The only thing I can remember reading when I was younger was The Dork Diaries. I flew through the 14 or 15 books, and watched and felt Nikki and Brandon fall in love. Past 4th and 5th grade, I struggled to read. I wanted to, so bad, be one of those people who'd sit quietly in a corner and lose themselves in the worlds on the pages in front of them. I walked into any bookstore I could, and immersed myself in the smell of the store, the feel of the pages, and the quietness surrounding me. Books always intimidated me. I would grab one, sit down, try to read it, and start thinking about how I looked as if people were silently accusing me of not grasping what I was reading. I constantly believed I wasn't smart enough to recognize, nevertheless, appreciate this implicit meaning everyone always talked about. So, I stopped trying. I wouldn't read. Years later I picked up my first adult romance novel, and consumed it quicker than anything I had in my entire life. After one, I couldn't stop. I devoured them like candy, one after the next, each getting sweeter than the last. Of course, I eventually, migrated out of that lovely phase and picked up a few psychological thrillers that I couldn't put down, feeling as if I could have been a True Crime detective as I picked and plucked every plot twist as they were miles away from being revealed. I picked up Charles Dickens, put it down, and then picked it up again. I read tragedies and disturbing memoirs that were too harrowing to seem real. It was so much life in front of me. So much that I would forget most of it wasn't real. I would leave and enter my reality as I pleased, and would effortlessly slip back into my fake ones whenever I felt overwhelmed with my everyday. I didn't even realize that books no longer intimidated me; I started to adore them, and feel like I understood them. They taught me lessons about love, loss, hate, and tragedy. Whenever I felt like I couldn't express myself, or understand what I was going through, there was a book that helped me figure out what was going on in my head, what I was trying to reason with, divulge in, and abandon. They've taught me that I don't have to stop. I don't have to choose what's easy, even when what's right in front of me seems complicated. In honesty, I still wonder sometimes. I study English literature, read the books, and underline the metaphors, themes, and writing devices, but sometimes I still feel like the little girl in the corner of the bookstore, glancing around her, nervous and frustrated with a book in her hands. Even so, everytime I read another book, another page or phrase that I connect with, that I can make sense of, I feel incredibly liberated. I feel connected to something bigger than me. I never feel the need to press pause, I feel the need to keep going, push further, and consume more. This has become the foundation of my desire to explore literature in a way that helps me make sense of the world around me. That's why I've chosen to pursue publishing. I want to be a part of the cause that sends some of the world's greatest minds into effect. To consume new ideas and help connect people because I've learned that reading is one of the most divine ways to learn about yourself and others' experiences.

"Thank you. You know, getting to do things like this means a lot. For me, it's almost like going to Disneyland. You know Disneyland?" The little older woman said to me as I stood before her. Almost aloof and in shock, I found myself again, reached down, and helped her off the toilet. The nursing home I was volunteering at needed to be more staffed. I only then realized the extent. She took my helping her as a luxury, something she didn't get often enough and should be grateful for. After returning her to the large table in the dining room, I decided to take a seat beside her. Delighted that I had given her company, she asked me about my life: If I was married or had a family. 17, at the time, I laughed as I told her no, that I needed a bit more time to myself before any of that, and she smiled. She started talking about her family, who she was when she was younger, and what she regretted and didn't. I didn't realize until later that day that she wouldn't remember our conversations. Near the end of the day, I told her I was there to volunteer and was glad to meet everyone, but that it would be my last day at the nursing home. She nodded in understanding. Minutes later, I told her goodbye and that it was lovely to get to know her. She smiled softly, patted my arm warmly, and said she'd see me tomorrow. The Nurses at the station informed me that it was normal for her to recount random memories and, minutes later, to forget. She had a late stage of Alzeihemers that was progressing rapidly. Soon, she would forget everything. This hurt. I hadn't known the woman for long, but I felt a sense of grief, knowing that what we had just shared would disappear. I had to remind myself that it wouldn't, that I could hold this memory there for the both of us. And even if she couldn't remember, it was worth making a difference in her day, even temporarily. This pushed me to get my first job as a CNA. I could continue to help people, make a difference in individuals' lives, and even give their families some relief. Remind them that their loved ones were being cared for, sought after, protected, and adored if they needed it. Listened and talked to, smiled at, and laughed with. While it was hard at first and disheartening to witness those declining at much more digressive rates, there was always that desire to be there and offer support to anyone who needed it. The longer I worked at the nursing home, the more invested I became in these people's lives. I became the stand-in. I was the daughter who no longer bothered to call, the organizer, the cleaner, the friend, and the annoying girl who made them get changed. For the longest time, I doubted the difference I made. I sometimes felt unaccomplished and useless to those ready to go, who were tired and wanting to give up. Sometimes I didn't know how to change things or make them better, but the desire was so intensely embedded in me that I knew I would continue to try. And I genuinely believe that that's why it's important to help others. Because although, at times, we can feel useless and unable to change others' unfortunate circumstances, sometimes, you get those few minutes where you do. Sometimes, you get to take them to Disneyland.