Since the start of my dance career, my studio owner, mentor, and choreographer—Miss Keli—has been the driving force behind my love and passion for dance. Our studio's motto, "Dance Because You Love It" is something that's always lived inside me, and I know it's because of her equally strong passion. Her creative vision is so powerful, always seeping into the audiences she presents to, and every day I'm inspired by the way she creates. She's one of the most selfless, heartfelt, and vehement people I know, devoting her time to creating artists who respect the craft just as much as she does. It wasn't long after I started dancing that I decided in the future, I'd love to open my own studio and inspire the next generation of artists the way she does. I will always be grateful for the love she gave me and the determination she instilled in me. In 2021, Miss Keli gave me the amazing opportunity to choreograph and coach my own competitive dance team. I had been teaching for three years before this, and dancing competitively for five years, but this was the first time the two experiences would be intertwining. I had dreamed of choreographing my own competitive routine since I had started competing. Though I had choreographed dances for audiences before, never had they been judged and adjudicated competitively by accredited dancers and judges. I expressed my wish to do so to my studio director, and thanks to the trust we had established over the years, she gave me the chance. Over the years, it seemed that the more I choreographed for audiences, the more self-conscious I became. Suddenly, it was not about creating pieces that the audience would receive and enjoy, but ones they'd scrutinize and judge. I often fear that those watching the pieces I create will not find them worthy of the opportunity Miss Keli gave me. But in the fashion of a true leader, she reassures me that my passion is more important than the opinions of others. Whether or not people view my work as "worthy" is beside the point, because I get to bestow my creative vision onto the next generation of artists, and nothing is more special than that. Miss Keli teaches me that my art and vision come first, and as I go forward, I will remember to put my creativity first, and not the judgment of others. This lesson came to me in another way through my favorite experience in the art of dance—Power Pak—a week-long dance convention where hundreds of kids from across the country come together and learn an opening number for a dance competition nationals. I've been to Power Pak twice, both times being so rich in learning and love. There's nothing quite like having a hundred artists in a room, watching you, and knowing they're there to support you and help you grow. My first year there, though, I felt insecure about my talent when I was not put in the positions I wanted. My coaches at my dance studio recognized my work ethic, they knew I could be trusted, I expected the same here. However, as I watched the routine come together and become a masterpiece, an artwork of teamwork and passion, I realized I had let my ego and expectations cloud the true reason I love this sport—the connection, love and energy it can create between total strangers. To be a part of something so incredible was more important than any spot or section I could’ve been placed in. This is why it's my favorite experience in dance.

There was something extraordinarily unique about the way I felt when I first began dancing. I had tried other creative sports before—gymnastics, cheerleading—but nothing felt quite as special as the freedom I had while moving in this way. It did not take long for me to know it was what I wanted to do for the rest of my life. As I have grown in this craft, though, I have realized that there is so much more to it than movement. I cannot say dance has been a part of my life as long as I wish it could have been, but I can say that I made up for the lost time with hard work and commitment to this incredible craft. The respect I have for dance not only stems from my and its connection to music, but the discipline it demands. Seven years ago, I decided to commit myself to the art form through the many pains, disappointments, and battles it would bring, because I knew that the lives I could change through it would be worth it a million times over. Soon after beginning my journey with dance, I began teaching, and I couldn’t state enough how my passion has grown stronger from this. The art of creation allows me to extract the purest and most vulnerable form of myself and give it up for others to digest and make their own. Not only do I earn incredible joy from that, but I also have the immense privilege to take that art and offer it to other young kids to experience for themselves. Teaching young people has not only taught me to be a more patient and responsible person but also how to create an air of safety and love around myself and others. This experience grants me the potential to grow further in my craft of teaching as well as choreographing. In the future, I wish to create works that have the undeniable potential to spark change within others, as well as love. Since the start of my dance career, my studio owner, mentor, and choreographer—Miss Keli—has been the driving force behind my love and passion for dance. Our studio's motto, "Dance Because You Love It" is something that's always lived inside me, and I know it's because of her equally strong passion. She's one of the most selfless, heartfelt, and vehement people I know, devoting her time to creating artists who respect the craft just as much as she does. It wasn't long after I started dancing that I decided in the future, I'd love to open my own studio and inspire the next generation of artists the way she does. I will always be grateful for the love she gave me and the determination she instilled in me.

There was something extraordinarily unique about the way I felt when I first began dancing. I had tried other creative sports before—gymnastics, cheerleading—but nothing felt quite as special as the freedom I had while moving in this way. It did not take long for me to know it was what I wanted to do for the rest of my life. As I have grown in this craft, though, I have realized that there is so much more to it than movement. In the next four years and on, I wish to use my love for dance to grow in my other passions such as musical theater, grow in my intersectional activism by being a voice for others, and learn to develop and work within the dance community to create fuller experiences for audiences. I cannot say dance has been a part of my life as long as I wish it could have been, but I can say that I made up for the lost time with hard work and commitment to this incredible craft. The respect I have for dance not only stems from my and its connection to music, but the discipline it demands. Six years ago, I decided to commit myself to the art form through the many pains, disappointments, and battles it would bring, because I knew that the lives I could change through it would be worth it a million times over. Soon after beginning my journey with dance, I began teaching, and I couldn’t state enough how my passion has grown stronger from this. The art of creation allows me to extract the purest and most vulnerable form of myself and give it up for others to digest and make their own. Not only do I earn incredible joy from that, but I also have the immense privilege to take that art and offer it to other young kids to experience for themselves. Teaching young people has not only taught me to be a more patient and responsible person but also how to create an air of safety and love around myself and others. This experience grants me the potential to grow further in my craft of teaching as well as choreographing. In the future, I wish to create works that have the undeniable potential to spark change within others, as well as love. I continue towards becoming a remarkable artist, pushing through the obstacles placed in front of me and rising far above the limits set by them. As an artist and as a human, I hope to strike purpose within myself and within others—a purpose to create, change, and love. By refining my skills through diligent and rigorous training, I can achieve this. In the next five to ten years I hope to choreograph original stage works and be a paid dancer regularly working in pieces for artists, stage performances, and companies. I also wish to continue teaching children for as long as I am physically and mentally able. Often am I reminded that there are things in my life actively trying to stop me from achieving my goals, however, as soon as I remember the feeling of joy I receive when teaching, or the emotion while dancing, or the relief while writing, I remember that nothing can stop me from being the person that I want to be. By the end of my dance career, I wish to open a dance studio much like the one I attend now—one that is focused on the growth of its artists, open to all kinds of people, and full of love.

Throughout middle and most of high school, I spent my time with my head low and my shoulders slumped, the burden of anxiety and severe depression weighing heavily upon them. Though it felt like the pain would never end, one thing kept me from sinking under—my love for the arts. Each night, movement through music carried me off into a new world, one where I could express who I truly was without the influence of my mental illnesses. The promise of a bright future in dance led me and continues to lead me forward into what will be an adventurous and successful career. Dance hasn’t been a part of my life very long, but I can say that I made up for the lost time with hard work and commitment. Six years ago, I decided to commit myself to the art form through the many pains, disappointments, and battles it would bring, because I knew that the lives I could change through it would be worth it a million times over. Soon I began teaching, and my passion has only grown stronger from this. The art of creation allows me to extract the most vulnerable form of myself and give it up for others to make their own. I earn incredible joy from that, but I also have the immense privilege to take that art and offer it to other young kids to experience for themselves. Teaching young people has not only taught me to be a more patient, responsible person but also how to create an air of safety and love around myself and others. In the future, I wish to create works that have the undeniable potential to spark change within others, as well as love. I continue towards becoming a remarkable artist, rising far above the limits set by the obstacles placed in front of me. As an artist and human, I hope to strike purpose within myself and others—a purpose to create, change, and love. By refining my skills through diligent and rigorous training, I can achieve this. In the next five to ten years choreograph original stage works and be a paid dancer regularly working in pieces for artists, stage performances, and companies. I also wish to continue teaching children for as long as I am physically able. Often am I reminded that there are things in my life actively trying to stop me from achieving my goals, however, as soon as I remember the feeling of joy I receive when teaching or the emotion while dancing, I remember that nothing can stop me from being the person that I want to be.

There was something extraordinarily unique about the way I felt when I first began dancing. I had tried other creative sports before—gymnastics, cheerleading—but nothing felt quite as special as the freedom I had while moving in this way. It did not take long for me to know it was what I wanted to do for the rest of my life. As I have grown in this craft, though, I have realized that there is so much more to it than movement. In the next four years and on, I wish to use my love for dance to grow in my other passions such as musical theater and creative writing, grow in my intersectional activism by being a voice for others, and learn to develop and work within the dance community to create fuller experiences for audiences. In the last five years, my love for musical theater has grown exponentially. The expression and unique storytelling within this form of performing arts is so incredibly special to me, and I wish to further my skills in this field. This year, I have begun vocal lessons to create a strong foundation for my vocal ability before venturing out into the professional world of theater; once in college, I wish to partake in various acting and singing classes to develop these skills further. Its connection to dance could open several opportunities for me, as I have a strong background in dance, and could use my studies in college to my advantage and seek out dance heavy roles in theater. I also wish to use my love for the connection between movement and music to develop my writing. I have loved creative writing since I can remember, and would love to connect this with my passion for dance. Scripting and storytelling could be used to create richer experiences in dance, and I’d love to indulge more in this connection once in college. In the past three years, I have become more involved in efforts for activism. I deeply identify as an intersectional feminist and look to use the art of dance to educate and bring communities together to create a wider world of love and respect. Dance knows no bounds, denies no one, and loves all. I believe that in the following four years, I can use my education to study gender, race, and identity more in-depth and its connection to art. This connection, I believe, can also create safer spaces in dance and more resonant creations. Finally, in the next four years, I wish to learn in-depth the inner workings of the dance industry and learn what spaces fit my plans for the growth of my art form and the dance community. As I venture out from the dance space I am most comfortable in, I learn more and more about the way established systems work and how they could change by the new generation of artists. I’d like to learn more about working with other artists in choreographic processes, musical composition, and the technical aspects that all work together to create the beautiful visions I admire so much. In learning this in college, I may use it in professional spaces to demonstrate a full and diverse knowledge of the dance industry. I look to work as a professional dancer for musical artists, dive into the world of musical theater, work on Broadway or the West End, and possibly one day originate a role for a new musical, and open a dance studio that is focused on the growth of its artists, open to all kinds of people, and full of love.

What would normally be an aimless session of scrolling on Instagram suddenly comes to a screeching halt when I see her: Jodie Comer, in all her beauty. Her blonde hair waves like the water of an ocean, or a friend you cross paths with on the way to class. Her eyes shimmer…a little more than I usually notice. I stare at the picture harder. Something’s different; not the picture itself, but rather, how I see it. Why are her eyes dancing like stars in the night sky? Why am I noticing now? And as subtle as a bird landing softly on the branch of a tree, as easy and familiar as the blink of an eye, it came to me. As if it’d been there all along, like a memory being resurfaced by an old smell—well you’re bisexual. That’s why. Bisexual? Ha! What a silly thing to say, brain! I could’ve hit my forehead with the absurdity of the idea. If I’d been bisexual, I think I would’ve known that a long time ago. Why would I be figuring that out now, sixteen years old, without ever being in a relationship? That doesn’t make any sense. But I look back down at Jodie, and it’s suddenly very obvious that it doesn’t have to make sense. It just…is. I wait for the crash, the brick to hit me in the gut. I wait to be knocked over by the weight of this sudden discovery, yet…it doesn’t come. It just sits, a missing puzzle piece finally reuniting with its set. It’s as simple as remembering that my favorite food is pizza. It’s just there as if it’d always been. Nonsense. There was no logic or reasoning to it. I wrestled with my mind for months, wondering if it was just playing a prank. Why not throw in a random identity crisis while I’m going through the hardest year of high school? My brain was quite fond of kicking me while I was down; I wouldn’t be surprised if that was the case here. But no matter how many times I denied it, the fact just felt right. Even with that rightness, however, that question kept swinging right back around: why? Why had it taken me so long to realize? I remembered all the stories, the coming-out scenes in movies and shows, the Big Moment! I’d always heard the same: “I’ve known since I was a kid.” So why hadn’t I? A deep confusion in the pit of my stomach followed—a feeling that said maybe I was posing as something I wasn’t. With this weight on my shoulders, I searched for comfort. A new series entitled Heartstopper appeared on Netflix as if it had been methodically waiting for me. Four hours and one sharing size of Skittles later, I sat there on my couch with tears streaming down my face. I’d been shown someone who was like me: well into high school without ever being in a relationship discovering that they were bisexual, and being okay with that. I was not the only one searching up “am I gay” quizzes on Google! I wasn’t the only one feeling contradiction within their identity. And with this new story that mirrored mine, the weight of that question—why—eased. I could finally breathe, understanding that I didn’t have to know so soon. No matter my story, whether I come out today or tomorrow, I have nothing to prove to anyone. I can be who I am, regardless of anyone else’s timeline. This is just one part of my story in a long series of what-ifs and whys.

Throughout middle and most of the high school, I spent my time with my head low and my shoulders slumped, the burden of anxiety and severe depression weighing heavily upon them. Though it felt like the pain would never end, one thing kept me from sinking under—my love for the arts. Each night, movement through music carried me off into a new world, one where I could express who I truly was without the influence of my mental illnesses. The gravity of power I held within my fingertips every time I took to paper, whether to write a poem or a full-length novel, genuinely saved me. The promise of a bright future in both dance and writing led me and continues to lead me forward into what will be an adventurous and successful career. Writing has been a part of my life for as long as I can remember, from writing short stories on my mom’s cell phone when I was nine to poems about the disorder in the world. Fortunately, my writing has gone on to win multiple awards throughout high school. Though I am proud of all my achievements, without persevering through the doubters of my work—both myself and others—I wouldn’t be able to claim a single triumph. I am exceedingly proud of the efforts I made to push through my apprehension to make my dreams come true. Dance hasn’t been a part of my life as long, but I can say that I made up for the lost time with hard work and commitment. Six years ago, I decided to commit myself to the art form through the many pains, disappointments, and battles it would bring, because I knew that the lives I could change through it would be worth it a million times over. Soon I began teaching, and my passion has only grown stronger from this. The art of creation allows me to extract the most vulnerable form of myself and give it up for others to make their own. I earn incredible joy from that, but I also have the immense privilege to take that art and offer it to other young kids to experience for themselves. Teaching young people has not only taught me to be a more patient, responsible person but also how to create an air of safety and love around myself and others. In the future, I wish to create works that have the undeniable potential to spark change within others, as well as love. I continue towards becoming a remarkable artist, rising far above the limits set by the obstacles placed in front of me. As an artist and human, I hope to strike purpose within myself and others—a purpose to create, change, and love. By refining my skills through diligent and rigorous training, I can achieve this. In the next five to ten years I hope to write and publish a full-length novel, choreograph original stage works and be a paid dancer regularly working in pieces for artists, stage performances, and companies. I also wish to continue teaching children for as long as I am physically able. Often am I reminded that there are things in my life actively trying to stop me from achieving my goals, however, as soon as I remember the feeling of joy I receive when teaching, or the emotion while dancing, or the relief while writing, I remember that nothing can stop me from being the person that I want to be.

In 2021, my studio director gave me the amazing opportunity to choreograph and coach my own competitive dance team. I had been teaching for three years prior to this, and dancing competitively for five years, but this was the first time the two experiences would be intertwining. I had dreamed of choreographing my own competitive routine since I had started competing. Though I had choreographed dances for audiences before, never had they been judged and adjudicated competitively by accredited dancers and judges. I expressed my wish to do so to my studio director, and thanks to the trust we had established over the years, she gave me the chance. I was to choreograph a hip hop routine for a small group of beginner to intermediate six and seven year old dancers which would be competed the following year. This did not seem so challenging at first, however, it definitely presented its own unique challenges. One of the girls on my team was virtually brand-new to competitive dance and refused to dance for the first two months of practice. Despite their young ages, there were some pretty big personalities among the group. And on top of that, two of the six kids on the team left the studio after the dance was finished, resulting in major shifts in the routine. However, despite these obstacles, I combined my love for and experience with dance, teaching, and kids to lead them towards bettering the routine. I did my best to show understanding and patience with the newer dancer, and encouraged her to come dance with her teammates when she was ready. With my guidance and her teammates cheering her on, she soon was doing the routine and enjoying herself as well. Smaller dancers often want to establish their importance among a group by telling the others what to do. I countered this by immediately introducing a “team captain,” one dancer who would lead the team in and out of the studio when I was not there and who would encourage the others when they needed a boost. I found this initiative helped the dancers to always understand who was in charge and to have someone to lean on for support. And though two of the dancers could not participate in the routine, I encouraged my remaining girls that the routine would still prosper and that they would do great competitively. By the end of the competitive season, they had earned numerous overall placings and praise from other choreographers. This year, I will be using the lessons I learned from coaching my previous routine and instilling that into my new competitive routine. I believe I have established a trust within my dancers which allows them to feel comfortable coming to me for questions, to learn from their mistakes and become better, and to enjoy what they are doing. It is truly my greatest joy to teach kids dance, and I hope that the more I do it, the more I will learn how to effectively lead them and help them towards more enjoyable and accomplished dance careers.

"Mean Girls" antagonist Regina George’s razor-edged eyes bore into the soul of the little girl staring up at the television screen. In all her wicked glory, Regina stood tall in bubblegum pink—the blonde bombshell, a corrupt, hateful goddess. I glanced down at her pink top and frilly skirt and thought, is this who I’m to become? Even worse, I watched as Regina’s new minion Cady morphed into a hateful, manipulative, deceitful girl the more effeminate she became. I saw this archetype everywhere—movies, TV shows, books—where the most vicious girls were the ones who fried their hair bone straight and coated their eyelashes in heavy mascara. It was easy to see, this is not who l wanted to be. The skirts and dresses, the floral jewelry, and anything pink became nil. To me, they were the equivalent of betraying my feminism. After all, I was named after one of the greatest feminists in all of history. Since the day I entered this biased world, I knew I’d do everything in my power to be recognized as an equal. If that meant killing the delicate, gentle flower budding deep within my chest, it’s what I'd do. Any feminine quality within me was instantly squashed. I wore ballooning jeans and kept my hair yanked in a ponytail; I refused to be viewed as a cruel person, as I knew that’s not who I was. As I grew older, I continuously found myself fighting to show everyone that I had the same amount of strength as any boy in the school. I fought teachers to play tackle football with the other boys, I fought boys who treated me like a frail child, and soon I found myself fighting other girls who chose femininity over equality. How could they portray exactly what everyone else expected of us—unkind, unsophisticated, fragile things that could only ever push around or be pushed around? I resented relationships with these girls who resigned my idea of “true feminism.” But suddenly I was entering high school somewhat of a warped version of myself. The little girl who crushed that budding flower of femininity had replaced it with a giant, stubborn boulder that was suffocating me. That voice in my head kept saying I'd never be respected if I become what they predict I'd be. One night I sat searching for comfort, an escape from the prison I'd trapped myself in, and found myself met with the cheery eyes of Elle Woods. Here reflected another blonde bombshell in bubblegum pink who surprisingly did not leave destruction and hatred everywhere she went. Instead, she was kind and intelligent, showing everyone that she was respectable just as she was—an enthusiastic sorority girl covered in glitter. Where had Elle been my whole life? I’d lived so much of my teenage years unable to break out of the internalized misogynistic ideals placed within me so many years ago. Had I betrayed my feminism by crushing that budding flower that ached to bloom? Had my bitter moral code prevented me from expressing my true self? It had, and I knew it could no longer hold me back. Today, femininity is mine to define, not others’. It is pink and black, ballet and football, pop and rock. It’s chunky boots and skirts patterned in butterflies, oversized band tees and fishnets, giant flannels and red lipstick. My femininity is whatever I say it is because my femininity is mine and no one else’s. I have "Legally Blonde" to thank for that. Without the movie's positive portrayal of hyper-femininity, I would've stayed miserable forever.

Regina George’s razor-edged eyes bore into the soul of the girl staring up at the television screen. In all her wicked glory, Regina stood tall in bubblegum pink—the blonde bombshell, a corrupt, hateful goddess. I glanced down at her pink top and frilly skirt and thought, is this who I’m to become? Even worse, I watched as Regina’s new minion Cady morphed into a hateful, manipulative, deceitful girl the more effeminate she became. I saw this archetype everywhere—movies, TV shows, books—where the most vicious girls were the ones who fried their hair bone straight and coated their eyelashes in heavy mascara. It was easy to see, this is not who l wanted to be. The skirts and dresses, the floral jewelry, and anything pink became nil. To me, they were the equivalent of betraying my feminism. After all, I was named after one of the greatest feminists in all of history. Since the day I entered this biased world, I knew I’d do everything in my power to be recognized as an equal. If that meant killing the delicate, gentle flower budding deep within my chest, it’s what I'd do. Any feminine quality within me was instantly squashed. I wore ballooning jeans and kept my hair yanked in a ponytail; I refused to be viewed as a cruel person, as I knew that’s not who I was. As I grew older, I continuously found myself fighting to show everyone that I had the same amount of strength as any boy in the school. I fought teachers to play tackle football with the other boys, I fought boys who treated me like a frail child, and soon I found myself fighting other girls who chose femininity over equality. How could they portray exactly what everyone else expected of us—unkind, unsophisticated, fragile things that could only ever push around or be pushed around? I resented relationships with these girls who resigned my idea of “true feminism.” But suddenly I was entering high school somewhat of a warped version of myself. The little girl who crushed that budding flower of femininity had replaced it with a giant, stubborn boulder that was suffocating me. That voice in my head kept saying I'd never be respected if I become what they predict I'd be. One night I sat searching for comfort, an escape from the prison I'd trapped myself in, and found myself met with the cheery eyes of Elle Woods. Here reflected another blonde bombshell in bubblegum pink who surprisingly did not leave destruction and hatred everywhere she went. Instead, she was kind and intelligent, showing everyone that she was respectable just as she was—an enthusiastic sorority girl covered in glitter. Where had Elle been my whole life? I’d lived so much of my teenage years unable to break out of the internalized misogynistic ideals placed within me so many years ago. Had I betrayed my feminism by crushing that budding flower that ached to bloom? Had my bitter moral code prevented me from expressing my true self? It had, and I knew it could no longer hold me back. Today, femininity is mine to define, not others’. It is pink and black, ballet and football, pop and rock. It’s chunky boots and skirts patterned in butterflies, oversized band tees and fishnets, giant flannels and red lipstick. My femininity is whatever I say it is because my femininity is mine and no one else’s. Feminism to me is being unapologetically myself without projecting my self-view onto others. Today, I use my voice to guide people past judgment and towards self-love and coexistence.

Four years before I came to the realization of my own queerness, fifty-three people were wounded and forty-nine people were murdered at Pulse Nightclub in Orlando, Florida. I remember wondering how so much hatred could be fostered for a people who just want to love. In 2020, the year I became aware of my queerness, a total of 350 transgender people were murdered. I remember fearing for the lives of my trans peers who only wished to be who they truly were. Last year, the year I came out, over 300 anti-LGBTQ+ bills were introduced or considered for legislation. And a little over a month ago, eighteen people were wounded and five people were killed in Colorado Springs at an LGBTQ+ club. Every day since I have wondered whether or not I am safe existing as I am. Unfortunately, these only account for incidents in the United States, where queer discrimination is rampant, but not unique. All over the world, it is illegal and looked down upon to be queer, to love and be who you want to be. In the future, I hope to eliminate the manifestation of violence and the mass attack on queer existence. Queerness to me is a journey, an experience unique to each person who is lucky enough to partake in it. Queerness is precious, it is expression, and most importantly, it is love–love combined with unending compassion and empathy. To me, these are the most endearing and important traits any person could have, and yet, as queer people, we are punished for this. For having a deeper and richer understanding of ourselves, for understanding compassionate love, for wanting a more inclusive experience for the next generation, we are punished. What is most heartbreaking to me about this is that religion–which is also meant to be a vehicle for love–is the conduit used to justify hatred against millions of queer people everywhere. As religion is supposed to be respected, especially under the United States Constitution, it would be an understatement to say it is difficult to oppose such a widespread organization. In addition to this, freedom from religion is not respected the same as freedom of religion. The separation of church and state has become muddier and blurrier over the past seven years, and that is evident in the massive uptick in anti-LGBTQ+ rhetoric, legislation and violence since the Trump administration took office. Though there are so many other factors that go into violence against queer existence, Christian nationalism has become one of, if not the most, significant factor. I wish to use my voice to distinguish the line between church and state more evidently before violent and radical legislative action is taken against queer people. However, politics is only the surface of the issue. The only way to instill true peace within the world is by fostering complete empathy. As queer people, we have come to an understanding of what freedom really is–love. Those on the outside fear this due to their extreme conditioning into believing this version of love is wrong, but all love is love. Humanity is humanity. And to be human is–or should be–to be compassionate. The world fears coexistence because it fears the unfamiliar, which is why it shies away from empathy, but the sooner the world comes to understand that compassion is the key to freedom, the sooner they will be released. I hope to work towards larger initiatives for the protection of queer existence in the future and a deeper installment of compassion throughout the world.

In 2021, my studio director gave me the amazing opportunity to choreograph and coach my own competitive dance team. I had been teaching for three years prior to this, and dancing competitively for five years, but this was the first time the two experiences would be intertwining. I had dreamed of choreographing my own competitive routine since I had started competing. Though I had choreographed dances for audiences before, never had they been judged and adjudicated competitively by accredited dancers and judges. I expressed my wish to do so to my studio director, and thanks to the trust we had established over the years, she gave me the chance. I was to choreograph a hip-hop routine for a small group of beginner to intermediate six and seven-year-old dancers which would be competed the following year. This did not seem so challenging at first, however, it definitely presented its own unique challenges. One of the girls on my team was virtually brand-new to competitive dance and refused to dance for the first two months of practice. Despite their young ages, there were some pretty big personalities among the group. And on top of that, two of the six kids on the team left the studio after the dance was finished, resulting in major shifts in the routine. However, despite these obstacles, I combined my love for and experience with dance, teaching, and kids to lead them toward bettering the routine. I did my best to show understanding and patience with the newer dancer and encouraged her to come dance with her teammates when she was ready. With my guidance and her teammates cheering her on, she soon was doing the routine and enjoying herself as well. Smaller dancers often want to establish their importance among a group by telling others what to do. I countered this by immediately introducing a “team captain,” one dancer who would lead the team in and out of the studio when I was not there and who would encourage the others when they needed a boost. I found this initiative helped the dancers to always understand who was in charge and to have someone to lean on for support. And though two of the dancers could not participate in the routine, I encouraged my remaining girls that the routine would still prosper and that they would do great competitively. By the end of the competitive season, they had earned numerous overall placings and praise from other choreographers. By bouncing back from these challenges, I was able to inspire my girls to do their very best. This year, I will be using the lessons I learned from coaching my previous routine and instilling that into my new competitive routine. I believe I have established trust within my dancers which allows them to feel comfortable coming to me for questions, to learn from their mistakes and become better, and to enjoy what they are doing. It is truly my greatest joy to teach kids dance, and I hope that the more I do it, the more I will learn how to effectively lead them and help them toward more enjoyable and accomplished dance careers.

In 2021, my studio director gave me the amazing opportunity to choreograph and coach my competitive dance team. I had been teaching for three years before this, and dancing competitively for five years, but this was the first time the two experiences would be intertwining. I had dreamed of choreographing my own competitive routine since I had started competing. Though I had choreographed dances for audiences before, never had they been judged and adjudicated competitively by accredited dancers and judges. I expressed my wish to do so to my studio director, and thanks to the trust we had established over the years, she gave me the chance. I was to choreograph a hip-hop routine for a small group of beginner to intermediate six and seven-year-old dancers which would be competed the following year. This did not seem so challenging at first, however, it definitely presented its own unique challenges. One of the girls on my team was virtually brand-new to competitive dance and refused to dance for the first two months of practice. Despite their young ages, there were some pretty big personalities among the group. And on top of that, two of the six kids on the team left the studio after the dance was finished, resulting in major shifts in the routine. However, despite these obstacles, I combined my love for and experience with dance, teaching, and kids to lead them towards bettering the routine. I did my best to show understanding and patience with the newer dancer, and encouraged her to come dance with her teammates when she was ready. With my guidance and her teammates cheering her on, she soon was doing the routine and enjoying herself as well. Smaller dancers often want to establish their importance among a group by telling the others what to do. I countered this by immediately introducing a “team captain,” one dancer who would lead the team in and out of the studio when I was not there and who would encourage the others when they needed a boost. I found this initiative helped the dancers to always understand who was in charge and to have someone to lean on for support. And though two of the dancers could not participate in the routine, I encouraged my remaining girls that the routine would still prosper and that they would do great competitively. By the end of the competitive season, they had earned numerous overall placings and praise from other choreographers. This year, I will be using the lessons I learned from coaching my previous routine and instilling that into my new competitive routine. I believe I have established a trust within my dancers which allows them to feel comfortable coming to me for questions, to learn from their mistakes and become better, and to enjoy what they are doing. It is truly my greatest joy to teach kids dance, and I hope that the more I do it, the more I will learn how to effectively lead them and help them towards more enjoyable and accomplished dance careers.

Throughout middle and most of the high school, I spent my time with my head low and my shoulders slumped, the burden of anxiety and severe depression weighing heavily upon them. Though it felt like the pain would never end, one thing kept me from sinking under—my love for the arts. Each night, movement through music carried me off into a new world, one where I could express who I truly was without the influence of my mental illnesses. The gravity of power I held within my fingertips every time I took to paper, whether to write a poem or a full-length novel, genuinely saved me. The promise of a bright future in both dance and writing led me and continues to lead me forward into what will be an adventurous and successful career. Writing has been a part of my life for as long as I can remember, from writing short stories on my mom’s cell phone when I was nine to poems about the disorder in the world. Fortunately, my writing has gone on to win multiple awards throughout high school. Though I am proud of all my achievements, without persevering through the doubters of my work—both myself and others—I wouldn’t be able to claim a single triumph. I am exceedingly proud of the efforts I made to push through my apprehension to make my dreams come true. Dance hasn’t been a part of my life as long, but I can say that I made up for the lost time with hard work and commitment. Six years ago, I decided to commit myself to the art form through the many pains, disappointments, and battles it would bring, because I knew that the lives I could change through it would be worth it a million times over. Soon I began teaching, and my passion has only grown stronger from this. The art of creation allows me to extract the most vulnerable form of myself and give it up for others to make their own. I earn incredible joy from that, but I also have the immense privilege to take that art and offer it to other young kids to experience for themselves. Teaching young people has not only taught me to be a more patient, responsible person but also how to create an air of safety and love around myself and others. In the future, I wish to create works that have the undeniable potential to spark change within others, as well as love. I continue towards becoming a remarkable artist, rising far above the limits set by the obstacles placed in front of me. As an artist and human, I hope to strike purpose within myself and others—a purpose to create, change, and love. By refining my skills through diligent and rigorous training, I can achieve this. In the next five to ten years I hope to write and publish a full-length novel, choreograph original stage works and be a paid dancer regularly working in pieces for artists, stage performances, and companies. I also wish to continue teaching children for as long as I am physically able. Often am I reminded that there are things in my life actively trying to stop me from achieving my goals, however, as soon as I remember the feeling of joy I receive when teaching, or the emotion while dancing, or the relief while writing, I remember that nothing can stop me from being the person that I want to be.

There was something extraordinarily unique about the way I felt when I first began dancing. I had tried other creative sports before—gymnastics, cheerleading—but nothing felt quite as special as the freedom I had while moving in this way. It did not take long for me to know it was what I wanted to do for the rest of my life. As I have grown in this craft, though, I have realized that there is so much more to it than movement. In the next four years and on, I wish to further my education in dance to grow in my other passions such as musical theater and creative writing, grow in my intersectional activism by being a voice for others, and learn to develop and work within the dance community to create fuller experiences for audiences. In the last five years, my love for musical theater has grown exponentially. The expression and unique storytelling within this form of performing arts is so incredibly special to me, and I wish to further my skills in this field. This year, I have begun vocal lessons to create a strong foundation for my vocal ability before venturing out into the professional world of theater; once in college, I wish to partake in various acting and singing classes to develop these skills further. Its connection to dance could open several opportunities for me, as I have a strong background in dance, and could use my studies in college to my advantage and seek out dance heavy roles in theater. I also wish to use my love for the connection of movement and music to develop my writing. I have loved creative writing since I can remember, and would love to connect this with my passion for dance. Scripting and storytelling could be used to create richer experiences in dance, and I’d love to indulge more in this connection once in college. In the past three years, I have become more involved in efforts for activism. I deeply identify as an intersectional feminist, and look to use the art of dance to educate and bring communities together to create a wider world of love and respect. Dance knows no bounds, denies no one and loves all. I believe that in the following four years, I can use my education to study gender, race, and identity more in-depth and their connection to art. This connection, I believe, can also create safer spaces in dance and more resonant creations. Finally, in the next four years, I wish to learn in-depth the inner workings of the dance industry and learn what spaces fit my plans for the growth of my art form and the dance community. As I venture out from the dance space I am most comfortable in, I learn more and more about the way established systems work and how they could be changed by the new generation of artists. I’d like to learn more about working with other artists in choreographic processes, musical composition, and the technical aspects that all work together to create the beautiful visions I admire so much. In learning this in college, I may use it in professional spaces to demonstrate a full and diverse knowledge of the dance industry.

There was something extraordinarily unique about the way I felt when I first began dancing. I had tried other creative sports before—gymnastics, cheerleading—but nothing felt quite as special as the freedom I had while moving in this way. It did not take long for me to know it was what I wanted to do for the rest of my life. As I have grown in this craft, though, I have realized that there is so much more to it than movement. In the next four years and on, I wish to use my love for dance to grow in my other passions such as musical theater, grow in my intersectional activism by being a voice for others, and learn to develop and work within the dance community to create fuller experiences for audiences. I cannot say dance has been a part of my life as long as I wish it could have been, but I can say that I made up for the lost time with hard work and commitment to this incredible craft. The respect I have for dance not only stems from my and its connection to music, but the discipline it demands. Six years ago, I decided to commit myself to the art form through the many pains, disappointments, and battles it would bring, because I knew that the lives I could change through it would be worth it a million times over. Soon after beginning my journey with dance, I began teaching, and I couldn’t state enough how my passion has grown stronger from this. The art of creation allows me to extract the purest and most vulnerable form of myself and give it up for others to digest and make their own. Not only do I earn incredible joy from that, but I also have the immense privilege to take that art and offer it to other young kids to experience for themselves. Teaching young people has not only taught me to be a more patient and responsible person but also how to create an air of safety and love around myself and others. This experience grants me the potential to grow further in my craft of teaching as well as choreographing. In the future, I wish to create works that have the undeniable potential to spark change within others, as well as love. I continue towards becoming a remarkable artist, pushing through the obstacles placed in front of me and rising far above the limits set by them. As an artist and as a human, I hope to strike purpose within myself and within others—a purpose to create, change, and love. By refining my skills through diligent and rigorous training, I can achieve this. In the next five to ten years I hope to choreograph original stage works and be a paid dancer regularly working in pieces for artists, stage performances, and companies. I also wish to continue teaching children for as long as I am physically and mentally able. Often am I reminded that there are things in my life actively trying to stop me from achieving my goals, however, as soon as I remember the feeling of joy I receive when teaching, or the emotion while dancing, or the relief while writing, I remember that nothing can stop me from being the person that I want to be. By the end of my dance career, I wish to open a dance studio much like the one I attend now—one that is focused on the growth of its artists, open to all kinds of people, and full of love.

The storm in the little girl’s brain was not always as thunderous as it is now. It started off sprinkling, raindrops falling softly on the tips of her fingers. Now she sits, drenched in this full-blown, never-ending thunderstorm named mental illness. Illness—a sick word, quite literally. The sickness festers and ripples as lightning bolts throughout the cells in her head. Obsessive compulsions, circular behaviors that she must complete to feel relief, to feel sane. It takes all sense of time and place. It equates to shaking violently in bed, in the car, at work, night, day, desperately trying to grasp hold of control—there is none. Not over her breath, not over her perspective. The floor burns as she swings her legs over to get out of bed. Minor inconveniences turn into reasons to finally give up. She smiles and greets her friends, saying “I’m good” when they ask how she is as blood runs beneath her sleeves. It is asking her mother to wait until she finishes counting before she goes to wrap her red, swollen fingers. It is not being able to write this essay because she is picking at those red and swollen fingers. The storm does not stop there. How does she identify with mental illness when there is such a ferocious view of it around the world? How can she simply exist inside something she did not ask for while everyone around her has such unrealistic and double-sided expectations of her? And better yet, how is she to receive the help she needs when mental illness is seen as virtually impossible within her demographic? She is a strong, independent woman, and she can handle everything and anything that comes her way. She can not be depressed, because the world has thrown enough in her people’s way, and she has become thick-skinned and resilient because of it. So as a result, the media depict no women of her color with mental illness—unless it gives cause to her well-known angry demeanor. The little black girl in front of the TV screen takes this to mean that the growing need to rip skin from her forming body is truly just the “bad habit” her parents say it is. As she grows, so does the storm. The more people that leave her, the more problems that seem to sprout in her head. She knows this hurricane of a habit is more than her parents will allow it to be, and now suddenly, she is juggling not one hurricane, but four debilitating typhoons before she even leaves high school. She begins to see the stigma it has outside of herself, as well. Having a mental illness—or God forbid, multiple—equals crazy or “coo coo,” unstable and unreliable. It is better to tiptoe around the mentally ill because anything could set them off. Or it is romanticized. It turns to gimmicks, revengeful games and solving mysteries, or into fantastical wonders filled with bright strobe lights and glitter. These storms are turned into personality traits and quirks, made to fit to become interesting or special. The kids around her take what they see and mimic it, slightly setting their notebooks straight and saying, “Oh, I’m a little OCD.” She remains silent. What she desperately wishes she could tell them is that these storms are not as simple as they claim they are. They are exactly what she says: typhoons and waterspouts and tsunamis waiting to pounce, plunder and destroy her. It is not a game or a mystery, not a club or a rave. It is frightening and frustrating. Death stalks her in the wake of all her love. Though she should be afraid of it, she is not. I identify with these terms deeply—deeper than I probably should—as they have been engraved into the center of my core. Naturally, I am a messy person, but how could that be while simultaneously having obsessive-compulsive disorder? How could I be a slob when I repeatedly check, check, check, check to make sure my keys are in my hand so I do not lock them in my car again? How could I be as messy as they say I am when I count "one, two, three, four," four times, four times before I can complete the simplest of tasks? How am I so disheveled with scaly fingers to say otherwise? The truth is I never have feared death because there are worst things than death. This storm, this is worse. Living while not truly living, floating through existence with no control over my emotions is worse. I would love nothing more than to truthfully say at the very least, “I am well” when someone asks how I am doing. I do not know when the storm will end. But I do know that where there is water, there are mirrors. Where there are storms, there is duality—beauty and destruction, complex yet lucid. To be mentally ill is to live within multiplicity. Two things can exist at once. There are moments of insanity, but I am not crazy. I often feel unstable and unreliable, but that does not mean I am inherently untrustworthy. I can sit out in the thundering rain and smile at the beauty of the rippling, blue electricity in the sky while I wait for the clouds to finally break and for the sun to shine through.

Throughout middle and most of high school, I spent my time with my head low and my shoulders slumped, the burden of anxiety and severe depression weighing heavily upon them. Though it felt like the pain would never end, one thing kept me from sinking under—my love for the arts. Each night, movement through music carried me off into a new world, one where I could express who I truly was without the influence of my mental illnesses. The gravity of power I held within my fingertips every time I took to paper, whether to write a poem or a full-length novel, genuinely saved me. However, as I got closer to graduating, this obstacle continued to stare me in the face, seemingly saying "you will not make it with me in the way." I often find myself wondering how I will make it to the future I strive for with the burden of mental illness constantly on my back, telling me I cannot achieve my dreams. It was not until a judge for a writing contest told me the very thing I had never heard but desperately needed to: there was nothing wrong with me, I just navigated the world differently. These words have opened a new avenue for me as I continue through my dance career and mental health journey simultaneously. It is a deliberate decision every day I wake up to focus on how my dreams will prosper despite my mental illness, rather than how I could prosper with mental illness. My goals and mental health coincide with one another, they do not compete. I know my future is possible in whatever way I navigate this world because I have the passion to do so. The promise of a bright future in both dance and writing led me and continues to lead me forward into what will be an adventurous and successful career. I continue towards becoming a remarkable artist, rising far above the limits set by the obstacles placed in front of me. As an artist and human, I hope to strike purpose within myself and others—a purpose to create, to change, and to love. By refining my skills through diligent and rigorous training, I can achieve this. In the next five to ten years I hope to write and publish a full-length novel, choreograph original stage works and be a paid dancer regularly working in pieces for artists, stage performances, and companies. I also wish to continue teaching children for as long as I am physically able. Often am I reminded that there are things in my life that could stop me from achieving my goals, however, as soon as I remember the feeling of joy I receive when teaching, or the emotion while dancing, or the relief while writing, I remember that nothing can stop me from being the person that I want to be.

Throughout middle and most of high school, I spent my time with my head low and my shoulders slumped, the burden of anxiety and severe depression weighing heavily upon them. Though it felt like the pain would never end, one thing kept me from sinking under—my love for the arts. Each night, movement through music carried me off into a new world, one where I could express who I truly was without the influence of my mental illnesses. However, as I got closer to graduating, this obstacle continued to stare me in the face, seemingly saying "you will not make it with me in the way." I often find myself wondering how I will make it to the future I strive for with the burden of mental illness constantly on my back, telling me I cannot achieve my dreams. It was not until a judge for a writing contest told me the very thing I had never heard but desperately needed to: there was nothing wrong with me, I just navigated the world differently. These words have opened a new avenue for me as I continue through my dance career and mental health journey simultaneously. It is a deliberate decision every day I wake up to focus on how my dreams will prosper despite my mental illness, rather than how I could prosper with mental illness. My goals and mental health coincide with one another, they do not compete. I know my future is possible in whatever way I navigate this world because I have the passion to do so. The promise of a bright future in both dance and writing led me and continues to lead me forward into what will be an adventurous and successful career. I continue towards becoming a remarkable artist, rising far above the limits set by the obstacles placed in front of me. As an artist and human, I hope to strike purpose within myself and others—a purpose to create, to change, and to love. By refining my skills through diligent and rigorous training, I can achieve this. In the next five to ten years I hope to write and publish a full-length novel, choreograph original stage works and be a paid dancer regularly working in pieces for artists, stage performances, and companies. I also wish to continue teaching children for as long as I am physically able. Often am I reminded that there are things in my life that could stop me from achieving my goals, however, as soon as I remember the feeling of joy I receive when teaching, or the emotion while dancing, or the relief while writing, I remember that nothing can stop me from being the person that I want to be.

Throughout middle and most of high school, I spent my time with my head low and my shoulders slumped, the burden of anxiety and severe depression weighing heavily upon them. Though it felt like the pain would never end, one thing kept me from sinking under—my love for dance. Each night, movement through music carried me off into a new world, one where I could express who I truly was without the influence of my mental illnesses. The gravity of power I held within my body moved to music genuinely saved me. The promise of a bright future in dance led me and continues to lead me forward into what will be an adventurous and successful career. Dance hasn’t been a part of my life as long as the average dancer, but I can say that I made up for the lost time with hard work and commitment. Six years ago, I decided to commit myself to the art form through the many pains, disappointments, and battles it would bring, because I knew that the lives I could change through it would be worth it a million times over. Soon I began teaching, and my passion has only grown stronger from this. The art of creation allows me to extract the most vulnerable form of myself and give it up for others to make their own. I earn incredible joy from that, but I also have the immense privilege to take that art and offer it to other young kids to experience for themselves. Teaching young people has not only taught me to be a more patient, responsible person but also how to create an air of safety and love around myself and others. In the future, I wish to create works that have the undeniable potential to spark change within others, as well as love. I continue towards becoming a remarkable artist, rising far above the limits set by the obstacles placed in front of me. As an artist and human, I hope to strike purpose within myself and others—a purpose to create, to change, and to love. By refining my skills through diligent and rigorous training, I can achieve this. In the next five to ten years I hope to choreograph original stage works and be a paid dancer regularly working on pieces for artists, stage performances, and companies. I also wish to continue teaching children for as long as I am physically able. Often am I reminded that there are things in my life actively trying to stop me from achieving my goals, however, as soon as I remember the feeling of joy I receive when teaching, or the emotion while dancing, I remember that nothing can stop me from being the person that I want to be.

There was something extraordinarily unique about the way I felt when I first began dancing. I had tried other creative sports before—gymnastics, cheerleading—but nothing felt quite as special as the freedom I had while moving in this way. It did not take long for me to know it was what I wanted to do for the rest of my life. As I have grown in this craft, though, I have realized that there is so much more to it than movement. In the next four years and on, I wish to use my love for dance to grow in my other passions such as musical theater and creative writing, grow in my intersectional activism by being a voice for others, and learn to develop and work within the dance community to create fuller experiences for audiences. With this scholarship, I would be given the chance to access my education without worrying of debts or financial instability. I deeply identify as an intersectional feminist and look to use the art of dance to educate and bring communities together to create a wider world of love and respect. Dance knows no bounds, denies no one and loves all. I believe that in the following four years, I can use my education to study gender, race, and identity more in-depth and its connection to art. This connection, I believe, can also create safer spaces in dance and more resonant creations. In the next four years, I also wish to learn in-depth the inner workings of the dance industry and learn what spaces fit my plans for the growth of my art form and the dance community. As I venture out from the dance space I am most comfortable in, I learn more and more about the way established systems work and how they could be changed by the new generation of artists. I’d like to learn more about working with other artists in choreographic processes, musical composition, and the technical aspects that all work together to create the beautiful visions I admire so much. In learning this in college, I may use it in professional spaces to demonstrate a full and diverse knowledge of the dance industry. This scholarship would aid me in being able to receive my education and achieve these goals within the dance community more effectively. With financial aid, I can approach my dreams head-on without worrying that I may not be able to support myself. After college, I look to work as a professional dancer for musical artists as well as various performing opportunities. I also wish to dive into the world of musical theater, audition for roles, work on Broadway or the West End, and possibly one day originate a role for a new musical. By the end of my dance career, I wish to open a dance studio much like the one I attend now—one that is focused on the growth of its artists, open to all kinds of people, and full of love.

What would normally be an aimless session of scrolling on Instagram suddenly comes to a screeching halt when I see her: Jodie Comer, in all her beauty. In this photograph—no, this breathing effigy of grace—she sits in front of a window, the golden sun gathering in the highlights of her face, darkening the shadowy valleys of it. Her blonde hair waves like the crashing water of an ocean, or a friend you cross paths with on the way to class. Her eyes shimmer…a little more than I usually notice. I stare at the picture harder. Hmm. Something’s different about this; not the picture itself, rather, how I see it. Why are her eyes dancing like twinkling stars in the night sky? Why am I noticing now? And as subtle as a bird landing softly on the branch of a tree, as easy and familiar as the blink of an eye, it came to me. As if it’d been there all along, like a memory being resurfaced by an old smell—well you’re bisexual. That’s why. From my slouched positioned, my spine straightens as if my name had been called. Bisexual? Ha! What a silly thing to say, brain! I could’ve hit my forehead with the absurdity of the idea. If I’d been bisexual, I think I would’ve known that a long time ago. Why would I be figuring that out now, sixteen years old, without ever being in a relationship? That doesn’t make any sense. But I look back down at Jodie, and it’s suddenly very obvious that it doesn’t have to make sense. It just…is. I wait for the crash, the brick to hit me in the gut. I wait to be knocked over by the weight of this sudden discovery, yet…it doesn’t come. It just sits, a missing puzzle piece finally reuniting with its set. It’s as simple as remembering that my favorite food is pizza. It’s just there, as if it’d always been. Nonsense. It was nonsense. There was no logic or reasoning to it. I wrestled with my mind for months, wondering if it was just playing a silly prank. Why not throw in a random identity crisis while I’m going through the hardest year of high school? My brain was quite fond of kicking me while I was down; I wouldn’t be surprised if that was the case here. But no matter how many times I denied it, the fact just felt right. Even with that rightness, however, I still felt something was wrong. That question kept swinging right back around: why? Why had it taken me so long to realize? Was I truly straight and just having a bit of a moment, a “girl crush” as they call it? No, that couldn’t be right—not with how sure I felt. But I remembered all the stories, the coming out scenes in movies and shows, the Big Moment! I’d always heard the same: “I’ve known since I was a kid.” So why hadn’t I? (Full essay attached below)

There was something extraordinarily unique about the way I felt when I first began dancing. I had tried other creative sports before—gymnastics, cheerleading—but nothing felt quite as special as the freedom I had while moving in this way. It did not take long for me to know it was what I wanted to do for the rest of my life. As I have grown in this craft, though, I have realized that there is so much more to it than movement. In the next four years and on, I wish to use my love for dance to grow in my other passions such as musical theater, grow in my intersectional activism by being a voice for others, and learn to develop and work within the dance community to create fuller experiences for audiences. I cannot say dance has been a part of my life as long as I wish it could have been, but I can say that I made up for the lost time with hard work and commitment to this incredible craft. The respect I have for dance not only stems from my and its connection to music, but the discipline it demands. Six years ago, I decided to commit myself to the art form through the many pains, disappointments, and battles it would bring, because I knew that the lives I could change through it would be worth it a million times over. Soon after beginning my journey with dance, I began teaching, and I couldn’t state enough how my passion has grown stronger from this. The art of creation allows me to extract the purest and most vulnerable form of myself and give it up for others to digest and make their own. Not only do I earn incredible joy from that, but I also have the immense privilege to take that art and offer it to other young kids to experience for themselves. Teaching young people has not only taught me to be a more patient and responsible person but also how to create an air of safety and love around myself and others. This experience grants me the potential to grow further in my craft of teaching as well as choreographing. In the future, I wish to create works that have the undeniable potential to spark change within others, as well as love. I continue towards becoming a remarkable artist, pushing through the obstacles placed in front of me and rising far above the limits set by them. As an artist and as a human, I hope to strike purpose within myself and within others—a purpose to create, change, and love. By refining my skills through diligent and rigorous training, I can achieve this. In the next five to ten years I hope to choreograph original stage works and be a paid dancer regularly working in pieces for artists, stage performances, and companies. I also wish to continue teaching children for as long as I am physically and mentally able. Often am I reminded that there are things in my life actively trying to stop me from achieving my goals, however, as soon as I remember the feeling of joy I receive when teaching, or the emotion while dancing, or the relief while writing, I remember that nothing can stop me from being the person that I want to be. By the end of my dance career, I wish to open a dance studio much like the one I attend now—one that is focused on the growth of its artists, open to all kinds of people, and full of love.

There was something extraordinarily unique about the way I felt when I first began dancing. I had tried other creative sports before—gymnastics, cheerleading—but nothing felt quite as special as the freedom I had while moving in this way. It did not take long for me to know it was what I wanted to do for the rest of my life. As I have grown in this craft, though, I have realized that there is so much more to it than movement. In the next four years and on, I wish to use my love for dance to grow in my other passions such as musical theater, grow in my intersectional activism by being a voice for others, and learn to develop and work within the dance community to create fuller experiences for audiences. I cannot say dance has been a part of my life as long as I wish it could have been, but I can say that I made up for the lost time with hard work and commitment to this incredible craft. The respect I have for dance not only stems from my and its connection to music, but the discipline it demands. Six years ago, I decided to commit myself to the art form through the many pains, disappointments, and battles it would bring, because I knew that the lives I could change through it would be worth it a million times over. Soon after beginning my journey with dance, I began teaching, and I couldn’t state enough how my passion has grown stronger from this. The art of creation allows me to extract the purest and most vulnerable form of myself and give it up for others to digest and make their own. Not only do I earn incredible joy from that, but I also have the immense privilege to take that art and offer it to other young kids to experience for themselves. Teaching young people has not only taught me to be a more patient and responsible person but also how to create an air of safety and love around myself and others. This experience grants me the potential to grow further in my craft of teaching as well as choreographing. In the future, I wish to create works that have the undeniable potential to spark change within others, as well as love. I continue towards becoming a remarkable artist, pushing through the obstacles placed in front of me and rising far above the limits set by them. As an artist and as a human, I hope to strike purpose within myself and within others—a purpose to create, change, and love. By refining my skills through diligent and rigorous training, I can achieve this. In the next five to ten years I hope to choreograph original stage works and be a paid dancer regularly working in pieces for artists, stage performances, and companies. I also wish to continue teaching children for as long as I am physically and mentally able. Often am I reminded that there are things in my life actively trying to stop me from achieving my goals, however, as soon as I remember the feeling of joy I receive when teaching, or the emotion while dancing, or the relief while writing, I remember that nothing can stop me from being the person that I want to be. By the end of my dance career, I wish to open a dance studio much like the one I attend now—one that is focused on the growth of its artists, open to all kinds of people, and full of love.

There was something extraordinarily unique about the way I felt when I first began dancing. I had tried other creative sports before—gymnastics, cheerleading—but nothing felt quite as special as the freedom I had while moving in this way. It did not take long for me to know it was what I wanted to do for the rest of my life. As I have grown in this craft, though, I have realized that there is so much more to it than movement. In the next four years and on, I wish to use my love for dance to grow in my other passions such as musical theater, grow in my intersectional activism by being a voice for others, and learn to develop and work within the dance community to create fuller experiences for audiences. I cannot say dance has been a part of my life as long as I wish it could have been, but I can say that I made up for the lost time with hard work and commitment to this incredible craft. The respect I have for dance not only stems from my and its connection to music, but the discipline it demands. Six years ago, I decided to commit myself to the art form through the many pains, disappointments, and battles it would bring, because I knew that the lives I could change through it would be worth it a million times over. Soon after beginning my journey with dance, I began teaching, and I couldn’t state enough how my passion has grown stronger from this. The art of creation allows me to extract the purest and most vulnerable form of myself and give it up for others to digest and make their own. Not only do I earn incredible joy from that, but I also have the immense privilege to take that art and offer it to other young kids to experience for themselves. Teaching young people has not only taught me to be a more patient and responsible person but also how to create an air of safety and love around myself and others. This experience grants me the potential to grow further in my craft of teaching as well as choreographing. In the future, I wish to create works that have the undeniable potential to spark change within others, as well as love. I continue towards becoming a remarkable artist, pushing through the obstacles placed in front of me and rising far above the limits set by them. As an artist and as a human, I hope to strike purpose within myself and within others—a purpose to create, change, and love. By refining my skills through diligent and rigorous training, I can achieve this. In the next five to ten years I hope to choreograph original stage works and be a paid dancer regularly working in pieces for artists, stage performances, and companies. I also wish to continue teaching children for as long as I am physically and mentally able. Often am I reminded that there are things in my life actively trying to stop me from achieving my goals, however, as soon as I remember the feeling of joy I receive when teaching, or the emotion while dancing, or the relief while writing, I remember that nothing can stop me from being the person that I want to be. By the end of my dance career, I wish to open a dance studio much like the one I attend now—one that is focused on the growth of its artists, open to all kinds of people, and full of love.

The storm in the little girl’s brain was not always as thunderous as it is now. It started sprinkling, raindrops falling softly on the tips of her fingers. Now she sits, drenched in this full-blown, never-ending thunderstorm named mental illness. Illness—a sick word, quite literally. The sickness festers and ripples as lightning bolts throughout the cells in her head. Obsessive compulsions, circular behaviors that she must complete to feel relief, to feel sane. It takes all sense of time and place. It equates to shaking violently in bed, in the car, at work, night, day, desperately trying to grasp hold of control—there is none. Not over her breath, not over her perspective. How does she identify with mental illness when there is such a ferocious view of it around the world? How can she simply exist inside something she did not ask for while everyone around her has such unrealistic and double-sided expectations of her? And better yet, how is she to receive the help she needs when mental illness is seen as virtually impossible within her demographic? She is a strong, independent woman, and she can handle everything and anything that comes her way. She can not be depressed, because the world has thrown enough in her people’s way, and she has become thick-skinned and resilient because of it. So as a result, the media depict no women of her color with mental illness—unless it gives cause to her well-known angry demeanor. The little black girl in front of the TV screen takes this to mean that the growing need to rip skin from her forming body is truly just the “bad habit” her parents say it is. As she grows, so does the storm. And in the media, these storms are turned into personality traits and quirks, made to fit to become interesting or special. The kids around her take what they see and mimic it, slightly setting their notebooks straight and saying, “Oh, I’m a little OCD.” She remains silent. What she desperately wishes she could tell them is that these storms are not as simple as they claim they are. They are exactly what she says: typhoons and waterspouts and tsunamis waiting to pounce, plunder and destroy her. It is not a game or a mystery, not a club or a rave. It is frightening and frustrating. Death stalks her in the wake of all her love. Though she should be afraid of it, she is not. The truth is I never have feared death because there are worst things than death. This storm, this is worse. Living while not truly living, floating through existence with no control over my emotions is worse. I would love nothing more than to truthfully say at the very least, “I am well” when someone asks how I am doing. I do not know when the storm will end. But I do know that where there is water, there are mirrors. Where there are storms, there is duality—beauty and destruction, complex yet lucid. To be mentally ill is to live within multiplicity. Two things can exist at once. There are moments of insanity, but I am not crazy. I often feel unstable and unreliable, but that does not mean I am inherently untrustworthy. I can sit out in the thundering rain and smile at the beauty of the rippling, blue electricity in the sky while I wait for the clouds to finally break and for the sun to shine through.

The storm in the little girl’s brain was not always as thunderous as it is now. It started sprinkling, raindrops falling softly on the tips of her fingers. Now she sits, drenched in this full-blown, never-ending thunderstorm named mental illness. Illness—a sick word, quite literally. The sickness festers and ripples as lightning bolts throughout the cells in her head. Obsessive compulsions, circular behaviors that she must complete to feel relief, to feel sane. It takes all sense of time and place. It equates to shaking violently in bed, in the car, at work, night, day, desperately trying to grasp hold of control—there is none. Not over her breath, not over her perspective. How does she identify with mental illness when there is such a ferocious view of it around the world? How can she simply exist inside something she did not ask for while everyone around her has such unrealistic and double-sided expectations of her? And better yet, how is she to receive the help she needs when mental illness is seen as virtually impossible within her demographic? She is a strong, independent woman, and she can handle everything and anything that comes her way. She can not be depressed, because the world has thrown enough in her people’s way, and she has become thick-skinned and resilient because of it. So as a result, the media depict no women of her color with mental illness—unless it gives cause to her well-known angry demeanor. The little black girl in front of the TV screen takes this to mean that the growing need to rip skin from her forming body is truly just the “bad habit” her parents say it is. As she grows, so does the storm. And in the media, these storms are turned into personality traits and quirks, made to fit to become interesting or special. The kids around her take what they see and mimic it, slightly setting their notebooks straight and saying, “Oh, I’m a little OCD.” She remains silent. What she desperately wishes she could tell them is that these storms are not as simple as they claim they are. They are exactly what she says: typhoons and waterspouts and tsunamis waiting to pounce, plunder and destroy her. It is not a game or a mystery, not a club or a rave. It is frightening and frustrating. Death stalks her in the wake of all her love. Though she should be afraid of it, she is not. The truth is I never have feared death because there are worst things than death. This storm, this is worse. Living while not truly living, floating through existence with no control over my emotions is worse. I would love nothing more than to truthfully say at the very least, “I am well” when someone asks how I am doing. I do not know when the storm will end. But I do know that where there is water, there are mirrors. Where there are storms, there is duality—beauty and destruction, complex yet lucid. To be mentally ill is to live within multiplicity. Two things can exist at once. There are moments of insanity, but I am not crazy. I often feel unstable and unreliable, but that does not mean I am inherently untrustworthy. I can sit out in the thundering rain and smile at the beauty of the rippling, blue electricity in the sky while I wait for the clouds to finally break and for the sun to shine through.

There was something extraordinarily unique about the way I felt when I first began dancing. I had tried other creative sports before—gymnastics, cheerleading—but nothing felt quite as special as the freedom I had while moving in this way. It did not take long for me to know it was what I wanted to do for the rest of my life. As I have grown in this craft, though, I have realized that there is so much more to it than movement. In the next four years and on, I wish to use my love for dance to grow in my other passions, grow in my intersectional activism by being a voice for others, and learn to develop and work within the dance community to create fuller experiences for audiences. In the past three years, I have become more involved in efforts for activism. I deeply identify as an intersectional feminist and look to use the art of dance to educate and bring communities together to create a wider world of love and respect. Dance knows no bounds, denies no one and loves all. I believe that in the following four years, I can use my education to study gender, race, and identity more in-depth and its connection to art. This connection, I believe, can also create safer spaces in dance and more resonant creations. In the next four years, I wish to learn in-depth the inner workings of the dance industry and learn what spaces fit my plans for the growth of my art form and the dance community. As I venture out from the dance space I am most comfortable in, I learn more and more about the way established systems work and how they could be changed by the new generation of artists. I’d like to learn more about working with other artists in choreographic processes, musical composition, and the technical aspects that all work together to create the beautiful visions I admire so much. In learning this in college, I may use it in professional spaces to demonstrate a full and diverse knowledge of the dance industry. Dance is so important to me because of the connections it creates between humans. It is a pure expression of human emotion and can bring people together by illustrating ideas that cannot be expressed by words. As I've danced and taught dance these last seven years, it's shown me how much it can truly influence the older, the current, and the upcoming generations of artists. There's nothing more important to me than inspiring others to make a change, and through dance, I believe that it is possible.

A faint prickle of sweat beaded upon my forehead and my chest heaved unevenly as my brain raced, reviewing all the steps over and over again. This was it. This was my chance to show them that I was the one they wanted, the one to showcase all the hard work we’d put in this week. Finally, it was my turn to step onto the floor along with several others to show we were worthy of their appreciation. The next thirty seconds blurred, my body operating as one great storyteller; Homer, Shakespeare, Dickens—none of them had what I had in this moment. When it was over, I stood waiting patiently for my name to be called. The choreographer stood on the stage, contemplating and discussing with her assistant, and suddenly I was an open cadaver being viewed by a master surgeon and all her students. I watched her eyes focus on several of the dancers beside me, and like a flash of lightning, her eyes glazed over me without a second glimpse. My heart slowed. As she raised the microphone back to her mouth and every sound in the room faded away. Each name floated out, and before I even realized she was finished listing the dancers she wanted, I stood there waiting for her to remember: oh right, I want her! But it never came. She never called my name and I was not placed in the most exciting part of the routine. All I could think was that I failed. I hadn’t shown the choreographer of the most incredible piece I’d ever been a part of that I had exactly what she was looking for. What had I done wrong? A toe left unpointed, an arm in the wrong spot, a facial expression she didn’t quite like? At my dance studio, this was usually not a problem. I worked and worked to become a better version of myself, and my coaches recognized this. They knew my work ethic, they knew I could be trusted—had I not shown this choreographer the same? I joined the rest of the dancers and began rehearsing the parts we were in. "Well," I said to myself, "if I can’t be in that part, I’ll be my very best in every other one." As the week went on and the routine came together, I watched as pieces flowed into one another, the way rain falls into the ocean—all had returned to where it belonged, and everything was in the right place. I stood amazed at the incredible feat we’d pulled off. Dozens of dancers from all over the country in just one week came together to realize the vision the choreographer had, and did it well. Suddenly, I was immersed in an enveloping togetherness. We were one and it was so beautiful. On the last day of the week, I took a moment to truly listen to the music we were dancing to, and there it was. It showed me how blind I’d been. There Beyoncé was, telling me all along, “You’re part of something way bigger.” The energy in the room shifted as every dancer and every assistant cheered each other on, as we worked together to create something that expanded far outside of ourselves. Without warning, all I could feel then was overwhelming gratefulness. I had let my ego and expectations cloud the true reason I love this sport—the connection, love and energy it can create between total strangers. To be a part of something so incredible was more important than any spot or section I could’ve ever been placed in.

As my eighteenth birthday approached, I racked my brain over what tattoo I wanted to get. I knew it'd be song lyrics or art inspired by a song, but what? What would encompass all the pain and strife I went through, and symbolize the healing I did to even make it to my eighteenth birthday? Only a day before, it finally came to me: "Truce" by Twenty One Pilots. For four years, I've battled depression, OCD, and severe anxiety. I looked down so many avenues to find some kind of catharsis, whether it be writing, reading, or praying; yet, nothing proved helpful. I was drowning in a bottomless pool of agony with no escape in sight. Just as I felt myself giving up, I looked deeper into the alternative rock band that was Twenty One Pilots and found relief. So many of their songs mirrored my situation, however, there was one difference: the band illustrated the hope they had despite their strife. "Truce" has the most important message for me because it is a reminder that no matter how hard things get, no matter how far my mental illness tries to drag me down, the sun will rise again. The day always restarts, and I'll another chance to make things better and to look for peace. Mental illness has been the biggest villain that's faced my life, but this song reminds me that it can be defeated. "Truce" taught me that my life is worth fighting for and worth being grateful for, simply because the universe gave me this life, and it does not last forever. This is why "Truce" has the most important message to me. Now, every time I look in the mirror, I am reminded of the truce I made with myself.

Where I come from, That black box up there, The shouting and screaming Shake the walls, The unevenness of the world Keeps me trapped inside. Sometimes in this box, Though, it gets So quiet That I can even hear The soft laughter from those Green, citrusy days When we gathered and Sang songs Sometimes it gets so quiet That I can hear farther back The rest in the Saturday air And the fresh metallic sting in my nose From the Clorox and bleach mix Mommy’s using And the gentle hum of Daddy playing Tupac in the back of the house. Of course, this is Outside the black box, Where I can’t Reach anymore. The outside is where I’m really from. This black box is only Where I’ve immigrated to Or rather I was stolen And placed here, locked Like my ancestors and Their thick, coiling hair, Far from their land. I suppose that’s where I’m from, But I cannot call that home either. So instead: This black box Where guilt runs red And sludges down my throat and My wrists And shame shakes and shifts, Silver lightning bolt cracking through My balance—nothing to do. Sure, for now, This is where I come from.