From a young age, I was aware of my attraction to both girls and boys—something my parents had also suspected. However, this awareness came with many restrictions. In response, my parents imposed strict limitations on my social interactions, prohibiting me from spending time alone with friends of any gender unless they were present. Additionally, I was never permitted to attend or host sleepovers, as they sought to maintain control over my environment and interactions. My parents were never outright homophobic to me, but they declared their christian beliefs on that girls need to be with boys. Due to this, I always felt like it was wrong for me to like girls, and I truly hated that I couldn't stop myself from doing it. Until the tragic shooting at Pulse, I had little to no knowledge of the LGBTQ+ community. The day after the event, I watched the local news and learned about the devastating attack. At the time, I was only 13 years old, and while I was still beginning to understand my own identity, I was deeply impacted by what had happened. My parents were horrified that people were being killed simply for who they loved. Although they held traditional views on relationships, they strongly believed that no one should face violence or discrimination for their identity. Later that year, in a show of support, we attended our first Pride Parade at Lake Eola. That experience opened my eyes to the strength and resilience of the LGBTQ+ community, shaping my understanding and appreciation for the importance of acceptance and equality. Attending this parade gave me a profound sense of belonging—it was the first time I truly felt that it was okay for me to like both girls and boys. The experience opened my eyes to a new reality, one where love and identity were celebrated rather than hidden. The atmosphere was vibrant, filled with laughter, bright colors, and countless rainbow flags waving proudly. I even had my face painted that year. Seeing how much happiness the parade brought me, and witnessing the openness of the LGBTQ+ community, my parents gradually began to embrace the idea of me being bisexual. And for the first time in my life, I did too. I started to feel more comfortable in my own skin, no longer feeling the need to suppress a part of myself for the sake of others' approval. I came to understand that my identity was not something to be ashamed of, and that I had the right to love who I love without fear or hesitation. Ultimately, I realized that other people’s opinions did not define me—I am my own person, and I have the freedom to live authentically and unapologetically. Since then, I have grown into a person I can truly be proud of. I have embraced my identity and sexuality without hesitation, dating both men and women without shame or fear. My sense of self is no longer confined by societal expectations—I express myself freely, making choices about how I act, dress, and think based on who I am, rather than how others believe I should be. Attending LGBTQ+ parades and events has become an important part of my journey, each experience reinforcing the sense of belonging and acceptance I first felt years ago. These spaces feel like home—places where authenticity is celebrated, love is limitless, and I am surrounded by a community that understands and embraces me. I will continue to support and uplift this community, ensuring that others can find the same sense of acceptance and pride that I have discovered.

Throughout my childhood, my family maintained a deep bond, placing a great importance on togetherness and treasuring every shared moment that we could. We understood, perhaps more than most, the unpredictability of life and the fragility of time. This perspective was instilled in me at an early age, shaped by a profound loss—when I was just three years old, my older brother of one year, passed away at the age of four. His passing served as a painful yet poignant reminder to my parents, grandparents, and all those around us, that the time we have with one another is finite and should never be taken for granted.At the age of twelve, I was confronted with another difficult reality when my great-grandmother was diagnosed with Alzheimer's disease. In a family that valued unity above all else, we remained by her side, offering our love and support as we watched her mind gradually succumb to the illness. Growing up in this environment, I bore witness to the slow but inevitable progression of her condition, an experience that further reinforced the significance of cherishing our loved ones while we can. One particularly poignant memory stands out from our visits to my great-grandmother’s home. On this occasion, she recognized both my younger sister and me, yet she failed to recognize my older brother. In her confusion, she reacted with fear and hostility, accusing him of being a stranger with ill intentions. Mistaking him for an outsider, she hurled accusations, calling him a "predator" and forcefully demanded that he leave. At the time, my brother was sixteen years old. The severity of the situation left my family with no choice but to shield my brother and my great grandmother from further distress. From that moment on, my parents forbade him from accompanying us inside during visits. Each time we went to see her, he was either left behind at home or instructed to wait in the car, a painful but necessary measure to prevent further turmoil. This experience was deeply painful, not only for my brother but for me as well. I had grown up knowing my great-grandmother as a vibrant and joyful presence—someone who was fully engaged with our family. Watching her gradually deteriorate, both physically and mentally, was heartbreaking. As time passed, she became increasingly withdrawn, and while I had began to understand more about her illness, I found myself withdrawing from her as well. Witnessing her decline filled me with immense sorrow, but beyond that, it instilled a lingering fear—that one day, I too might be forgotten. When I shared these feelings with my family at the age of fifteen, my parents made the decision to lessen our visits. While they continued to see her every three days, my sister and I would visit only once every two weeks. At the time, I believed this was the best choice for my well-being. However, as I have grown older, I have come to recognize a degree of selfishness in that decision, realizing that my fear had distanced me from someone who needed love and support the most. In the year 2017, my great grandmother passed away at the age of 84 years old. She passed away alone, and with no one by her side. As I grow older, I have come to realize that there is so much more to learn—not only about illnesses but about people as well. At seventeen, I enrolled in a psychology class, a decision that sparked a deep and lasting interest within me. That initial curiosity soon evolved into a passion, leading me to pursue further studies in the field. With each course I take, I gain a deeper understanding of the complexities of the human brain—its functions, its vulnerabilities, and the intricate mechanisms that shape our thoughts and behaviors. I have also expanded my knowledge of neurological disorders, including Alzheimer’s disease, allowing me to better comprehend the very illness that once impacted my family so profoundly. Looking back, I understand that witnessing my great-grandmother’s decline was both heartbreaking and terrifying as a child. However, I now recognize that it was also a profound learning experience—one that shaped my perspective on life and the importance of understanding illnesses like Alzheimer’s. This disease affects millions worldwide and deserves greater research, awareness, and compassion. As I continue my journey through college, I am committed to expanding my knowledge and developing the skills needed to make a meaningful impact. My goal is not only to contribute to the field of psychology but also to support my community and help advance the understanding of neurological disorders. I aspire to follow in the footsteps of those who have dedicated their lives to this cause, ensuring that future generations benefit from greater awareness, research, and care.