I adore white marble, Love frescoes and moss on trees, Go wild for avant-garde. Cherish seaside moments, Towers and tombs, Ladybugs. Compact cities, bus rides, Watching people, Red headphones. Filming videos, moon, stars, Waves, mountain wind, Serene tea evenings. Hugging mom, Loving my body, Blinking lashes. Freedom to eat, Grateful for my parents, Happy to write these words. I am 21 years old. My story is both interesting and mundane. It flows calmly, like a peaceful river, morphing and bending under natural circumstances. I divide my life into three parts. Part One: Beginnings The start is quite dramatic and sad, but don't worry; it was quite a while ago. My biological mom died soon after I was born. My dad, already with my 11-year-old sister, couldn't nurture us both. Thankfully, he had two brothers and two sisters. My aunts and uncles took proper care of me. I was always between the village and the city, traveling regularly. But I especially loved the village: the chirping of birds, insects, the variety of animals, rainy days, and small children like me running outside, stargazing, and looking at the clouds without a care in the world. I loved creating DIY things and gifting them to my relatives. I strived to be as creative and fair as possible. If someone got a knitted scarf, another would get something of equal value—a super cute and detailed drawing, a notepad, and a scrunchie. I remember walking around with only one earring for a while, afraid of piercing my ears. Now, I have eight piercings: two on my helix, four on my ears, one septum, and one lip piercing. It's funny how life can turn around. I was exceptional in my village class and agreed with my mom's (aunt's) opinion (my Russian language, literature, and homeroom teacher) about applying to prestigious schools in the city. There was one particular school I dreamed of attending. It required extensive knowledge. After thorough preparation, I finally entered the examination room. But my heart sank after the first math test; I wasn't keeping up and solved only half the problems. Disappointed, I burst into tears when I saw my mom waiting outside. We almost returned to the village without trying the second round, but something told me to try anyway. While studying biology, my mom received a phone call. After the call, she came to me with a happy smile and said, "YOU GOT IN!" I knew what she meant immediately, and a waterfall of kisses followed. She always seems more anxious, happy, or nervous for me than I am myself. That's what it's like when you're a Capricorn and your mom is a Virgo. This is how the first part of my life ended—characterized by peacefulness, total protection, and love, despite some hurdles and struggles. Part Two: Teenage Years The teenage years are my second life stage. Studying from 6 am until 1 am, striving to perfect my grades, participating in olympiads, projects, competitions, and extracurriculars like dance club, volunteering, and Chinese, was an inseparable part of my life. I saw the highest number of clever and intellectual people and wanted to be just like them. This was the hardest and most curious part of my life, where I formed my worldview. I fell in love with a girl for the first time and dated a boy. I was deeply into science. I achieved great victories, won honorable places and mentions, expanded my worldview, and learned to be productive and disciplined. I don't like talking about this part of my life much since it was quite boring, filled with endless studying. Part Three: Introduction to Real-Life The next part of my life began when I moved to Hungary to study Business Management and Administration at Debrecen University. Initially, I imagined participating in tons of extracurriculars, opening my own business, and just chilling. The reality turned out differently. I started tutoring in the first semester, earning my own money without asking my parents for anything. I have already visited 11 countries, although I never prioritized travel before. I went to concerts, volunteered at an Ed Sheeran concert and several festivals, showed Turkey to my mom, found my place in Berlin, and, most importantly, got an opportunity to escape the rat race. I am still learning about new opportunities and seem to understand what I am supposed to do. I am incredibly grateful for the life given to me, and this is far from the last part of my journey!

A dark night, A sky with no stars Flickering lights in the distance, Silence that alarms. Being lonely, being quiet, Being away from the noise and riot. Scared, afraid, the dark will suffocate, Make me crazy, or my sadness would elevate. What seemed like a nightmare in the early years, Turns into pleasure as youth appears. What seemed haunting as a child, Now brings peace in a world so wild. Who says, the darkness consumes you, I say, it cures blues and lets you start anew.

Everyone thinks adulthood is something you need to get over with and not something to be eased into .For me it was terrifying being a female and reaching adulthood by female standards.I have always been a tomboy so when my body started changing i was scared because i didn't want to change my body into something i was so sure i couldn't identify with.It started at thirteen, one month and two days after my birthday.I had started realizing changes around my chestal area .Painful changes you might say as when i run or jump my growing tissues aches in pain.Puberty was setting in and to manage it i took steps. Step one, i started wearing bra and stopped hanging with my male friends for fear of rifdicule.It wasn't the hair or the physical body changes or the hormonal surge that clinched it,it was my period.At school we were taught menstruation and periods and such but i almost never pay attention to those topics because in my naivete thought i was above those bodily functions.Therefore waking up to bathe and realizing my underwear was stained was for me the end of my life not to mention the cramps that choose that moment to register in my brain.I was compelled to tell my mother who beamed and readily supplied the necessary materials saying that she has been waiting for this day for the end of my tomboyish ways and the begining of my womanhood.Step two,every month from then on it means that i have to go to my mom's medicine drawer and avail myself of her resources.I was forced to take a good look at myself and redefine who I was and what I was going to make of myself with what I have. I consumed so many self help books to understand my body better and if possible get the changes to stop.I looked forward with dread during the beginning of every month to the unwanted and scary process that my body would commence in addition to the pain that always accompanies it.Before the d-day i would get so cranky,withdrawn and annoyed at so many things especially at my mother because she is my mother and she is supposed to take care of me.She is supposed to take away that burden that i don't want even though i didn't voice it, she is supposed to know what am thinking and going through because as i said she is my mother.It was my sister who literally saved me from myself a couple of days to another d-day.Within myself i was convinced that i was going to become a boy whether anybody liked it or not and by anybody i meant my mother.I was convinced that if i wish and pray hard enough that God would hear me and magically restore to me the body i really was meant to have and make me into who i wanted to be and of course i wrote all this in my journal.My very nosy very curious sister with the knack for sniffing things out sniffed out my journal where i stashed it under a pile of dirty clothes and read it.When i came back from school and was doing my laundry in the laundry room,she came up to me,offered me a chocolate bar before sitting on my pile of clothes on the floor.She asked me how school was and if there was any bully tormenting me to which i snorted and told her that i invented bullying. She laughed and asked me why i was allowing a natural process God made to bully me.I quietly asked her to get up from my clothes carry herself out of room and never to ask me that again despite the anger brewing in me as i knew then that she read my journal. She laughed in that i-know-best-and-am-your-senior kind of way which is totally annoying.She proceeded to tell me about her own first time which she agreed was painful but which she bore wholeheartedly because it was a thing of pride.She told me how women are the backbone and silent leaders of the family and society and how being a woman is the best there is to be.By the time she was done i was viewing womanhood in a different light.She then told me things to do to minimise the pain and make the experience bearable and when it finally came again and i did all that she told me,it was wonderful.I barely noticed it all thanks to my sister and i stopped wishing for a new body. Now in many countries and culture ,females are struggling with the definition of self that comes with adulthood and puberty based on social standards .They strive to come to terms with the natural growth of their person and how they really want to perceive themselves. this puts them at risk of identity crisis and subsequent identity displacement.Mothers and female relations then should pay sufficient to the girl child during this period of transition in a child because if my older sister had not intervened who knows where i would be with my issues by now.

One of the things I have always told myself is that I am not just one thing. I feel like in this society, we as people tend to put labels on people, condensing them into these tiny boxes. I never liked that, I never understood it because we are constantly changing, constantly learning things about ourselves. It is human to evolve. We are a universe of secrets. I am more than one thing. But with that being said...I do like to label myself as an artist. I was undoubtedly created to create. That is my life motto and I will keep it until the day I die. Whether it's filming, dancing, writing stories and poetry, drawing, or taking pictures, I am always creating. I do not think I could ever stop. But unfortunately, there was a moment in my life where I did not create. I wanted to be a marine biologist actually. I loved animals, especially marine animals. I still love animals but when my sister and my nephew disappeared from my life, that wanting of being a marine biologist went away. I blamed myself. They are deaf while the rest of my family is hearing, which meant that the relationships they had with us were not the same as their deaf community. It was a toxic situation and my family wanted to get them out but my sister did not feel heard. She felt babied and she felt like we did not understand her. And she was right, I never really took the time to learn the language. I did not have as strong of a connection with her as I should have had and I blamed myself wholeheartedly for it. I thought that maybe if I had took the time to get to know her as a person through her language, maybe that could have made all the difference. I have never felt so worthless in a situation. I felt so empty. We got her and my nephew back but, it still bothered me. So down I went into this deep well of emotions that I did not understand at the time. I could not find any thing to hold onto. It was dark, haunting, and echoed all of the nasty words that ran through my head. I was alone. Until I found a pen. With that pen, I wrote what I felt. With that pen, I drew monsters, heroes, villains, whatever I wanted. All of those emotions were tumbling out of me in a way that helped me heal. It had its ups and downs. At one point, writing and drawing weren't enough. I still felt this ache in my stomach. I wanted it to go away so I started moving my body. I started teaching myself how to dance. I gravitated towards hip hop because it was harsh but fluid. It was hard hitting and a release of anger, sadness, and fear. It was like this dragon was sleeping inside of me for years until finally, it woke up and breathed this spark of passion within me. I kept it hidden for a while, especially in high school. It was my little secret. I wasn't the loudest kid. That's when the label “loner” became to be the word to describe me. But I kept my head down, made good grades, stayed close to my two best friends, created my art, and tried to be the perfect little Christian girl all of my teachers asked for. At my parochial school, I realized two things. You did not matter unless you were outgoing and played sports. And if you didn't sit back and listen to what they told you, you were an outsider. We were told what was right and wrong, not how to think for ourselves. We were not meant to question religion, just accept. I hated it deep down, but I did what I was told. I didn't think my school was too bad, but when a gay male was kicked out for posting videos on YouTube about his sexuality, my feelings about my school changed. From then on, my eyes were opened. I saw the misogyny, xenophobia, racism, and prejudice all too well. But I kept my head down, those empty feelings came back and so I created. I ended up directing my own play, which was the light at the end of the tunnel. I was almost…happy. Then all of sudden, it was time for me to go to college. I was asked to choose which art style I wanted to succeed in. I did not want to choose. I wanted to succeed in all. That is when I found the camera. I realized that you could captured anything in a camera. I could tell stories in a camera. I could dance in front of the camera and create characters that fought the bad guys. I could use all of the skills I had and in return create something bigger than I ever could have imagined. So now, I am in college. I met some good people, I am creating, and I will continue to create. But I am not yet completely happy. I will not be happy until I make my own production company with shows talking about representation of all races, genders, sexualities, and mental illnesses in a positive, entertaining, and educational way. That is my goal. Until then, I will keep learning about my craft and evolving as a person. And learn ASL along the way. You know, I used to hate the color yellow, but Van Gogh showed me its potential. To me, it has become a color that represents a sad, hopeful kind of happiness. I am still so far from being who I want to be, but I will get there with time. I will.

On a cold November morning, after attending an exhilarating youth conference in Strasbourg, I was on a train on my way to Paris. My heartbeat was mimicking the rhythm of the rails. I was only 19 years old and blessed with the opportunity to visit one of the most beautiful cities in the world, Ville des Lumière or ‘the city of lights'. As a young woman from India, raised in a traditional family, most of my choices were made for me. This was my first step into an independent life and it was all very unnerving. An hour into the journey I met a young man who, to my surprise, was also from India. We exchanged life stories as the beautiful French landscapes of freshly cut grass, fauna and wineries painted our windows as they raced by. He invited me for a walking tour in Paris taking place in a few hours, telling me how we would explore the city guided by a tour manager who would narrate to us its dynamic history. Possessing an inherent love of the past, I readily agreed. After reaching Paris I rushed with my heavy suitcase to find the subway and caught the train that lead to my accommodation. Reaching just in time to leave my luggage, I ran back to the street and caught a bus to Saint Michel, where we were supposed to assemble for the tour. On my way, I realized that I was so intent on not being late, I navigated easily through an alien city with a language I didn't speak. A little proud, I smiled at my ability to adapt so quickly to an environment so different from home. Indeed, I was growing up. The tour was very enjoyable as I carefully observed the interiors of Paris painted with flora and Gothic architecture. We were walking along the Seine, the river which holds the spirit of Paris within it, when the sun was engulfed by thick clouds. Soon, I could feel icy droplets of rain on my skin. Each raindrop felt like a sting, reminding me that I was turning twenty soon. We ended the tour in Tuileries Garden, as the sun interrupted the rain, blessing us with its warmth. My friend and I then walked to the Eiffel Tower. Coming from India, a country with a rich heritage, I firmly believe that historic monuments that have witnessed the ravages of war and tranquility of peace are the most precious. They have a story to tell. And so, I always felt that the Eiffel Tower was merely a metallic structure unworthy of praise, much like the French did in earlier times. But I was wrong. The Eiffel Tower emitted magnificence. It was like an anchor of the city, holding it from sinking into the blue skies. We sat on a lonely bench placed on a pavilion just behind the tower, surrounded by green trees slowly rustling in the cold air of the twilight. I was evaluating the photographs I took of the Eiffel on my phone, when my companion reminded me to appreciate the moment I was in. “But we have been here for over an hour” I replied, “there is nothing new to-“ I stopped short in my words as I looked up once again at the majestic tower. It was lit up with a golden light, almost as if with a thousand candles, against the backdrop of the slowly brewing night sky. Suddenly, I could not feel the chill on the tip of my nose or the cold air in my lungs. I felt warm from the glow of the Eiffel, as if someone had tucked me in a cozy blanket with a hot cup of tea. I went to sleep that day feeling like a changed person. On my last day in Paris, I visited the celebrated Louvre. Its high ceilings that housed tremendous artwork made me feel small and insignificant. I visited the intriguing Mona Lisa painting and felt that I could never be as famed as its maker, Leonardo Da Vinci. So what was the point of even trying? The best or worst part about accepting mediocrity was the comfort it provided. I found myself walking once again towards the Tuileries garden behind the Louvre, but this time on a warm sunny day bustling with people and energy. Yet somehow, I was more alone than ever. I felt that independence was equal to isolation. I was walking beside an intricate fountain in the garden, when my melancholic thoughts were interrupted by an old man, just like the sun had interrupted the rain in the very same place on my first day in Paris. The man was in his mid-sixties with grey hair and a thick beard. He muttered something to me in French and grinned. My first instinct was to walk away but his compelling eyes held me back. I looked at him questioningly, signaling to him that I didn't understand French. He happily repeated in English with a thick French accent, “Are you thinking deeply?” I was shocked. He continued, “You should not indulge in your thoughts so deeply, enjoy the present”. He walked away immediately after, but I was transfixed. It was as if God had come to explain to me that the meaning of independence was not isolation, but the pure enjoyment of moments in life you have created for yourself. In those few seconds at the conclusion of my sojourn, I was finally ready to embrace my 20 year old independent self.