The law is based on strict standards and logic, but its application in real-life rests on arguments tailored to subjective experiences which call for the exposition of the complete story behind every case. I first understood the contrast between the rigidity of legal rules and the flexibility of argumentation during a lecture on the 4th Amendment as a junior in high school. To illustrate the criteria for conducting warrantless searches, my teacher discussed a hypothetical example in which someone, while remaining on their own property, noticed two fully grown Komodo dragons in their neighbor’s backyard. He noted that since owning Komodo dragons is illegal in the United States, this situation would easily meet the standard of probable cause required to conduct a search. We then studied real cases in which the line for probable cause was not so easily drawn, cases in which the outcome rested on subtle distinctions in the interpretation of a single word. The presence of a Komodo dragon is what it is – it is there, it is obvious, it is not disputable. However, the exact actions that would lead an officer to reasonably believe that someone is carrying a firearm, for example, is much harder to define and can be debated. This is why every story must be told in its entirety, going beyond what is merely observable. Storytelling is also central in countering the influence of preconceived narratives on legal decisions. Stereotypes and misconceptions often threaten basic rights, and one story can dismantle them by ensuring that the law is applied to the reality of the facts and not to a fabricated conception of what is merely visible from the surface. In every case taught in my university course on post 9/11 immigration policies, from the American citizen Arshad Chowdhury who was put on the no-fly list simply for having a Muslim-sounding name, to Abdallah Higazy, an Egyptian student who was detained for having the misfortune of staying in a hotel near the World Trade Center, stereotypes were used to justify blatant civil rights violations. The physical presence of a Komodo dragon in a backyard may be a strong indicator of an infraction, but someone’s name surely cannot be used to reach the same conclusion. In every case presented in class, the outcome came down to one plaintiff and their lawyer, whose carefully-crafted storytelling could bridge the gap between what seemed to be and what was. For example, it was by painting the full picture of Faisal Uvlie’s life to the judge that his attorney got his deportation order revoked. She turned Faisal’s story from that of another case of visa overstay into that of a caring husband and father of three who could not leave his family behind. She gave him an identity beyond a simple case number and let his experience break free from the reductive label he was given. Conversely, the other 150 Pakistani immigrants who boarded the plane with Faisal before he was let off did not have a lawyer, and their stories were never told. Practicing law goes far beyond rules and hypotheticals; it is primarily a human endeavor. While established legal standards shape the essence of the law, it is the individuality and flexibility of each case that gives it its significance. By pursuing a career in law, I hope to shed light on what is being obscured by labels and appearances, on what makes everyone different, and what explains someone’s situation. I want to present stories in a particular light to challenge unfair treatment and point instead to broader principles of justice, acceptance, and truth.