This game carried my childhood in a way that I am forever grateful for. I remember so many lives I lived, the creations I made, and the feats I reached. Of these million memories, it was hard to narrow down what I loved the most about this game, but I have come to the notion that building bases in my worlds was my favorite thing to do. As these bases were built, I had so many stories floating in my head of how my character came to be there. In one survival world, I spent at least five hours carving a trench out of a mountain and filling it with water. I must've filled at least three large chests with cobblestone, dirt, and gravel blocks. After a couple more days, I built my house too. It rested on one end of the mountain, a bridge leading to the overside which had a small carrot garden. I didn't stop building until I had this grand base of bridges to different buildings serving their own purpose. There was a nether portal room, enchantment room, and crafting/cooking room I loved how cozy my cottage was and I had a Minecraft dog and two cats in there too. The story I thought of for that build was that I was a meditative traveler looking for the perfect place to live and save the world from the ender dragon. It was the only place I was safe from the dragon's undead goons and my trusty animal companions teamed up with me to protect me. That was only one of the many worlds where I built a small house and lived with a companion. It was even better when I could play with my brothers, and we would visit each other's houses. Granted they watched tutorials while I just freestyled, but I was super proud of every build. It feels like Minecraft really engaged the creativity of many by being the sandbox game that it was. Every story, roleplay server, and building engaged our ability to critically think and imagine the many possibilities we could have. As an aspiring author and graphic novelist, I think this video game played a great role in nurturing my creative mind. Block by block, I built a brain as creative as the one I have today, with plenty of fun memories and builds to accompany it. As I said in the beginning, I am forever grateful for that.

During the 2020 quarantine, normals screens, also called LCD screens, were the front and center of our lives. Now that we are out of that era, the amount of time we've spent on our screens hasn't decreased, and I don't expect nor want it to. Countless innovations have been achieved with the devices we have, but they do have chronic consequences. I believe that the biggest struggle with the long-term use of technology is its overall impact on our eyes, brain, and the environment. Luckily, a relatively recent form of electronic display called E-ink has come to the rescue, and I hope society starts using it more often than LCD screens. It was first invented in 1997 and used for e-readers, but has presently expanded to include computer monitors and phone displays. Electronic ink displays are the key to less eyestrain while benefitting from working on modern computer programs like Google Docs, Krita, etc. Instead of emitting their light like LCD, they use the light in the area surrounding it to display something. Features like this are extremely beneficial for people who want to preserve their eyesight, and I wish I could've used it when my eyes strained on the computer for Zoom classes. With the lack of light emitted from an E-ink's display, it can also help improve people's sleep. Improved sleep equates to better brain performance which, in turn, leads to innovations for tomorrow. I too would benefit from this, as my brain needs as much rest as it can to craft my artworks and literary career. The arguably best thing about this technology is that, in manufacturing, it uses less water and produces fewer greenhouse gasses than LCDs. Unfortunately, the technology is very expensive and a bit slower to transition colors than LCD screen products. Despite those drawbacks, I hope this relatively new technology will evolve and become cheaper with innovations, as most technology often does. With so many inventions and platforms that scare people, like artificial intelligence and social media, it is quite refreshing to see technology such as E-ink displays emerge. I hope that more technology like E-ink makes its way into the world that benefits humans and the environment alike. It will really benefit people like me who want to use technology to write and sell novels, produce and monetize art, and share valuable lessons for many generations to come.

Twelve days after my sixteenth birthday, my father passed away from a heart attack, rendering me mentally unable to go to school for a week. Typically, someone wouldn't worry about anything but the passing of a loved one, but I also had two major tests and finals week coming up. Missing school put me behind on a lot of work. On top of that, I was worried about some of the legal proceedings that were going to happen since my dad was a single father. My grandparents had to take custody of me and my two brothers and navigate those legal technicalities. I am so grateful for how lucky I was that they lived with us so we didn't have to move houses. All of these situations built up a lot of anxiety in me. It got to the point where the smallest amount of stress caused by homework or overthinking would make my chest ache and heave with each breath. Being in all honors classes, I did not have the pace required of me to complete work at their usual deadlines. Soon I began making proactive choices for myself. I knew my dad would want that for me. I went to my teachers and made compromises for extensions and told myself to go at my own pace. I am so grateful that they were so compassionate and understanding of me. Additionally, I recognized the new limits I had due to my heightened anxiety and depression and accommodated them by prioritizing self-care and practicing gentle self-talk, making me more efficient than ever. Within about three weeks, I completed all tests and work I had missed, but that wasn't the least of my academic worries because finals week was looming over me. Throughout my preparation, I supercharged my brain with the self-care regimen and study techniques. I was determined to get high As in all my classes by the end of my sophomore year. Finals arrived and the heat was on. I cared for myself even when I was exhausted from school and studying. Anxiety was at an all-time high during each test, and I was literally shaking by the end of some. In the end, it was all worth it when I came out of my sophomore year with straight A-pluses, exempting chemistry, which was an A. I learned a lot through the months that have passed: time management, self-care, study tactics, working under pressure, gratitude, and coping with mental health issues. I still have a long way to go in everything I listed, but it's been slightly better since my father passed. After school, in my career of writing novels, I plan to sell locally first and donate a portion of the profits to heart research to prevent any child from losing their parent to cardiac arrest. I hope I make my dad proud by picking myself up when I trip, pursuing things I love like writing and drawing, helping others, and finishing school off with a big bang.

Everyone should read the bildungsroman "Aristotle and Dante Discover the Secrets of the Universe" by Benjamin Alire Sáenz. The focus is on a melancholy Mexican fifteen-year-old male named Aristotle in late 1980s El Paso, Texas. He had trouble understanding other people, even his parents, and had few friends. He often wondered who his brother in prison was and why he couldn't connect with his father, a Vietnam veteran. When faced with an example of how adolescents acted, he thought he "just didn't belong" (16), a relatable notion for anyone who is or was a teen. His whole world flipped upside down when he met Dante at the public pool. Dante was a sensitive Mexican boy Ari's age who loved to read, speak his mind, love his parents, and destroy his tennis shoes. He was a light in Ari's dim life. As the two boys spent time together, they reflected on concepts of love, family, intelligence, and identity as Mexicans in America together. Soon, Ari has to experience recovery from injuries, new friendships with old torments, and discovering his sexuality when Dante tells Ari that he had feelings for him before leaving for Chicago for a year. Dante shared how he experimented with his sexuality and more through letters while Ari navigated his high school life. Ari continued to build bonds with unexpected people and a lovely dog. Not only are both of the boys' experiences another thing to relate to with a handful of snarky comedy, but they are also deeply emotional and soulful. When you read the book, you learn the lessons of growing up, self-discovery, relationships, and how complicated life can be beyond the surface through an accurate teenaged viewpoint. Without boring the reader, the messages can be carried by all, young or old, and hold great value.

In my life, there was a time when I lost sight of all my goals because of my major depression and anxiety. I felt as if things were hopeless and bleak for a long while and that I would have no future or at least one I wouldn't like. I thought I'd never be able to be a published author, see my sixteenth birthday, or even be happy again. At some point in the fall of 2022, I almost made my thoughts a reality by trying to take my own life. Unlike everything up to that point in my life, there were no thoughts, no overthinking about the action, absolutely nothing. Then I snapped out of it and started thinking again. Something about being so close to pulling through with the action made me realize the value of my life now, even if it wasn't optimal. I wanted to stay for my family and friends. So I did. I didn't go through with it but proceeded to struggle with self-harm. I knew I couldn't quit without some support, so I made the scariest decision ever. In January, I told my family I wanted to see a therapist. They scheduled one for me. Before I knew it, the first evaluation was up. I told them I self-harmed and had suicidal thoughts. Then the therapist brought the news to my grandparents. I profusely apologized because I felt as if I let them down for breaking like this. For once, they saw what was going on in my head. They helped me quit self-harm by essentially distancing me from the tools I used. For a while, it made me feel insane like I was suffering from withdrawal. I've been clean for three months now and wouldn't have been able to do it without them. At the same time, I've learned to give myself some credit for the feats I've made. I know they helped me a lot, but it was also me who chose to pull through and tell a therapist about my struggles. I still have to convince myself I'm not full of myself for acknowledging that. I also learned to sympathize with people who struggle, no matter what it may be about. Being alone when I needed a shoulder to cry on was almost detrimental to my life, so now I try to do my best to understand and be there for everyone. Additionally, it never helps to compare struggles because that gets zilch done, so I know better than to pull the "others have it worse" card on most people (including myself sometimes). Unfortunately, not everyone has been helpful in my mental health journey in good ways. My best friend, let's call her Vanya, never really understood my struggles and often treated me in a triggering manner when I struggled with eating and keeping my head up. I told her about the time I almost took my life towards our end of being close. She never knew I was going through that. For all she knew, I was the happiest I'd ever been. I realize that's what people commonly think, so I try to check in with even the "happiest" people. After all, there's no harm in it; it just shows that I care. Back to the situation with Vanya, tensions had been bubbling with the treatment I received and gave. Eventually, she told me why she ghosted me for a week when I needed her for support. We decided it was best to take a break from being close until we improved ourselves individually. That whole situation was quite odd for me. For once, I listened to people telling me that I didn't deserve that treatment, even if I had been a grim friend to others in my past. I got to know that I do deserve good treatment. I'm not a perfect person, far from it, and just because I'm trying to improve and it's not a straight path doesn't mean I deserve to be left alone. Like everything I've progressed in, I still need to tell myself it's not selfish to think. At times, I still struggle to accept that I'm a human with a mental illness instead of a product with a defect. Those thoughts lessened throughout spring break as I self-reflected and took time for myself. Even if I continue to think of myself as less than optimal, I can still function to an extent. Like a machine, I still need time to rest, be cleaned, fuel up, etc. That's often how most people are. I may not be exactly 100% operational, but everyone has their flaws one way or the other. The best thing to do in that situation is, once again, to be understanding of myself and others. Nothing in life is a straight path, especially mental health. I've realized I have highs and lows, just like everyone else. It's simply a little more difficult for me to cope. I need to accommodate that. Even then, I, or anyone else, shouldn't be ashamed if mental health's not a perfect journey or if one requires more help than others. I also know that not everyone understands. It's up to them to understand, even if that means understanding themselves a little more. I still struggle with saying that what I tell myself isn't selfish or narcissistic (as backed up by my millions of similar statements). Now, my goals are more future-oriented. I'm planning to publish books throughout my life. I am making headway on publishing a poetry collection about my mental health and outlook on life. I'm planning to write a fantasy trilogy. I want to go to a college to hone my craft in writing and maybe even other arts. I want my works to be a way to lighten up people's lives, whether that be through light-hearted jokes or heartfelt lessons.

I've struggled with mental health since the quarantine lockdown in 2020. Dominoes of my past experiences stood to topple onto me once the catalyst of social isolation took action. A piercing feeling of loneliness, a past of being bullied for simply being who I am, many manipulative friends, and a crippling crush on my former best friend all sent me for a ride when I entered my Freshman year of high school. Throughout Freshman year, I made many friends and lost them because they were drug users. I wanted to stay away from those people for fear that I would turn to them for drugs when I had trouble coping. I also lost friends because my effort towards talking to most of them stopped. With the loss of friends, that loneliness only furthered itself in my Sophomore year. In the beginning, I ghosted my best friend because I knew I couldn't go on crushing and love-bombing her. It was unhealthy for me to obsess over her when she had traumatized me by engaging in self-harm in front of me. We were both in sixth grade when that happened. I don't know how I ignored that, but I hope she's okay nowadays. That leads to the next problem in my line of friendships. I made another friend who became my best friend (let's call her Vanya), but recently I lost her as my closest friend because I was struggling as she was. There were a lot of details to it that I won't reveal for her sake, but now we aren't so close. During our friendship, I never told Vanya how I struggled with self-harm or when I came close to taking my own life multiple times. I only told her about one of the darkest nights towards the end of our being close. For a while, I ate most of my lunches alone and barely talked to many people. The feelings of lost motivation and desolation were so strong that I couldn't work with the efficiency required of me, a kid in all honors classes and AVID. I fell behind in work, often staying up late right before the deadline for three assignments. I even failed a quiz, which I am ashamed of because it was out of character for me. That being stated, despite my mental health struggles, I have above-average grades. I've been an exceptional student for as long as I can remember and wish to maintain that despite my mental health issues. I don't want mental health to be an excuse to give up my dreams is a better way to state it. I never thought I'd make it this far. Soon I will be turning sixteen years old and publishing a poetry book about my mental endeavors. I almost gave all of it up and am glad I didn't. It hasn't been easy, as depression and anxiety often aren't, but I want to stay on this earth as long as possible. As I said before, "I don't want mental health to be an excuse to give up my dreams," but I do need to realize mental health gives me limits. That's only realistic, after all. In academics, I have to take it easy with the idea that I can get burnt out easier. This way, I can be the most efficient. I hope to pursue a future where I can achieve my dreams and make my mental health more manageable. Hopefully, I can make it to college and publish more books that may help people get through their tough times.

I try to help people whenever I can. I don't mean for that statement to come off as self-righteous or pious; that's just been who I am. I've helped friends through the direst of times, but for their sake and privacy, I will not list one of those times. Although I find those times very important because they were my friends, this other memory sticks out for me. My grandfather and I were driving up a FoodMax parking lot looking for a spot to park in when I saw this young boy and someone I assumed to be his father in front of the store. The boy played a beautiful violin cover of "Go Crazy" by Chris Brown and Young Thug. The father held up a cardboard sign that read something along the lines of "we need money to help pay for our rent." I pointed it out to my grandfather, who acknowledged it briefly before we parked and went inside the store. While we shopped for our food, I couldn't shake the image of that whole situation from my mind. Back then, I often shied away from talking to people, and I still do sometimes, but something in my head told me that if I didn't do anything, I would regret it. That time was different than complimenting a stranger's shirt, hair, or another surface-level thing I encountered before. I admired the boy's cover of that song; it brought new life to it that was previously sucked out by being played on the radio 24/7. Additionally, I didn't enjoy the idea of the two being kicked out on the streets because they couldn't pay rent. This boy was trying to help his family with a miraculous talent, and I wanted to repay that sentiment. As cheesy as that sounds, that was my motivation. So my grandfather and I walked out of the store with tortillas, avocados, and other foods in our tote bags. I'll tell you, my heart was pounding faster and faster as we walked to our car. There were parts of me fighting to talk to the people and other parts telling me to run to the car and never look back, as awful as the last part sounds. Then I said I wanted to help them, and the feelings were relieved, almost as if carried off by the wind. My grandfather nodded and gave me five dollars from his wallet and an angel coin. My grandfather always carried angel coins, as my family is Catholic, and we view them as good luck. He told me to tell the boy and father they were in his prayers. With a nod, I ran across the parking lot to where they were at. I remember handing them the five bucks and telling them they were in our prayers. The father thanked me in this soft Mexican accent and said, "may God bless you." The son also showed me his appreciation, and then I left to get in my grandfather's car. I've never been very religious, but I hope God would be with them. Oddly enough, that experience helped me because I finally found the courage to talk to strangers. Maybe God was with me for that too. In the grand scheme of things, what I did wasn't unique. There are organizations dedicated to doing what I did on a phenomenally larger scale, but what matters is that I helped that family when I could. I'm glad I had the courage to.

Maybe There’s Something Wrong… A poem by Amirah Luna Sometimes I think that I am not normal. I can never be casual or formal. I am not somewhere in between. I am in a space that cannot be seen. My emotions are all or nothing at times, I’ll be so talkative or act like mimes. Like a clown, I can annoy or scare, and when I leave nobody will care. At times my mind will get very dark, and the thoughts I think will be stark. When the pain becomes too much I start to rely on it, like a crutch. Maybe what the doctors said was right, it’s not normal for your body to fight against your brain and the world constantly and you can't put trust in anybody. Maybe there is something wrong… I knew when the body and brain did not get along. For now, you write me off as edgy and carry on… without me.