Growing up, Sherlock Holmes stories were ones I could identify with - the detective was aloof, unsociable, and a know-it-all just like me. He didn’t know when to shut up. He didn’t understand when someone was mocking him or when they were delivering a genuine compliment. He was brilliant in one subject and woefully hopeless in another. Sherlock was how I expressed who I was before I knew the word “autistic” existed. Watching Sherlock conduct chemical experiments on screen inspired me to try them on my own. Chemistry is my passion, it always has been. In a world where nothing makes sense, from social cues to body language to everything else so up to interpretation, chemistry is where I thrive. I feel at home with the structure of it. It is the one thing in my life that is constant. At the atomic level, there aren’t words like “autistic,” or “special needs,” or “different.” There aren’t any languages at the atomic level; just controlled, glorious chaos. I wish I could live at the atomic scale, and not have to worry about anyone’s perception of me ever again, but that isn’t possible. So I keep going with my schooling and keep going with my passions. After graduation, I plan to pursue a degree in chemistry or biochemistry to join a forensic science program. I want to use my chemistry knowledge to help solve cases and get people the justice they deserve. I want to be the change in a system that is designed to elevate the rights of some and diminish those of others. I want to pave the way for people like me in higher education. I often think of my childhood self, watching episode after episode of Sherlock, chasing after imagined murderers and mixing solutions to test blood samples that were really just different soda flavors, hoping and dreaming that I could get into college and study what I’m passionate about. People assumed I didn’t need the support because I was smart and did well in school, but that couldn’t be further from the truth. I have struggled and scraped my way through. I have kept going at my lowest. I have considered dropping out. But I didn’t. I kept going, kept pushing, kept fighting for an education in a school system stacked against people like me, and I want to continue that fight in a university. Autistic children deserve equal opportunities like everyone else. I want to be the beginning of this future.

From an atomic perspective, there are constants in the universe: entropy is always increasing, molecules are always forming instantaneous dipoles and interacting with each other, there are positively charged particles and negatively charged particles which attract their opposites and repel those which are the same. From an atomic perspective, a human is nothing more than trillions of tiny molecules arranged in a particular order. An atom doesn’t have to worry about judgment. An atom doesn’t have to worry about being perceived by others on a personal level. All an atom has to worry about is whether or not its electron shell is full. I think I’d like to be more like an atom. My whole life has been an exercise in deciding what label feels best for me, how I’d like others to call me and interact with me and observe me, and I’ve jumped from gender to gender and sexuality to sexuality without ever feeling truly at home with any one of them. A lot of public ideas about atoms are actually misconceptions, like the model that is very popular of electrons in rings around a nucleus, or electrons whizzing around it like race cars on the track. These are ways of thinking about atoms so that they make sense to the human mind, but they are not the reality of how atoms work at the molecular level. Atoms share a multitude of traits in common with our community. We are all inundated with information from day one about ourselves that is inaccurate, offensive, and misinformed. We fight to overcome barriers. We embrace each other and form bonds so strong it’s nearly impossible to tear us apart. I think I’d like to be more like an atom. In the chemistry lab, all of us are equals. Gay, straight, trans, bi, queer, anything at all: all equal. In the chemistry lab, the white coat makes my chest look smaller. In the chemistry lab, no one hurls slurs in my direction. In the chemistry lab, I feel at home. I feel alive. I feel proud. From an atomic perspective, a human is nothing more than trillions of tiny molecules arranged in a particular order, and yet, all of these atomic interactions make up billions of marvelous, diverse people. Chemistry has shown me the beauty of non-congruence, of the unexpected, of the unpredictable, of not knowing the answer. I wish I could have learned that lesson as a young kid, still struggling to place myself in box after box where I didn’t belong. I wish I had allowed myself to be more like an atom, attracted to who I’m attracted to, taking whatever form I please, but I can’t change any of that. All I can do is be the best atom possible right now, and hope everyone else learns how to be as well.

I will be a figure skating coach, a published author, a forensic investigator, and I'll finally stop worrying about whether or not I'll make it where I want to go, because I'll have made it already.

At some point in life, I believe everyone should read Corduroy by Don Freeman. It doesn’t matter if you are six or 60; everyone can find something meaningful in the story. Corduroy was a favorite of mine growing up, the little anxious, closeted, ugly child that I was, who had few friends and even fewer close ones. It tells the story of a stuffed bear who lives in a department store and is missing a button on his overalls. A girl, Lisa, wants to buy him, but her mother declines because of his missing button. The bear searches the whole store for his button, only for Lisa to come back the next day and buy him, accepting him just as he is. If people learned to have a little bit more acceptance in their hearts, it would go a long way to ensuring a better world for everyone. Now, I speak to people and realize they have never read a book like Corduroy in their lives. They have never read about a girl looking an innocent teddy bear in the eyes and telling him she loves him just as he is. They have never known what it feels like to love someone unconditionally. I believe this must be remedied. Children’s books are too often overlooked as simplistic or naive when in reality they teach us the most important, foundational lessons of all. I’m sure your local library has it. It will take you ten minutes to read, and I promise it will make your life and everyone else’s lives around you better.

From an atomic perspective, there are constants in the universe: entropy is always increasing, molecules are always forming instantaneous dipoles and interacting with each other, there are positively charged particles and negatively charged particles which attract their opposites and repel those which are the same. From an atomic perspective, a human is nothing more than trillions of tiny molecules arranged in a particular order. An atom doesn’t have to worry about judgment. An atom doesn’t have to worry about being perceived by others on a personal level. All an atom has to worry about is whether or not its electron shell is full. I think I’d like to be more like an atom. My whole life has been an exercise in deciding what label feels best for me, how I’d like others to call me and interact with me and observe me, and I’ve jumped from gender to gender and sexuality to sexuality without ever feeling truly at home with any one of them. A lot of public ideas about atoms are actually misconceptions, like the model that is very popular of electrons in rings around a nucleus, or electrons whizzing around it like race cars on the track. These are ways of thinking about atoms so that they make sense to the human mind, but they are not the reality of how atoms work at the molecular level. Atoms share a multitude of traits in common with our community. We are all inundated with information from day one about ourselves that is inaccurate, offensive, and misinformed. We fight to overcome barriers. We embrace each other and form bonds so strong it’s nearly impossible to tear us apart. I think I’d like to be more like an atom. In the chemistry lab, all of us are equals. Gay, straight, trans, bi, queer, anything at all: all equal. In the chemistry lab, the white coat makes my chest look smaller. In the chemistry lab, no one hurls slurs in my direction. In the chemistry lab, I feel at home. I feel alive. I feel proud. From an atomic perspective, a human is nothing more than trillions of tiny molecules arranged in a particular order, and yet, all of these atomic interactions make up billions of marvelous, diverse people. Chemistry has shown me the beauty of non-congruence, of the unexpected, of the unpredictable, of not knowing the answer. I wish I could have learned that lesson as a young kid, still struggling to place myself in box after box where I didn’t belong. I wish I had allowed myself to be more like an atom, attracted to who I’m attracted to, taking whatever form I please, but I can’t change any of that. All I can do is be the best atom possible right now, and hope everyone else learns how to as well.