In my opinion, an Ode To Millennials-Gen Z encapsulates what so few people in our modern world understand. We see so much pain, so much struggle, and so little hope in our future, that the people around us see a lack of motivation and a lack of drive. We have seen too much too soon, and are having to grapple with realities that many generations have never experienced. Between the aftermath of the 2009 housing crisis and the booming student debt, Gen Z has a lot to lose in the next few decades of our lives. We have seen school shootings become a weekly occurrence, and have seen riots break out in the streets over what seems like common sense. If an outsider looked in, they would wonder how anyone coped. Sometimes, I do too. Mankind has seen many triumphs and achievements. We have put human beings on the moon and explored the depths of the sea. We have mapped our own DNA and figured out how to save lives with fungus and bacteria that formerly killed us. Somehow, we have yet to figure out how to keep the next generation from experiencing the doomsday that our current world offers. However, hopefully, with the help of those who came before us, Gen Z can rise above these tragedies and triumph in the modern era.

My future self will be happy and healthy, and working hard each day to improve the lives of those around me, by becoming the best versions of myself and of my work each and every day, regardless of the challenges.

I'm a defensive player, in both my body language and my personality. When I have an idea, an ambition, or a goal, there is practically nothing that gets in my way. I learned this a long time ago, but it comes in handy during games. When I decide a Midfielder is not scoring with 1:50 left on the clock, I make it my mission to keep that player away from the goal. Any time my team gets a penalty for 'aggressive playing on defensive' everyone knows that it was me who just got fouled. It's just how I am. Fast, tough, thick-skinned, and level-headed during games. During Zone defense, I'm the one taking the brunt of the work. Playing season means I'm covered in bruises. Off the field, I try not to be as tough and aggressive. There's a time and a place. Off the field, I've got homework for multiple AP classes and a Dual-Enrollment course. My time is spent in the gym or studying. It takes a lot of discipline to get through the day, especially after lacrosse practice. After going maximum effort all day, I often want to curl up and sleep or watch a movie. I don't have time for that, and I've had to learn how to get myself off a chair and get to my homework. It's taken years of discipline to keep myself awake at two or three in the morning, studying for tests and quizzes galore. No one is coming to save me, so I decided to put in the effort to get to where I want to go. My coach taught me that effort is the deciding factor. The effort is the reigning champion wherever it goes. But the effort is only consistent through discipline, and I've taught myself discipline. But discipline is nothing without commitment. You can have the discipline to go do a task all day, but until you commit to doing the task, it will never get done. Even with years of practice, and dedication, my Achilles Heel kicks up. The commitment falters. Dedication wanes. And the games lose their appeal. I get tired of being covered in bruises and mud. The sport that fuels me starts draining me. This is where teamwork comes in. It is a slide at just the right time. A high five after practice. A kind text during lunch. My teammates come alongside me, and give me new breath in my lungs. They keep me accountable and support me when I have nothing left to give. I could never repay them for all they've done. Together, we are driving ourselves towards winning, and towards winning together as a team.

It was an average day for me in middle school. I had just gotten home from school and was getting ready for my karate graduation. I was so excited and wanted my mom to fix my hair before we left. Mom didn’t mind and parted my hair down the middle. I remember asking for pigtails. She stopped in her tracks. A bald patch, right on the back of my head. Slick. Middle schoolers weren’t bald. Never. Something had to be wrong. But at that moment, we had karate to get to. I wore a low ponytail instead, and my parents made a dermatology appointment for me to get checked out. Within a few weeks, regular doctor's appointments had my hair growing back in quickly, with mild complaining from my middle school self. Steroid shots were given topically, and I wore low ponytails for a few months. It healed over, and we assumed that was the worst of it. We didn’t know what caused it, or where it came from, but we didn’t mind. It should never happen again. It’s healed now. Fast forward a couple of years. Summer, right before my sophomore year of high school. I was sitting outside by the pool, slathered in sunscreen and sipping an iced tea. The family hound dogs are laying out in the sun. I tilt my head to face the sunlight, soaking up the warm rays. My mom looked down from the deck and knew something was wrong. An inch-wide bald spot sat on the side of my head, now in full view of everyone at the pool. She’d made a dermatology appointment before I came up for lunch. Within a few months, I had almost no hair and was wearing a full wig daily by the beginning of December 2021. I lost every single hair on my head. At the age of 15, I was taking monthly steroid injections and daily medication in a desperate bid to try and save my self-esteem. My grades slipped, and so did my health. One doctor told me she’d never seen a case of alopecia so bad. I lost most of my eyelashes and eyebrows and learned that I had Alopecia. I spent my 16th birthday at a tiny family party, so I could go without wearing a wig for the day. My relationships would never be the same, and neither would my mental health. I grew up a lot in those six months. It hurts, but that’s what growth feels like. I started to understand everyone is feigning control of their lives, and my illness challenged that illusion. People assume that everyone who is chronically ill or is struggling with their health didn’t take care of themselves, or isn’t trying to get better. No one wants to admit that they could become ill at a moment's notice. No one wants to admit how little control we might have over their health. Everyone is struggling, a new truth I’ve learned through this. Whether it is trying to keep their grades up, or battling a mental illness, everyone I met was going through something. Their lashing out or thoughtless words could be the result of a hidden wound. Struggling with an autoimmune disorder forced me to grow, and forced me to appreciate the health I do have. My experience left me with scars, but also with a better understanding of the people around me, and the world around me. I’m better for it. I can be grateful for the pain and loss because that pain and loss made me a stronger person than I was before.

I am sick and tired of being sick and tired. I’m sick I’m sick of being hungry. I’m sick of being hungry for the respect I deserve. I’m sick of having to justify every bite of food I eat. I’m sick of having to be kind, polite, quiet, meek, and shy. I’m sick of never being allowed to take up space. I’m sick of having to justify every piece of clothing I own. I’m sick of having to explain the things I like. I’m sick of having to prove I love the things I love. I’m sick of being scared to walk down the street. I’m sick of being a whore. I’m sick of being a dyke. I’m sick of being stupid. I’m sick of being intimidating. I’m scared I’m sick of being scared. I’m sick of being scared to go to school after eating breakfast. I’m sick of being scared to speak. I’m sick of being scared to wear a skirt. I’m sick of being scared to do the things I love. I’m sick of being scared to leave my drink alone at the diner. I’m sick of being too smart for boys to like. I’m sick of my skin being sinful. I’m sick of my mouth being censored. I’m sick of people hating me for the things I wear. I’m sick of being scared to talk about the things I love. I’m sick. I’m tired of being sick. I'm sick of dreading school. I’m sick of being hungry. I’m sick of being cold. I’m sick of being in pain. I’m sick of justifying my existence. I’m sick of being a prude. I’m sick of being easy. I’m sick of hating my body. I’m sick of hating my face. I’m sick of hating my mind. I’m sick of hating class. I'm sick of hating life. I’m sick of wanting to die. I’m sick of being alive I’m sick of being tired. I’m tired of being scared. I’m tired. I’m scared I’m sick. Where does that leave me?

Feminism is the belief that my humanity is more important than masculine comfort. My mother is the best example in my life of this idea, in part due to her career in Gynecology. I was taught at school to be quiet and meek. Never talk about your body, and never let a boy know just how human you are. You can't ask to go to the bathroom, just to excuse yourself. You can't get seconds at lunch, just drink some more water and wait until you get home. My mom taught the exact opposite of my school. She demanded I say what I wanted, whether I wanted seconds or thirds of dinner. I was never allowed to use slang terms for my body, and I was never allowed to be ignored to make a boy comfortable. By putting my safety and health above other people's comfort level, she taught me to be fully human in a world where I can't take up space. But by the time I hit high school, I'd been called a "feminazi" more times than I could count. I was too loud and too ambitious. Too hungry for knowledge and respect. Too big and too bold. I was going to be an author, a doctor, an athlete, and maybe even an entrepreneur. I wanted to rule my world, and I wanted people to respect me like they respected my dad (I should have known better, they don't respect my mom). My peers did not respect me, but I sure have tried. I've been name-called for years, but it comes with the territory. School administration has mixed feelings about my attendance because I question everything they won't. Why can't I wear orange socks? Why can't I use the football weight room? Why am I being taken out of class so my skirt length can be checked? Why can "boys be boys" but I "need to watch my tone"? Unfortunately for the more close-minded of my peers, backing down isn't allowed under my mother's roof. I waged a mini-war against the school for refusing to punish a predatory student. My passion made other students' voice's heard and refused to leave others behind. I'm one of the first students to start advocating for sanitary pads and tampons to be put in woman's restrooms by the school. In part of my relentless badgering, our Parent's Association has its highest rate of female board members ever. When my mom was raising me and my siblings, I don't know if she intended to raise an earthshaking feminist with a little too much tenacity. She raised me to fight dragons, so I fight for the girls that were never taught. Too often people expect women to be small enough to disappear, and they hate it when you take up their spotlight. When they told me I could rule the world with enough work, they meant as a partner, a Queen, letting some future spouse have all the power. I wanted to be King. And I will, and I plan on bringing the rest of the women around me along for the journey.