Personal statement

I have always been a collector. When I was three, my teeter-tottering legs carried me forward to claim a prize that was formative in who I have become: a marble. Many bumbling toddlers might pop this treasure into their mouths. I slipped it into my pocket. I saw a place for the shiny marble. I wanted to convince apathetic adults to love the marble as I did. I collect stories now, in place of marbles, to process and appreciate the world around me.

My early diary entries were matter-of-fact. Writing saw me through my sister’s birth, parents' divorce, multiple moves, and important relationships. Throughout the COVID-19 pandemic, which began during my sixth-grade spring, I kept a journal of facts and my feelings about the world. I put as much of my childish angst on the page as it could handle, so my mind could be empty. I began searching for narratives, and turned the marbles and gems I collected – some from the tooth fairy – into characters based on people I encountered, like a woman in a hot pink scarf, carrying a small dog, who gave me a colorful angel figure at the farmer’s market, or an ear piercer with unsteady hands and dashed dreams of becoming a lawyer. I discovered that writing brought remembrance and freedom. 

As I got older and took on more responsibilities, collections, words, and feelings became clutter in my brain. I held them inside. My anxiety got worse. I was scared to confront the angry animal I felt was chasing me. When the animal would rear its head, I would step away, leaving wherever I was, so people wouldn’t see me freak out. My parents saw me retreating. I told them I needed therapy. I have a hard time opening up, so therapy felt unnatural. I felt the need to downplay my feelings. My therapist suggested I write to help me make sense of initiating hard conversations. I started directing my letters at people. At 15, the notes app on my phone became a vast landscape for feelings, lists, stories, article ideas, and late-night dreams. In it, I learned how to communicate my feelings. Writing helped me make sense of the world and myself. 

In learning to tell my story, I realized the value in writing journalistically. It felt natural. I relish the stories of others and seek to make them accessible. My first piece for the statewide Green Mountain Student Press was on the impact of tech centers and alternative learning for students. I loved talking to the leader of my city’s tech center’s health program – she was so passionate about helping underprivileged students – I wanted to capture this for others to appreciate. 

My favorite articles have been ones that challenge me to talk to people I might personally disagree with. I’m a pretty stubborn person, but writing has made me more receptive to other perspectives. I am now majoring in Journalism at Northwestern University and plan approach the world with this curiosity and freedom. Writing two stories, about how local schools were covering the war in Gaza and the role of politics in schools, led me to my pieces about how other schools taught the election. I like stories that spark debate and leave the reader intrigued by the voices portrayed. In my current role as Co-Editor in Chief of my school paper, one of my writers is working on a story about what her teachers are choosing to cover on Native Americans and the inaccuracies in some of their curricula. Guiding her has reminded me of the hope writing brings me. I want my writing to inspire and bring about change. I want to keep writing and, above all, to connect people across ideas and time. Hopefully, my words will be conversation starters, and people will hold my stories close the way I hold my shiny marbles.