To my little brother from my mother's sister, I'm sorry I can't hold her. She is so small, And I am so not. Everything has changed, And everything is changing. Because I know you forever, But I don't know you the same. We were put into the making On the very same day, Consequences of the very same pain. Like the dominoes we used to set up On the dining room table. And now you have facial hair And a baby. And I just don't know what to say. Because how do I explain Her cries feel like a stranger's laugh As it falls away from me and down the street, And the street calls out for me like you used to, But I am too old to chase you now. Not because I am actually too old, But because you never call out for me anymore. The silence between us Falls like a decade-old memory, Through my mind and out my eyes And down the face I barely recognize. So you see, I cannot hold her Because what if I drop her And she falls like I am falling? No, I cannot do that to her.

I was incredibly lucky to be diagnosed with ADHD early in life (around 3 or 4). My mom and I lived with my nana after fleeing domestic violence. As mothers and daughters tend to do, they argued a lot. Specifically, they argued a lot about me. I love my nana, but I remember every time she told my mom there was something “wrong” with me. However, my nana had a point. I cried a lot, I was very sensitive, and I absolutely hated wearing seatbelts. I felt like they were choking me, like they would never stop pulling tighter until they cut me in half. Those same feelings followed me when I tried to express myself with words. Like my mind was me, and words were the seatbelt trying to hold me down and rip me apart. At some point, there was an incident where my mom drove into a ditch trying to get me to put my seatbelt back on. She took me to the doctor to finally figure out what was “wrong” with me. My mom hesitantly agreed to put me on medication. Her goal was to work with me to develop coping skills so that I could eventually come off of medication. Unfortunately, coping skills were no match for puberty. By middle school, I was having the same kinds of outbursts I had when I was first diagnosed. These outbursts continued to escalate until I had to be re-medicated and enter counseling. I told my psychologist how hard I was struggling to keep up with my classmates, and she recommended a 504 plan to allow me extra time on assignments. The principal ultimately rejected my 504 plan because my grades were “too high to justify it.” In the principal’s mind, it didn’t matter if I had to stay up until 3am to produce my best work, as long as I could produce it. During this time, I was also struggling with PTSD and anorexia. My ADHD worked like an amplifier to make my trauma even more inescapable. Everything was so loud. Instead of feeling like my seatbelt was the enemy, I began to feel like my body was the enemy. I stopped eating to make everything quieter. The smaller my body was, the less the seatbelt had to squeeze. The hope that I would be able to do good with my education and help others is the only reason I did not give up on it or on life. Although my mental health is doing much better now, I still struggle to get accommodations for my ADHD. I uploaded my documentation to the Office of Disabilities’ online portal, but they require a meeting before evaluating the request. I have never been able to get an appointment or any kind of response. Thankfully, my professors have all been incredibly understanding. After scoring 100 on a test with a 72 class average, I confided in one of my professors that I felt guilty for even seeking accommodations. He said, “Just because you are outperforming other students’ best does not mean you are performing at your best.” I will never forget that. I realized my ADHD is not the enemy. There is nothing “wrong” with me. I always felt like I was working against my ADHD to succeed in my education, without acknowledging how the education system itself might be what was working against me. I think I am a good candidate for this scholarship because I will pay that kindness forward. I want to give back to other students as soon as I am financially capable.

I became interested in Geography because of my papaw and my great-grandfather. My papaw is my best friend. Despite our many differences in opinion, we are remarkably and fundamentally similar in how we think about and process the world around us. This way of thinking is very aware of contextual connections across time and space, making it almost like our brains were built for geography. Growing up, my papaw would tell me stories about when he was stationed at the Panama Canal. He described giant piles of green bananas “tall as me an' you.” We’d talk about how crazy it was that bananas travel so far just to get to our grocery store. This was the beginning of my fascination with globalization. Now that I’m grown, a lot of my friends don’t understand why I get so excited about grocery stores. I love seeing the different products different stores carry because it tells you a lot about where you are demographically and regionally. My mom has also told me many stories about her own grandfather. She called him Poppy. Whereas my nana will tell you about her plumber father who ate candy nonstop but was barely 140 lbs-soaking-wet, my mom will tell you about her hero who stormed the beaches of Normandy. Every time she gets to the “beaches of Normandy” part, she reminds me his name was Norman Mandy. Normandy, Norman Mandy. Almost sounds like it came out of a movie. My mom named me after him. She keeps his purple heart on her dresser to keep him near. Although I never met Poppy, the stories my mom told about him sparked my curiosity about the world and how it's connected through time. My papaw and my great-grandfather contributed to my sense of wonder for geography. Through their stories, I started thinking about time on a global scale at a very young age. However, my father taught me what space is. He lived in Chicago, over 700 miles away from my small town in Alabama. I was very confused as a child. I could not decide if I wanted him closer or further away, and I wasn’t sure which direction he or I would have to go in to make either happen. It’s hard to comprehend that much distance when you’re a kid. My dad was a Navy Corpsman. I have never been eligible for military benefits because I have never been his dependent. I haven’t seen my dad since I was 14 because he did something that cannot be forgiven. Before that, I always tried to make excuses for him the same way our family court judge did when she granted him visitation rights. “He’s a veteran. He has PTSD. It’s not his fault.” But I was 14, and it was not my fault either. We were on a roadtrip at the time, going between Chicago and Birmingham so I could visit my paternal grandparents. To distract myself from the urge to jump out of the car, I made a game out of observing the highway signs, the landmarks, the color of the grass. I completely absorbed myself into the local geographies we passed. By that point, my papaw had been trying to teach me for years that odd interstates run north and south, and even interstates run east and west. It just hadn’t been clicking. But the only good thing about that day, watching all those green signs and counting down the miles, I finally developed a sense of space and direction.

The most innovative changes we can make to environmental policy are to emphasize the importance of scientific literacy in secondary education and to simply elect more scientists. The reason our laws and lawmakers do not understand the gravity of the climate crisis (and environmental issues in general) is due to a lack of scientific literacy. How can someone be expected to make efficient laws about issues they do not understand? For example, I’m a horrible baker. Everything I try to bake turns to icky mush. Why does it turn to icky mush? Because I cannot follow recipes. Since I cannot follow recipes, I just wing it and see what sticks. That’s basically what’s happening with environmental policy in Alabama and the United States. Our legislators, in general, cannot follow the science of the situation. Since our legislators can’t follow the science of climate change, everything they bake turns to icky mush. Even when they have a perfectly wonderful recipe for environmental policy sitting right in front of them, they reject it because they cannot follow it or the reasoning behind it. Let’s take Alabama for example. Alabama consistently ranks as one of the most biodiverse states in the U.S.; however, we also consistently rank as one of the worst for industrial toxic waste, worst drinking water, and one of the highest electricity bills. So much of this degradation of the environment and exploitation of vulnerable communities is preventable at the legislative level. I’m double majoring in Environmental Science and Philosophy with a Jurisprudence Specialization in order to become an environmental lawyer and, hopefully, the President of the Alabama Public Service Commission (PSC). Basically, the PSC is a group of three elected officials charged with regulating the state’s utilities. The PSC is the reason Alabama Power has an ever-expanding monopoly over the state’s electricity. The members of the PSC are currently traceable to PACs funded by Alabama Power and Drummond Co (the major coal company in Alabama) for high 6-figure contributions. The PSC has continuously voted 3-0 against reducing the astronomical solar tax Alabama Power charges individuals who install home solar panels. Although the current President of the PSC has a bachelor’s degree in biology, none of the members of the PSC have a background in environmental science. While utilities may seem like “business” (and that’s how utilities are treated in Alabama), they’re actually environmental forefronts for clean energy and water stewardship. In addition to my studies, I’m also interning for Alabama state representative Merika Coleman. As part of my internship, Rep. Coleman has tasked me with drafting bills related to the environment for her to present at Alabama's next legislative session. I’ve focused my efforts into environmental justice (Alabama has a huge environmental racism issue), river, stream and lake protection, and the implementation of additional regulations and guidelines for the PSC. While the topics of environmental policy I’ve chosen are not exactly new, my approach to them is certainly refreshing. I’m actively working with a network of environmental organizations from across the state to collect their input and concerns for legislation they know first-hand is desperately needed. For example, Lake Martin is a beautiful lake in Alabama. It’s about 2 hours away from my mom’s house. Upon contacting the Lake Watch of Lake Martin, I discovered Lake Martin is currently being contaminated by an explosion of chicken houses above the lake, with increasing evidence of fecal bacteria flushing off the lake’s watershed. This information is not in the news. The only way to get it is to ask the voices of environmentalism. That’s really the biggest innovation we need.

I like to joke that I'm the human version of Panda Express. White people call it Chinese, but Chinese people know it's not the real thing. Growing up, there was exactly half an Asian in my whole school. Born Mandy Wong, I begged my mom to change my last name to match hers, but it didn't change the way my peers viewed me. Particularly the boys. For a while, my logic was "my last name is Davis! That means I'm white so you obviously can't fetishize or bully me for being Chinese!" Yeah, that didn't work. Even when it did, it didn't. A lot of people thought I was Hispanic. My nickname throughout elementary school was Dora the Explorer. As soon as anyone who interpreted me as white found out I was mixed, something changed. I was no longer just Mandy. I was the Chinese chick. I almost feel like they stopped seeing me as a person. They sure acted like it. In middle school, I joined the football team. I was partially motivated by a love of football and partially by a desire to prove I am not soft or delicate or submissive. I'm a whole person. Most of the team was great, super swell guys. Two of them, not so much. One of the creepiest things ever said to me is "I love Asians. Y'alls pussies are tight as f*ck. [*proceeds to go on, making vulgar noises and motions throughout his monologue*]." I was 13 and didn't know how to respond. So I just forced a smile and never told anyone. What would I say? Would anyone even care? Was I even Asian enough to be offended? The other boy repeatedly asked me out, would scan up and down my body painfully slow and growl, and did not understand the meaning of personal space or the word "No." I once punched him with a lunchbox because we were sitting together on the bus, and he simply refused to get off of me. Just laying all over me, putting his hands everywhere. Everywhere. I didn't want to sit with him to begin with, but there's not much you can do if someone sits by you on a bus without making a scene. His reasoning? I was "exotic." He was like one of those big-game hunters who stalk their prey until they collapse from exhaustion. You never forget stuff like that. You never forget how it makes you feel. During my football days, I also experienced colorism from my own father. My mom left my dad when I was around 3 because he started beating her in front of me. He is first-generation, and his internalized racism is horrible. My father was extensively bullied for being Chinese, and I believe a major part of why he became the way he is was due to the stereotype of the effeminate Asian man. He allowed his insecurity over his masculinity to turn him a monster who beats women down emotionally and physically to prove to himself his own "strength" and "manhood." He also only dates white women. According to my mom, my dad always had a deep obsession with Kristin Kreuk. He thought Kreuk was so beautiful, not because she is beautiful, but because she is half Chinese and half white. In many ways, my conception gives me the heebie-jeebies. I was an accident baby for my mom, but my dad sabotaged her birth control pills. I feel like he wanted to whitewash his bloodline and create his own little Kristin Kreuk, and I feel guilty for being born considerably white-passing. I further felt a mix of guilty and disgusted at 14 when my father sexually assaulted me, but that's a different story. As a little kid, I loved playing outside. In Alabama, anyone who goes outside too long will either tan or burn. I remember my poor mom coming inside after cutting the grass, and I would sit behind her on the couch and peel the sunburn off her back. Fortunately, I don't burn, but I tan like nobody's business. The summer I joined the football team, we were out in the sun two times a day for a total of roughly 6 hours. The next time my father saw me, he was livid. How could I taint his beautiful white porcelain doll? For Christmas that year, he gave me skin-whitening creams and face wash. I never told anyone because I didn't know what to say. My mom still doesn’t know. At first, I didn't even know what it was, and then he explained it to me. My heart sank. Until that moment, I never realized why people thought I was Hispanic or that my mom adopted me. The first time I used the cream, I hoped the burning sensation meant my skin would melt off so I could die. A lot of my white family members talk about white privilege like it’s somehow an insult. As someone whose white cousins call her a chink and whose Chinese elders call her lo fan (佬番), I view white privilege quite differently. I'm in a position where I can control how the vast majority of people will interpret my race. Stay out of the sun at all costs, be skinny (I store a lot of fat in my eyelids), lighten my hair about 4 shades. Boom. White girl. At least, most of the time. Moving through the world wondering if people are going to interpret you as white or "other" is its own kind of anxiety and privilege. People are nicer to me when I do these things to appear more white-passing. I don't get sexually harassed nearly as much. I do get more anime character comments, but generally, I feel so much safer. I also feel guilty. Not everyone can just run away from their identity when things get hard. What do you do when you love your culture but you’re afraid of the world? I don't know.

My first memory is of my dad beating my mom. I think I was like 3 or something, but just from watching cartoons I knew this wasn't how a family should be. We should be happy, and there should be a mom and a dad who love each other very much and we all eat homemade meals together at a warmly lit table and laugh about nothing and everything all at the same time. I'm grown now, so I understand this is a fairytale for even the most traditional families, but at the time all I had to compare my life to was TV. I wanted a family like The Flintstones or The Jetsons, but instead I was stuck in reruns of Tom & Jerry. Not too long after the beatings started, my mom and I fled back to her mom's house from Chicago to Alabama. Eventually, we moved into a single-wide trailer that's been home ever since. It's kind of crappy, some of the wall sheets have fallen off and the laundry room floor is rotting out and the heating and air are busted, but it's still home. I used to dream of living in a 2-story cookie cutter house with a white picket fence and more than one bathroom. However, I'm glad to have grown up in a house that will always keep me humble and considerate of others. When I started kindergarten, a couple of kids on the bus teased me about my house. I won't call it bullying because it doesn't compare to how I was treated for being the only Asian in our whole small-town Alabama school. My birth name is Mandy Wong. I'm half Chinese and half white, and as such was promptly casted as "other." People would ask me if I was adopted when my very pale, very white mom came to pick me up from after-school daycare. Her last name is Davis, so our names didn't even match. Because of the bullying and the confusion, I begged my mom to change my last name to Davis. It was too late, though. I was already other-ed. Some kids were nice to me and we got along, but I didn't really have any friends. Instead, I holed up in the library. I read everything I could get my hands on. I definitely didn't understand everything I read because I was picking up high school level books in kindergarten, but by the time I was in 2nd grade I was at an 11th grade reading level. By 3rd grade, a college level. All of this sounds great and wonderful, but my social skills level did not improve with my reading level. I used books as a substitute for actually talking to people. Then in 4th grade, my mom got cancer. It was horrible. She survived, but the doctors didn't think she would. It was like a year of watching her slowly die on our couch while trying to do the laundry and not break down. We're all we have, so taking care of her was mostly on me. At school, I asked my teacher if I could sit at my own table in the back of the room rather than at our shared tables because the doctors told me I couldn't be around my mom if I got sick. Going to elementary school and not getting sick? My anxiety peaked. I could literally kill her if I got sick and brought it home. The bullying stopped because everyone felt sorry for me. We lived off of neighbors' and co-workers' casseroles and chicken pot pies. I've never felt so scared and alone. This experience changed my personality. I became more authoritative and confident because I'd taken on a caregiver role and had to rely on myself so much. Still not a lot, but enough to get me through. Once this was all said and over, I took that confidence and tried out for the middle school football team. I was incredibly angry at the world, and I thought it would give me an outlet. If I wasn't a misfit before, I definitely was now. High school is a whole 'nother story. I developed PTSD, an eating disorder, realized I was gay, and started painting on my clothes. Not necessarily in that order. Wild ride. Lots of misfit-angst. But I think my misfit status has given me more than it has taken away. Happy childhoods are overrated. Impactful adulthoods that change the world are where it's at.

I want to study the world, but to start with I think I'll major in philosophy. I want to major in philosophy for my first degree in order to learn how to expose myself to different kinds of thinking. Thinking is also my favorite thing ever. My research also says students who major in philosophy tend to score really high on the LSATs. My dream is to be an environmental lawyer and create policy change from within the system, so scoring well on the LSATs is definitely one of my goals. I'm a firm believer in electing more scientists. I think a major contributing factor to the United States' horrific history of environmental policies and many Americans' downright opposition to combating climate change is the lack of scientific literacy. Therefore, one of my goals is to earn a PhD in paleoclimatology and environmental science so I can better serve my community and my environment throughout my political career. All of this sounds extremely over-the-top ambitious, but it's really not as much as it sounds. I love learning, and I especially love learning about the Earth's history and how our planet works. I spend a lot of my spare time reading and watching documentaries about extinct organisms and prehistoric ecosystems, so going back to school to learn about them would be more like a blessing than a burden; in my opinion, blessings don't really require ambition. Additionally, I love history. I guess it goes hand in hand with loving the history of Earth, but human history is like a never-ending soap opera. The coolest thing about history, geologic or anthropological, is that there are so many connections to make in our world. I find it incredibly beautiful and somewhat exhilarating to think about all the ways everything in the world, past and present, is somehow connected. Because of this, I think it's very likely I'll eventually add a double major to my degree so I can thoroughly study history.