Being autistic can be very lonely at times. Inaccessible design can be found everywhere. In the graphic design world, this can look like illegibility, information becoming hidden if not suited to those with color blindness, difficult fonts to read with dyslexia, and many more examples. This was what inspired me to pursue graphic design- I wanted to not only create designs that would suit my own needs but suit the needs of other people like me, too. As a non-traditional student pursuing a degree in graphic design, my journey into the world of the arts has been both rewarding and challenging. Deep in my soul, I feel like the design world is where I truly belong, and I have come to appreciate graphic design more than ever before. From a young age, and coming from a rough home life, design felt like an escape into something better. Art, in all its forms, has provided me with an avenue for self-discovery, self-expression, and a sense of purpose. However, my journey into higher education has been far from easy. In 2020, I took a hiatus from my studies due to mental health issues. This break, where my days consisted of working a dead-end job, allowed me to prioritize getting better, and address the challenges I was facing. Ultimately, it reinforced my determination to return to school and pursue my passion for accessible graphic design. In the future, I hope to be contributing to accessible design full-time. By implementing inclusive design practices, I aim to create a society where every individual can interact with and benefit from the visual content that is everywhere in our lives. Whether it's through crafting websites that are navigable for screen readers, designing print materials with legibility in mind, or ensuring that color choices are accessible to all, my goal is to use design to its fullest capacity. I envision a future where my passion for accessible design enriches the lives of countless individuals who have, like me, felt the isolating effects of inaccessible design. Despite everything, I remain dedicated to both my artistic aspirations and my commitment to inclusive design. My journey has reaffirmed my belief in the transformative power of art and its potential to create positive change in the world, and I am committed to continuing this pursuit, no matter the obstacles that may arise. I would not be where I am today without graphic design, and I know that this is where I am meant to be.

I've spent my entire life feeling excluded and like I don't belong because of my autism, so I am looking for a place where I am accepted and belong. A dream job for me is beyond somewhere that pays a lot of money, or somewhere that comes with a fancy title- I am looking for somewhere where I can thrive not just despite my neurodiversity, but because of it. Being autistic is very lonely at times, and makes it hard to connect with others. But my autism is a part of who I am, and it is impossible to hide it completely in the workforce, even with "masking". A workplace culture that fosters diversity and inclusion, and truly fosters it, not just on a label, is somewhere where I could see myself using my unique strengths to help advance the team's mission further. I've worked a lot of hourly jobs in my life, and the difference between an accepting environment and a hostile one makes a world of a difference when it comes to what I have accomplished in those jobs. Two qualities that are not necessarily exclusive to what the autistic community tends to prefer, but are definitely what I am looking for in a career, and that is a slower-paced work environment and independence. Whenever I see a job that advertises itself as a "fast-paced work environment", I immediately keep scrolling. That is not somewhere I would feel accepted, and more often than not, it is fast-paced because it is understaffed and the role is that of three people. But while the world often values speed and multitasking, I find that I thrive when given the space to focus on tasks with a deliberate and methodical approach. A slower-paced workplace allows me to excel in my work without feeling overwhelmed or rushed, allowing me to produce high-quality output. I also envision a career that provides autonomy and independence. For many autistic individuals, environments with constant socialization can be extremely taxing and overwhelming, and I know I would quickly burn out and feel very miserable. My brain is just not wired to handle that level of interacting with other people, as nice as they may be. In a job where I am trusted to manage my tasks and work independently, I can perform at my best, leveraging my skills and creativity to their fullest potential. For the last several years, I have been studying the fields of graphic design and web design. These professions offer a unique blend of creativity and technical skills, allowing me to express myself through visual mediums. Moreover, they often provide opportunities for remote work, which can be particularly beneficial for autistic individuals who may struggle with the sensory challenges of a traditional office setting. For myself in particular, I was drawn to accessible design, and it has since become a lifelong mission of mine. I know first-hand what inaccessible design looks like, and how exclusionary and overwhelming it can be. The best possible kind of career for me, then, would be somewhere where I could make a positive difference in society. Looking for post-grad jobs feels daunting at times, but I am proud to say I have a clear idea of what I want to do, and where I want to be. And with financial support from a community that believes in me because of my autism, not just despite it, I can make those dreams a reality.

As a non-traditional student pursuing a degree in graphic design, my journey into the world of the arts has been both rewarding and challenging. Deep in my soul, I feel like the art world is where I truly belong, and I have come to appreciate the delicate balance between my passion for the arts and the financial constraints that have often made it difficult to pursue. These two realities have required me to engage both my right and left brain, leveraging creativity and practicality in equal measure. From a young age, and coming from a rough home life, art felt like an escape into something better. Art, in all its forms, has provided me with an avenue for self-discovery, self-expression, and a sense of purpose. This profound connection to the arts led me to choose graphic design as my field of study, with a specific focus on accessible design. However, my journey into higher education has been far from easy. As a non-traditional student, I took a hiatus from my studies due to mental health issues. This break, where my days consisted of working a dead-end job, allowed me to prioritize getting better, and address the challenges I was facing. Ultimately, it reinforced my determination to return to school and pursue my passion for graphic design. But the decision to re-enter academia was not without its hurdles, particularly in terms of financial stability. One of the biggest challenges I have encountered is the need to balance my passion for the arts with the demands of my financial situation. Graphic design, like many creative fields, requires not only dedication but also access to resources, software, and materials. There have been countless nights where instead of working on design projects, I had to prioritize part-time work to ensure I could afford necessities, such as food and rent. These moments of financial strain underscored the harsh reality that pursuing one's passion can be financially burdensome. Another example is how the computer I have had for many years has been buckling under the weight of Adobe software, and my professors have not known how to help me with technical issues, because it's not a Macbook or up to par with industry standards. I can't afford to get a new one at the moment, so I just have to make do with what I have. In navigating these challenges, I have learned to utilize both my right and left brain. My right brain, the creative powerhouse, fuels my artistic endeavors, allowing me to generate innovative ideas and express myself through design. It is the driving force behind my commitment to accessible design, as I seek to make art and information more inclusive and equitable for all. In my day-to-day life, I use my right brain more, and my friends have described me as "thinking with my heart". Conversely, my left brain, the practical and analytical side, has been instrumental in finding solutions to my financial predicaments. It has compelled me to budget meticulously, seek out scholarships and grants, and explore part-time employment opportunities that align with my academic pursuits. Despite the financial challenges that have occasionally hindered my progress, I remain dedicated to both my artistic aspirations and my commitment to inclusive design. My journey has reaffirmed my belief in the transformative power of art and its potential to create positive change in the world, and I am committed to continuing this pursuit, no matter the financial obstacles that may arise.

In my life-long journey to become financially literate, one invaluable lesson stands out above the rest: "Being cheap is expensive." This simple yet profound statement has guided me through numerous day-to-day financial decisions, from small luxuries to major living decisions, and it highlights the importance of understanding when to cut costs and when to invest in quality. Through personal experiences, I have learned that being frugal in the wrong places can ultimately lead to paying much more than intended, proving that the cheapest option isn't always the most financially sound one. One striking example that illustrates this lesson occurred when I purchased a pair of shoes from a fast fashion retailer. (I promise I have gotten more environmentally sustainable since then.) At the time, I was only making about $12 per hour at my catering job, and the allure of a $3 pair of shoes seemed irresistible. Succumbing to the temptation of a bargain, I eagerly bought them, thinking I had made a wise financial choice. However, this decision turned out to be a classic case of a false economy. Predictably, the cheaply manufactured shoes began showing signs of wear and tear within just a few weeks. The soles wore thin very quickly, and the reality of what a $3 pair of shoes accomplishes set in. Within a month, I found myself in the same position I had wanted to avoid: in need of new shoes. This time, I decided to invest a bit more in a higher-quality pair, hoping they would prove more durable and ethically produced. Not surprisingly, these shoes lasted significantly longer, and I didn't have to endure the frequent trips to replace worn-out footwear. This experience demonstrates the essence of a false economy in regards to financial literacy: the ability to distinguish between where it's prudent to save and where it's wiser to spend a little more. In this case, my initial attempt to save money on shoes resulted in a double expenditure, as I had to purchase both the cheap, disposable pair and the higher-quality, longer-lasting alternative. Had I opted for the latter from the beginning, I would have not only saved money in the long run but also avoided the inconvenience and embarrassment of having to shop for new shoes repeatedly. Furthermore, this principle extends beyond footwear; it applies to various aspects of our financial lives, from investing in reliable vehicles to making informed decisions about housing and healthcare. "Being cheap is expensive" underscores the necessity of making informed choices that balance immediate cost considerations with long-term financial well-being. While frugality is essential, it should not come at the expense of quality, as overlooking this crucial distinction can lead to unnecessary financial setbacks. Embracing this lesson has empowered me to make more prudent financial decisions, ultimately steering me toward a more secure and prosperous future.

When I saw this scholarship opportunity, I immediately jumped to apply because of how important this game is to me. My fondest memories are all on multiplayer, with friends, because of what you can do together in such an infinite world. My favorite aspect of the game is not only adventuring and playing with friends, but walking through your world after every one has built a lot of what they want to. It’s a huge mosaic of different building styles, aesthetic tastes, even skill level, and it’s so beautiful and feels like walking around your childhood home. Sometimes you “hop on” (a term for getting online and joining) and no one is there, and you can peacefully work on your newest project. Sometimes you hop on, and everyone has decided to stock up on supplies to either go fight something, or go build something huge that will take countless hours. Either way, no two player is the exact same, and the way that different people will still try and make their place on a shared space, whether as a huge mansion with a water slide or a dirt Hobbit hole, it’s still a community, and one that can’t be replicated. This dynamic has even changed how I see the real world- I have grown to love neighborhoods with lots of different styles and people and things to do and places to eat, and have grown away from monotony. Minecraft is only a small window into human diversity, not even just over culture or wealth, but in interests and tastes and what people want to see in the world themselves. Minecraft allows people to truly make that space that they might not have been able to in the real world, and have it co-exist peacefully next to something completely different, or maybe not so different after all.

As flattering as it is to be called "The Greatest Generation 2.0", I honestly wish that we didn't have to carry the burden of that label. To wish for a sense of normalcy may seem like a pathetic wish, but with the collective trauma our generation has endured around the world, it should be seen as the end goal, where we don't have to worry about greed crushing us alive, or the Earth melting away with all living things still on it. With how things are looking now, where those threats of death by poverty loom every day, I think there is absolutely no point in pretending that everything will be okay if we just "let things happen" and that things will work themselves out, as if by an invisible hand. And so, what are we doing about it? If anything is to be accomplished, it must be a collective effort, as shown with Fridays for Future and Climate Defiance. While the problems named in the Ode To Millenials-Gen Z are largely American-centric, climate movements have largely been an international phenomenon, even as America remains the worst country on Earth for its impact on the climate, leaving young people to fight for their lives and their future to a generation that doesn't need to care. Some of America's Gen Z citizens have been successful in their fight against the system for a better future for all, like with the landmark case against the state of Montana against greenhouse gases and the constitutional right to a clean and healthy environment. The state, predictably, dug its feet in the ground for corporate interests, but I don't see how young people's resentment is going to wane anytime soon, and I truly believe as people get angrier, our actions will have to be more and more powerful to make a difference. There is no other option. Climate greed abroad and corporate greed at home go hand in hand. They come from the same bloodline and have a deep-rooted mentality of profits over people, with no exceptions. Schools, landlords, health insurers, oil and gas companies, and the rest of their ilk feel protected in how much they can exploit and take, take, take. Our generation, when not breathing in poisonous air and drinking carcinogenic water, is being crushed alive by the cost of living. It's no coincidence that college enrollment has quietly declined since 2010- in so many aspects of society, people of all ages are being deemed too poor to live a full life. There was a rent strike a few years ago during COVID, at least in the United States, and it was mildly successful. But we can't live the rest of our lives as a human hippogriff, half-human and half-worker, with corporations trying to breed people into purebred workers, where every last drop of the human experience can be extracted for profit. I truly believe there has to be an extremely radical change in our culture to survive as a species. This essay may sound dramatic at best and like a call to war at worst, but as every news story comes in of a society caving in on itself, the call to fight for our future becomes more and more urgent. I couldn't be prouder as I see people my age fighting for our well-being, and I join in when I can, like with Climate Defiance. Young people have spent their entire lives in this, and do not want to spend an entire life more in this post-capitalist hellscape. Our descendants deserve something worth living for- who are we as a generation if the only things we leave them are a lifetime sentence of debt and charred earth?

I tried to kill myself freshman year. I felt like I didn't have the skills, talent, or favor to succeed in the career world. As a consequence, my relationships struggled, too. I had deeply instilled beliefs that I was worthless, a burden, and like I wasn't "good enough" to exist in this world with other people. I left school for months, and it created a positive feedback effect, where my self-loathing continued to build off my perceived failures. I didn't see myself having any future at all, or at the very least, not worthy of one. Recovery was difficult, and it still is, because maintaining my mental health is something that I've accepted will be a lifelong struggle. My career aspirations have gotten more realistic, and I am developing new skills all the time for when the time comes. I have loving, supportive friends, and my relationship with my family is alright. My beliefs, however, are what are with me every second of every day, and what I will have to do the most work on. I still struggle with my mental health issues telling me cruel things, and trying to get me to believe that I am a horrible, useless person that everyone else keeps entertaining. This is on the other side of the coin of ego- why am I uniquely bad? Why am I uniquely deserving of agonizing struggle? We are the only people that we spend 100% of our time with; did I just become completely sick of myself years ago, and if anyone spends too much time with me, they, too, will get sick of me? A crucial thing I realized not too long ago was that these beliefs that everyone secretly hates me, weren't very nice to those people. It's not at all a kind thing to think of people as secretly mean, and it's not fair to label them as quietly cruel because of my projections. Learning that not everyone and in fact, almost no one, shares my negative beliefs about myself was life-changing. Mental health issues run in my family, and it's morbidly fascinating to think about how in their time, they were written off as insane and could either be locked away or end everything right there. Acknowledgment of mental health has grown exponentially in the last several years, and with it, there are lots of apps, websites, programs, etc. that take advantage of this, sometimes nefariously, like with scamming or fraud. In volunteering my time and my brain by taking part in research studies as a test subject, it feels fulfilling to know that my life can be used for solutions for good, based on scientific research and from people with skin in the game when it comes to mental health treatments. It makes me feel like I'm not a complete waste of space. I hope that as my beliefs about myself continue to grow kinder, I, too, can relay that kindness to the rest of the world. I think for any sort of conversation about mental health to be valuable, it has to come with the sense that there is a certain vulnerability aspect involved, and for there to be room for that, that space needs to be kind, accepting, and understanding. And I cannot completely fulfill that if I am not kind to myself.

Taking care of yourself when you are depressed can feel enormously difficult. My health journey started from the lowest point of my life when I was at rock bottom. I ate terribly, and binge ate at that, so I had a lot of unhealthy rapid weight gain. I never exercised, telling myself that because COVID was ravaging the world at the time, there was nowhere for me to work out. And truth be told, I didn't see myself being around much longer, so what was the point of maintaining a body I cared so little for? I hated myself and wished I would waste away every day. But all things are temporary, including pain, and I eventually got out of my funk. It felt like the sun rising for the first time after a long and dark winter. Improving my mental health was the first order of business before I felt ready to tackle my physical health - I needed to really love my body to get it to where I wanted it to be. Deleting my social media accounts was huge for my mental health, as well as trying to be productive throughout the day so I would feel good about myself. It started small, like cleaning my room, or maybe cooking something on the stove that was more than three ingredients. I started to actually, really commit to therapy, instead of just going through the motions once a week. I reached out to people after months of isolation and felt real joy when they reached back. I was nervous to see people again after my months in hiding; I clearly looked a lot different and looked like I had just been eating cookies in my bed for a long time, which was partially true, as embarrassing as that is. My first foray into exercise after such a long time wasn't for the right reasons - I hated my body because of what I had done to it, and thought I could hate myself into discipline and making my body "right" again. This only worked on a physical level, as I did lose weight and gained muscle in the gym. But I wasn't happy, and my negative self-image was the opposite of healthy. This self-loathing wasn't sustainable either, and so I just committed to walking outdoors every day because I liked the feeling of the sun on my skin and it saved money. I gained a little bit of weight back, as I started to eat more and not starve myself, and slowly but surely tried to unlearn what I felt about my body because, in truth, there wasn't anything unlovable about it to begin with. Sure, my bad habits were reflected on the scale, but being in pain isn't a sin, and my struggles weren't something I should just shun into oblivion. They were a part of my story and a testament to how far I've come. I wasn't a failure or unlovable then, and I sure as hell am not now, either. In order to love myself to the fullest, or at the very least, enough to commit to healthy living for my sake, I need to embrace the experiences that shaped me.

Less than 10% of single parents are single dads, but I was raised in a household with just my father and two brothers. This already made me feel like a bit of a black sheep in the family - gender roles weren't really important within my family, but people on the outside saw my more androgynous and masculine expression as equating to a problem child. Alone, I retreated to the world of doodling in my notebooks to pass the time at recess when no one wanted to play with me. Years later, I believe one of the reasons I'm even alive today is because of art. Art is a window into human existence, with all the love and pain that comes with it. With both my dad and I being on the spectrum, and with no two people on the spectrum being the same, it wasn't always easy for us to communicate. However, the financial strategies and sacrifices he made when money was tight, the skills he taught us, and the emphasis he put on the ways he could help us if we ever got in trouble, do not require spoken words. There was always the comfort of knowing that he had planned for every contingency, including homelessness, and that just because the real world wasn't sugarcoated to us, didn't mean there wasn't joy to be found even in the most dire of places. He encouraged us to follow our dreams and to not feel pressured to pursue something just because it would make a lot of money. I never felt discouraged from pursuing art, and for me, art truly was a light in a very dark time. I used to feel resentment that I wasn't being raised like other girls, and that there were always going to be mother-daughter experiences that I missed out on. I wanted everything life had to offer and felt like I had been given nothing in this world. As I got more accepting of my situation as I got older, I realized that I had a sense of learned helplessness when it came to becoming the person I wanted to be. I did want to feel beautiful, in a sense, and I wanted to be accepted by others so very badly. But by putting boundaries and limits on myself based on what normal families should look like, and by realizing the familial support I had wanted was there all along and I wasn't "missing" anything, was a huge weight off my shoulders. And through both working long hours and instilling a hard work ethic and financial strategy, I have been able to afford my college education thus far without taking any loans. My father still feels distant sometimes, and I still feel lonely sometimes. The ways he has supported me, however, are in actions, not words, and his dedication to our future and educational goals is very admirable to me. His support in my artistic endeavors, and my artistic successes, like having works in shows on campus and around town, is genuine and means the world. If I ever raise someone or even raise someone on my own, I want to support them in whatever facet of education they choose with as much dedication as my dad did.

Quite frankly, I think individuals who don't try to reduce their carbon footprint whatsoever are sticking their heads in the sand, ignoring the reality of the climate crisis. Individual apathy isn't uncommon—after all, the biggest polluters are large corporations, not individuals, and they have been fighting tooth and nail for decades to avoid stopping their active contribution to the planet's deterioration. But deciding that it's not even worth trying anything, including what you actually have the power to do, will lead us even more quickly to an inhospitable planet. Scientists have been warning us for so long, with increasing urgency, that the planet is being destroyed, and this summer of 2023 has been incredibly bleak. The actions we all need to take to protect what we haven't completely destroyed yet may be uncomfortable and inconvenient, which is why many people are repelled by the idea. However, the lifestyle of mass consumption with everything available all the time was never going to be sustainable in any way, shape, or form. Personal sacrifice is necessary for the future—we don't have the luxury of mass consumption anymore, and we never did. Some of the smaller things I have done for the planet include switching my electricity plan from carbon-based to renewable energy and volunteering to plant trees with Treecard. But the aspect of sustainability that I am most involved in is the sustainability of the clothes we wear. One thing I am very passionate about is sustainable fashion, and that's where I have been focusing a lot of my energy over the past few years. The fashion industry, especially fast fashion, encourages mass consumption and viral "hauls," which is unbelievably destructive on multiple counts. Trends move at a breakneck pace (the "fast" in fast fashion), and the industry also coerces buyers to continue buying by instilling a sense of FOMO with all the latest trends and styles, which change so rapidly that many retailers cannot keep up without producing enormous amounts of waste. There are multiple reports of human rights violations, and the clothes themselves are filled with lead and other harmful chemicals, according to the CBC. A lot of clothes end up in landfills, river streams, or the "Great Pacific Garbage Patch," and the clothes also do not last long because they are so cheaply made, which then encourages the buyer to continue shopping for more clothes. There are two main ways to dress more sustainably, both of which I actively do: don't buy new items as often as possible and maintain the clothes you currently own. Shopping for second-hand clothing or receiving items from friends or family helps reduce the demand for new clothing and extends the lifetime of clothes, so they aren't quickly discarded. Maintaining the clothes you have, however, is perhaps the biggest thing you can do to reduce the impact of fashion on the planet. This can involve buying materials that last a long time or sewing up any holes (or embracing them). Taking care of your clothes reduces the need for shopping entirely, which not only saves your wallet but also removes you from the mass consumption chain. By having a more sustainable approach to fashion, you not only do your part to reduce your own carbon footprint in the massive carbon impact of fast fashion but also learn to truly value what you put on your body every day. I hope to continue living this way for the rest of my life and encourage others to do the same.

One of the greatest authors of the 20th century, James Baldwin, explained, "You think your pain and your heartbreak are unprecedented in the history of the world, but then you read. It was books that taught me that the things that tormented me most were the very things that connected me with all the people who were alive, who had ever been alive." Literature encompasses the human experience, and we would be dreadfully lonely without it. If everyone were mandated to read just one book, I would offer up "Giovanni's Room" by James Baldwin. With its exploration of feeling socially isolated from the culture that created you and trying to find identity within one's environment, even if doomed from the start, "Giovanni's Room" is a masterpiece in describing how painstakingly hard we try to find ourselves in things beyond our control, such as in places and other people. Ultimately, neither of those things can fully define oneself, but they become aspects of who we are. As Baldwin noted, the human experience cannot be contained; it is shared among everyone who has ever lived and who is yet to exist. "Giovanni's Room" introduces a myriad of characters from different demographics who, at the end of the day, just want to be loved and seek fulfillment through acceptance from others. This encapsulates existence very neatly – these characters, although fictional, evoke such real and gripping pain that you, as the reader, feel compelled to wish with all your heart that things will work out for them, even though the book is already published, and their fate is set in stone. And isn't it wonderful how we love and support these characters, even though they only exist on pages? Our capacity for compassion reaches beyond the human population. That is why I believe that books are one of humanity's greatest achievements – they have shown me an endless stream of universes where there is still, across all of them, pain, but also love, love, love.

One of the greatest authors of the 20th century, James Baldwin, explained, "You think your pain and your heartbreak are unprecedented in the history of the world, but then you read. It was books that taught me that the things that tormented me most were the very things that connected me with all the people who were alive, who had ever been alive.” Literature encompasses the human experience, and we would be dreadfully lonely without it. Like Baldwin described, I too felt that my pain and discomfort with life itself was unique to my own experience. I have been reading excessively since I first learned how to, using fantasy as an escape from what I saw as the much more troubling real world. As I opened my mind to more genres, however, I realized that the characteres I was reading about were so human that I would think about these people for the rest of my life. I have for a long time talked myself out of my goals, and felt like there was something alienating and wrong within myself, and that the people who lived centuries ago didn't experience the same feelings that I did. Historical literature has even made me contemplate about my ancestors who lived at the time the book as published, and how they loved and cried and laughed like I do. The biggest reason the aforementioned Baldwin quote is very important to me, is the human connection within it. The modern world can feel so lonely and ostracizing, and like there is no one that understands you. Hideki Anno would write a few decades after Baldwin's death how no one can completely understand you but yourself, and that is why you should try to be as good and as kind to yourself as possible. The human population, with an endless amount of unique experiences, still shares collective feelings and a desire to be understood by others. Even if the people around you seem to not understand you, literature does, which in a way proves that there are people out there who can see you, too. Every fictional character has something that ties them to the real world, and genuine experiences can be found in any book, even in the most wildest fantasy or even children's books, where children are first taught that love exists everywhere. Books, perhaps even before I learned how to read, have shown me an endless stream of universes where there is still, across all of them, pain, but also love, love, love.

A lot of architectural design, both internal and external, isn't very autism-friendly, or at the very least, a sensory nightmare. A building can be too loud, too bright, hard to look at, smells funny, too crowded, confusing, and overwhelming... if I were to design a Barbie dream House, I'd want to make it catered to myself and people like me, as all too often, there are spaces not designed for us at all. It would be located somewhere quiet, so maybe somewhere in nature or somewhere remote. I love the fresh air of the mountains, so maybe somewhere up there, far away from big crowds. There would be an accessibility ramp, or an elevator, or something designed for those with physical disabilities as well, because often disabled people have more than one disability. A state-of-the-art train could take people to the foot of the mountain before they go up, and the train would be quiet with lots of personal space for people, including single rooms if so desired for the ultimate sense of serenity. The colors would be muted and not overwhelming in both the train and the house. The house itself would be big and open with lots of space, including elevators to every floor, because my top priority would be accessibility. Each room would have braille descriptors, and no room would have steps to access it, only ramps. Nothing would be carelessly strewn about the floor, not only for those who are blind and walk with a cane, but also because it would disrupt the orderly pattern of the house, and make it suddenly unpleasant to be in, at least for me. Comfortable seating would be everywhere in case people that have trouble walking for long periods of time need to take a break. I know for my own needs, I would want specific textures throughout the house, and certain ones would be banned, like silk. There is nothing in the world that is more uncomfortable than silk to me! I would also like lots of rooms where I could go to hide and destress, away from others, immersed in pure comfort. Noise-canceling headphones would be widely available throughout the house, and my wardrobe would be big, baggy clothes I could scrunch up in my hands. No one would be required to make eye contact with anyone when speaking, and ASL would be the second language of the house. People have different needs, sure, and sometimes autistic people have exact opposite needs, like textures and sounds. It would be impossible to cater to everyone, but for my own home, with my own needs, I'd like to think a decent amount of people (or Barbies?) would feel right at home. I would want my Dream House to be very much designed for me and my needs, in a world that is not designed for me, or even accepting of me.

I tried to kill myself freshman year. I felt like I didn't have the skills, talent, or favor to succeed in the career world. As a consequence, my relationships struggled, too. I had deeply instilled beliefs that I was worthless, a burden, and like I wasn't "good enough" to exist in this world with other people. I left school for months, and it created a positive feedback effect, where my self-loathing continued to build off my perceived failures. I didn't see myself having any future at all, or at the very least, not worthy of one. Recovery was difficult, and it still is, because maintaining my mental health is something that I've accepted will be a lifelong struggle. My career aspirations have gotten more realistic, and I am developing new skills all the time for when the time comes. I have loving, supportive friends, and my relationship with my family is alright. My beliefs, however, are what are with me every second of every day, and what I will have to do the most work on. I still struggle with my mental health issues telling me cruel things, and trying to get me to believe that I am a horrible, useless person that everyone else keeps entertaining. This is on the other side of the coin of ego- why am I uniquely bad? Why am I uniquely deserving of agonizing struggle? We are the only people that we spend 100% of our time with; did I just become completely sick of myself years ago, and if anyone spends too much time with me, they, too, will get sick of me? A crucial thing I realized not too long ago was that these beliefs that everyone secretly hates me, weren't very nice to those people. It's not at all a kind thing to think of people as secretly mean, and it's not fair to label them as quietly cruel because of my projections. Learning that not everyone and in fact, almost no one, shares my negative beliefs about myself was life-changing. Mental health issues run in my family, and it's morbidly fascinating to think about how in their time, they were written off as insane and could either be locked away or end everything right there. Acknowledgment of mental health has grown exponentially in the last several years, and with it, there are lots of apps, websites, programs, etc. that take advantage of this, sometimes nefariously, like with scamming or fraud. In volunteering my time and my brain by taking part in research studies as a test subject, it feels fulfilling to know that my life can be used for solutions for good, based on scientific research and from people with skin in the game when it comes to mental health treatments. It makes me feel like I'm not a complete waste of space. I hope that as my beliefs about myself continue to grow kinder, I, too, can relay that kindness to the rest of the world. I think for any sort of conversation about mental health to be valuable, it has to come with the sense that there is a certain vulnerability aspect involved, and for there to be room for that, that space needs to be kind, accepting, and understanding. And I cannot completely fulfill that if I am not kind to myself.

I tried to kill myself freshman year. I felt like I didn't have the skills, talent, or favor to succeed in the career world. As a consequence, my relationships struggled, too. I had deeply instilled beliefs that I was worthless, a burden, and like I wasn't "good enough" to exist in this world with other people. I left school for months, and it created a positive feedback effect, where my self-loathing continued to build off my perceived failures. I didn't see myself having any future at all, or at the very least, not worthy of one. Recovery was difficult, and it still is, because maintaining my mental health is something that I've accepted will be a lifelong struggle. Our mental health is who we are, and how we perceive the world around us. My career aspirations have gotten more realistic, and I am developing new skills all the time for when the time comes. I have loving, supportive friends, and my relationship with my family is alright. My beliefs, however, are what are with me every second of every day, and what I will have to do the most work on. I still struggle with my mental health issues telling me cruel things, and trying to get me to believe that I am a horrible, useless person that everyone else keeps entertaining. This is on the other side of the coin of ego- why am I uniquely bad? Why am I uniquely deserving of agonizing struggle? We are the only people that we spend 100% of our time with; did I just become completely sick of myself years ago, and if anyone spends too much time with me, they, too, will get sick of me? A crucial thing I realized not too long ago was that these beliefs that everyone secretly hates me, weren't very nice to those people. It's not at all a kind thing to think of people as secretly mean, and it's not fair to label them as quietly cruel because of my projections. Learning that not everyone and in fact, almost no one, shares my negative beliefs about myself was life-changing. Mental health issues run in my family, and it's morbidly fascinating to think about how in their time, they were written off as insane and could either be locked away or end everything right there. Acknowledgment of mental health has grown exponentially in the last several years, and with it, there are lots of apps, websites, programs, etc. that take advantage of this, sometimes nefariously, like with scamming or fraud. In volunteering my time and my brain by taking part in research studies as a test subject, it feels fulfilling to know that my life can be used for solutions for good, based on scientific research and from people with skin in the game when it comes to mental health treatments. It makes me feel like I'm not a complete waste of space. I hope that as my beliefs about myself continue to grow kinder, I, too, can relay that kindness to the rest of the world. I think for any sort of conversation about mental health to be valuable, it has to come with the sense that there is a certain vulnerability aspect involved, and for there to be room for that, that space needs to be kind, accepting, and understanding. And I cannot completely fulfill that if I am not kind to myself.

For most of my life, I have talked myself out of achieving my goals. Moving to the USA when I was very little for better job opportunities for my father, I've experienced a mild amount of pressure from him and an enormous amount from my mother to put America's elite education to good use. I go to a flagship state school, which my mother only tolerates- but she can't stand my major, graphic design. I haven't spoken to her in years, but what she doesn't know is that I've quietly begun to believe in myself and my goals without the worry of feeling ridiculed. I love art and design, and that carries over into my ambition of being a front-end web developer. I like to consider web design, as well as and especially UI and UX design, to be the intersection of design and software programming. I want to make or improve websites to be more accessible for more users and have been using those design principles in mind as I get my certificate in responsive web design. What I love about the certificate is that it's self-paced; feeling debilitating anxiety for my entire life, and creating unnecessary deadlines in my head, this feels more manageable and like I'm less likely to doubt myself to such an extent that I cave to my low self-esteem, and chicken out of my dreams. My dreams have changed over the years, especially career-wise, but I still feel very strongly about wanting to be happy and at peace as the end goal. Accessible design, especially on the more-or-less universal computer or smartphone, will not only benefit me and my usage of screens, but it will help others like me- people who are neurodivergent, people who are disabled who have been excluded from the common good for so long. The level of fulfillment in helping other people is one of the best things we can do with our limited time being alive, and this is a calling where I feel like, with the right external support and internal motivation, I can shine, and use what I'm skilled at to my fullest potential. For a short time, I wasn't even sure if I wanted to go to college, because a lot of the skills I need to succeed can be learned at home, but getting a formal education and meeting people that genuinely teach me and want to see me succeed has been life-changing. And with my degree and certificate, I hope that it's just the beginning of what I can do to help the world, which no matter what my career is, has always been a big dream of mine.

Something that isn't often talked about when being an autistic person is how lonely and alienating it can be at times. Years ago, due to social isolation and bullying, I retreated to the virtual world and spent a lot of time with a computer screen. And when you're often online, you quickly learn what accessible and inaccessible design looks like. I remember encountering websites with poor design and little accessibility and feeling overwhelmed and excluded. Now, as an undergraduate student, I don't feel bullied anymore and have found great friends. However, as I've learned to code, with a focus on front-end development and UI/UX design, I've since learned my power to make a difference in the communities that matter to me, right from my fingertips. One of the easiest lines you learn in code is alternative text, for images that are being read by screen readers. And with design, you can also code in certain color palettes, fonts, and user interface that is more accessible to people with all kinds of disabilities, and I cannot think of something more fulfilling than contributing to accessibility in the tech world and helping create spaces that are inclusive instead of exclusive. Exclusion can feel awful from peers alone, and when the screen staring back at you is hard to read, overwhelming, and confusing, it can contribute to that feeling of "this isn't meant for me". And by breaking barriers and using personal experience in design and coding decisions, I hope to not only open doors for people like me but contribute a valuable perspective to those in software development, specifically front-end development, that they might not have gotten from a more traditionally represented member of the team. Coding, too, can feel overwhelming at first, but one of the first things I fell in love with when initially introduced to it was how easy it was to understand. In a world where human communication can feel unclear and confusing, and like there is a piece of the puzzle that I'm missing, languages like CSS, HTML, and Javascript, are an autistic person's dream. There is no subtext or implied meaning- it is straightforward with visible results. I sometimes feel imposter syndrome, because my field of study is graphic design with an emphasis on front-end design, not computer science. But my learned skills in design and the arts have allowed me to combine the best of both worlds, and I hope that I can have a career where I wouldn't work a day in my life, and would just be doing what I loved, supporting the communities that I am a part of and that have supported me. Financial support for my education would allow me to be a pioneer for not just women in tech, but neurodivergent people, as well.

Something that isn't often talked about when being an autistic person is how lonely and alienating it can be at times. Years ago, due to social isolation and bullying, I retreated to the virtual world and spent a lot of time with a computer screen. And when you're often online, you quickly learn what accessible and inaccessible design looks like. I remember encountering websites with poor design and little accessibility and feeling overwhelmed and excluded. Now, as an undergraduate student, I don't feel bullied anymore and have found great friends. However, as I've learned to code, with a focus on front-end development and UI/UX design, I've since learned my power to make a difference in the communities that matter to me, right from my fingertips. One of the easiest lines you learn in code is alternative text, for images that are being read by screen readers. And with design, you can also code in certain color palettes, fonts, and user interface that is more accessible to people with all kinds of disabilities, and I cannot think of something more fulfilling than contributing to accessibility in the tech world and helping create spaces that are inclusive instead of exclusive. Exclusion can feel awful from peers alone, and when the screen staring back at you is hard to read, overwhelming, and confusing, it can contribute to that feeling of "this isn't meant for me". And by breaking barriers and using personal experience in design and coding decisions, I hope to not only open doors for people like me but contribute a valuable perspective to those in software development, specifically front-end development, that they might not have gotten from a more traditionally represented member of the team. Coding, too, can feel overwhelming at first, but one of the first things I fell in love with when initially introduced to it was how easy it was to understand. In a world where human communication can feel unclear and confusing, and like there is a piece of the puzzle that I'm missing, languages like CSS, HTML, and Javascript, are an autistic person's dream. There is no subtext or implied meaning- it is straightforward with visible results. I sometimes feel imposter syndrome, because my field of study is graphic design with an emphasis on front-end design, not computer science. But my learned skills in design and the arts have allowed me to combine the best of both worlds, and I hope that I can have a career where I wouldn't work a day in my life, and would just be doing what I loved, supporting the communities that I am a part of and that have supported me. Financial support for my education would allow me to be a pioneer for not just women in tech, but neurodivergent people, as well.

I tried to kill myself freshman year. I felt like I didn't have the skills, talent, or favor to succeed in the career world. As a consequence, my relationships struggled, too. I had deeply instilled beliefs that I was worthless, a burden, and like I wasn't "good enough" to exist in this world with other people. I left school for months, and it created a positive feedback effect, where my self-loathing continued to build off my perceived failures. I didn't see myself having any future at all, or at the very least, not worthy of one. Recovery was difficult, and it still is, because maintaining my mental health is something that I've accepted will be a lifelong struggle. My career aspirations have gotten more realistic, and I am developing new skills all the time for when the time comes. I have loving, supportive friends, and my relationship with my family is alright. My beliefs, however, are what are with me every second of every day, and what I will have to do the most work on. I still struggle with my mental health issues telling me cruel things, and trying to get me to believe that I am a horrible, useless person that everyone else keeps entertaining. This is on the other side of the coin of ego- why am I uniquely bad? Why am I uniquely deserving of agonizing struggle? We are the only people that we spend 100% of our time with; did I just become completely sick of myself years ago, and if anyone spends too much time with me, they, too, will get sick of me? A crucial thing I realized not too long ago was that these beliefs that everyone secretly hates me, weren't very nice to those people. It's not at all a kind thing to think of people as secretly mean, and it's not fair to label them as quietly cruel because of my projections. Learning that not everyone and in fact, almost no one, shares my negative beliefs about myself was life-changing. Mental health issues run in my family, and it's morbidly fascinating to think about how in their time, they were written off as insane and could either be locked away or end everything right there. Acknowledgment of mental health has grown exponentially in the last several years, and with it, there are lots of apps, websites, programs, etc. that take advantage of this, sometimes nefariously, like with scamming or fraud. In volunteering my time and my brain by taking part in research studies as a test subject, it feels fulfilling to know that my life can be used for solutions for good, based on scientific research and from people with skin in the game when it comes to mental health treatments. It makes me feel like I'm not a complete waste of space. I hope that as my beliefs about myself continue to grow kinder, I, too, can relay that kindness to the rest of the world. I think for any sort of conversation about mental health to be valuable, it has to come with the sense that there is a certain vulnerability aspect involved, and for there to be room for that, that space needs to be kind, accepting, and understanding. And I cannot completely fulfill that if I am not kind to myself.

I tried to kill myself freshman year. I felt like I didn't have the skills, talent, or favor to succeed in the career world. As a consequence, my relationships struggled, too. I had deeply instilled beliefs that I was worthless, a burden, and like I wasn't "good enough" to exist in this world with other people. I left school for months, and it created a positive feedback effect, where my self-loathing continued to build off my perceived failures. I didn't see myself having any future at all, or at the very least, not worthy of one. Recovery was difficult, and it still is, because maintaining my mental health is something that I've accepted will be a lifelong struggle. My career aspirations have gotten more realistic, and I am developing new skills all the time for when the time comes. I have loving, supportive friends, and my relationship with my family is alright. My beliefs, however, are what are with me every second of every day, and what I will have to do the most work on. I still struggle with my mental health issues telling me cruel things, and trying to get me to believe that I am a horrible, useless person that everyone else keeps entertaining. This is on the other side of the coin of ego- why am I uniquely bad? Why am I uniquely deserving of agonizing struggle? We are the only people that we spend 100% of our time with; did I just become completely sick of myself years ago, and if anyone spends too much time with me, they, too, will get sick of me? A crucial thing I realized not too long ago was that these beliefs that everyone secretly hates me, weren't very nice to those people. It's not at all a kind thing to think of people as secretly mean, and it's not fair to label them as quietly cruel because of my projections. Learning that not everyone and in fact, almost no one, shares my negative beliefs about myself was life-changing. Mental health issues run in my family, and it's morbidly fascinating to think about how in their time, they were written off as insane and could either be locked away or end everything right there. Acknowledgment of mental health has grown exponentially in the last several years, and with it, there are lots of apps, websites, programs, etc. that take advantage of this, sometimes nefariously, like with scamming or fraud. In volunteering my time and my brain by taking part in research studies as a test subject, it feels fulfilling to know that my life can be used for solutions for good, based on scientific research and from people with skin in the game when it comes to mental health treatments. It makes me feel like I'm not a complete waste of space. I hope that as my beliefs about myself continue to grow kinder, I, too, can relay that kindness to the rest of the world. I think for any sort of conversation about mental health to be valuable, it has to come with the sense that there is a certain vulnerability aspect involved, and for there to be room for that, that space needs to be kind, accepting, and understanding. And I cannot completely fulfill that if I am not kind to myself.

In the coding language of HTML, there are accessibility commands you can program in to make it more accessible, which inspires me in that it is possible to create a more equitable space right from my fingertips. Accessibility in coding should be an integral part of any developer's agenda. As someone who is disabled and pursuing a career in front-end development, I want to pull all the stops in making something that people like me can not only use but feel understood. Beyond just commands, like alternative text, for example, there are certain design choices you can and should code in so that it isn't a sensory nightmare, or fonts that you should choose so that those with dyslexia can read it, or closed captions and/or transcripts for anything with audio or video. That there are entire virtual languages and ways to communicate with your computer to make it more available for some of society's most historically shunned people, is both incredibly inspiring to me and fills me with a drive to be a pioneer and continue with the wave of inclusion for anyone who needs to use a screen in their daily lives. Technology, software, development, and anything adjacent to it have historically under-represented and at times been hostile to women in the industry. I still feel anxiety about not being socially accepted in a workplace after graduation, but what is more powerful than that anxiety is the desire to make a positive change, especially for the communities for which I am a part of.

I want to be someone who, when I wake up despite all of the trauma I've endured, realizes that it doesn't hurt anymore.

Something that isn't often talked about when being an autistic person is how lonely and alienating it can be at times. Years ago, due to social isolation and bullying, I retreated to the virtual world and spent a lot of time with a computer screen. And when you're often online, you quickly learn what accessible and inaccessible design looks like. I remember encountering websites with poor design and little accessibility and feeling overwhelmed and excluded. Now, as an undergraduate student, I don't feel bullied anymore and have found great friends. However, as I've learned to code, with a focus on front-end development and UI/UX design, I've since learned my power to make a difference in the communities that matter to me, right from my fingertips. One of the easiest lines you learn in code is alternative text, for images that are being read by screen readers. And with design, you can also code in certain color palettes, fonts, and user interface that is more accessible to people with all kinds of disabilities, and I cannot think of something more fulfilling than contributing to accessibility in the tech world and helping create spaces that are inclusive instead of exclusive. Exclusion can feel awful from peers alone, and when the screen staring back at you is hard to read, overwhelming, and confusing, it can contribute to that feeling of "this isn't meant for me". And by breaking barriers and using personal experience in design and coding decisions, I hope to not only open doors for people like me but contribute a valuable perspective to those in software development, specifically front-end development, that they might not have gotten from a more traditionally represented member of the team. Coding, too, can feel overwhelming at first, but one of the first things I fell in love with when initially introduced to it was how easy it was to understand. In a world where human communication can feel unclear and confusing, and like there is a piece of the puzzle that I'm missing, languages like CSS, HTML, and Javascript, are an autistic person's dream. There is no subtext or implied meaning- it is straightforward with visible results. I sometimes feel imposter syndrome, because my field of study is graphic design with an emphasis on front-end design, not computer science. But my learned skills in design and the arts have allowed me to combine the best of both worlds, and I hope that I can have a career where I wouldn't work a day in my life, and would just be doing what I loved, supporting the communities that I am a part of and that have supported me. Financial support for my education would allow me to be a pioneer for not just women in tech, but neurodivergent people, as well.

Growing up with a single dad and two brothers, I have always felt distanced from femininity and was not raised into any particular gender role. This, combined with other factors, made me a prime target for bullying and left me with lifelong mental scars, many of which I still struggle with today. At age 13, I realized that I was gender-fluid, and never *wanted* to be confined to any one gender expression. This was at first extremely validating, to know that there was a term for what I was, but it was quickly followed by the terror of what that meant for me growing up in a small town in southern Indiana. And at age 19, I realized I was born with intersex characteristics, and naturally produce more testosterone and androgen hormones than most people assigned female at birth. This diagnosis, too, felt secretly relieving- I was naturally more masculine and androgynous, and I felt just a little more aligned with my body, almost like a cis-gendered person does. While I know my family would tolerate these things about me, I cannot say the same for society at large, especially as trans hate crimes are on the rise and as someone who is visibly outside of hyper-feminity. I joke with my friends that do know who I am that I am only sometimes a woman, and it's only half a joke, but I feel very fortunate to have met those friends in my major, which is graphic design. The art school at my university has always been a meeting place for queer people, and I would love to work in academia one day, designing websites and other graphics for people like me. I have a passion for accessibility in tech and would not only emphasize my projects being extremely user-friendly but also make it a point to only work for institutions that prioritize the safety of everyone in their community, especially people who are likely to have been targets of severe bullying for their gender expression or disability- both things that I faced growing up. That is, perhaps, a bit of a projection, but I am fascinated by the research that shows that autistic people, like myself, are more likely to be transgender, and if there's anything that I've learned from being both autistic and gender non-conforming, is that it can be terribly lonely at times. The times when I felt like I had no one who understood me were some of the worst in my life. I don't want to go into too much detail about my bullying and why I was raised by a single dad, but a lot of things contributed to my feelings of alienation. That is why, perhaps more than anything, after graduation, I want to be in a career where I wouldn't be a part of the problem, and would instead use my design and coding skills to create accessible and inclusive websites, as graphic design has the power to tie into front-end development and UI/UX design to make information more accessible then it might be on paper. And I would never, ever, work for an organization or institution that was oppressive, discriminatory, or otherwise a part of the systemic oppression of LGBTQ+ people.

When I first fell in love with world languages and linguistics, I decided that graphic design would just be a side hobby, while pursuing foreign languages full-time at university. I quickly reversed the two, deciding that languages would be just an interest, as I fit in much more with the graphic design world, and loved all my classes in that field. But through both my special interest in foreign languages and graphic design, I was able to quickly fall in love with a new field- coding. Coding languages, like any other language, seem unintelligible and intimidating at first, but with consistency and drive, you can learn them to the point of fluency. The sciences of speaking the computer's multiple languages, like CSS, HTML, and Javascript, to create fully functioning websites or apps was both astonishing and delightful to me. To be able to do graphic design projects through code and create something that people will able to use, like websites, felt more fulfilling to me than using graphic design in fields like marketing or advertising. Another application of graphic design via software (for example, front-end development) that means a lot to me personally, is accessibility. Being able to put in the alternative text on images in a way that you won't be able to on printed paper, being able to easily change font appearance and colors, working to tie in graphic elements and user experience design to make the information as seamless as possible for as many users as possible, opens countless doors for so many people. With me being on the spectrum and instinctually understanding how bad design and user interface can make something near-unusable, I feel very motivated to keep honing my skills to create things that will continue to include people like me. As technology progresses and new kinds of devices beyond a smartphone or computer are released to the general public, there is a certain degree of pressure to keep up with current developments and industry standards, and sometimes it can feel overwhelming. I will occasionally also feel imposter syndrome when working more with the coding side of things, as my field of study is graphic design, which is more arts-oriented, and not in computer science or software development. But just as I have grown to accept myself for my disability, I am learning to accept the things I cannot change and change the things I cannot accept. And with my mission of advocating for people like me, I wouldn't have been able to use my graphic design skills to the fullest without the science of code.

Less than 10% of single parents are single dads, but I was raised in a household with just my father and two brothers. I was the only female in the house and had no real female influences- something that made me struggle to fit in while in school. However, as I've gotten more comfortable in my gender expression, and come to be more accepting of my femininity, I've grown to see past arbitrary gender roles and come to be much more grateful for the support my dad provided me. With both my dad and I being on the spectrum, and with no two people on the spectrum being the same, it wasn't always easy for us to communicate. However, the financial strategies and sacrifices he made when money was tight, the skills he taught us, and the emphasis he put on the ways he could help us if we ever got in trouble, do not require spoken words. There was always the comfort of knowing that he had planned for every contingency, including homelessness, and that just because the real world wasn't sugarcoated to us, didn't mean there wasn't joy to be found even in the most dire of places. I used to feel resentment that I wasn't being raised like other girls, and that there were always going to be mother-daughter experiences that I missed out on. I wanted everything life had to offer and felt like I had been given nothing in this world. As I got more accepting of my situation as I got older, I realized that I had a sense of learned helplessness when it came to becoming the person I wanted to be. I did want to feel beautiful, in a sense, and I wanted to be accepted by others so very badly. But by putting boundaries and limits on myself based on what normal families should look like, and by realizing the familial support I had wanted was there all along and I wasn't "missing" anything, was a huge weight off my shoulders. And through both working long hours and instilling a hard work ethic and financial strategy, I have been able to afford my college education thus far without taking any loans. My father still feels distant sometimes, and I still feel lonely sometimes. The ways he has supported me, however, are in actions, not words, and his dedication to our future and educational goals is very admirable to me. If I ever raise someone or even raise someone on my own, I want to support them in whatever facet of education they choose with as much dedication as my dad did.