My favorite movie of all time is The Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind. The plot of the movie follows the story of a couple whose relationship falls apart, leading them to go to a company that can erase the memory of each other. The movie is unique in the way that the plot pans out. It is almost as if everything is moving backwards like you are dropped in the middle of a story and you are not quite sure what the timeline is. The movie watcher is working backwards with the memories the same way the main characters are, making the story feel inclusive. When I initially began watching the movie I had no idea that it would be thought provoking. The movie is lighthearted and silly at times while equally heartbreaking as the male lead rushes through memories, regretting having them erased. I think most people have met someone or experienced something that they wish they could forget. This can be things that they’re not proud of or just wish that they could undo. As unsettling as it may be I like the idea that somethings are just meant to happen. The couple erased each other from their minds but managed to fall in love all over again even after discovering they had been together before and their relationship went down in flames. It is as though they were always meant to find each other and they were always meant to fall apart and that’s something that can’t be erased or undone. The Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind also poses the question, is it really better to forget? Maybe the answer is no, but this movie is so fantastic I wish I could forget it just to watch it all over again for the first time.

When I was in sixth grade, I decided to donate my hair after reading a book about a girl with alopecia. I have always been particularly dramatic about my hair, so when the big cut took me from a length that rested at the bottom of my ribcage to settling at my collarbone, it was a drastic change for me. I remember holding the braids that were my signature style at the time in my hands and growing shocked that I had done it. I had been nervous going back to school, as middle schoolers are not known for being kind to others and dealing with any form of change in an appropriate manner. After getting a few odd looks from people, I was teetering on the edge of crying. What made me burst into tears was when a boy began making fun of me, saying that my hair looked “uneven.” It shouldn’t have bothered me as much as it did, but when you are already feeling insecure about something and someone comments on it, that is the nail in the coffin. I texted my mother during my class, telling her I was having a bad day, honestly, just hoping she would pick me up from school and maybe, just maybe, I would never have to go back. When I got home from school, I was absolutely distraught. The day had seemed endless, and I just wanted to put on a hat or throw on a beanie to hide my hair. My mom pulled me into her arms and comforted me. She reassured me that I was beautiful and told me that my hair was, in fact, not uneven. Her comfort was enough to erase the badness of the day. I walked upstairs to my bedroom and saw that a surprise was left on my bed. After my awful day, the last thing I expected was for there to be a gift on my bed. There was a pack of grape Red Vines on my comforter with a little note that said, “I think your hair looks grape (great).” It was just a small gift, but it meant the world to me. My mom did not need to leave me candy as her words were enough, but it was something extra she did just to be kind. When days are tough, this is a memory I go back to often because of how much it meant to me.

When I was young, I never thought about leaving a legacy. Children are so wide-eyed and interested in the world, they do not think about what they leave behind, only what is to come. Legacies were only in our bedtime stories about greek heroes and magical worlds. The idea of leaving a legacy never came up again until I was sixteen years old after moving to a small town during my sophomore year. I had a teacher who wanted the world for every student that walked through his door. He saw the potential to leave a legacy in everyone he encountered, so he taught us one day what it means to leave a legacy. My head was pounding like angry toy soldiers were banging their little wooden hands against my skull. Everything about my body felt so heavy. I understood now how the titan Atlas must have felt with the heavens cursed upon his shoulders. I wanted to lay my head down, what I would have done for just ten minutes of sleep. That was when my teacher passed out two sheets of paper to each student. One titled “The Charge of the Light Brigade” and the other “The Hollow Men.” We read one story about men charging into a battle valiantly because they cared for their country and wanted to fight for what they believed, not knowing or caring if they would fail. The second poem was the opposite. The lines were about men filled with straw and without substance. They were hollow, useless, and purposeless. “The men in the first story left a legacy of being heroes... What did the hollow men stand for?” The answer was nothing. Legacies are what people leave behind after they are long gone and to leave a legacy means to have done something with purpose and meaning. It is easy to do nothing and be a person made of straw, but it takes ambition and drive to leave a legacy. There are little legacies laced in everyday life. People whose names no one knows but whose drive to change affects us without us even recognizing it, like the maker of the seatbelt, the coffee pot, the microwave, and the toilet. Then there are more significant legacies left by those like Martin Luther King, Frida Kahlo, Thomas Edison, and George Washington. Now that I am older and have a bit more time to look back on, I have thought about what legacy I would like to leave behind. There is a quote from one of my favorite movies, Dead Poets Society, that says, “Medicine, law, business, engineering, these are noble pursuits and necessary to sustain life. But poetry, beauty, romance, love, these are what we stay alive for.” I am a storyteller, a writer, a painter, and a music lover. I want to use the arts I love to create something worth staying alive for. Whether one person takes my stories to heart or thousands that will be enough of a legacy for me.

I wish that learning to love myself had happened overnight or with a simple flip of a switch. It undoubtedly would have saved me from so many tears. But self-love is more complicated than that. Learning to love myself was more than merely liking who I am, but letting go of who I thought I needed to be. Social media never came with yellow caution tape or a warning sign. My generation has had technology for as long as we can remember. Gen Z has grown up watching others on social media and seeing the world in the palms of their hands, but with this ability came anxiety and expectations. Self-deprecating jokes became “everyday social media language.” It made happiness and positivity unrelatable because the internet would rather spread negativity to receive likes, shares, saves, and retweets. All of these things were being programmed in our heads from a young age. It wasn’t something parents could control as social media was all new territory, and the internet is not easily regulated. Then came the moments when I was growing up, where I expected my life to be as fantastic as others’ social media posts. When everyone was constantly posting their best and brightest achievements or were surrounded by loving friends, I found myself comparing my own social media profile to others. Seeing others have fun with friends when you feel alone makes it is easy to feel like a failure. The best advice I ever received about self-love was from my mom. She said, “Would you let your best friend treat herself that way you treat yourself?” The answer was no. The moment I learned I needed to treat myself like a friend was when the truth unfolded before my eyes. The flip did not switch, and suddenly everything was bright. It was more like the sun was rising, and I watched the world around me become filled with light. Growing up the same way, I had heard my best friend express her grief about her self worth and the impact of social media. I had asked her, “But are you happy?” “Of course!” “Than that is all that matters.” These were the words I needed to echo back to myself. Likes, followers, and comments do not determine our successes. When we live our lives genuinely, we are truly at our happiest.

One of the first lessons taught in high school Spanish is the family unit. Papá or padre means father or dad. We had an assignment where our teacher gave us an alphabetical list of adjectives and a prompt asking us to describe our families. I began at the top and knew I already found the perfect word to describe my dad. I wrote, “Mi padre es muy ambicioso.” My father is very ambitious. When you open a dictionary and look under ambitious, I swear my father’s image is used as the definition because my father is the hardest worker I have ever known. I remember being in eighth grade and hearing a girl say, “Mexicans are only yard workers.” As angry as I was at the disrespect towards my family, I smiled, knowing my father broke the stereotype in her head because he pushed past what racist girls like her expected him to be. My father has tan skin and almond-shaped eyes, stereotypical Mexican features. There are times when being a white man would have made life and work much easier for him, but he never took being Mexican as a disadvantage. His drive to succeed outweighed adversity. There are times when he has tough days at work, which I would expect when everyone seems to demand his attention the moment his eyes open for the day. My brother and I know when my dad has had a tough day, not because he complains and makes us bear the weight, but because my mom makes my dad’s favorite dinner, Spaghetti. He kisses my mom’s cheek and never once does he break. Instead, he smiles and cracks jokes, asking us about our day. If we ask him how the day unfolded, he will sigh a bit and say, “Very exhausting, but I’m lucky to be working, especially in these times.” The greatest lesson I ever learned from my father was one that went unsaid. Ambition is what makes you stand out above the rest. I participated in a class-wide debate during my sophomore year of high school and used the ambition I saw in my father to better myself for my team. I became the leader my dad inspired me to be and it was through him that my team and I were able to win.

1. With her big brown eyes staring into mine, she looked as though she were saying, "Take my picture." As soon as she saw I was about to take her photo, her jaw dropped, revealing her teeth and picture-perfect smile. "Sweet Sadie smiles like a lady." 2. She saw me reach for her least favorite bin, costumes and sweaters. Sadie's little feet took her as far as they could carry her before I scooped her up to put her in this year's Halloween costume. "No dogs were harmed in the making of this photo... only Sadie's dignity." @miakhernandez

I place my fingers on computer keys and my stories unfold. My imagination tumbles out as if the words were there all along, waiting to be told. Sometimes my inspiration is like a flame pinched between fingertips. During these days, chords and harmonies guide my stories. Lovers running in a library, inhaling the scent of worn books. Friends skateboarding down windy roads, laughing while wind blows through their hair. Strangers holding hands, realizing there is nothing they could have done to stop the end of the world. These are the stories my playlist inspired me to tell.

The only way down is to jump. Everything is salty, I can taste it on my tongue, and sometimes I can feel it, the saltiness in the air. The moment the love and the light leaves, and the cold rigidness is all that is left. I could not tell you how I know the time as my wrists are watchless, and it is as though phones do not exist in this reality, but it is past midnight. It must be three in the morning. The sky is not dark; it is grey like the storm has just passed or is just beginning. My anxiety catches me somewhere in between. The moon is the brightest thing I can see, illuminating my skin, making it look bluish, somewhere near sickly. The crescent in the sky is glowing more than the ocean’s foam that I swear is whispering my name as it rises and collapses like anxious breathing. You see, I’m standing at the edge of a cliff. Somewhere in Newport, maybe, Cliff Walk, perhaps? A distant memory. I can see the waves below, and I’m thinking of how my skin would prickle and the flesh would goose if I became consumed by the waters. It’s easy to imagine. Eerie and all too easy. With these images come the words, “The only way down is to jump.” The first time I wrote, “The only way down is to jump,” was not when my mind was playing tricks on me, but instead during a moment of clarity. The words repeated like a ticking clock, insistent and angry. Initially, I thought my words echoed my subconscious, the one that stood at the edge of the cliff, contemplating. I was horrified that my mind could conjure such a thought when my anxiety was the last thing that was bothering me at that moment. As I went through my writings on another day, simply wanting to gather my wits, I realized there was hope written inside my words that I had not seen before. My mother once told me a story about when she was a child on a tall diving board and her fear of jumping. She could not step down as there was a line of kids behind her, and she had climbed up to impress an older handsome lifeguard. She only had one option. The only way down was to jump. So she did. The water consumed her, but she rose to the surface of the pool and was relieved and knew she could do it and would do it again. My words have two meanings, just as every moment can be used for good or bad, to motivate or taunt. I could use my words to sway on the edge of a cliff above the roaring Rhode Island waters or be a child scared of leaping from a diving board only to learn she loves it. My life does not need to be about a raging storm or battling waves. It can be taking things moment by moment. It is all about my perspective, and of all the chaotic things that I can not change, my perspective is the one thing within my control. The only way down is to jump does not mean hopelessness anymore. It is harnessing the fear and being brave enough to leave the diving board.