When I was younger, all I ever wanted to be was a mermaid. After watching 'The Little Mermaid' a dozen times, my mom signed me up for the local swim team. I was five years old. When I learned how to hold my breath underwater, I was hooked. For eleven years, I kept swimming. When I got to high school, I joined the varsity team. I woke up at 5 AM every morning in the summer to coach a group of six-year-olds in not drowning for two years. I spent countless weekends sitting on a humid pool deck cheering on my teammates. I loved it enough to fight through every injury, every hard practice, and all the pain that I felt that I couldn't, wouldn't, name. I was diagnosed with Ehlers-Danlos Syndrome a few weeks shy of my 16th birthday. EDS, a connective tissue disorder, affects all of my joints, organs, and even my blood vessels. In the nearly two years since my initial diagnosis, my doctors have diagnosed me with comorbidities like Reynauds, Postural Orthostatic Tachycardia Syndrome, tinnitus - the list goes on and on and on. The most devastating aspect of these repeated diagnoses was quitting swimming. Not only was I losing a sport that I loved, but I was also losing a huge part of my life. Previously, three or four hours of every day were spent in the pool, working out, or at meets. Now, those hours were free for me to wallow in my grief. So, I did. But, after a few months, I realized that I would never move forward like that. If I ever wanted to be happy, I couldn't just focus on the girl I used to be. I had to focus on who I could be. I started to work towards that woman - writing, reading, learning new languages, and delving into my plans for the future. From the research I did during this time, I learned about Disabled Student Unions. I immediately started to work on one for my high school. It's a combination of motivations: I want to educate able-bodied people, and I want to help other disabled people. I realized on my first diagnosis anniversary that I wanted to go into civil rights law. Specifically, disability law. Just like with my high school's DSU, I want to fight for other people like me. My goals for the future are broad. I've learned to not make plans too closely because two years ago, I wanted to swim in college. But, I know this: if I can help one person, if I can make one life marginally better, that's enough for me. When I'm asked how my conditions have changed my life, I never know how to answer. They've taken so much away from me and forced me to improve myself. They've isolated me and given me an amazing community. They've made me weaker and infinitely stronger.

When I was younger, all I ever wanted to be was a mermaid. After watching 'The Little Mermaid' a dozen times, my mom signed me up for the local swim team. I was five years old. When I learned how to hold my breath underwater, I was hooked. For eleven years, I kept swimming. When I got to high school, I joined the varsity team. I woke up at 5 AM every morning in the summer to coach a group of six-year-olds in not drowning for two years. I spent countless weekends sitting on a humid pool deck cheering on my teammates. I loved it enough to fight through every injury, every hard practice, and all the pain that I felt that I couldn't, wouldn't, name. I was diagnosed with Ehlers-Danlos Syndrome a few weeks shy of my 16th birthday. EDS, a connective tissue disorder, affects all of my joints, organs, and even my blood vessels. In the nearly two years since my initial diagnosis, my doctors have diagnosed me with comorbidities like Reynauds, Postural Orthostatic Tachycardia Syndrome, tinnitus - the list goes on and on and on. The most devastating aspect of these repeated diagnoses was quitting swimming. Not only was I losing a sport that I loved, but I was also losing a huge part of my life. Previously, three or four hours of every day were spent in the pool, working out, or at meets. Now, those hours were free for me to wallow in my grief. So, I did. But, after a few months, I realized that I would never move forward like that. If I ever wanted to be happy, I couldn't just focus on the girl I used to be. I had to focus on who I could be. I started to work towards that woman - writing, reading, learning new languages, and delving into my plans for the future. From the research I did during this time, I learned about Disabled Student Unions. I immediately started to work on one for my high school. It's a combination of motivations: I want to educate able-bodied people, and I want to help other disabled people. I realized on my first diagnosis anniversary that I wanted to go into civil rights law. Specifically, disability law. Just like with my high school's DSU, I want to fight for other people like me. My goals for the future are broad. I've learned to not make plans too closely because two years ago, I wanted to swim in college. But, I know this: if I can help one person, if I can make one life marginally better, that's enough for me. When I'm asked how my conditions have changed my life, I never know how to answer. They've taken so much away from me and forced me to improve myself. They've isolated me and given me an amazing community. They've made me weaker and infinitely stronger.

When I was younger, I loved watching coming-of-age movies. 'The Breakfast Club.' 'Dirty Dancing.' 'Say Anything.' '16 Candles.' Pretty much anything with Molly Ringwald. If you can name it, I've probably watched it a dozen times. I spent years wishing and waiting eagerly for my special teenage years when I would always be having fun at dances and sleepovers and football games. I started this painting a few months before I turned 16. At that point, it always felt like I was just short of the perfect coming-of-age movie story - not old enough to drive down the highway with my sunroof open, go to prom with my first love, or score the winning goal in a playoff game. This painting reflects that feeling of being too young to do anything, but old enough to want to. Being fifteen is a weird, magical age when you want to figure out exactly who you are before you know enough about the world to do so. It's the age of in-betweens. Titled 'Untitled,' it's oil paint on an 8x10" canvas with cutouts from recipe magazines pasted on. Of my portfolio, I'm picking this painting because of how vividly I felt while making it. But, I also love the color palette. It's a nostalgic mix of warm oranges and purples. I was inspired by sunsets, which mirrored my feeling of waiting. Sunsets are stuck between the bright day of childhood and the adulthood of night. The color palette of this painting also includes a stylistic aspect, which is color-coded facial features. The forehead is blue; cheeks rosy; jaw ochre. I took inspiration from the emotions I associate with each portion of the face (intelligence in the mind; love in blushing cheeks; joy in bright smiles). This pattern has become a part of my style in the two years since I made this painting. Another important aspect of 'Untitled' is the collage. To grasp onto that fifteen-year-old confusion, I wanted to actually mix the media. I took pieces from cooking magazines of cakes and glued them to the canvas. I wanted the painting to feel like a sad birthday party, which always needs cake and candles. When I was painting this, I'd never had a birthday party, and I'd only ever seen them in the movies that had made me so envious in the first place. It felt perfectly bittersweet, pun not intended. I love this painting, and I'm so proud of it. My teenage years have not been easy, but painting has helped me process my emotions and put them somewhere other than my swollen heart. Even though I've developed more technical skills in the past two years, 'Untitled' will always have a special place in my sentimental, sunset, coming-of-age movie heart.