Motion Sickness
I wrote this peice to relate with my readers on a personal level. It follows the emotions I am facing as I grow up, and demonstrates emotional writing through reflection.
2026. The year that has held a distant excitement, laughter, sadness, grief, and questions for as long as I can remember. After watching each of my siblings excitedly purchase a few new outfits and a pair of sneakers with my mom’s Kohl’s cash each summer, I became so desperate to join in on the back-to-school fun. One by one, they would tie their shoes and walk out the door. Once walking down the driveway, they would get on the big yellow school bus and disappear for the day - doing whatever it is that the big kids do. When it was finally my turn to join them, I already knew exactly what I wanted to do with my life; yes, I also thought I’d be the president, an archaeologist, and a chef, but I also knew that I would make a great doctor. Once I grew up a little bit from field day and daily naps, I began to actually learn about the world.
My older siblings would show me how hard their homework was every night. I would learn about the environment because that was a passion of my father’s, understand what it means to be dependable from my mother, and learn how to embrace my differences from the five very different personalities that each of my siblings carried so profoundly.
I was finally a friend more than a foe to my youngest older sister, Jessica, when she began to truly face medical difficulties. Though she had already been fainting from a young age, she now began having seizures - seemingly without cause. Little me saw my big sissy and her scary disorder and knew she wanted to fix it. I became obsessed with the medical field, and ever since, my fascination has grown. I have studied brain function in my health science, psychology, and sociology classes, and even in my spare time. I have fallen in love with the medical field, and I know my future lies in it.
Now that I have survived approximately 2,300 days of tests, lectures, labs, naps, events, activities, and excused doctors notes, I feel like my time in secondary school should just not be over. I’m itching to get my diploma in hand, but at the same time, my heart aches for the questions that will fill my head when the class of 2026 - people I grew up with - throw their graduation caps in the air on May 11.
I feel alone as I fill out my college scholarship essays, scared to find a roommate, and anxious to enter this new world. Now, each day I will wake up and see a new face, meet a new person, and be reminded that everyone was built by their own story. I will yearn to be surrounded by the people I love most, be hugged by my parents, and hear my best friend yell “buddy!” as she runs down the hall, seeing my nieces and nephews every day when I get home, and going to get my favorite meal with my boyfriend. I already know what I’m missing, and it feels like my life is rushing me towards the deadline. The year is speeding towards the day I have to accept that the word “goodbye” is my new reality. I can’t imagine the day I say I’m ready.
Because my story has been driven by passion from a young age, I have had the time to prepare myself for this change. Even still, I find myself questioning if this life is really meant for me. Am I smart enough to complete my degree? Am I resilient enough to get back up when I feel helpless? Am I going to be okay on my own? Every time I sit and think about school, these questions clutter my head until I can physically feel the pressure. I'm scared to grow up. I have emotional motion sickness.
We Were Never Lost
I wrote this piece to inspire my reader through storytelling. It emphasizes the need for grit, resilience, and perseverance by explaining that most people are "running" through life.
Our society is full of maze runners. At some point, we were brought to live on this earth with no recollection of how we got here, and told exactly what to do by everyone surrounding us. Our family provides for us until we are sent off to learn what it means to live in the “real world.” Our elders have paved the way for us, and it is now our turn to make something of ourselves. But sometimes, all you can see is the hardships you have faced that have kept you held down. All you see is yourself returning to the Glade, or your home, at the end of the night, haunted by what might’ve been if something went slightly wrong. Sometimes we are so desperate for a way out that we feel completely and utterly helpless. But we are not.
There is always a chance for you. Yes, maybe you feel numb or like people are passing you by, but that's only for right now. Once you get back up on your feet, it won't be so hard to get out of your bed and chase your dream. It won't be so hard to escape the maze. You have to get out of your comfort zone if you want to make a difference.
You are the only person who can save you. I learned that when asking for help would make my voice break, and a sharp, stabbing pain would force my words back down my throat. There was nothing I could do but try to feel better again. And boy, did I. After losing the one person who seemed to understand me without fail, I put every ounce of effort that I had left to give into healing my mental health. I knew that I needed to share my story because when I needed to hear someone relate to me the most, I had no one. I would be the difference. I would be a runner. I would change a life.
Now that I am on the other side of the most brutal battle of my life, I know that other people like me need to be advocated for. I can study why I am the way I am. I can genuinely understand myself, because so few people ever seemed to understand me. I will research brain behavior. I will do it despite my struggles. And I will do it because I was given no option other than grit and resilience. I will always keep running. I will save the people in my community who are lost in their maze. I will get the education I need to save lives.
The Discipline of Becoming
AI wrote this piece to highlight personal growth through disciple and self-awareness. By documenting milestones and events that I faced throughout my dancing career, I conected my personal experience with broader themes of resilience and identity.
I have been dancing for as long as I can remember. The texture of Walgreens makeup and the thick, sticky scent of Max Hold hairspray have lingered in my life since I was wearing toddler-sized ballet flats. Stage lights have followed me through massive life changes like accepting that I “learned differently” than the other people in my class, falling in love with robotics during venture in elementary and middle school, learning that softball really wasn't for me, realizing that my older siblings would have to grow up without me, becoming an aunt to my favorite little humans, and the loss of one of my very best friends. No matter what triumph I faced, there was one thing that remained constant - the love I had for music. I could learn a new routine, move my body in a way that shocked even myself, and understand in detail what each shift in tonality meant in every song I performed. There was always more for me to learn and to love. Dancing at companies like Beverly’s School of Dance or Mississippi Metropolitan Dance Academy shifted to dancing for the Brandon Show Choir Association, a group that genuinely changed my life. When I joined, the group consisted of just 30 cast members, yet it still executed a nationwide, award-winning show at every competition. Over three years, we doubled in size - and honestly shared a family bond with each student who was new and even the ones who graduated out. I was guided by a group of strong-willed and dedicated individuals who helped teach me and my best friends about dance, music, and even life. They included us in aspects of growing, graduating, and moving that felt almost personal to me. I followed in their footsteps and learned a lesson that I’m not sure I was genuinely ready for: I had outgrown the music. I was brought closer to God, family, and my passion during my time in the light, but it was no longer necessary for my success. It was time for me to give my spot on the barre to the next student and share my testimony with those around me, hoping to teach them even a fraction of what others had taught me. I have to be my own best friend and my own worst enemy to fulfill my purpose truly. Prioritizing my future means applying myself where it truly counts, and now it is not on the stage. Now I need to build connections, relationships, and a community that will help me continue to succeed and grow.