I deserve this scholarship because I haven’t yet figured out how to start a political revolution, so I might as well stay in college. My goals for my future are simple: since my revolutionary aspirations haven’t panned out, I plan to write dystopian novels in a bunch of bright pink notebooks. I’ll carry them everywhere with me in a giant black military backpack while I travel the world and observe human depravity. Since I won’t be able to attend in-person classes, I’ll finish college through long-distance telepathy. If traveling gets too exhausting, I’ll take a break for a bit and start an emo band called “Gen Z and Memes.” The only other band member will be my pet goat, Charcoal, and we’ll play gigs for the people living under the bridges in California. Speaking of which, I am also considering living under a bridge in California. The aesthetic appeals to me. I’ve overcome several obstacles in my life. When I went through revolutionary youth fighter training at age sixteen, the exercises included intense obstacle courses, some of which were notable for killing as many as three trainees during one summer. I, however, overcame these obstacles, leading my team to victory and an elite position in the squadron.

When I was three years old, I moved to an eighty-six acre farm in rural Tennessee. The farm was in a hollow, at the dead end of a quarter-mile gravel driveway. Neither of my parents grew up in the country, and the learning curve was as steep as the rocky hills all around us. The house was only attached to spring water. When we first moved, we had the water tested, and found out it contained E. coli. I remember my father working tirelessly to install the proper filtration system, redo the pipes, and dig the mud out of the spring to make it more reliable. My parents, older sister, and I lived in a pop-up camper until the house was move-in ready. My mother was also pregnant with the first of my three younger brothers at the time. I have both fond and not so fond memories of growing up on that farm. Despite the work my parents put into fixing it up, the house was never ideal. It had no foundation, and despite the chicken wire wrapped around the base of it, our animals always seemed to find a way underneath. Not only that, in the winter, the cold air would flow through the floorboards and freeze our feet. The house had no central heat and air, so we relied on a wood stove to keep us warm. This wasn’t always effective. One winter, it was so cold my mother’s feet got frostbite. In many rooms, the only floor that had ever been laid was the thin subfloor. Termites took advantage of this, and we ended up with holes in the floor where we could look through and see the ground underneath. One time, we had some chicks we were keeping inside in our pantry so they wouldn’t get too cold. A snake literally came through a hole between the wall and floor and ate them. When I was eleven and my sister thirteen, we bought two dairy goats and started our own business. We fixed up a couple of the old sheds on the farm and put up fencing. We also learning the goats didn’t particularly enjoy staying in our fencing. We had no cell service out there, and even after I moved to a new property, I didn’t have a cellphone until I was seventeen. There’s more I could say, but my point is not to complain—far from it! I had a unique upbringing. At the time it didn’t seem so unique, but looking back I can see that it was. It taught me to work hard and to be tough. It allowed me to think outside of the box—mainly because I wasn’t aware there was even a box to think in. Because of the disconnected way I grew up, I never learned about prejudice and stereotypes until I was older. My parents taught me to treat everyone with respect, and never held me back because I was a girl. I will always be thankful for that. In many ways, I was isolated from the world—even from the world my parents grew up in. My family broke away from tradition, and I am grateful they did. Without their choices and hard work, I wouldn’t be the person I am today. I hope I can continue their legacy of forging a new path. While I was isolated, I wasn’t sheltered. My parents always encouraged me to pursue my dreams—from raising goats to attending college. I hope to continue in their footsteps.

Hobbies? I’m in college and help run a farm. What are these hobbies of which you speak? Actually, I have several hobbies. I like drawing—I got some new colored pencils and adore them! I also use markers for a more comic book type effect, and an ink pen if I want to do black and white. I’ve done some watercolor painting as well. However, my more unusual hobbies involve using the wool from my sheep. I co-own a small flock of American Jacob Sheep, a heritage breed considered threatened by the Livestock Conservancy. They produce three colors of wool—black, white, and a grayish color called lilac. Each spring, my sister and I sheer the sheep, helping them not to overheat in the summer. While we sell most of the wool to other fiber artists, we keep some of it to work with ourselves. We skirt the fleeces, which involves removing debris and rougher or matted sections of wool. Since the sheep are spotted, we divide the wool into each color. Then, we wash the wool. Once the wool has dried, we turn it into roving to be used in spinning or felting. After spinning the yarn, I love using it to weave, knit, or crochet. There is nothing quite like wearing a scarf I made using wool from sheep I raised. Besides spinning, the wool is awesome for needle felting! I’ve learned how to make everything from wall hangings to animal figurines. I even made a Jacob Sheep figurine using the wool from my Jacob Sheep. I have a lot of hobbies, but fiber art is, for me, one of the most important. In a world where things are so often mass-produced, it’s amazing to create something naturally—all the way from sheep to shawl!

What does it mean to give back? Does it mean volunteering in your community, encouraging your friends to achieve their goals, or even merely being an upstanding citizen? Does it mean repaying everyone who has ever given you a hand up in the world? For me, giving back means proving that the trust people placed in you was justified. It means going above and beyond the expectations of those around you. I can’t ever repay the people who have helped me get to the place I am now, but I don’t have to. That isn’t the point. If I want to give back, all I have to do is pass on the gifts they gave me. My grandmother taught me how to knit, and I give back by showing her how to use technology. The older cadets in my Civil Air Patrol squadron gave to me by teaching me about the program. I give back by showing the new airman how to properly pin her insignia. The community gave to me by donating food to my family when my father lost his job during the recession in 2008. I give back by distributing food to those who lost their homes during the flooding that occurred in Tennessee last summer. Giving back isn’t about keeping score, it’s about being grateful. I don’t give to others because I have to, or because I’m expecting something in return. I give because it makes me happy, and because I hope my example will encourage them to pass on the gifts they have to others.

Two words. Mocha latte. No—I take that back. Mocha latte with whipped cream. This makes me happy. It doesn’t just make me happy because I love the way it tastes, although I do. I makes me happy because it makes me think of my family. My sister makes awesome mocha lattes, and my whole family will sit around the kitchen table drinking them and talking. Usually, this means I’m avoiding homework, but hey—I have to take a break sometimes, right? I also love pistachios. And mangoes. And peanut butter cups. This has gotten to the point where half of the gifts I get on my birthday and for Christmas are just food, which is awesome. I’ve already mentioned my love for coffee, but do you know something else I love? Coffee shops. There’s an adorable one near my college, and I love going there to drink coffee with my friends. So yes, none of this says much about my academic status. Although…for a psychology class, my friend and I did design a research project called, “The Possible Relationship Between Coffee and Depression.” We got a good grade on it, so I guess coffee helped my GPA after all!

I love writing, and have since third grade. I started out writing stories in a giant binder that I carried with me everywhere. My first book was about a girl named Jynia Saruo, who rode a zebra and went on a quest to save her siblings from the Red Sorcerer. I remember lying in bed at night, staring at the moon through the window, and talking to my sister about my stories until long past midnight. I lived far out in the country, and could hear owls hooting and coyotes howling outside. They were inspiration to me. I have moved houses since then, but I still find inspiration in nature and in everyday life. My goal is to create stories filled with imagination, but still grounded in real life experiences. My sister jokes that if I were ever to break my leg, I’d probably say something like, “Good. Now I can accurately write about having a broken leg.” For me, being a writer doesn’t mean sitting inside at a keyboard all day. It means going out and experiencing the world, and then filling my writing with those experiences. It means that when I see pain in the world, I write about pain. When I see resilience and courage, I write about that. I don’t have an agenda to push with my writing, except to express some of the things we all feel as human beings. Whether I express those feelings through blog posts or fictional characters, I hope I can inspire others, and give a voice to all the silent thoughts running through all of our minds.

My shirt was so drenched in sweat that I couldn’t even tell where the sweaty spots where anymore, because the whole thing felt damp. It was summer in the south, and I was sorting food and personal hygiene items into boxes inside a giant metal warehouse…with no air conditioning. My Civil Air Patrol squadron was helping with disaster relief efforts in Waverly, TN. The area had been severely flooded a few days previously. I, along with several fellow cadets, had driven down in our trusty white squadron van to help sort and package donations. Now, they did have fans going in the warehouse, but that wasn’t much help. It was hot. And, in the end, it was completely worth it. That wasn’t the first time I’d done disaster relief work, either. Before that, I volunteered at a Samaritan’s Purse rebuild site in South Carolina, where many homes had been devastated by a hurricane. I’ve volunteered in several community events as well. Despite the sweat and the humid southern air, I’m looking forward to volunteering again, whether that be with my Civil Air Patrol squadron, Samaritan’s Purse, or some other organization. It may be hard work, but when I see the grateful looks on people’s faces and hear their stories, I am happy to serve them.

When I was eleven, my sister and I bought two dairy goats and started a farm. We currently own around twenty animals, including livestock guardian dogs and exotic sheep. I love teaching people about animals, and having visitors come to the farm to see them in-person. At age fourteen, I finished writing my first novel. I have now finished seven additional novels, as well as short stories, blog posts, and essays. My goal is to publish my writing and share it with the rest of the world. Several years ago, I started teaching myself Spanish, enabling me to test out of Spanish 1010 when I started college. I want to continue learning this amazing language and connect with a wider range of people. I participated in 4-H from forth grade through high school, giving speeches, showing animals, and serving in my club. This experience gives me confidence to speak up and defend myself and others. I joined Civil Air Patrol about two years ago, and am now the Cadet Deputy Commander in my squadron. This gives me the opportunity to volunteer and provide aid to people devastated by natural disasters. I finished my first year of college through dual enrollment, currently have a 4.0 GPA, and am set to transfer from community college to a four-year university this fall. Hopefully, attending college will open up more career opportunities for my future. To cover college costs, I worked as a stable hand at a horse farm. I got up at 5am, fed my own animals, before driving to the horse farm to muck stalls for five hours. When this was too hard on my back, I found a job at an animal hospital and worked as a vet assistant. I appreciate any support I can get to achieve my goals.

I have never wanted to live a normal life. When I was twelve, I decided I would live on a desert island with only a pet wolf as company. Since then, my goals have changed slightly, although I still think having a pet wolf would be cool. I don’t want to live on a desert island anymore—or a tropical one either, for that matter. I want to be a part of society. I want to make a difference. I want to change the world. I think we all change the world, even the change isn’t noticeable at first. The force we all make up, together—that is the force that will change the world. I want to make a conscious decision to change it for the better. That’s part of why I’m going to college. I want to learn, to grow, and to understand the people around me. I’m studying psychology. While one of my dreams is to become a novelist, that isn’t my only dream. I would like to study counseling, and promote mental health. I’m also learning Spanish, which will allow me to interact with a wider field of people. When I think about the impact I hope to make on the world, I remember something one of my friends told me. She said, “Whenever someone asks me what I want to be when I grow up, I always tell them multiple things. I don’t want to grow up to be just one thing. Who says I can’t be a nurse and run a bake shop?” There isn’t just one way to make an impact on the world. No matter where my life takes me, I will make an impact there. I will make the world a better place.

Being blessed with many extroverted friends, I am the default “listener” in my friend group. In the past, I sometimes resented that position. In one specific instance, I’d listened to one of my friends talk for two hours about her romantic struggles, and I was seriously starting to reconsider the whole “listener” persona I’d created for myself. That is, until she told me how much it meant to her. She said, “I am so grateful I can talk to you. I don’t feel like anyone else really listens to me.” She’d never told me that before, and I’d never realized how important my listening was to her. I should have, though. Once I finally made some introverted friends like myself, I fully understood. Finally, someone was listening to me, too! The circle of communication was complete! Although, it was a little weird sometimes. I had to think of things to say. I had to answer questions about myself. Yikes! I love my friends—those who talk a lot and those who speak in one-word increments surrounded by gulfs of thought-filled silence. Listening is important. It’s important to the person talking, and it’s often informative to the person listening. In a culture where a lot of people go around screaming their opinions at anyone who looks their way, those who take the time to actually hear the people around them will stand out. Even when disagreements arise between people, the act of listening can solve so much. Instead of bringing up counter-points, I try to hear what the person really means, and often find out that they aren’t so very different than I am. Listening might not solve every problem in the world, but if it’s done well, it can keep a lot of problems from ever starting.

I’ve loved reading since I learned how to read. Although, I admittedly learned how to read rather late. That was fine, though, because after I picked up that first real novel, I couldn’t put it down. I remember hiding a book under my shirt as I sneaked past mom, and then running upstairs to read, even though I was probably supposed to be cleaning the house or something boring like that. I grew up in the country, and I mean the honest-to-goodness, serious country. My house was at the end of a quarter-mile gravel lane, goats and chickens filled our yard, and the nearest Walmart was about an hour away. I couldn’t see any neighbors from my house, and there was no cell service. (Besides, I didn’t even get a cellphone until I was seventeen.) There was a school I could have gone to, but my parents decided to homeschool me, as well as my four siblings. This was a huge blessing for me, as it allowed me to pursue my interests, even when they weren’t exactly conventional. In middle school, I was fascinated by astronomy, and determined I would become an astrophysicist. I read every book I could on the subject. This love of space also gave me a love for science fiction, which I devoured. Isaac Asimov, H.G. Wells, Ray Bradbury—I loved it all. When I was twelve or so, I moved with my family to a house a little closer to civilization. It was here that I picked up writing. I’d loved writing for a long time before that, but I’d never finished much. Well, at age fourteen, I finished my first book—a 63,000 word novel titled “Doen Fellgul.” I haven’t stopped writing since. Through my writing, I began to develop an interest in psychology. I wanted to understand the way people think so that I could create complex and realistic characters for my books. I also wanted to better understand myself and the people around me, hopefully enabling me to be a better and more supportive friend. My dream is to become a writer. While my main focus is fiction, I would also like to use my writing to address the social issues around me. I believe majoring in psychology will help me achieve both of these goals. I didn’t grow up with a public education, and this gave me the freedom to become who I am. Now that I’m in college, I want to continue to learn and grow. My parents are wonderful and encourage me to pursue my dreams, but they are not paying any of my tuition. (Which I totally understand—I do have four other siblings, after all. They can’t pay for everything!) While I plan to work over the summer and raise as much as I can, tuition is expensive. Any support through scholarships is deeply appreciated!

One afternoon, I was spending time with a friend, and we stopped in at a coffee shop. Another girl came in after us, and she complimented my friend’s outfit. (She was wearing a really cute light blue dress.) I could see her light up, and she returned the compliment by saying how much she loved the other girl’s hair. So much pressure is put on women in our society to achieve a certain body image, and where sadly some women tear each other down based on appearances, it was refreshing to witness that example of encouragement and support. Since then, I have done my best to compliment my friends, and not only on things like clothing. For example, I have a friend who is extremely motivated academically. She’s always at class, studies relentlessly, and applies for things long before the deadline. She’s been a huge encouragement to me, and I’ve let her know that, hopefully encouraging her as well. In a world where negativity is common, sometimes all it takes to put a smile on someone’s face is to say, “Hey, I love your dress.” Being kind and encouraging to others may require you to step out of your comfort zone a little, but the result is worth it! And often, it can be just as rewarding to you as to the person you are encouraging.

This fall, I had a biology lab class at 7:30am every Monday morning. It was a thirty-minute drive to college, but I usually left around 6:30am to get there, since I wanted to give myself a little extra time. But this morning, I don’t remember what time I left. I just remember crying. I almost never cry, but this particular morning I was crying so hard I could barely see the road. The day before, one of my best friends told me she wanted to kill herself. I knew she’d been struggling with depression and suicidal thoughts, but this time it was worse. When I saw her at church, she showed me where she’d cut her wrists. I was terrified for her. I’ve struggled with depression myself so I understood at least to a degree what she was going through. Despite having a loving and supportive family, I’ve been forced to fight obsessive thoughts, insomnia, and the feeling that in the end, nothing I do really matters. For her, it was even harder. She had come out as bisexual, causing friction with her more traditional parents. Since she was a minor and unable to move out, she saw no way to escape the worthlessness she felt, or the sense that she disappointed her family. You don’t have to figure everything out right now, I thought. You just have to live. Through my time with her and with many of my other friends, I’ve come to realize just how important good mental health is—and how often it is lacking. Gen Z, my generation, is known for their nihilism. We make jokes about dying and about how everything is meaningless. Especially in the slightly emo crowd I seem to always end up in, mental health is a huge issue. Often, the people who joke the most about wanting to die, well…they aren’t really joking. The effects of COVID-19 have only made the problem worse. I don’t think I realized how much the pandemic affected me until one day, I was just sitting thinking about it, and I broke down in tears. Not only have I lost people I know to this virus—the most and important irreplaceable loss—I have lost countless experiences I will never get back. I lost my graduation party, lost my in-person college classes, lost contact with friends and family, lost all of the trips I had planned. When my grandfather passed away this year, I wasn’t able to travel to California to be with family, and his funeral service had to be put off for months. I know I haven’t suffered the worst, either. I imagine that even for people with excellent mental health, these last two years have been hard. No wonder the suicide rate has spiked. People have lost loved ones and their income. Political and social unrest has been the highest I can remember in my lifetime. Mental health has never been more important than it is now. When I got out of my lab class that Monday morning, I had a text from my friend. I don’t even remember what it said, but I just remember being so happy that she was alive. She still is alive. She still struggles, but she is fighting, and I hope, recovering. Her family is trying their best to understand her, and I hope my friendship has made a positive impact on her life. She found support. The more I think about my generation and consider my own future, the more I realize—that is my goal. For everyone. That is how we are going to defeat depression; by supporting each other. I want to be the person my friends can come to when they feel hopeless. I want to be someone they can talk to, someone who will take them seriously and love them, no matter what. I may pursue a career in counseling, but even if I don’t, I want to know how to be the best friend possible. Together, we can promote good mental health. We can create a world where people are accepted and loved. Gen Z, we can change our legacy.