I want to be good. I knew, from a very long time ago, that the world was cruel. It did not care for its environment the same way I did, and most of the hardest battles I've had to face were with humanity. Protecting the world, nature, the animals, and myself, has been a struggle when we live in a world where our democracy separates us and governmental leaders don't see the issue of climate change as real. As an environmental lawyer, I want to advocate for this world that I cherish. My neighbourhood was my safe haven. I loved the people around me who took care of one another, helped each other out; I miss the neighbourhood I grew up in, when we were all friends. Then I realized that humans can be enemies, against each other, against nature, against anything. As much as I would like to stop myself from learning too much, It does not bother me at all. I am rather content studying Writing with a double minor in Environmental studies and philosophy. I have ideas that can impact the world; I have stories I want to write about -- Aimee Nezhukumatathil became my inspiration after her book "World of Wonders." I want to pitch ideas for a better future. Advocate for change and bring awareness for situations where others may not see fault, but there is plenty fault to feel. It was the Summer of 2023, when I began my environmental pursuit. Nothing, other than writing, has grabbed my attention. But when I came across a tiktok video, showing how the arctic was slowly melting away, and Biden's Oil project plan was one of the most devastating news to hear. I've always been drawn to animals. I couldn't even kill a spider, and most people are afraid of those, but they're part of the beauty of life, and we, just coexist with it. My passion for my major and minor comes from a place of love. I loved the world I knew when I was growing up. I loved living in ignorance, until it found me one Summer morning, with tears in my eyes, I knew something needed to happen. I was so fortunate to see that there were activists, leaders and groups, students and staff, advocating for the protection of the earth. I wondered how long it took them to get there. Their bravery, their courage. It's hard to stand up for something you believe in, when people deny that your belief is true. How much more evidence of the world dying do we have to show the people before they recognize that these actions are man-made. We are the destruction of this life that holds us, is that not sad? As someone who wants to go into environmental law, I want to preach what I say now, and not just say, but do. Continuing my research on how to be environmentally friendly, and reaching out to different groups of leaders to get their insights, I hope to build something off their expertise. I want to do this because I care; I want to do this so that my sister's see a real life Panda years from now. Stop the extinction; Stop the deforestation; Stop the wildflowers, and let's put an end to the carbon in the air. I want to see the world become brighter, cleaner, healthier, because I love her so much. She gave me so much to care about, and in return, I want the Earth to know that I also, care about it

Sometimes I laid in bed wondering if I was ever going to be complete. Would I ever be as successful as those individuals who came from a two parent family; from a loving, middle-classed, upper-class, happy family. I did everything a good kid was supposed to do. I went to school, was polite, asked for help, participated in extracurricular activities, volunteered, I did it all. I tried amounting myself to someone who could stand out, someone who wouldn't be seen as poor, or coming from a single-parent household. I never had emotional support. I had academic support. I learned that I needed to prove myself, to be something better than my mother, just so I could have her attention. We had nothing. My Father died, and my mother worked three factory jobs, tired, coming home from work, making us food, and then going to bed. Sometimes, I had to wake her up in the middle of the night, just to have my homework signed, or a permission slip signed, because otherwise, when I woke up, she wouldn't be there. I inculcated into myself from a young age that I needed to make her proud. I needed to use my energy into getting a good education, to go to high school, to go to college. It wasn't enough. I became an academic burnout. I had no time for friends. The only people I really had were my siblings. I picked up my little sister's from school, made them food when they got home, and then helped them with homework. It would be 6pm when I finally got the chance to work on my own homework. Even then, I didn't have time for myself. My youngest sister was only 4. She needed more attention, she needed someone to play with her. I can still hear the constant crying in my ear, and then putting her to sleep because my mom was too tired to put her to bed. I was a mother to my sister's. Sometimes I did not mind it. I missed out on so many opportunities to hang out with friends. The one time I selfishly thought of myself, and hung out with friends. I remember getting a call from my mother, asking me where I was because my littlest sister was crying, since I wasn't there. I wanted to ask, "Why did she want me? You're the mother. I'm not her mother." I wanted to have fun. I wanted to be normal. I was so deprived of joy, but I never thought I deserved it. I was too young for all of this, but I knew my mom was trying. I wasn't paying the bills. I wasn't the one who provided the food or clothes. I had nothing. Emotionally and mentally, maybe even physically, I had nothing. I'm now 20. I'm in college and still struggle financially for tuition, but my mom and I make ends meet. I have a job, I'm going to pick up another one. I'll work two jobs on campus. I want to help my mom more than I want to help myself. Looking back on it now, I knew she had no other choice. I became a mother to my sister's, so she could give us the things we needed, the things we wanted. My mentally was shaped at a young age, and now, all I want to do is help my mother. My best friend. My number 1 supporter always.

My mother's emotional state silenced my roaring inner monologue. I concealed every word, every thought, everything I wanted to tell her, to others, inside my journals. Ink, pencil, worn and torn, you could call me a poet, a real writer. Major depressive disorder stripped me of the ability to be be human, and turned me into this puppet like being, being controlled by judgement, fear, disappointment, sadness. These rulers of my life made me make fun of myself; they accused of me of being a terrible person, and told me everyday that everything was my fault. It was my fault that my relationship with my mother was like this. How she could talk over me and about me, and I, the silenced fool, remain silent as she pours all her trauma on me. I could never speak back. My throat ached at the thought of yelling at her, so I yelled at myself, and I paid it ten times fold. Over and over, I relived the same narrative. I couldn't write anymore. I felt like there was a disease in my brain, and no medicine would ever take it away. It felt like a growing tumor, enlarging, until it hit me with a fatal blow. I wanted to be normal. For once, I wanted to have a good relationship with my mom. I wanted to be present with my friends, I wanted to be a good sister. "You're not good enough." I knew that. "You're not smart enough." My brother is smarter. "Your mom will never love you." Don't say that to me. I wanted to be loved. God seemed to fail me, he was never good at being there for me like a Father should. I didn't have anything to believe in, except the pills I was forced to take to get better. If I continue to take these, will my mom love me? Did she ever love me. My head hurts. It was always hurting when I was 15. It remained that way until now. There was nothing I wanted to do. No aspirations, no future plans. I just wanted to be dead for the longest time. I wanted my mother's approval. I wanted to apologize to the people I hurt because I was hurting. I wanted to right my wrongs, but I thought I didn't have time. There was no light at the end of the tunnel, and to me, at that time, that was fine. But something changed. I went to college. I went in as a writing major. I met my professors and I found new friends. My mom finally got treated for her BPD. Something switched, something changed. I changed my major 7 times. I'm still a writing major, but I added a double minor. I was doing FAFSA, I have on-campus jobs. I am apart of 7 clubs. I found my niche. Writing about my feelings is different now. I'm not drowning anymore, I can finally see the pages, I can finally see the words. My mom apologized to me. Maybe that was it. For the longest time, I was wounded by the person I needed the most. My mother. I was still depressed. It took me a long time to fully believe I had forgiven her. I got off my medications a few months ago. She's still on them. To the person reading this, it was never your fault. It's not your fault for being yourself, you are not what you went through. I always thought that my mother's opinion of me, defined me. I let her consume me for my entire life, until I reached the point of a severe despair point. You are not who they think you are. You are not a villain, you are not a burden, you are not a problem. Even with her BPD, apart of me knew that she was struggling with something. I knew that her reactions to my siblings and I, wasn't natural. The day she finally realized that, my heart was finally at rest. I thought that struggling with depression was a major flaw. I thought it was a sickness, something to be ashamed of. But it's not. It's not you. You are not depression. Depression isn't you. If you, or someone you love, is struggling, it's ok to get help together. In the strangest way, I wasn't alone in getting help, and I got help together with the person I love most.

Kalia D. Davis has inspired me to continue to give back to my community, try out new extracurricular actives, and to live life to the fullest. I have been inspired by the embodiment of kindness, ambition, and motivational individual Kalia D. Davis was, and continues to be in the lives of the people she has impacted. The loss of a loved one is difficult. As someone who has lost their older sister, I understand what it means to be inspired by someone who is no longer here. Just like Kalia D. Davis, my older sister was my guiding light. She loved knowledge, and loved attending school. Her greatest strength was in biology. She wanted to become a doctor. Sports were never her strong suit, but she still tried, she always struggled. Going above and beyond, my sister wanted to get into a good high school, and then into a good college. The more she did, she wrote it down, to then build her resume. She was always prepared, strong, admirable, and resilient, just as Kalia D. Davis. Finding this scholarship, made me take a second to sit and think about my sister again, because Kalia's life, her honorable legacy, reminds me of my sister. I am always being asked "What are you going to do as a writing major?" Sometimes I ask myself the same thing. Double minoring in Philosophy and Environmental Studies, I want to help the world. Being active in the environmental community as granted me the opportunity to get involved in volunteer work. I am able to contribute to my community and find out what we're struggling with, what's going well, is there anything we can improve on? etc. I want to be an advocate for nature. I want to protect the world we live on so that we can continue to support one another. So that tomorrow, you hear birds sing by your window; so that tomorrow, the skies won't look so polluted; so that tomorrow, climate change will be a relevant topic of conversation to our governmental leaders. So that tomorrow, we continue to strive in our education without harmful diseases and poor air quality. So that we can play sports outside and live together with our friends, family, our loved ones. So that, we get one more day of reassurance that the world we live in won't disappear over night. I want to protect the world Kalia D. Davis once lived in. I want to preserve her legacy, her life, her drive. This scholarship will help me pursue my realities. I want to be an Environmental lawyer, work with policy and sustainable management. I want to work under the government. I want to get to the source. Because only then, I can continue to protect the world I know Kalia loved.

I once believed that the world we lived on, would always be here, just as the happy little life I lived growing up. But now I see foggy skies, fires happening around the world, environmental activists and scientists being discarded, attacked, misheard on the issues of climate change, biodiversity loss, deforestation etc. Eco-anxiety has affected not just me, but some of the people around me. I started to worry about the environment when flowers started growing in the arctic; when carbon emissions continued to increase, and when climate change made the days grow hotter, making the air quality so poor that we'd have to stay indoors. I think, what got to me most, were the two last white rhinos, both females, that went extinct just recently. My friends, scientists, professors, myself, we are anxious about the future. What will happen to the earth? What animals will be left? What will be left of the earth? Sometimes I watch the Lorax and think that the emptiness of what the Onceler did, is the end for us too. I don't want it to end that way. I am currently attending Loyola University of Maryland. I am a Writing major with a double minor in philosophy and environmental studies. There are so many different niches within environmental work that I am still considering to pursue. Environmental law, policy, sustainability management, etc. I want to be in the room where it happens. I want to be around people who are working towards regulating our laws, our policies, our environmental recognition. I want to use my passion, my education, my goals and interests and apply them into a field work that support my principles and moral values. I want to make people less anxious about the state of our environment. I want to lessen the burden of wondering when it will all get better. As someone who is around all of this, I want to be an advocate for the environment, for what others believe in. I want to speak for the environment who does not have a say in the way it's being used. And mostly, I want to provide hope for everyone who is worried. I am no longer that young girl who thought the world was fine. I've grown. I see a problem, and I want to fix it for the people around me, and for myself.

Who even decides that their last dying wish is to go to a Shawn Mendes concert? When I was 15, I struggled with severe depression. Prior to my depression worsening, my family always knew about the love I had for Shawn Mendes as an artist. I knew about him when I was in the 6th grade, and from there, and even now, he is still such a major part of my life. I remember telling my mom that Shawn Mendes was going on tour, and that I really wanted to go. He was going on his Shawn Mendes tour, for the Shawn Mendes album he released in May of 2018. I loved all his songs on that album, I resonated a lot with In My Blood, and the music video described my crippling anxiety so well, I just wanted to hear it in real life. However, at the time, my family and I were struggling financially, so going to his concert was out of the question. A few months later, I would be diagnosed with anxiety and severe depression. The news wasn't easy on my mom. She cried and I watched as the doctors found that there was something wrong with me. I struggled to live after that. The trajectories of my life that made me feel that way, all felt like it was coming back to me. I called my mom almost everyday to pick me up from school, I went to the guidance counsellor and they told me it was my fault, I tried to rely on friends, but they all turned against me. Everything that I knew and loved, felt like it was slipping through my fingers. I self harmed and planned on ending my life. I was so close to ending it all. But my Mom couldn't afford to lose me. She couldn't bare with the fact that I was struggling. After coming back from the hospital, my family gathered around me. I got a little annoyed because I thought it was one of those "please get help talks," to ease me into getting admitted to psychiatric help. However, I was wrong. My mom handed me an envelope. I was too tired, my eyes were blue and black from the little sleep I had, my mind was restless, and everything inside me just wanted to go back to bed, but they insisted that I open it. So I did. They were Shawn Mendes tickets. I'm not sure what expression I made, but I think I smiled, and my mom cried. She hugged me, and so did my siblings. I can tell you I didn't feel as much joy as I was expecting, but I wanted to die a little less. In August of 2019, I saw Shawn Mendes perform in DC. Sometimes, it doesn't seem real to me. The big line waiting to get in. The rows of seats, all full of people, a sold out stadium. Dim lighting, the rose, the piano, the sound effects. His entrance, his greetings, his goodbye. My brother sat to the left of me, sitting the entire time while I sang my little voice out. In that moment, I forgot that I struggled, just for a bit, I felt like a normal teenage girl, doing teenage things. And then, his final song, In My Blood. I remember the warm golden lights. The flashing, the sprinkles coming out of stage, the confetti being thrown. There was so much light, I felt warm. And in the middle of it all, there was Shawn Mendes. My light.

Why do we need to understand why we are human? We are made up of organisms and bred into a world where we don't exist for ourselves but for others. Every passing day, the thought would never occur to a normal person trying to get by a 9-5 job. Because to be human, is to understand the labor, pain, and everyday dedication to a mechanical life, and if fortunate, maybe something beautiful will come out of your existence. I do not know any other person who would dwell on their existence other than, Bungo Stray Dogs characters, Nakahara Chuuya and Osamu Dazai. One struggles to believe he's human, while the other struggles to be human, and despite this difference, they understand each other better than anyone else because they complement each other's differences, making the other understand their humanity better. Chuuya believes that he is made up of strings weaving him together and that the spirit of Arahabaki is inside of him, taking over whatever humanity Chuuya ever had left. When Arahabki took over his body, the God made a personality of its own, engulfing Chuuya's memories and corrupting his mind with an empty slate; with no beginning. In the novel Storm Bringer, The Flags collect a singular photo of Chuuya as a child, of Chuuya in his human years -- years before God took over his body. This singular photo had become special to Chuuya, making him believe that he was more than just a God and that he had a form, a beginning, and was just as human as everyone present to him. Because all Chuuya ever wanted was to be seen as human, he protects his fears and desires to be human from Dazai, since many refer to him as inhuman. In a fanfic I read, A Peer Behind The Mask, Dazai acknowledged how Chuuya was more human than he gave himself credit for, but of course, Dazai being the person he is, would never tell Chuuya just how much of a human he had already been; more than Dazai could ever be. Which leads to admiration on Dazai's part. Because Chuuya could feel and say things he wanted to, because he was loyal and fair, and protected what he needed to protect, it was unfair; Dazai wanted to do that too, or, at least try to understand why these things came to be. Why did we do these things for other people? What compels a human to sacrifice themselves for others? The author Osamu Dazai had views such as these, where he did not understand his actions and then became tired of repeating the same emotions, just to please others, when he was tired himself. In the side story, Dead Apple, Chuuya and Dazai have a moment where Dazai is indifferent to a situation, thinking Chuuya would just follow along with him, but Chuuya snapped. "Well, that was mean of you. I'm human too, you know?" Dazai said. "Like anyone believes that," Chuuya replies. This scene was crucial for me because, as someone who tries to be human, having someone invalidate that reach is unfair, but then again, Chuuya came from a clear stance. Both partners struggle to understand the other, but they have the same struggle with their humanity. And despite this, they still continue to be each other's twin flame, reading each other's mind as though they were reading a familiar book, without the pages open.

How could I possibly limit every emotion into singular sentences and capture the pain of it all through snippets, and paragraphs, explaining to you — the audience — the insufferable, agonizing, and dehumanizing pain known to man? My sister, my best friend, my guiding light, and my entire life, to the beautiful human who found beauty within me, I love you. To my sister who only wanted to be a doctor and who could tell you the name of any song because she listened to it all, and when asked, she was the type of person to say "I listen to anything." And years later, I find myself saying the same. My older sister is dead. This sentence is rather simple, but the poets would tell you that it can be written into beautifully crafted stanzas and sonnets, to appeal to the emotion of the readers, because writing about something sad will earn you those extra points on essays. Writing a whole childhood worth of trauma can earn you pity points so you could carry on and get that A. Because If I write that my sister suffered from severe depression and ended up taking her life, surely I would be like every other poet, writer, and author, who writes about the death of a loved one. It was the only way I knew how to cope. Feb 28th 2017. My sister decided that this was the day that her life would finally end. I was still getting over the death of my Father, who died in a car accident 7 years before this. On this day, I would have to mourn the death of the two very people I loved more than the entire universe itself, and if I could spend one more second with each of them, I would gladly rip my heart out of my chest and become a ruined soul. A wretched soul still wondering why living couldn't be enough for her older sister. I couldn't think of anything academic because I was caught between accepting and understanding, battling and trying. I could not focus because I lost someone who meant everything and then disappeared from my life. How could a 13-year-old possibly go to school and be fine with that? How does one even begin to process the despair and turmoil it takes to get your life on track again? But life did continue on, for me, and for everyone. In 8th grade, I became an advocate for mental health, writing papers, doing research, and focusing projects on bringing awareness. I worked with my school counselors on ways to improve the system and reached out to many of my friends that it was ok to get help. In high school, I partnered up with my teacher to create an art therapy program for our school. Many of my peers attended, even the ones who seemed 'strong.' In this project, I saw my sister; In everything, I will always see my sister. To the person reading this who has lost a sibling to suicide, my advice is this; There will be many days when you wish they would just come back, and your heart might sting at the fact that they are no longer here. You may never understand why it happened and no possible answer could ever answer your pondering question, but remember this: Grief is patience, acceptance is understanding, and forgiveness is healing. Your heart will heal again and life will continue, but sometimes the feeling will always be there, and that is okay. You WILL be okay again.

In elementary school, I always saw people in orange suits surrounded by policemen cleaning up trash on the sidewalks. I never understood what they were doing, but I smiled because I knew it was good. Years later, I would come to understand that those people were criminals. I would also come to understand that they were doing justice for the community, they were taking care of the earth. Today I am in college and I am a part of the community service team, picking up trash, planting flowers, sending cards to the elderly, and tutoring kids in a less fortunate neighborhood. Volunteering has opened my eyes to the type of community I want to live in, and the type I want others to live in. The opportunity to meet new people and explore their interests and aspirations in life is a feeling that can not be matched. Every day, I strive to advocate for lesser communities and help with all that I am and can do. I never knew how much I enjoyed the concept of volunteering until I saw my Father working with the church on every holiday. "There is happiness in your heart when you decide to do something good for others," he would say, with the sincerest smile he's ever worn. I loved that. I loved my Father more than anything and whatever he enjoyed, I did too. When I was six, I joined the church and volunteered every holiday. I was young but I still remember the many lives I impacted with such a simple action, that meant something to me, but a lot to them. Packing lunches, packing gifts, and packing alongside a group of people whose interests aligned with mine became my solace, it became home. I found a community of people who I could connect with and who became part of my family outside of blood. I believe volunteering brings communities closer and brings beautiful hearts together to tell their stories. When my Father died, I didn't know what any of that was for a while. I discarded the parts of myself that cared for others so intimately. There was a point where I lost my spark for helping others because I always thought I would have my father by my side, helping me wherever I went. Every year, I received emails and messages from the places I used to help, wondering where I went. I never could reply. I never had the heart to volunteer again because I only ever did enjoy it when my Father was around. When I entered college, volunteer opportunities were presented to me. Everyone trying to get upcoming students to join clubs, activities, and community service. It did not necessarily interest me, but then It came back to me. My friends are loving people, and in that way, I saw parts of my Father's personality within them. The passion, the smiles, and the love they gave towards making better communities and helping others were grand. I soon realized I wanted to feel that again, not because of them or my Father, but because those feelings were mine, and genuine. When I found kindness within myself, I knew that helping others was a goal of mine that I wanted to achieve and do on my own accord. My Father was right. There is happiness in my heart now that I dedicate my time to helping other people. It is a beautiful thing, isn't it?

1989 never goes out of style. It is my most listened-to album and one that I love to listen to while I am trying to release inner heartbreak in a fun and non-toxic way. Out of the Woods has a special place in my heart. Wonderland and Out of the Woods have a bridge that makes you want to sing and drown the lyrics through your mind. I love the repetition in her songs, especially in Out of the Woods when she asks two questions repeatedly: "Are we out of the woods yet?" and "Are we in the clear?" These two questions have a greater purpose to the song, evoking a feeling of wanting clarity and thinking for yourself. I was never content. Somewhere along the way, I just found myself getting left behind because being the one who leaves, leaves a stain on someone else. I did not want to be the pain in someone else's memories. However, staying sometimes felt just as suffocating as being left. Maybe part of me wanted to give something of myself in a relationship I knew I needed to leave. Somehow, in the end, I was always set free, but I never felt free. After hearing Out of the Woods and looking into the meaning of the lyrics, I understood everything clearly. Relationships have their moments of happiness, peace, and resilience. Sometimes something can be so good and, in that moment, you can enjoy everything for what it is. The beginning is always the hardest. You have so many memories of the start and how it all began, all the adrenaline rushing into your veins and coursing throughout your mind. How could you possibly think of anything more perfect than this? The start is where feelings blossomed, feelings connected, and two souls begin to form as one; having someone who will know you better than you know yourself, all of that, it hurts to leave. It's even scarier when the relationship is with a person you've known for a lifetime. My last relationship was complicated -- then again, whose relationship isn't? When I was with this person, I felt safe. All of those happy emotions lasted but only for so long and then I became afraid to leave what I had known. He was my friend, my best friend. I cherished our friendship more than the actual relationship, but I knew that if I left something that felt like home, I would never get it back. So I stayed. Many times, I think he knew that I had no love for him romantically, but he avoided every sign. Nothing felt real outside of where I was. I knew him like I knew the back of my hand and I created memories with him that, to this day, I still cherish. When Taylor Swift said "I walked out, I said "I'm setting you free" But the monsters turned out to be just trees. When the sun came up you were looking at me," I realized that I was the one who wanted freedom from something that began to suffocate not only me but him too. I knew that If I cared about him enough to love him the way I did, the only right thing for me to do was to set him free. And that freedom would then become my freedom because as long as he was free, I didn't need anything more than that. I set him free. We both needed to be free and out of the woods.

I grew up in New Jersey when my Papa and Mama cared for me and my 3 siblings. Times were simpler when my Papa was around because he was the joy of the family. He and my Mama provided for the house equally, they both worked hard for each other and us. When I was six, my Father died. My Mother worked three jobs just to put a roof, food, and clothes over our head and body. Not long after my Father, my oldest sister died, and life lost everything it could have ever meant for me, and us. My Mother became absent and I grew co-dependent on my older brother, who became like a parental figure to me during my middle school years. I relied on him to teach me right from wrong, the ins and outs of life, and how to make friends because I had forgotten how to. I never needed anything else from anyone because I had everything. My brother became the most important person to me. He could not teach me everything that happened to a girl growing up, but somehow, I kind of figured it out with the help of my friend's mother. My Mother was not absent because she wanted to be, and at the time, growing up trying to understand that was difficult. When my Mother met someone and settled down a bit, she became more present. I was already in high school when that change happened. My brother was off to college and I could no longer rely on him, so I fended for myself most times. Sometimes, whenever I would come back from school with home-cooked meals, attention and questions asking about my day, I genuinely did not understand what was happening. There was change and I could not adapt to it immediately. I think, growing up not knowing what a parental figure was, my college experience is not so bad. I grew to be dependent on my brother at one point, but when he could no longer be there, I had myself. Sometimes I feel like I should rely more on family, and although I understand why my Mother could not be there, I grew up to a point where I understood how to survive on my own. Some things happen to us as a child that brings out our most creative self. I have always known that being a writer was something that I wanted to pursue. I wrote about my experiences and turned them into beautiful poems, where my mind could find peace on paper. I drowned myself in books and never wanted to take my head out of them because it was scary to face reality. The changes that happened in my life shaped my perspective on humans and relationships. My life does not depend on anyone and my freedom is within the palms and fingertips of my fingers. I want to major in English and Writing, and minor in theater. These expressive outlets will allow me to gain the attention that, sometimes, I crave. One day, I want to be the reason why someone finds happiness to be dependent within themself; one day, I want to dedicate my book to lonely people who survived on their own.

I cut my hair constantly, and change the way I look and dress. Since freshman year, I wanted to forget about the girl with long hair, glasses, and braces. I tried erasing her because she caused me so much pain, but I am also causing that little girl who just wanted to be loved, pain. Sometimes, it comes out of habit. Cutting my hair reminds me that I am now free, allowing me to escape the emotinal trauma that transpired years ago. I knew it was vagely there, the ever daunting feeling of something never feeling right. I could feel it creeping in when my Father and sister died. It was around 6, when my role as a child ended. I never fit in with the other kids and hated myself for always existing. I loved my long hair. Whenever I was anxious, that was the one thing I played with, without any weird looks from anyone else. It was my safe haven until someone that I loved said they liked my long hair. That person destroyed me. I hate my long hair. Growing up, I did not know much about mental health. All I knew was that I became so desolate from everything else, I wanted to die. After experiencing such painful tormoil in freshman year of high school, I learned more about mental health through therapy and my psychiatrist. Everything that I quelled up, just poured itself out in the open; in front of these strangers who I did not know, but later would get to know for the next 4 years. I am a huge advocate for mental health. Not because of the experiences I faced, but because of the importance of an indiviudal's life. The beauty that someone can experience if they just hold on. The world is a cruel place. Beautiful souls are losing their spark on a day to day basis with everything that happens environmentally, pshyically, and emotionally. My purpose for being such an advocate for mental health is because I believe that every life is a precious, loving, and beautiful one. My Father once told me that everyone struggles and sometimes people have bad days, but it does not mean that they are bad people. Whenever I think of that, I think of my sister, who died because of suicide. Her soul will forever be unmatched, and her light still shines on me years later. Their deaths broke me, but also shaped me. My sister was not going to be another story someone had to live through or tell; no one should just be 'another story.' This is why I do volunteer work around me. I want to give back to the community and reach out to as many people as possible. Whenever I do something for someone else, I feel, in a way, like I am saving a life with this act of kindness. I am a writer. I write about mental health in the stories I write and my poems are always about experiences I could not forget. Written langauge is my outlet to the ruins of the world burning at my fingertips. Advocacy and volunteering has been a main focus on my life now that I'm in college. I am doing this for myself. I am doing this for her. And I am doing this for those who want to be seen, found, heard, and loved. Cutting my hair is a reminder that I survived. It's something I do for myself, and the little girl I owe and apology to.

I am a bisexual child in a family where everyone identifies as straight. My mother is a single parent who grew up very religious. When I looked at myself differently for the first time, I remember wanting nothing to do with myself, due to the many prejudices that came with identifying as part of the LGTBQ+ community. Growing up in New Jersey, I remember hearing many slurs and people joking about the idea of being 'gay.' Even though it was a simple joke, I believe it made me want to hide myself and that identity. That decision did not stop me from being an advocate. In 8th grade, I did many projects surrounding the severity of the LGTBQ+ community and how their lives are greatly impacted by the violence around them. Being an advocate brought me closer to the community, it brought me closer to home. When I was a freshman in high school, the environment was different. People dressed the way they wanted to, men wore skirts, girls wore men's clothing, and men wore crop tops, there was just so much I did not understand. I not only transitioned from schools, but I also left states. I lived in Jersey for 15 years of my life and moved to Maryland. Throughout my 15 years in school, I wore uniform, I never saw the day where I wouldn't; I also never saw the day when I came out to my mother. She understood, but her natural response was "you're just confused," "it's just a phase." Over time I believe she has forgotten about my sexual orientation and sometimes I feel trapped. I want to continue to be an advocate for those who feel like their voices are silenced and can not say how they feel about who they love. I want to be a writer. I want to write about these experiences and publish them for a world of people to see. I want to be an actor and act in scenes where it is okay to love someone of the same gender. No one should feel sorry about who they are and who they love. I have learned in my time in school, that most of my friends identify as part of the LGTBQ+ community. I have watched them on their journey of discovering themselves, overcoming obstacles, and loving themselves through the process of it all. They are my inspiration. With my education, I hope to become more open about myself and follow a journey of my own where I advocate as I always have. I want to use this opportunity to make something of the changing world and to allow change to happen. I would love to see my work helping people I support with my whole heart, people like me who have been silenced, and for the people who are more open, I want them to live a life of peace, safety, and happiness.

I came out to my Mother 5 years ago. I think somewhere along the lines her state of confusion turned into denial and delusion, as though it never happened. She said she would never kick me out of the house; that I am her daughter after all. The words were soothing at the time, they were what I needed to hear, but I still believe I was never accepted. When coming out as Bisexual, a lot of people think we’re just confused and that it’s just a ‘phase.’ Years later, my Mother still makes comments about marrying a man and that education is more important than finding a boyfriend. It stings sometimes when I am reminded that I was heard but not listened to. My friends were very supportive during the process. They did not turn away from me or talk to me differently, everything remained the same after I told them. I was able to breathe a little more freely and the world was seemingly different through my eyes. However, the world I thought I would be able to relax a little in, became a scary place that I did not want to be a part of. Troubles came along with coming out on the news, the scariest channel to watch, reports about gay bars being attacked, transgendered people being targeted, and parents of children coming out to them, beating their own child senselessly, alarmed me. I knew that I could be a target but I still attended the pride parades anyway. I knew that someone would look at me the wrong way and there was nothing I would be able to do because 1) I’m a minority and 2) I did not fit the ‘norm’ on who I was allowed to like. I could not talk about my worries to my family. Although my mom was vaguely aware of my sexuality, some part of me felt frightened. Not by my family, but by the world that my family and I lived in. Everyone outside my safe space hated me, people like me. If being straight is an accepted concept, why can’t love be accepted as it is? Somewhere between the lines of society and identity, I found myself wrestling between the two. There were points in time when I hated myself for liking girls, but then I remembered I liked guys as well. I could pass off as straight, I told myself after talking to a really pretty girl who made my cheeks red and my heart flutter. I knew that I was partially normal, but I wanted to fully embrace my ‘straightness’. But then I knew myself better than anyone else. I knew that living a lie would ruin me because it wasn’t who I was. I liked girls. I liked guys. I could not change that. I want to become a writer. I want to write about love. About two guys loving each other, and about two girls. I am in the process of writing a book, some characters have same-sex love interests. I learned that those feelings were ok to embrace. With my writing, I would like for people to be seen. More than anything, I want to be an author who welcomes everyone into the beauty that is writing. There is no limitation to what one can do, and I want to share a piece of my life with others. Discovering who you are can lead to beautiful things in life, and opening your heart to loving, makes all the difference.

My love for literature remains unmatched. I was never a book person until I entered high school and began pouring the minutes and hours I had into reading different texts, only to discover that I love fiction and poetry. I began to write when I was three and never thought of it as much, only assignments I needed to do for school. I picked up writing as a way to journal my thoughts, and then I created those thoughts into words, sentences, paragraphs, and chapters. In college, I am a decided writing major. I have taken 2 writing classes thus far and will be in a class to become a writing tutor next semester. These classes have opened my eyes to the kinds of writing I want to continue exploring. Learning new techniques and strategies to improve the flow of my paragraphs and improve the strength of my sentences has been a journey I wish to follow. Recently, I feel a new passion for theater and music blossoming. I enjoy the idea of acting and expressing my emotions, not just through paper, but vocally as well. There is a passion within me for my voice to be heard. I love evoking different emotions in others and allowing them to also explore the parts of themselves that wish to be discovered. Music has always been a passion of mine. I picked up the flute in 5th grade for an elective and then it became more than an elective. It became my life. My love for these three things brings me joy and fulfillment. I have decided that they are important in my future endeavors. I’ve always wanted to write a book. I’ve always wanted to act to my heart's content. Although I am a theater kid, I love musicals the most. I may not be able to sing, but it is a dream of mine that my work is used for something fun, something that’ll bring a broader group of people joy. In a sense, all these things are connected to each other. My life in the future will be balanced. I believe that these things will present my strengths in a way that nothing else could. I love to be creative and show people different worlds of creativity that will alter their way of thinking and make them fall in love with the craft. Being in college has brought out my inner creativity, and allowed me to meet a group of people who share my same passion. School has been the first step into the bigger blueprint of my life. Taking courses for these classes will further heighten what my 4 years of work will be towards. There will be a new life to explore with the different creations I will create. I am excited to explore more of myself through these things and become the person I know I can become. An author. An actor. A musician. Or maybe all three. At the end of the day, I will be happiest because I am doing what I love.

The sky looks tired every day, in the eyes of someone who can only see black and white. Some days, like today, everything is seemingly fine. "Are you ok?" has become unpleasant, saying that rings in my ear and leaves a hollowness that causes a million thoughts to flood, but the only thing I say is "I'm fine." I hate lying. I hate it but little white lies don't hurt anyone, they can't hurt the people I love. If I become the burden I know I can be, and allow my emotions to pour out, it will not be a river I cry out, but a tsunami. I will break through the walls of emotions I dare not open. I will not open myself to anyone. I am in therapy. Opening up to someone can lead to them telling other people, and then those people tell other people, and the cycle continues, having millions of people take care of you, but there is only one problem. Me. I tend to have these habits where I hide and look down on the person I am because I know that everyone deserves a better friend who isn't me. How could I attend to the needs of others when I am the one who needs help? Because I know that no one is telling me that I am a horrible person, but my mind does a lot of thinking of its own. I hate when I think. There was one point when I believed in God. I thought I could fool my therapist by being religious. At one point I even believed myself and my "belief" that God was almighty and that he of all people could heal me because he was both human and heavenly. I watched sermons and listened to worship music. I took down notes for everything God-related and I even gave up cussing. Attending church was never something I hated for a while because I focused on prayers and praying for other people. I needed those prayers. I still want to be an author. Through the mess and chaos of my own world, I still even wish for just that. Maybe writing is a place where I feel like I belong. It is my solace. It's the one thing that does not bother me because I create fiction, and fiction is not real. I like the idea of having the idea that maybe I could escape the reality I did not choose in order to drown myself with a few lines on paper; the possibility that I could possibly be ok was something I could imagine, only briefly, as long as my desire to write never faded. I still write. I love to write. I think I do it a lot now that I can express myself better. I am in college. I have friends who I believe care for me. I am almost "graduating" therapy, and I think something about being in it for 6 years is quite amazing to me; I guess it's because something in my life was about to last so long, it feels oddly discouraging that it will come to an end soon. Maybe I am in the process of getting better. I think that I will still always find a way to think that my life is horrible when there is not actually anything wrong. But for some reason, I have friends who say I am loved and that they love me. Weird, isn't it? To think that I could be loved for being myself. Maybe I will always remember that 7-year-old girl that resented the world for having taken her father away from her. I will remember the 12-year-old girl who thought that life was not an option anymore. To that little girl who thinks I might forget what we went through together, I will never forget you. I think I will be fine. It still feels funny whenever people say they care about me, but that's life. Whether we accept it or not, there will always be someone out there who thinks about us and wants us to find happiness. I want to be happy.

Lamar was my first friend in high school. He was the first person who talked to me and made me feel welcome. He teased me like a little sister and gave me advice like an older brother. In the beginning of my sophomore year, Lamar would never stop talking about college. His big bright smile radiated everything and everyone around him, it was captivating. How could you not see the future in that smile and those determined eyes? He aimed to be a professional football player, that was what he wanted. “Class of 2022 certified,” Lamar said before and after each game. He was the biggest mommy boy I had ever met. He loved his mother and she loved him. She loved him from the day he first took a breath on this earth, and then when he took his last on February 2, 2022. Lamar died. He’s been gone for a year now and the sky has never looked so different before. Whenever I look up at the sky it’s funny somehow, because Lamar’s favorite color was blue and now he’s basking in the color, creating the beautiful sunrises and sunsets we see today. I loved Lamar. Every year for my birthday he would sing me happy birthday or find a way to sit next to me in class. He was the only person ever who said he was proud of me. He said it every day as a reminder that it was true. I haven’t heard it since. I am in college now and I still think I will always need to hear the sound of his voice, reminding me that every day will be ok. Growing up, I never had those positive affirmations. I was always told to toughen it out because giving into my emotions was a burden to other people, they would evidently be a burden to me. However, Lamar took on those burdens with me. “You have never been a burden to me,” he looked me in the eye and smiled, ruffling my hair as we talked on our way to school. “Your existence has never been a burden to anyone.” I want to be an advocate for people who feel alone. I want the world to know that there are people like Lamar who won’t reject you. There will always be people like Lamar. Everyone deserves to find their Lamar. I want to fight through mental illness and teach myself that I am loved. I want to believe that I can be loved again and reflect my understanding of this concept in the things I do every day. Lamar once told me that “it’s never too late to be happy.” He was always a philosophical person. He was my person. And every day I will miss him, but he taught me the value of knowing that there are beautiful souls out there who won’t reject my lost one. When I look at the sky, I want him to know that I genuinely enjoy being alive and that he taught me the beauty of existence. A year later and I always repeat to myself “certified,” because of the simple thought that keeps him alive through me. I will always live my life as certified for him and also, for me.

Something as insignificant as a rock can be placed in my periphery and I would still tell you its whole life story through entries and entries of writing. The rock has become gray because of the life that is being taken away from it, causing it to age more rapidly than anything human. That rock is significant. Nature is important. I believe that writing about inanimate things and making their importance a little more hyper-aware gives me a chance to bring awareness to the things people are indifferent to or about. Yes, writing is part of this uniqueness of mine, in which I can express multiple feelings at once and convey them in a way that means a lot to the reader. Writing reports and research papers are not my forte, but I can write a story about a simple rock, plant, or maybe even animals going extinct. For me to articulate these in an emotion that one should care for is important to me. I want to protect the world I live in, I want to continue seeing nature prosper and grow. When I was little, I believed I would never see certain animals or experience certain adventures because of extinction and global warming. I did not want these things to be taken from me. So I write. I write about the things that have importance to me. Whether in stories or poetry. Maybe even in an essay that I work on my own time. All these things are unique in the way that my words are doing everything. Even if it is one sentence that stands out or maybe an excerpt of a paragraph, the little things matter. They are true. For some people, expressing themselves verbally is their way of advocacy. For me, it is through writing. Even if it’s a kid's book or something found in the library one day, that would be enough. I just want to continue being around the things I love. I want my siblings to see the many animals other than cats and dogs they normally see. I want something as trivial as rocks and paper to become meaningful to someone. I want to protect nature. I want my writing to do that, and continue to do so for as long as I am able to convey those emotions to the world. Rocks are abandoned. Trees are falling. Animals are dying. They are part of our existence, and we are a part of theirs. In this life, we are one. To overlook these things, would be the same as to overlook the future that we will be missing if we lose these connections to life we have.

My mother always smiled at my writing. When I was in third grade, she marveled at the fact that I mentioned her as my favorite superhero. She lightly laughed at me and said I was supposed to write about a hero. I thought I did. “I did Mommy,” I whined to her the whole afternoon around the dinner table. I was 7. All I ever wrote about was my relationship with my family because they were all I knew and loved. My mother raised us on her own. She wrestled between multiple jobs but still made time for me at the end of the day. “Let me read something you wrote,” she would say, beginning to doze off, yawning between her words, but I could hear her smile. She always smiled. Growing up in an environment where my writing was loved, pushed me above and beyond to continue pursuing this craft. I wrote about my mother all the time. I wrote for her. I thought that was the only way I was able to make her happy because that was the only time I genuinely saw her smile. When I was in 7th grade, my mother listened to music as she cooked dinner for us. I had a habit of doing my homework in the kitchen, never saying a word to her until I finished. This happened many times, and now that I am older, I wish I had seen it then, my mother’s longing to write again. She loved writing. Growing up in Mexico was hard for her because, financially, she never had enough to make ends meet. School became hard to pay for so she dropped out without necessarily wanting to, but she loved writing. She loved everything about school and whenever I said I hated something, she looked at me with sadness in her eyes. I miss it, she conveyed in those tired eyes that grew tired over time. I was never particularly good at anything else besides writing. I wanted to do something that would make her proud of me. For giving me an opportunity she was never able to obtain due to her situation. It became a constant battle trying to maintain perfection in my writing. I constantly compared myself to other writers and there was a point where I hated to write. The thing that was supposed to save my mother, began to tear at me with every word of misery that pen and paper could not define. “You don’t need to do it for me,” she sat me down in the kitchen one day, noticing how I struggled to write a single word on paper. “You never needed to do anything for me. Write just the way you always have been. You don’t need to prove anything to me,” her words were comforting and they became my peace. Sometimes I still dedicate my writings to her. A habit to show her each time I write is something I can not part with, not because it’s something that drowns me, it brings back nostalgia. I’m in college now, majoring in writing. In the future, I want to become an author and publish fictional books, maybe even poetry. Even now when I finish writing this, the sudden urge to show my mother still sticks with me. She made me love writing. She has been my influence since before I knew I would eventually fall in love with it.

I don’t remember when green became my favorite color, but It reminded me of nature, and I love nature. In third grade, I knew that I loved to write and here I am now, pursuing a major in writing. I love books. Reading has allowed me to explore the world of English in all its beauty. I would’ve never learned that words could hold such a weight that in my 19 years of life, I still can not comprehend. In writing, there are millions of words to say I love you or I hate you without actually saying the term. It’s fascinating. I’m in love with the English language. It overwhelms me. I love music. At one point I always thought I would pursue something in it. My guitar and flute are very dear to me, the same way acting is also something that holds a place in my heart. These three things are what makes me want to become a better person and understand the art of something created for us to do. With music, acting, and writing, they provide me an outlet to express myself in different ways. I know that writing contains my whole heart and there is nothing I would choose before it, but everything I do comes back to this. Freedom. With this scholarship, I will pursue the freedom that calls out to me. In writing I can feel every emotion and express it through the art of many words. I am allowed to be myself through writing. Currently, my family and I are going through hardships that might cause a problem in my next semester of school. FAFSA will not be able to help us financially, which means we lose a big chunk of money that would’ve otherwise helped me in my endeavors. This scholarship can help me continue my education. It will allow me to stay in school next semester so that I can continue following what it is I love. I want to follow freedom. I want to graduate. My education means the world to me. Growing up, my Mother always expressed how she wanted us to be better than her. She told me that she would accept anything I did, as long as it made me happy. I always wanted to make her happy. I remember how much she loved my writing, so I decided to write poetry back in middle school. Similar to a lemonade stand, I had a stand outside without charging people. I simply wrote for the joy of writing something for others and possibly contributing to making their day. From that day onwards, I loved seeing their smiles. I loved the feeling that pencil and paper gave me. I was in charge of my own words. Something special was carried in the weight of my pencil and the feel of the paper. That made me hopeful. I imagined myself as an adult, hosting signings for the books I would write. I imagined a peaceful future where I continued to make people smile and become so in love with my books that they had questions beyond the world's understanding. It was then that, for the first time in my life, hope blossomed. I could write about nature, music, and acting. I could write about anything and everything, with a span of possibilities spiraling through my mind. There is creativity and there is freedom found in the life I want to create for myself. If I am considered for this scholarship, I would be forever grateful until the end. Thank you for allowing me to write.