenomenon would be the online LGBTQ+ community. While dealing with the stresses and discomfort of being closeted in their offline life, individuals are able to explore and discuss their identity with others similar to them. Because of the Internet's wide reach, there are communities for nearly every identity, interest, and lifestyle, this bringing people closer to one another in a way that is unbounded by the most common connectivity roadblock: physical location.

Since my early years, I have always been an out-of-the-box creative type. There would always be some artistic endeavor that I'd be fastidiously working on--to be able to hold or look at something you've poured your heart into is a feeling I've kept chasing again and again. The art form I focused on would change as the years went on, but that feeling has still remained my primary motivator. My personal journey with being a creator has intersected with the theme of accountability many times. I think the first thing a lot of people think of when it comes to accountability is accountability to others. School, the workplace, family members, and so on. There's another form of accountability that--although not as talked about--is just important: accountability to yourself. Similar to how you should be honest to others, you should be honest with yourself as well. For me, accountability is like a muscle--I have had to actively "work" it in various ways. The most prominent practice of holding myself accountable that I engage in would be my openness to criticism. For a long time, I struggled in separating criticism of my work apart from criticism of myself as a person. Someone would offer good-faith criticism about my work (whether this be academics or more hobby-aligned projects), and I would negatively internalize that criticism as an attack on me instead of the work. Objectively, I knew that the criticism was solely about the work, but the emotional part of my brain couldn't shake the knee-jerk reaction of negativity. It has been hard to work through, but I have developed a new mindset toward criticism of my work. Instead of negatively internalizing it, I have been positively internalizing it. A criticism is not an attack on me, but an actionable opportunity for improvement. I take pride in the fact that I am able to continually improve with the help of criticism. The mindset shift was accomplished with mere exposure. The more you open up and put yourself in situations where you welcome criticism, the more you hear of it, thus "desensitizing" you to that irrational emotional reaction. You are not desensitized in the way that you outright dismiss the criticism, you just experience it in a more constructive form. My openness to criticism has led to success in the works I produce. The success is two-fold: my workflow is improved and my outcomes are improved as well. The workflow improvement stems from the criticism making my objectives more clear, which increases the organization and overall smoothness when synthesizing a project. With a clear pathway to follow, the outcome ends up being improved by extension. I won't lie, it is not always easy to create that barrier between myself and my work in order to foster a positive attitude towards criticism. Especially as a creator, there is a strong urge to tie oneself closely to the works one produces. You put your emotions, your own nuances, your own special flares into a work. When someone disagrees with your own personal touches it can sting, but I am able to ground myself by understanding that the projects I complete don't have to be wholly individual to me. They can contain the input of others and still represent my vision. Projects made through the influences of multiple people are just as valid as ones influenced by a singular person.

The lyric "Coca-Cola bottles that I only use to curl my hair" in the song All-American Bitch is emblematic of the female teenage experience. All-American Bitch is a song about being a walking contradiction, with much of the lyrics being a juxtaposition of seemingly two different ideals (e.g. light as a feather vs. stiff as a board). What makes this specific lyric unique among the others is that the walking-contradiction aspect of the song is implicit here rather than explicit. It's not an in-your-face contradiction, but a subtle nudge in the direction with the qualifier "only". Looking at the lyric in the literal sense, it can be reasoned that Olivia doesn't drink the Coca-Cola, but uses it to accomplish a certain look. This reminds me of how us teenage girls are constantly signalled at--whether it be through the media we consume or our peers--to conform to a certain aesthetic. If you glance at a teenage girl's Tiktok, you can often find labels like "pink pilates princess", "coquette", etc. On one hand, these are easy identifiers for teens to brand themselves with and use to bond with others. It's not a new phenomenon. On the other hand, there's a more insidious layer in that it's less about what those girls do with the items/people/experiences that comprise the aesthetic but more about symbolizing the aesthetic. In the case of the song, Olivia doesn't use the Coca-Cola for her own satisfaction or enjoyment, but for an image that is considered acceptable by others. The real-world parallel to this is a teenage girl wearing the expensive athletic wear in order to champion the title "Pink Pilates Princess". The girl isn't a gymrat, she's not passionate about pilates. Even if she does do pilates it's in the pursuit of being true to the label she's chosen for herself while scrolling aimlessly online, not her actual enjoyment. It all comes down to image. Social media has made teenage girls feel as if they are on-display; adolescents are incredibly concerned with self-image and social media only serves as fuel to this ravenous fire. Doing pilates alone at the gym isn't enough--you must be given the seal of approval by others through embodying the aesthetic on your Instagram. For every action a teenage girl does, there is a small voyeur inside us that questions if we are fitting the ideal. Drink the liquid calories in the Coca-Cola? Fat, unhealthy. Refuse the Coca-Cola? Vain, self-centered. Leave your hair natural? Unkempt. Curl your hair? High-maintenance. This framework of thinking has sadly gained more and more prevalence alongside the rise of social media. It is no secret that the world is critical of teenage girls. Our likes and dislikes are pointed and laughed at. If a celebrity, piece of media, or hobby is associated with us it is immediately discounted and its quality is brought into question. With social media, this ridicule is further magnified and served to teenage girls on a platter of rude direct messages and comments. "Pink Pilates Princess" syndrome is born from this. Teenage girls feel as though our interests must be palatable, so we scour the internet for a label that presents us in an easy-to-digest acceptable form. A girl donning well-fitted leggings and natural makeup is going to be received much better than the girl with out-of-the-box makeup and fashion tastes. At their cores, both Olivia in this song and the hypothetical pink pilates princess are at war with themselves--a war your average teenage girl knows all too well. Our interests and personality are oftentimes governed by a third-party we aren't even consciously aware of.