I love art that makes me smile, that makes me stop in awe, and leaves me in a state of wonder. Alexander Calder's, "Nervures Minces," is playful, big, and bold. Made of sheet metal, bolts, and lots of black paint, this abstract sculpture inspires me. I first laid eyes on it at the age of two, when my mother took me to the Louisiana Museum of Modern Art outside of Copenhagen, Denmark on the Baltic Sea. I lived for three years outside of the U.S. when I was young, and I spent many of my weekends at the Louisiana running around the Nervures Minces, enraptured in its wings. There is a harmony in the sculpture, a natural movement of the steel in each delicate slant. I feel a sense of peace when I look at this gentle yet disarming piece of art. It is just perfect. Calder's work reflects his personality and his eclectic life and education in engineering and modernist-art movements. His mobiles are works of engineering as well as art, perfectly balanced to gently twist and move with the currents of the air. Like me, Calder was born in Philadelphia, lived for a period in Connecticut and in Europe, trying out various professions. Alexander Calder was the catalyst to ignite my passion for art. And Nervures Minces was the foundation on which I credit as the inspiration to pursue my own unique and eclectic works in music composition.

My music career kicked off during my residence in the neonatal intensive care unit. I was never supposed to live, let alone sing. With paralyzed vocal cords, I only fit into the palm of my mother’s hand. Somehow, I survived, making my very first sound at six months old. My passion for composing, performing music, and giving back are threaded throughout my story. Using my music to make a difference motivates me. At eight years old I started my first rock band The Blue Dolphins at GIRLS ROCK, where I enrolled to learn to write music, sing, and play guitar. GIRLS ROCK uses music as the vehicle to build self-esteem in girls, helping to tackle one of the biggest issues they face. Today, 70% of girls don’t feel good enough, and for most girls, the feeling of worthlessness is part of their everyday life. GIRLS ROCK encouraged me to make noise, to take up space, and most of all to believe that I am enough. GIRLS ROCK never encouraged me to be perfect, but instead to be brave. Feeling the joy of being fully engaged in a purpose and the gratitude for the program and its impact on my life, compelled me to start an initiative for GIRLS ROCK. I wrote and recorded my first album titled, “Golden Gate,” making hundreds of CDs which I sold at coffee shops around town. On weekends, I play at the local farmers market, raising awareness of GIRLS ROCK, giving away the CD with contributions to the programs. My campaigns enabled GIRLS ROCK to expand their programs to Syrian Refugee girls, enabling recently resettled refugees to attend the summer camp programs free of charge. These experiences motivate me and fuel my desire to leverage music to make a difference in the lives of others.

My music career kicked off during my residence in the neonatal intensive care unit. I was never supposed to live, let alone sing. With paralyzed vocal cords, I only fit into the palm of my mother’s hand. Somehow, I survived, making my very first sound at six months old, and then starting to sing at three. My passion for composing, performing music, and giving back are threaded throughout my story. At eight years old I started my first rock band The Blue Dolphins at GIRLS ROCK, where I enrolled to learn to write music, sing, and play guitar. GIRLS ROCK uses music as the vehicle to build self-esteem in girls, helping to tackle one of the biggest issues they face. GIRLS ROCK never encouraged me to be perfect, but instead to be brave. For the last ten years, I have committed myself to songwriting, playing guitar, and vocal performance. I am constantly working to improve my music skills, and I have discovered to best way to get better is to be vulnerable and perform my original music in public. That includes busking on Saturdays at my local farmers market, singing the National Anthem 138 times at parades, sporting and charity events, and even auditioning and appearing on the 2020 season of American Idol. In addition, I have work with a team of mentors, including fellow teen musicians that I practice and perform with in my town. In 2017, I began working with Kenny Loggins, volunteering my time to sing backup for him at charity events. As more charity event performance requests followed, I discovered that I could make a difference through my music. Using my voice to make an impact has been very meaningful to me and it has enabled me to keep improving at my music skills.

My music career kicked off during my residence in the neonatal intensive care unit. I was never supposed to live, let alone sing. With paralyzed vocal cords, I only fit into the palm of my mother’s hand. Somehow, I survived, making my very first sound at six months. Knowing I had little chance of surviving drives a responsibility inside me to make a difference. When fires and a deadly mudslide devastated my town and killed a mother and father of two close friends in 2018, I teamed up with a group of fellow youth musicians, creating a benefit concert, Teen Sing for Santa Barbara, raising over $75,000 for survivors of the mudslide. In tragedy, I was able to use my voice to help my town heal, and I felt no greater purpose. I have discovered that music is magical, and it helps to restore a deep sense of connection for people struggling with loss. I became fascinated with music and memory after watching the film, “Alive Inside,” spotlighting the transformation of people with memory loss revitalized by music. I began to volunteer at The Friendship Center for adults with memory loss, singing a range of old songs. I was astonished at the impact of music on an environment so often typified by isolation. In loss, there was life, and each week if I am lucky, I just might help someone with Alzheimer’s remember a moment in their life- a trip, a kiss, even their wedding dance. Giving back has broadened my perspective on the extraordinary role service plays in connection and closeness. It is the social elastic that can change how we think and feel. Service is very meaningful to me. I am certain of my desire to use my voice as a vehicle of positive impact in the world.

At eight years old I started my first rock band The Blue Dolphins at GIRLS ROCK, where I enrolled to learn to write music, sing, and play guitar. GIRLS ROCK uses music as the vehicle to build self-esteem in girls, helping to tackle one of the biggest issues facing girls. Today, 70% of girls don’t feel “good enough,” and for most girls, the feeling of worthlessness is part of their everyday life. GIRLS ROCK encouraged me to make noise, to take up space, and most of all to believe that I am enough. So, as my band took the auditorium stage, the exhilaration I felt as I held the microphone and belted out the lyrics, while the band strummed alongside me, was pure unadulterated joy. It was a moment in time when everything seemed to be just perfect. To me that is what joy is, to be fully engaged in a purpose. And that is why, I remain committed to GIRLS ROCK, and why I became a Teen Mentor in the program, something that has brought me immeasurable joy and acceptance. Over the last ten years, I have rocked out at music venues across my city and had the opportunity to collaborate with hundreds of other amazing girls. And while the after-school programs gave me my start in music, my decade there has meant so much more. At GIRLS ROCK I was never taught to be perfect, but instead to be brave. This is the simple pleasure in my life that makes me happy.

My music career kicked off during my residence in the neonatal intensive care unit. I was never supposed to live, let alone sing. With paralyzed vocal cords, I only fit into the palm of my mother’s hand. Somehow, I survived, making my very first sound at six months old. Knowing I had little chance of surviving, let alone thriving, drives a responsibility inside me to make a difference. When fires and a deadly mudslide devastated my town and killed a mother and father of two close friends in 2018, I teamed up with a group of fellow youth musicians, creating a benefit concert, Teen Sing for Santa Barbara, raising over $75,000 for survivors of the mudslide. In tragedy, I was able to use my voice to help my town heal, and I felt no greater purpose. I have discovered that music is magical, and it helps to restore a deep sense of connection for people struggling with loss. I became fascinated with music and memory after watching the film, “Alive Inside,” spotlighting the transformation of people with memory loss revitalized by music. I began to volunteer at The Friendship Center for adults with memory loss, singing a range of old songs. I was astonished at the impact of music on an environment typified by isolation. In loss, there was life, and each week if I am lucky, I just might help someone with Alzheimer’s remember a moment in their life- a trip, a kiss, even their wedding dance. While my music may not harness the power to slow memory loss, it is the social elastic that can change how we think and feel. I am certain of my desire to use my voice as a vehicle of change and positive impact in the world. It is my life’s work.

I received my first death threat at the age of fifteen, after a conservative media outlet reported, “American Idol Contestant Advances to Next Round After Singing Song Celebrating Abortions,” characterizing my song as an anthem for women to willfully get pregnant and kill babies. The only factual elements of the story were that I was fifteen and a contestant on the iconic show, performing “My Body, My Choice.” I wrote the controversial song in 2019 as a message to the women in Alabama confronting a near-total ban on abortion, an assault on their constitutional right to choose. I had just finished reading The War on Choice by Gloria Feldt and learned about the approval of the Alabama legislation banning abortion. The lyrics conveyed every emotion raging through my body. I immediately began performing the song at Planned Parenthood benefits, open-mic nights, and eventually for Katy Perry, Lionel Richie, and Luke Bryan during my American Idol audition. Writing music with meaning and intention is a driving force and a passion that I have pursued intensely since childhood. My lyrics captured the immediacy of the impending ban while delivering a promise and igniting a cry to come together, because we are the ones “the future’s counting on.” I felt an obligation to leverage my voice to answer the moment. The death threat that followed my audition wasn't the first time my life was at risk. My music career kicked off during my residence in the neonatal intensive care unit. I was never supposed to live, let alone sing. With paralyzed vocal cords, I only fit into the palm of my mother’s hand. Somehow, I survived, making my very first sound at six months old. Knowing I had little chance of surviving, let alone thriving, drives a responsibility inside me to make a difference. When fires and a deadly mudslide devastated my town and killed a mother and father of two close friends in 2018, I teamed up with a group of fellow youth musicians, creating a benefit concert, Teen Sing for Santa Barbara, raising over $75,000 for survivors of the mudslide. In tragedy, I was able to use my voice to help my town heal, and I felt no greater purpose. I have discovered that music is magical, and it helps to restore a deep sense of connection for people struggling with loss. I became fascinated with music and memory after losing my grandmother to Alzheimer’s and reading the book, Music and Dementia: From Cognition to Therapy, spotlighting the transformation of people with memory loss revitalized by music. Could music awaken the brain and stimulate memories that help people with Alzheimer’s remember? The more I read, the more curious I became, and I began to volunteer at The Friendship Center for adults with memory loss, singing a range of old songs. I was astonished at the impact of music on an environment typified by isolation. In loss, there is life, and each week if I am lucky, I just might help someone with Alzheimer’s remember a moment in their life- a trip, a kiss, even their wedding dance. While my music may not harness the power to overturn abortion legislation, stop natural disasters or slow memory loss, these experiences have broadened my perspective on music and the extraordinary role it plays in connection and closeness. Music is the social elastic that can change how we think and feel. To say that I am certain of my desire to use my voice as a vehicle of change and positive impact in the world would be an understatement. It is my life’s work.

An ancient Japanese legend promises that if anyone folds a thousand paper cranes they will be granted eternal happiness or one special wish by the gods. I was fortunate to be introduced to origami in kindergarten, when my single working mom enrolled me in after-school classes at the Montessori Center School where I attended. My teacher, Rick, was soft-spoken and meditative, teaching us in socks and instructing us on how to fold paper while sitting crisscross applesauce on the floor. I started making simple things, like boats, tulips, airplanes, even a dog. I quickly fell in love with paper-folding, often continuing my work at night, and even teaching my friends the visual art form. Each day at Montessori I found myself looking forward to the end of the school day, for that quiet and stillness, when I could bring to life something new within the creases of the paper. In reflection on the five years I spent paper-folding with Rick, it is clear to me that this calm, Zen-like extracurricular activity shaped who I am today. Origami taught me concentration and discipline, it deepened my interest in math, symmetry and geometry, and it provided both a physical and emotional sensitivity that awakened the musical side of me as a songwriter and guitar player. The innate curiosity I feel in each experience, from the fascination of memorizing a mathematical model, to the deliberate motion of playing a new guitar chord for hours, origami has made a lasting impression on me. There was something grounding, almost magical, about those origami classes that transcended the technical folding of the paper into the artistry of other elements of my life. Several years ago, I watched the documentary Between the Folds and was pleasantly surprised to learn about the ways origami artists are applying the rules of the art form in design and engineering. From finding the right folds for an airbag to using it as a tool for research, including mathematical and scientific discovery, the medium of folding a simple uncut paper square has emerged as having the potential to transform our lives. In total, I have folded well over one thousand paper cranes in my life. And while I don’t know just yet whether I will receive my special wish, origami has been an interesting hobby that is intellectually challenging and added happiness to my life. As I move into the next stages of my intellectual and spiritual studies, my goal is to focus on math, music, and philosophy - focusing my attention to the interconnection of these disciplines.

I received my first death threat at the age of fifteen, after a conservative media outlet reported, “American Idol Contestant Advances to Next Round After Singing Song Celebrating Abortions,” characterizing my song as an anthem for women to willfully get pregnant and kill babies. The only factual elements of the story were that I was fifteen and a contestant on the iconic show, performing “My Body, My Choice.” I wrote the controversial song in 2019 as a message to the women in Alabama confronting a near-total ban on abortion, an assault on their constitutional right to choose. I wrote the song on a plane after reading an article in The New York Times about the approval of the legislation banning abortion. The lyrics conveyed every emotion raging through my body. I began performing the song at Planned Parenthood benefits, open-mic nights, and eventually for Katy Perry, Lionel Richie, and Luke Bryan during my American Idol audition. Writing music with meaning and intention is a driving force and a passion that I have pursued intensely since childhood. My lyrics captured the immediacy of the impending ban while delivering a promise and igniting a cry to come together, because we are the ones “the future’s counting on.” I felt an obligation to leverage my voice in the moment. While my music may not harness the power to overturn abortion legislation, this experience leveraging my creativity and music to bring social change. It has broadened my perspective on music and its extraordinary role it plays in connection. Music is the social elastic that can change how we think and feel. To say that I am certain of my desire to use my voice as a vehicle of change and positive impact in the world would be an understatement. It is my life’s work.

I received my first death threat at the age of fifteen, after a conservative media outlet reported, “American Idol Contestant Advances to Next Round After Singing Song Celebrating Abortions,” characterizing my song as an anthem for women to willfully get pregnant and kill babies. The only factual elements of the story were that I was fifteen and a contestant on the iconic show, performing “My Body, My Choice.” I wrote the controversial song in 2019 as a message to the women in Alabama confronting a near-total ban on abortion, an assault on their constitutional right to choose. I wrote the song on a plane after reading an article in The New York Times about the approval of the legislation banning abortion. The lyrics conveyed every emotion raging through my body. I immediately began performing the song at Planned Parenthood benefits, open-mic nights, and eventually for Katy Perry, Lionel Richie, and Luke Bryan during my American Idol audition. Writing music with meaning and intention is a driving force and a passion that I have pursued intensely since childhood. My lyrics captured the immediacy of the impending ban while delivering a promise and igniting a cry to come together, because we are the ones “the future’s counting on.” I felt an obligation to leverage my voice to answer the moment. What excites me about the next phase of my education is the opportunity to explore the topics that I am passionate about, including gender and sexuality studies, while leveraging my music to bring change to groups facing inequalities and discrimination. My goal is to transform the music industry, where only 2% of producers in the industry are female, and 98% are men. My goal is to build initiatives that are supportive of developing women into positions of power and leadership.

My music career kicked off during my residence in the neonatal intensive care unit. I was never supposed to live, let alone sing. With paralyzed vocal cords, I only fit into the palm of my mother’s hand. Somehow, I survived, making my very first sound at six months old. Growing up with a single mother who traveled frequently for work, music became the constant in my life. Knowing I had little chance of surviving, let alone thriving, drives a responsibility inside me to make a difference. When fires and a deadly mudslide devastated my town and killed a mother and father of two close friends in 2018, I teamed up with a group of fellow youth musicians, creating a benefit concert, Teen Sing, raising over $75,000 for survivors of the mudslide. In tragedy, I was able to use my voice to help my town heal, and I felt no greater purpose. As I have grown as a songwriter, embracing my identity, and tackling bold topics with a serious message has become my true passion. However, having pursued music intensely, I have experienced the extraordinary challenges women face and the disparities that exist within the music industry. What excites me about the next phase of my education is the opportunity to major in and explore the topics that I am passionate about, including gender and sexuality studies, while leveraging my music to bring change to groups facing inequalities and discrimination. My goal is to double major in gender and music studies. I am specifically interested in helping to transform the music industry, where only two percent of producers in the industry are female, and 98 percent are men. I long to push for greater progress, and to build initiatives that are supportive of developing women into positions of power and leadership.

My music career kicked off during my residence in the neonatal intensive care unit. I was never supposed to live, let alone sing. With paralyzed vocal cords, I only fit into the palm of my mother’s hand. Somehow, I survived, making my very first sound at six months old. Growing up with a single mother who traveled frequently for work, music became the constant in my life. Knowing I had little chance of surviving, let alone thriving, drives a responsibility inside me to make a difference. When fires and a deadly mudslide devastated my town and killed a mother and father of two close friends in 2018, I teamed up with a group of fellow youth musicians, creating a benefit concert, Teen Sing, raising over $75,000 for survivors of the mudslide. In tragedy, I was able to use my voice to help my town heal, and I felt no greater purpose. As I have grown as a songwriter, embracing my identity, and tackling bold topics with a serious message has become my true passion. However, having pursued music intensely, including performing with some of the greatest musicians in the world, I have experienced the extraordinary challenges women face and the disparities that exist within the music industry. What excites me about the next phase of my education is the opportunity to explore the topics that I am passionate about, including gender and sexuality studies, while leveraging my music to bring change to groups facing inequalities and discrimination. I am specifically interested in helping to transform the music industry, where only two percent of producers in the industry are female, and 98 percent are men. I long to push for greater progress, and to build initiatives that are supportive of developing women into positions of power and leadership.

I received my first death threat at the age of fifteen, after a conservative media outlet reported, “American Idol Contestant Advances to Next Round After Singing Song Celebrating Abortions,” characterizing my song as an anthem for women to willfully get pregnant and kill babies. The only factual elements of the story were that I was fifteen and a contestant on the iconic show, performing “My Body, My Choice.” I wrote the controversial song in 2019 as a message to the women in Alabama confronting a near-total ban on abortion, an assault on their constitutional right to choose. I wrote the song on a plane after reading an article in The New York Times about the approval of the legislation banning abortion. The lyrics conveyed every emotion raging through my body. I immediately began performing the song at Planned Parenthood benefits, open-mic nights, and eventually for Katy Perry, Lionel Richie, and Luke Bryan during my American Idol audition. Writing music with meaning and intention is a driving force and a passion that I have pursued intensely since childhood. My lyrics captured the immediacy of the impending ban while delivering a promise and igniting a cry to come together, because we are the ones “the future’s counting on.” I felt an obligation to lead and leverage my voice to answer the moment. The death threat that followed my audition wasn't the first time my life was at risk. My music career kicked off during my residence in the neonatal intensive care unit. I was never supposed to live, let alone sing. With paralyzed vocal cords, I only fit into the palm of my mother’s hand. Somehow, I survived, making my very first sound at six months old. Growing up with a single mother who traveled frequently for work, music became the constant in my life. Knowing I had little chance of surviving, let alone thriving, drives a responsibility inside me to make a difference. When fires and a deadly mudslide devastated my town and killed a mother and father of two close friends in 2018, I teamed up with a group of fellow youth musicians, creating a benefit concert, Teen Sing, raising over $75,000 for survivors of the mudslide. In tragedy, I was able to use my voice to help my town heal, and I felt no greater purpose. To me leadership means standing up for what I believe in, it means accepting the challenges and obstacles, and working to transform adversities into opportunities to bring change and make a difference. As I have grown as a songwriter, embracing my identity, and tackling bold topics with a serious message has become my true passion. However, having pursued music intensely, I have experienced the extraordinary challenges women face and the disparities that exist within the music industry. What excites me about the next phase of my education is the opportunity to explore the topics that I am passionate about, including gender and sexuality studies, while leveraging my music to bring change to groups facing inequalities and discrimination. I am specifically interested in helping to transform the music industry, where only two percent of producers in the industry are female, and 98 percent are men. I long to push for greater progress, and to build initiatives that are supportive of developing women into positions of power and leadership.

My music career kicked off during my residence in the neonatal intensive care unit. I was never supposed to live, let alone sing. With paralyzed vocal cords, I only fit into the palm of my mother’s hand. Somehow, I survived, making my very first sound at six months old. Growing up with a single mother who traveled frequently for work, music became the constant in my life. Knowing I had little chance of surviving, let alone thriving, drives a responsibility inside me to make a difference. The best examples I can share of how I have demonstrated leadership has been how I reacted to both a local emergency and a national crisis. To me leadership means digging deep into problems, getting my hands dirty, and having a goal that we inspire and rally others around. As I have grown as a songwriter, embracing my identity, and tackling bold topics with a serious message has become my true passion. The first example was when fires and a deadly mudslide devastated my town and killed a mother and father of two close friends in 2018, I teamed up with a group of fellow youth musicians, creating a benefit concert, Teen Sing, raising over $75,000 for survivors of the mudslide. In tragedy, I was able to use my voice to help my town heal, and I felt no greater purpose. The second example is more controversial, but probably an important one on how I had the courage to lead on a very divisive issue in our country. I received my first death threat at the age of fifteen, after a conservative media outlet reported, “American Idol Contestant Advances to Next Round After Singing Song Celebrating Abortions,” characterizing my song as an anthem for women to willfully get pregnant and kill babies. The only factual elements of the story were that I was fifteen and a contestant on the iconic show, performing “My Body, My Choice.” I wrote the controversial song in 2019 as a message to the women in Alabama confronting a near-total ban on abortion, an assault on their constitutional right to choose. I wrote the song on a plane after reading an article in The New York Times about the approval of the legislation banning abortion. The lyrics conveyed every emotion raging through my body. I immediately began performing the song at Planned Parenthood benefits, open-mic nights, and eventually for Katy Perry, Lionel Richie, and Luke Bryan during my American Idol audition. Writing music with meaning and intention is a driving force and a passion that I have pursued intensely since childhood. I felt an obligation to leverage my voice to answer the moment. While my music may not harness the power to overturn abortion legislation or stop disasters these experiences have broadened my perspective on leadership and how I can leverage my passion and talents to help people confront inequalities and discrimination. This is my goal for my life's work, to lead by example and work to serve others.

I received my first death threat at the age of fifteen, after a conservative media outlet reported, “American Idol Contestant Advances to Next Round After Singing Song Celebrating Abortions,” characterizing my song as an anthem for women to willfully get pregnant and kill babies. The only factual elements of the story were that I was fifteen and a contestant on the iconic show, performing “My Body, My Choice.” I wrote the controversial song in 2019 as a message to the women in Alabama confronting a near-total ban on abortion, an assault on their constitutional right to choose. I wrote the song on a plane after reading an article in The New York Times about the approval of the legislation banning abortion. The lyrics conveyed every emotion raging through my body. I immediately began performing the song at Planned Parenthood benefits, open-mic nights, and eventually for Katy Perry, Lionel Richie, and Luke Bryan during my American Idol audition. Writing music with meaning and intention is a driving force and a passion that I have pursued intensely since childhood. I felt an obligation to leverage my voice to answer the moment. The death threat that followed my audition wasn't the first time my life was at risk. My music career kicked off during my residence in the neonatal intensive care unit. I was never supposed to live, let alone sing. With paralyzed vocal cords, I only fit into the palm of my mother’s hand. Somehow, I survived, making my very first sound at six months old. Knowing I had little chance of surviving, let alone thriving, drives a responsibility inside me to make a difference. When fires and a deadly mudslide devastated my town and killed a mother and father of two close friends in 2018, I teamed up with a group of fellow youth musicians, creating a benefit concert, Teen Sing, raising over $75,000 for survivors of the mudslide. In tragedy, I was able to use my voice to help my town heal, and I felt no greater purpose. I have discovered that music is magical, and it helps to restore a deep sense of self and connection for people struggling with loss. I became fascinated with music and memory after losing my grandmother to Alzheimer’s and seeing, "Alive Inside,” spotlighting the transformation of people with Alzheimer's revitalized by music. I began to volunteer at The Friendship Center for adults with memory loss, singing a range of old songs. I was astonished at the impact of music on an environment typified by isolation. In loss, there is life, and each week if I am lucky, I just might help someone with Alzheimer’s remember a moment in their life- a trip, a kiss, even their wedding dance. While my music may not harness the power to overturn abortion legislation, stop natural disasters or slow memory loss, these experiences have broadened my perspective on music and the extraordinary role it plays in connection and closeness. Music is the social elastic that can change how we think and feel. As I have grown as a songwriter, embracing my identity, and tackling bold topics with a serious message has become my true passion. What excites me about college is the opportunity to study topics that I am passionate about, including gender and sexuality studies, while leveraging my music to bring change to groups facing discrimination. I want to transform the music industry, where only 2% of producers in the industry are female, and 98% are men. I long to push for progress, and to build initiatives that develop women into positions of power and leadership.

I received my first death threat at the age of fifteen, after a conservative media outlet reported, “American Idol Contestant Advances to Next Round After Singing Song Celebrating Abortions,” characterizing my song as an anthem for women to willfully get pregnant and kill babies. The only factual elements of the story were that I was fifteen and a contestant on the iconic show, performing “My Body, My Choice.” I wrote the controversial song in 2019 as a message to the women in Alabama confronting a near-total ban on abortion, an assault on their constitutional right to choose. I wrote the song on a plane after reading an article in The New York Times about the approval of the legislation banning abortion. The lyrics conveyed every emotion raging through my body. I immediately began performing the song at Planned Parenthood benefits, open-mic nights, and eventually for Katy Perry, Lionel Richie, and Luke Bryan during my American Idol audition. Writing music with meaning and intention is a driving force and a passion that I have pursued intensely since childhood. My lyrics captured the immediacy of the impending ban while delivering a promise and igniting a cry to come together, because we are the ones “the future’s counting on.” I felt an obligation to leverage my voice to answer the moment. As I have grown as a songwriter, embracing my identity, and tackling bold topics with a serious message has become my true passion. I am specifically interested in helping to transform the music industry, where only two percent of producers in the industry are female, and 98 percent are men. I long to push for greater progress, and to build initiatives that are supportive of developing women into positions of power and leadership.

I started my first band, The Blue Dolphins, at 8 years old with GIRLS ROCK - a music empowerment program that uses music education as the vehicle to build self-esteem in girls. I have taken dozens of courses at GIRLS ROCK over the last decade, focusing on songwriting, vocal performance, music production, branding, starting a record label, and digital marketing. And while GIRLS ROCK taught me a lot about music, it instilled in me a belief that I didn’t need to be perfect, I needed to be brave. At 12, I wrote and produced my first album, “Golden Gate,” four songs that spoke to every emotional in my heart at that time. I made hundreds of CDs and sold them at coffee shops around my town, donating every dollar to GIRLS ROCK for scholarships, so all girls could attend the program which gave me free lessons, and which transformed my life. Now I volunteer as a Teen Mentor at GIRLS ROCK and work to empower girls and female identified youth to believe in themselves, to take up space, and leverage their voices to make a difference in the world. As I have grown as a songwriter, embracing my identity, and tackling bold topics with a serious message has become my true passion. What excites me about the next phase of my education is the opportunity to explore topics that I am passionate about, including gender and sexuality studies, while leveraging my music to bring change to groups facing inequalities and discrimination. I am interested in helping to transform the music industry, where only two percent of producers in the industry are female, and 98 percent are men. I long to push for greater progress, and to build initiatives that are supportive of developing women into positions of power and leadership.

In the summer before my sixth grade, my mother signed me up for a two-week camp on financial literacy. I can't say that I was thrilled prior to attending the camp. While my friends were going to be surfing, swimming, and creating art projects, I would be learning the ins and outs of financial freedom. Fast forward seven years and those two weeks were probably the most valuable of any summer camp experience. My favorite parts of the camp were learning about budgeting and investing in assets, including how to rent my first apartment one day. Off I went to Camp Millionaire, with 39 other kids stuffed into the Boys and Girls Club. I came away from that week with a firm testament to owning a home vs. renting once that can be a reality for me. I developed a working knowledge of money, and it's the critical role it plays in transacting our everyday life. I was fortunate to learn the basics at a young age, starting my financial education process early. As I look into the future, I hope to deepen the value I place on financial security and learn savings strategies to enable me to reach and achieve my goals. The most helpful piece of financial advice that came in my teens was to avoid impulse buying. Not only is impulse buying bad news for the wallet, but impulse buying can lead to dangerous financial consequences. I try to put my money towards the things that I care about and use that value as a guide to every financial transaction. For example, I care about supporting my local business community, and I try to think twice before impulse spending on a mass-produced item that I could find anywhere.

In the summer before my sixth grade, my mother signed me up for a two-week camp on financial literacy. I can't say that I was thrilled prior to attending the camp. While my friends were going to be surfing, swimming, and creating art projects, I would be learning the ins and outs of financial freedom. Fast forward seven years and those two weeks were probably the most valuable of any summer camp experience. My favorite parts of the camp were learning about budgeting and investing in assets, including how to rent my first apartment one day. Off I went to Camp Millionaire, with 39 other kids stuffed into the Boys and Girls Club. I came away from that week with a firm testament to owning a home vs. renting once that can be a reality for me. I developed a working knowledge of money, and it's the critical role it plays in transacting our everyday life. I was fortunate to learn the basics at a young age, starting my financial education process early. As I look into the future, I hope to deepen the value I place on financial security and learn savings strategies to enable me to reach and achieve my goals. The most helpful piece of financial advice that came in my teens was to avoid impulse buying. Not only is impulse buying bad news for the wallet, but impulse buying can lead to dangerous financial consequences. I try to put my money towards the things that I care about and use that value as a guide to every financial transaction. For example, I care about supporting my local business community, and I try to think twice before impulse spending on a mass-produced item that I could find anywhere.

I fell in love with music at the age of three, and I have found that singing has a profound way of enabling me to capture the deepest emotions in my soul, giving a voice to the things that I don’t have the confidence to say. Sometimes lyrics to a song are so powerful, they seemingly stop time or literally change your life. That is what I felt when I first listened to Kelly Clarkson’s “Piece by Piece.” And all I remember is your back Walking towards the airport Leaving us all in your past I traveled fifteen hundred miles to see you Begged you to want me But you didn't want to In my case, it was 6,752 miles for me see my dad. And when I would visit, the emotional distance felt so much further. While he was never able to maintain a deep connection with me, a child’s heart always holds out hope. During the fall of my freshman year of high school, I auditioned with hundreds of other singer-songwriters for Teen Star, and was selected as one of the ten finalists for the live, televised competition. I considered thousands of songs for my final performance, and in the end, I kept coming back to the sincerity and resilience which gripped me when I sung Clarkson’s “Piece by Piece.” On February 26, 2019, I walked onto the Arlington Theatre stage and delivered what was the most honest performance of my life, tears and all. My experience performing this song was the most honest and authentic version of myself. Since that time, I have leaned into songwriting and devoted my craft to creating music with meaning, working to highlight the struggles of people facing inequality and discrimination. Music has become my life's work.

My favorite piece of art is, "Overlooked," a moving journalism project, highlighting the remarkable stories of people whose deaths had been overlooked by the editors of the NY Times Obituary section. Since 1851, obituaries in The New York Times have been dominated by white men, and people of power and privilege. The New York Times has published tens of thousands of obituaries- from heads of state to opera singers, athletes to inventors. The deaths of women and people of color were largely left out by The Times. While this is a reflection of who society valued at the time, it is not a reflection of the value they brought or the legacy that they left. Ada Lovelace (1815-1852), was a gifted mathematician, recognized as the first computer programmer. Ida Wells (1862-1931), took on racism in the deep south with her powerful reporting on lynchings. Sylvia Plath (1932-1962), a postwar poet who was unafraid to confront her own despair. All of these women, and so many more, who made immense contributions to our world, were so deserving of recognition at the end of their lives. And yet they were left out. Overlooked is my favorite piece of art, because it tells the stories and recognizes women who were visionaries, virtuosos, and trailblazers in art, politics, business, and science. As a female artist working to make an impact on the world, I am thrilled that the powerful stories of incredible women and minorities are finally brought to life through this journalistic artform.

I started my first band, The Blue Dolphins, at 8 years old with GIRLS ROCK - a music empowerment program that uses music education as the vehicle to build self-esteem in girls. At GIRLS ROCK I learned to sing, compose music, and play guitar and drums. And while GIRLS ROCK taught me a lot about music, it instilled in me a belief that I didn’t need to be perfect, I needed to be brave. At 12, I wrote and produced my first album, “Golden Gate,” four original songs that spoke to every emotion in my heart, from getting bullied, to my dad leaving the U.S. at three. I made hundreds of CDs and sold them at coffee shops around my town, donating every dollar to GIRLS ROCK for scholarships, so all girls could attend the program which gave me free lessons, and which transformed my life. Over the last four years, I have been a Teen Mentor at Girls Rock, encouraging the next generation of young female musicians to take up space, to have a voice and to be confident in sharing that voice. I work with youth on songwriting, singing, and stage performance. It is incredibly meaningful to see young girls come into the program shy and scared, like I was, and to transform over the semester- writing an original composition, learning an instrument, collaborating with their band, and performing to a sold-out show. Moving forward, I am specifically interested in helping to transform the music industry, where only two percent of producers in the industry are female, and 98 percent are men. I long to push for greater progress, and to build initiatives that are supportive of developing women into positions of power and leadership.

Knowing I had little chance of surviving, let alone thriving, drives a responsibility inside me to make a difference. And the way that I work to bring positive change and healing to my community is through music. My music career kicked off during my residence in the neonatal intensive care unit. I was never supposed to live, let alone sing. With paralyzed vocal cords, I only fit into the palm of my mother’s hand. Somehow, I survived, making my very first sound at six months old, learning to sing at three to Etta James. When fires and a deadly mudslide devastated my town and killed 23 people, including a mother and father of two close friends in 2018, I teamed up with a group of fellow youth musicians, creating a benefit concert, Teen Sing for Santa Barbara, raising over $75,000 for survivors of the mudslide. In tragedy, I was able to use my voice to help my town heal, and I felt no greater purpose. I have discovered that music is magical, and it helps to restore a deep sense of connection for people struggling with loss. I became fascinated with music and memory after losing my grandmother to Alzheimer’s and watching, “Alive Inside,” spotlighting the transformation of people with memory loss revitalized after listening to music. Could music awaken the brain and stimulate memories that help people with Alzheimer’s and dementia remember? I was curious and began to volunteer at The Friendship Center for adults with memory loss, singing a range of songs from their youth. I was astonished at the impact of music on an environment typified by isolation. In loss, there is life, and each week, I just might help someone with Alzheimer’s remember a moment in their life- a trip, a kiss, even their wedding dance.

I believe my music career kicked off during my residence in the neonatal intensive care unit. I was never supposed to live, let alone sing. With paralyzed vocal cords, I only fit into the palm of my mother’s hand. Somehow, I survived, making my very first sound at six months old, singing at three to Etta James. Growing up with a single mom who traveled frequently for her humanitarian aid work, music became the constant in my life. Knowing I had little chance of surviving, let alone thriving, drives a responsibility inside me to make a difference. When fires and a deadly mudslide devastated my town and killed 23 people, including the mother and father of two close friends in 2018, I teamed up with a group of fellow youth musicians, creating a benefit concert, Teen Sing, raising over $75,000 for survivors of the mudslide. In tragedy, I was able to use my voice to help my town heal, and I felt no greater purpose. What excites me about the next phase of my education is the opportunity to explore the topics that I am passionate about, including gender and sexuality studies, while leveraging my music to bring change to groups facing inequalities and discrimination. Having pursued music intensely, including performing with some of the greatest musicians in the world, I have experienced the extraordinary challenges women face and the disparities that exist within the music industry. I am specifically interested in helping to transform the music industry, where only two percent of producers in the industry are female, and 98 percent are men. I long to push for greater progress, and to build initiatives that are supportive of developing women into positions of power and leadership.

I received my first death threat at the age of fifteen, after a conservative media outlet reported, “American Idol Contestant Advances to Next Round After Singing Song Celebrating Abortions,” characterizing my song as an anthem for women to willfully get pregnant and kill babies. The only factual elements of the story were that I was fifteen and a contestant on the iconic show, performing “My Body, My Choice.” I wrote the controversial song in 2019 as a message to the women in Alabama confronting a near-total ban on abortion, an assault on their constitutional right to choose. I wrote the song on a plane after reading an article in The New York Times about the approval of the legislation banning abortion. The lyrics conveyed every emotion raging through my body. I immediately began performing the song at Planned Parenthood benefits, open-mic nights, and eventually for Katy Perry, Lionel Richie, and Luke Bryan during my American Idol audition. Writing music with meaning and intention is a driving force and a hobby that I have pursued intensely since childhood. The death threat that followed my audition wasn't the first time my life was at risk. My music career kicked off during my residence in the neonatal intensive care unit. I was never supposed to live, let alone sing. With paralyzed vocal cords, I only fit into the palm of my mother’s hand. Somehow, I survived, making my very first sound at six months old. Knowing I had little chance of surviving, let alone thriving, drives a responsibility inside me to make a difference. When fires and a deadly mudslide devastated my town and killed a mother and father of two close friends in 2018, I teamed up with a group of fellow youth musicians, creating a benefit concert, Teen Sing for Santa Barbara, raising over $75,000 for survivors of the mudslide. In tragedy, I was able to use my voice to help my town heal, and I felt no greater purpose. I have discovered that music is magical, and it helps to restore a deep sense of connection for people struggling with loss. I became fascinated with music and memory after losing my grandmother to Alzheimer’s and watching, “Alive Inside,” spotlighting people with memory loss revitalized after listening to music. Could music awaken the brain and stimulate memories that help people remember? I was curious and began to volunteer on at The Friendship Center for adults with Alzheimer's, singing a range of songs. I was astonished at the impact of music on an environment typified by isolation. While my music may not harness the power to overturn legislation, stop disasters or slow memory loss, these experiences broadened my perspective on music and its role in connection. Music is the social elastic that can change how we think and feel. To say that I am certain of my desire to use my voice as a vehicle of change and positive impact in the world would be an understatement. It is my life’s work.

I received my first death threat at the age of fifteen, after a conservative media outlet reported, “American Idol Contestant Advances to Next Round After Singing Song Celebrating Abortions,” characterizing my song as an anthem for women to willfully get pregnant and kill babies. The only factual elements of the story were that I was fifteen and a contestant on the iconic show, performing “My Body, My Choice.” I wrote the controversial song in 2019 as a message to the women in Alabama confronting a near-total ban on abortion, an assault on their constitutional right to choose. I wrote the song on a plane after reading an article in The New York Times about the approval of the legislation banning abortion. The lyrics conveyed every emotion raging through my body. I immediately began performing the song at Planned Parenthood benefits, open-mic nights, and eventually for Katy Perry, Lionel Richie, and Luke Bryan during my American Idol audition. Writing music with meaning and intention is a driving force and a passion that I have pursued intensely since childhood. My lyrics captured the immediacy of the impending ban while delivering a promise and igniting a cry to come together. The death threat that followed my audition wasn't the first time my life was at risk. My music career kicked off during my residence in the neonatal intensive care unit. I was never supposed to live, let alone sing. With paralyzed vocal cords, I only fit into the palm of my mother’s hand. Somehow, I survived, making my very first sound at six months old. Growing up with a single mother who traveled frequently for work, music became the constant in my life. Knowing I had little chance of surviving, let alone thriving, drives a responsibility inside me to make a difference. When fires and a deadly mudslide devastated my town and killed a mother and father of two close friends in 2018, I teamed up with a group of fellow youth musicians, creating a benefit concert, Teen Sing for Santa Barbara, raising over $75,000 for survivors of the mudslide. In tragedy, I was able to use my voice to help my town heal, and I felt no greater purpose. I have discovered that music is magical, and it helps to restore a deep sense of self and connection for people struggling with loss. I became fascinated with music and memory after losing my grandmother to Alzheimer’s and seeing the documentary, “Alive Inside,” spotlighting the transformation of people with memory loss revitalized after listening to music. Could music awaken the brain and stimulate memories that help people with Alzheimer’s and dementia remember? I was so curious that I began to volunteer on Tuesdays at The Friendship Center for adults with memory loss, singing a range of old songs from their youth. I was astonished at the impact of music on an environment so often typified by isolation. In loss, there is life, and each week if I am lucky, I just might help someone with Alzheimer’s remember a moment in their life- a trip, a kiss, even their wedding dance. While my music may not harness the power to overturn abortion legislation, stop natural disasters or slow memory loss, these experiences have broadened my perspective on music and the extraordinary role it plays in connection and closeness. Music is the social elastic that can change how we think and feel. To say that I am certain of my desire to use my voice as a vehicle of change and positive impact in the world would be an understatement. It is my life’s work.

I received my first death threat at the age of fifteen, after a conservative media outlet reported, “American Idol Contestant Advances to Next Round After Singing Song Celebrating Abortions,” characterizing my song as an anthem for women to willfully get pregnant and kill babies. The only factual elements of the story were that I was fifteen and a contestant on the iconic show, performing “My Body, My Choice.” I wrote the controversial song in 2019 as a message to the women in Alabama confronting a near-total ban on abortion, an assault on their constitutional right to choose. I wrote the song on a plane after reading an article in The New York Times about the approval of the legislation banning abortion. The lyrics conveyed every emotion raging through my body. I immediately began performing the song at Planned Parenthood benefits, open-mic nights, and eventually for Katy Perry, Lionel Richie, and Luke Bryan during my American Idol audition. Writing music with meaning and intention is a driving force and a passion that I have pursued intensely since childhood. My lyrics captured the immediacy of the impending ban while delivering a promise and igniting a cry to come together. The death threat that followed my audition wasn't the first time my life was at risk. My music career kicked off during my residence in the neonatal intensive care unit. I was never supposed to live, let alone sing. With paralyzed vocal cords, I only fit into the palm of my mother’s hand. Somehow, I survived, making my very first sound at six months old. Growing up with a single mother who traveled frequently for work, music became the constant in my life. Knowing I had little chance of surviving, let alone thriving, drives a responsibility inside me to make a difference. When fires and a deadly mudslide devastated my town and killed a mother and father of two close friends in 2018, I teamed up with a group of fellow youth musicians, creating a benefit concert, Teen Sing for Santa Barbara, raising over $75,000 for survivors of the mudslide. In tragedy, I was able to use my voice to help my town heal, and I felt no greater purpose. I have discovered that music is magical, and it helps to restore a deep sense of self and connection for people struggling with loss. I became fascinated with music and memory after losing my grandmother to Alzheimer’s and seeing the documentary, “Alive Inside,” spotlighting the transformation of people with memory loss revitalized after listening to music. Could music awaken the brain and stimulate memories that help people with Alzheimer’s and dementia remember? I was so curious that I began to volunteer on Tuesdays at The Friendship Center for adults with memory loss, singing a range of old songs from their youth. I was astonished at the impact of music on an environment so often typified by isolation. In loss, there is life, and each week if I am lucky, I just might help someone with Alzheimer’s remember a moment in their life- a trip, a kiss, even their wedding dance. While my music may not harness the power to overturn abortion legislation, stop natural disasters or slow memory loss, these experiences have broadened my perspective on music and the extraordinary role it plays in connection and closeness. Music is the social elastic that can change how we think and feel. To say that I am certain of my desire to use my voice as a vehicle of change and positive impact in the world would be an understatement. It is my life’s work.

I received my first death threat at the age of fifteen, after a conservative media outlet reported, “American Idol Contestant Advances to Next Round After Singing Song Celebrating Abortions,” characterizing my song as an anthem for women to willfully get pregnant and kill babies. The only factual elements of the story were that I was fifteen and a contestant on the iconic show, performing “My Body, My Choice.” I wrote the controversial song in 2019 as a message to the women in Alabama confronting a near-total ban on abortion, an assault on their constitutional right to choose. I wrote the song on a plane after reading an article in The New York Times about the approval of the legislation banning abortion. The lyrics conveyed every emotion raging through my body. I immediately began performing the song at Planned Parenthood benefits, open-mic nights, and eventually for Katy Perry, Lionel Richie, and Luke Bryan during my American Idol audition. Writing music with meaning and intention is a driving force and a passion that I have pursued intensely since childhood. My lyrics captured the immediacy of the impending ban while delivering a promise and igniting a cry to come together. The death threat that followed my audition wasn't the first time my life was at risk. My music career kicked off during my residence in the neonatal intensive care unit. I was never supposed to live, let alone sing. With paralyzed vocal cords, I only fit into the palm of my mother’s hand. Somehow, I survived, making my very first sound at six months old. Growing up with a single mother who traveled frequently for work, music became the constant in my life. Knowing I had little chance of surviving, let alone thriving, drives a responsibility inside me to make a difference. When fires and a deadly mudslide devastated my town and killed a mother and father of two close friends in 2018, I teamed up with a group of fellow youth musicians, creating a benefit concert, Teen Sing for Santa Barbara, raising over $75,000 for survivors of the mudslide. In tragedy, I was able to use my voice to help my town heal, and I felt no greater purpose. I have discovered that music is magical, and it helps to restore a deep sense of self and connection for people struggling with loss. I became fascinated with music and memory after losing my grandmother to Alzheimer’s and seeing the documentary, “Alive Inside,” spotlighting the transformation of people with memory loss revitalized after listening to music. Could music awaken the brain and stimulate memories that help people with Alzheimer’s and dementia remember? I was so curious that I began to volunteer every Tuesday at The Friendship Center for adults with memory loss, singing a range of old songs from their youth. I was astonished at the impact of music on an environment so often typified by isolation. In loss, there is life, and each week if I am lucky, I just might help someone with Alzheimer’s remember a moment in their life- a trip, a kiss, even their wedding dance. While my music may not harness the power to overturn abortion legislation, stop natural disasters or slow memory loss, these experiences have broadened my perspective on music and the extraordinary role it plays in connection and closeness. Music is the social elastic that can change how we think and feel. To say that I am certain of my desire to use my voice as a vehicle of change and positive impact in the world would be an understatement. It is my life’s work.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HUMJeawTH8U

I received my first death threat at the age of fifteen, after a conservative media outlet reported, “American Idol Contestant Advances to Next Round After Singing Song Celebrating Abortions,” characterizing my song as an anthem for women to willfully get pregnant and kill babies. The only factual elements of the story were that I was fifteen and a contestant on the iconic show, performing “My Body, My Choice.” I wrote the controversial song in 2019 as a message to the women in Alabama confronting a near-total ban on abortion, an assault on their constitutional right to choose. I wrote the song on a plane after reading an article in The New York Times about the approval of the legislation banning abortion. The lyrics conveyed every emotion raging through my body. I immediately began performing the song at Planned Parenthood benefits, open-mic nights, and eventually for Katy Perry, Lionel Richie, and Luke Bryan during my American Idol audition. Writing music with meaning and intention is a driving force and a passion that I have pursued intensely since childhood. The death threat that followed my audition wasn't the first time my life was at risk. My music career kicked off during my residence in the neonatal intensive care unit. I was never supposed to live, let alone sing. With paralyzed vocal cords, I only fit into the palm of my mother’s hand. Somehow, I survived, making my very first sound at six months old. Knowing I had little chance of surviving, drives a responsibility inside me to make a difference. I want to transform the music industry, where only two percent of producers are female, and 98% are men. I long to push for greater progress, and to build initiatives that are supportive of developing women into positions of power and leadership.

I received my first death threat at the age of fifteen, after a conservative media outlet reported, “American Idol Contestant Advances to Next Round After Singing Song Celebrating Abortions,” characterizing my song as an anthem for women to willfully get pregnant and kill babies. The only factual elements of the story were that I was fifteen and a contestant on the iconic show, performing “My Body, My Choice.” I wrote the controversial song in 2019 as a message to the women in Alabama confronting a near-total ban on abortion, an assault on their constitutional right to choose. I wrote the song on a plane after reading an article in The New York Times about the approval of the legislation banning abortion. The lyrics conveyed every emotion raging through my body. I immediately began performing the song at Planned Parenthood benefits, open-mic nights, and eventually for Katy Perry, Lionel Richie, and Luke Bryan during my American Idol audition. Writing music with meaning and intention is a driving force and a passion that I have pursued intensely since childhood. My lyrics captured the immediacy of the impending ban while delivering a promise and igniting a cry to come together, because we are the ones “the future’s counting on.” I felt an obligation to leverage my voice. The death threat that followed my audition wasn't the first time my life was at risk. My music career kicked off during my residence in the neonatal intensive care unit. I was never supposed to live, let alone sing. With paralyzed vocal cords, I only fit into the palm of my mother’s hand. Somehow, I survived, making my very first sound at six months old. Knowing I had little chance of surviving, let alone thriving, drives a responsibility inside me to make a difference. When fires and a deadly mudslide devastated my town and killed a mother and father of two close friends in 2018, I teamed up with a group of fellow youth musicians, creating a benefit concert, Teen Sing for Santa Barbara, raising over $75,000 for survivors of the mudslide. In tragedy, I was able to use my voice to help my town heal, and I felt no greater purpose. I have discovered that music is magical, and it helps to restore a deep sense of self and connection for people struggling with loss. I became fascinated with music and memory after losing my grandmother to Alzheimer’s and seeing the documentary, “Alive Inside,” spotlighting the transformation of people with memory loss revitalized after listening to music. Could music awaken the brain and stimulate memories that help people with Alzheimer’s and dementia remember? I was so curious that I began to volunteer on Tuesdays at The Friendship Center for adults with memory loss, singing a range of old songs from their youth. I was astonished at the impact of music on an environment so often typified by isolation. In loss, there is life, and each week if I am lucky, I just might help someone with Alzheimer’s remember a moment in their life- a trip, a kiss, even their wedding dance. While my music may not harness the power to overturn abortion legislation, stop natural disasters or slow memory loss, these experiences have broadened my perspective on music and the extraordinary role it plays in connection and closeness. Music is the social elastic that can change how we think and feel. To say that I am certain of my desire to use my voice as a vehicle of change and positive impact in the world would be an understatement. It is my life’s work.

My music career kicked off during my residence in the neonatal intensive care unit. I was never supposed to live, let alone sing. With paralyzed vocal cords, I only fit into the palm of my mother’s hand. Somehow, I survived, making my very first sound at six months old. Growing up with a single mother who traveled frequently for work, and living in five different countries as a child, music became the constant in my life. Knowing I had little chance of surviving, let alone thriving, drives a responsibility inside me to make a difference. When fires and a deadly mudslide devastated my town and killed a mother and father of two close friends in 2018, I teamed up with a group of fellow youth musicians, creating a benefit concert, Teen Sing, raising over $75,000 for survivors of the mudslide. In tragedy, I was able to use my voice to help my town heal, and I felt no greater purpose. As I have grown as a songwriter, embracing my identity, and tackling bold topics with a serious message has become my true passion. However, having pursued music intensely, including performing with some of the greatest musicians in the world, I have experienced the extraordinary challenges women face and the disparities that exist within the music industry. My goals in college involve are to engage in gender and sexuality studies, while leveraging my music to bring change to groups facing inequalities and discrimination. I am specifically interested in helping to transform the music industry, where only two percent of producers in the industry are female, and 98 percent are men. I long to push for greater progress, and to build initiatives that are supportive of developing women into positions of power and leadership.

My music career kicked off during my residence in the neonatal intensive care unit. I was never supposed to live, let alone sing. With paralyzed vocal cords, I only fit into the palm of my mother’s hand. Somehow, I survived, making my very first sound at six months old, and at three singing to Etta James. As I have grown as a songwriter, embracing my identity, and tackling bold topics with a serious message has become my true passion. Writing music with meaning and intention is a driving force in a hobby that I have pursued intensely since childhood. I received my first death threat at the age of fifteen, after a conservative media outlet reported, “American Idol Contestant Advances to Next Round After Singing Song Celebrating Abortions,” characterizing my song as an anthem for women to willfully get pregnant and kill babies. The only factual elements of the story were that I was fifteen and a contestant on the iconic show, performing “My Body, My Choice.” I wrote the controversial song in 2019 as a message to the women in Alabama confronting a near-total ban on abortion, an assault on their constitutional right to choose. I wrote the song on a plane after reading an article in The New York Times about the approval of the legislation banning abortion. The lyrics conveyed every emotion raging through my body. I immediately began performing the song at Planned Parenthood benefits, open-mic nights, and eventually for Katy Perry, Lionel Richie, and Luke Bryan during my American Idol audition. My lyrics captured the immediacy of the impending ban while delivering a promise and igniting a cry to come together, because we are the ones “the future’s counting on.” I felt an obligation to leverage my voice to answer the moment.