Life is a series of events. We are born, fed, slowly raised for society's consumption. Along the way we join the pursuit of purpose, perhaps seeking concrete answers. Very few find them. Searching for the meaning of life is a waste of time. An impossible task. We magnify the little things. Fate versus choice. Happiness and success. We plot these quantities against a timeline and then ask ourselves whether our life has purpose. This I can say for sure: the meaning of life isn't a horse race. It isn't a competition between your experiences and your expectations. The meaning of life is not derived from your career, or your hobbies, or your relationships, or your choices. Meaning is immeasurable. Instead of trying to quantify my life's worth, I find it healthier to simply focus on the next step. I ask myself: How can I turn this situation into my next best choice? Then, I make decisions and take the necessary actions. Life is the flavor of the music, and the motion of the mind, and the rhythm of the movement. It's a painting made from abstract memories. It's healing through relationships, and it's complicated. Purpose does not make us stronger. Meaning does not validate our existence. We are emotion, color, passion, and strength. We are alive. We are a miracle! Yet we keep searching, and painting, and building, and making. We keep creating, driven by a yearning to finding purpose and meaning through our work, through our hobbies. It's the search for meaning that makes the world better, brighter, and bolder. We are united by the possibility of purpose. We come together through our passion. We share a heartbeat. It is in that moment, we begin to learn. The meaning of life.

Wrapped in darkness, perched on the edge, body tensed, face illuminated. “STOP!” A thumb crashed down onto the remote, the TV froze. On the lifeless screen was inspiration: Kyle Fisher, the Stanford graduate and Pixar intern, had got four seconds of fame in a sea of credits. I never had great expectations for my future career. I felt all members of my family settled for bland, joyless jobs. Then came my cousin Kyle, who shattered this illusion, revealing that animation was a median between engineering and art. That night, I began formulating a plan. I used my electives to explore programming, engineering, animation, and art. During the pandemic, I challenged myself with multi-variable calculus, learning about modeling data in 3D space. Eventually, I learned about Pixar in a Box, a course on Khan Academy designed by Pixar. I was fascinated by the seamless integration of mathematics, programming, and visual storytelling. Simulations modeling hair and water fascinated me. In college, I plan to major in Computer Science and Entertainment Technology. This course of study will allow me to get a broader theoretical understanding of programming and focus on its applications in the animation and video game industry. It will also provide me with intern experiences at local production companies, so I get some entry-level work experience. My goal is to eventually work for a large film or animation company like Pixar. Although I´m still figuring out exactly what role I will play, I feel confident my name will someday be scrolling up the screen if I continue to pursue higher education.

COVID brought a bucket-full of obstacles. We canceled a trip to Japan, isolated ourselves at home, and bought groceries once every two weeks. I thought our suffering would end with summer. I was wrong. The battle was only beginning. I was nervous, a touch excited, a bit terrified. Everyone told me AP Physics 1 would be the most painful science class I had ever taken. I brushed these unsettling comments aside. Everyone started the year on Zoom. Teachers wrestled with students refusing to turn on cameras. Meanwhile, students snacked in safety. Zoom was not ideal, and not just for teachers. My physics peers were reluctant to participate in class discussions, which made chiming in excruciating. On the rare occasion when someone asked a question, the audio made it hard to decipher the teacher’s answer. After a couple of weeks, the majority of the class was struggling. With equations, with concepts, with comprehension, and with grades. The school was still divided by those in person and those on Zoom. I was resigned to continue on the online platform. As the months went by, there was no improvement. The material didn’t get easier, the technology remained disorienting, and the timed tests: were extremely difficult. Even after one-on-one sessions, mastering the material took restless nights and constant review. Before we knew it, the AP test was upon us. Poorly graded review tests did not reassure our over-stretched brains. Two weeks before the test, our teacher left us for surgery. AP Physics 1 remains one of the most academically challenging courses I have ever taken. However, my time and effort paid off. I came into physics knowing nothing. I came out with long-term understanding and a five on the AP test.

Double doors swing open, revealing a passageway shrouded in black. Against these walls, hushed whispers and breathy laughter echo eerily. Something glossy slips into my hands. We bumble through a sea of velvet. Curtaining the scene are smells of excitement, anticipation, and a whiff of body odor? It’s exhilarating and a little sickening. I clutch the program tightly, slowly, the lights dim. Fiddler on the Roof was my first stage musical, and it left quite an impression. Most memorable was Tevye’s pronouncement that everyone was a fiddler on the roof. Eleven-year-old me staunchly disagreed. There were two fiddlers: one offstage in performance-black and one onstage in tailored-costume. They were not the same; one was a fiddler, the other a fiction. Being a violinist, I sympathized with the musician, but even so, a little voice whispered: You can do that. You can do that better. Fast forward! It’s sophomore year, and I’m thoroughly stressed out. School seems an impossible balancing act between three AP classes, private lessons, and All Region Orchestra. I am also pending on a career path. Little did I know, this was about to change. I am with the orchestra director, two other students, and a tottering stack of music. I register Anything Goes scrawled across the page. Curious, I scan down, noting tricky rhythms, fast tempo markings, and weird accidentals. In combination these things meant death. Moments later, we are offered the violin part in a musical. Should I agree? Can I learn thirty pages of Cole Porter gold? Through my brain, these questions and others danced. Education is my priority. I always told myself this, and anyway, I couldn’t fit anything else into my schedule, or could I? I go back in time. Muddled flashes of Fiddler on the Roof, an eleven-year-old’s tenacity. Remembering the auditorium, entertainment, times I laughed, crying. Something solid like a diamond: a human experience, a memory. My answer? I will give back. I leave with the heaviest packet of music. Here’s to trying. I practice every night. It pays off. Before long, I am nailing ridiculous rhythms, horrific high notes, and passages so fast they should be illegal. I do not fumble. I listen and play along to the soundtracks. I even watch the poorly-received 1956 Anything Goes, I can’t say I recommend it. After all that, and five rehearsals, it was time for the curtains to go up. Double doors swing open to reveal that familiar pitch hallway. My performance-black shoes stride silently down the darkness. In the pit, I unpack and tune. Droves of people fill the place with an intoxicating aroma. The lights dim. Upon me, my friends, and a group of hired professionals, the spotlight falls. As the baton rises, sixteen-year-old me breathes the pit in and smiles. Anything Goes taught me many skills: how to fake a Hollywood shmear, be both leader and follower, and survive on musical soundtracks alone. Most valuable, however, was falling into a pit and realizing I must follow my passion for entertainment. I am a fiddler on the roof. I cannot anticipate every dent or ditch in my stretch of shingles, but my experience leaves my footing less shaky, and I can finally make out what I am stumbling to.

When I entered high school, I had no idea what I wanted to do with my life. I used my electives to branch out and try new things. I had no conviction that I would find something I loved to do. The first time I entered Mr. Jadeja's classroom, I was intimidated. While Programming I enjoys an enormous number of mostly male students, those numbers steeply decline by Programming II. The reason, Mr. Jadeja's strict reputation. I had bigger things to worry about, though. A scheduling conflict had caused me to sign up for AP Computer Science instead of Programming II, which I knew was much more difficult. Thus, I found myself dreading my classes with Mr. Jadeja as the summer drew to a close. Sure enough, my first couple of classes with Jadeja were rough. We started with basic concepts, but Jadeja always found a way to pull out the little details that tripped us up. So began my love-hate relationship with Mr. Jadeja. As the year progressed, it became clear that while Jadeja might seem like a strict programming teacher on the surface, he cared very deeply for his students. Many times Mr. Jadeja could be seen staying after school, helping some robotics kids with a competition, talking with engineering students, coaching the programming UIL team. Although he suggested I join the UIL Computer Science team, I abstained; he was still an intimidating figure. As the year wore on, we completed many, many lab assignments. Although tedious, I started to gain small satisfaction from solving these little tasks. By Spring Break of 2020, I was finally starting to like programming. Then, COVID hit. The first couple of weeks in, most teachers didn't know what to do. The worst part was: AP exams were approaching fast. Mr. Jadeja didn't let us down. During class time, he helped us prepare for the free-response questions. He always made himself available online. Because of Jadeja's dedication, we got through those exams. I hold him personally responsible for the 5 I managed to scrape. As the school year came to an end, we signed up for our next year's courses. At first, I signed up for Programming II. However, Mr. Jadeja encouraged me to challenge myself and enter Programming III. I signed up. When the 2020-2021 school year began, I promised myself I would compete in UIL Computer Science. Mr. Jadeja supported my decision and helped prepare me for the competitions in March. Sadly, Mr. Jadeja would never see me advance to Regionals. Jad Jadeja passed away unexpectantly in January. We were all shocked. Since then, I've reflected on the time I spent in Mr. Jadeja's classroom. I began to see that not only was I good at programming: I liked it. Because of Jadeja, I finally had some direction in my life. Mr. Jadeja encouraged me to pursue a degree in Computer Science in college. Thanks to him, I discovered that I wanted to make programming a continuity in my life and seek higher education. For that, I am forever grateful for the time I had with him.

On November 23, 2017, my family was sitting down for Thanksgiving at a table of turkey when my dad's saltwater tank exploded. That tank was his pride and joy. Because the contents of his tank covered the floor in a matter of seconds, we all expected some form of verbal outburst. However, even though his hundreds of dollars worth of fish and coral lay on the wooden floor, he kept his cool and instead focused his energy on saving what he could. Since then, my father has jokingly maintained that he is building the ultimate dream tank and that every failure is a lesson in persistence. The story of my father's life follows a similar idea. Although he went to college to pursue music composition, he soon realized he didn't want to teach at the university. Some people could have viewed that as an enormous waste of time and energy, but not my dad. Instead, he viewed it as an experience that taught him what he didn't want to do and began to open himself up to different opportunities instead. Before long, the composer was a computer programmer, and he didn't have any regrets. The fish tank episode was just another moment where he demonstrated his willingness to exercise perseverance and optimism. I tend to view my mistakes as failures in a very negative light. However, I try and remember my father's take on things to help me achieve academic excellence. For example, whenever I fail a Physics test or do poorly on an English essay, I try to view it as feedback that this is an area in which I can improve. Afterward, I do everything I can to ask questions about what I missed to avoid these same mistakes in the future. Whenever I get frustrated that my violin interpretation of Mozart No.5 doesn't sound identical to Hilary Hahn's, I remind myself that she is part of the "violin elite." If I put in as much practice time as she did, I would sound just as good. I hope to continue to perpetuate this attitude as I enter college and pursue my goals. I hope that by maintaining the same level of perseverance and optimism as my dad, I will be able to rebound from mistakes and rejection and become a stronger person. I hope to help encourage my friends also adopt this mindset because they would all benefit from it. Spreading the legacy of perseverance will benefit everyone in the end.

I grew up Asian-American in the 96% white community of Dripping Springs, Texas. From a very young age, I knew I was different. However, at the tender age of four, I had no conception of what racial stereotypes were; if I had, I might not have proudly acknowledged my Japanese ancestry to the support of my teachers and peers. It wasn't until later in primary school that I understood that some people placed higher expectations on me because of my race. Before I recognized Asian-American stereotypes, I tried my very best in all my classes for the sake of doing well. After I understood Asian-American stereotypes, my motivation took on a different undertone. My work ethic became tainted with the obligation to uphold this racial stereotype and elevate my Asian-American peers. I believed in positive stereotypes. It had not occurred to me at this time that such stereotypes hurt Asian-Americans. When I entered middle school, three of the Dripping Springs elementary schools combined into one massive mixing pot. Suddenly, I became exposed to many other Asian-American students who had a completely different stance on Asian stereotypes. For them, it represented an unfair expectation that set them apart from their white classmates and made failure unacceptable. Interacting with people that shared a similar identity but held different ideas opened my eyes to the possibility that maybe there wasn't such a thing as a positive stereotype. I began to question how racial stereotypes were affecting my life. Were they helping me achieve academic growth, or were they making me more interested in maintaining high grades than actually absorbing content? As I continued to open myself up to my Asian-American peers, I began to realize that racial stereotypes of any kind were hurtful. I began to see how race had nothing to do with academic achievement but did affect the degree of stress that student's faced when dealing with their grades. Failure then was not a sign of where to improve but a reminder that we were letting down our Asian ancestors. The more resentful I became of Asian-American stereotypes, the less motivated I became to strive for academic excellence. Getting high grades felt like I was disrespecting the plight of other Asian-Americans. It felt like I was supporting Asian stereotypes. This guilt caused a dilemma that would bring me to terms with what it meant to be Asian-American. As I struggled to find motivation, I began to look back at my naive elementary school self, back when I wasn't affected by racial stereotypes. I remembered how I wanted to do well solely to do well. Remembering my younger self gave me a new, healthier perspective. One thing became evident: I couldn't allow racial stereotypes to continue shaping my life. I found value in knowledge and pursue it to have a greater understanding of the world. I chose to embrace myself and not my racial stereotypes. I found the strength to speak out against the idea of positive stereotypes and the model minority. I came to terms with seeking academic excellence, not as a way to support racial stereotypes but to support the unique human being that is me. I was able to find the pride I once had for my heritage, rather than resentment and hope that more Asian-Americans will choose to tear down the construct of racial stereotypes and pursue the person they want to be.

"Everything will be allright! Everything will be allright! Everything will be ALLLL-RIGHT!" It's no secret the pandemic effected our lives, some people found new ways of communicating online or discovered food delivery services, others (myself included) found the power of musicals. When I was struggling through quarantine, I stumbled across the overlooked musical, Falsettos, and fell in love with the characters and clever lyrics. This particular line became my montra as I struggled to get through low points in quarantine. To understand the power in this seemingly simple exclamation you should know the context of the musical. The story revolves around the disfunctional relationship between Marvin (a homosexual) and his wife (Trina) which eventually leads to a divorce and Marvin contracting AIDS from his lover. This song came when their family was trying to navigate the unexpected changes that were shaping their life. I connected this struggle against the unknown with the sudden lifestyle change that resulted from the COVID pandemic. These lines gave me hope because Trina and Marvin continued to look towards the future with optimism despite all the craziness they were living through. That to me was beautiful. Since I made this my montra, I have been able to regain motivation to persue my educational goals and get my life back on track. I finally accepted the new online learning style and continue to try and be an active student participator on Zoom. I ask questions when I need help, even though it is super akward, because I know it will solidify my understanding of the content. I challenge myself to ask critical thinking questions about topics to provide a deeper understanding of information. I wish I could share this line with all the musical lovers out there who are going through a rough time because everyone deserves hope to persue their dreams.

I'll never forget the time I saw my first live musical: Fiddler on the Roof, seeing the pit violinist, and thinking, "I could do that". However, when I was offered the opportunity to play for Anything Goes I was daunted. Could I really replace the professionals they usually hire? After listening to the soundtrack, however, I fell in love and devoted a good deal of three months preparing. When the time came, I performed alongside seasoned musicians and had the best time of my life. At that moment, I knew what it meant to be bold.

Before the pandemic, if you had asked me how many times I communicated through an online video call, I'd honestly tell you maybe twice a year. Twelve months into the pandemic and that number has risen exponentially. Although the pandemic will likely be a period everyone wishes to forget, it has fostered the growth of innovation in communications, marketing, and business that is made possible by STEM disciplines. The pandemic brought many challenges and changes to the American lifestyle. Whereas we once viewed communication with a friend or loved one as a given, it now became a valuable possession. Connectivity services such as Zoom and Google Hangouts became increasingly used methods of communication. Such a spike in online communication made the STEM occupations more important than ever. Somehow I don't think my generation or any other that lived through the pandemic will forget how unprepared we were for the abrupt departure from face-to-face communications. However, we also won't forget how online technology provided us with connectivity when we needed to adapt to a stay-at-home environment. Having lived through the pandemic, we will work to anticipate future crises by promoting STEM occupations. Jobs using connectivity technology, medical sciences, safety engineering, and statistics are going to have a higher priority in our post-pandemic world because we won't allow ourselves to enter another catastrophe quite as unprepared as we did this one.

Anyone who's watched Despicable Me knows Agnes' memorable line: "It's so fluffy I'm gonna die!" This statement pretty much sums up my adorable little buddy Shiro. Ever since we adopted Shiro, who we found abandoned at a park, he has become a significant factor that adds to the loving environment of our home. Shiro is infamous for finding creative napping spots throughout the house, and these are a few memorable occasions that warranted a photo.