When I was in the tenth grade, I decided to take five extra classes on top of my school classes, totaling to a whopping nine classes in one semester, as opposed to the usual four. I was drowning. I was caught in a torrent of assignments and essays and tests and quizzes, and I was drowning. Nobody seemed to notice my slow descent into exhaustion. I kept going, and going, and going, because there was nothing else I could do. When I was in the tenth grade, I decided to join the fall play. Most of my friends were in theatre. My best friend was in theatre. I probably wouldn't like it, but it wouldn't hurt to give it a try. I was right. I didn't like it. I loved it. I stepped on that stage, and suddenly I could breathe. I had broken out of the water, there was a glorious burn of oxygen in my lungs, and I could breathe. I wasn't me. I wasn't an overburdened, exhausted, burn-out of a kid. I was just another character. It was freeing. I loved it. I had such a small role, but nothing could ever compare to the exhilarating feeling of being on stage. Of being up there, being someone other than myself, someone who could just discard their problems like a heavy jacket. I was no longer drowning. I was treading water. Someone had given me their hand and pulled me out of that frigid riptide. I was no longer drowning. I took comfort in the fact that it wasn't me, on that stage. It was a butcher, or a driver, or a dancer, or whatever I needed to be in that moment. And I took comfort in the fact that no matter how the audience hated me, it wasn't me that they hated. It was hard work, and for all intents and purposes I should have been even more tired. But every time I stepped on that stage, I was invigorated. It was like a shelter in a downpour. In all honesty, theatre saved me. I found it easier to complete the rest of my assignments. I didn't find day-to-day life to be such a chore. I was freer, and happier, than I had been in a long, long time. The minute I stepped on that stage, and the water cleared out of my lungs, I knew this was what I was going to be doing for the rest of my life.

“Oh my God, why aren't you wearing your gloves! You know you have to be careful at this time!” my mother's voice boomed in my ears as I entered my car. I did a little eye roll. “Relax, the virus hasn't reached my school yet. We're all fine,” I replied. She sighed and focused on the road ahead, her gloved hands firmly gripped on the steering wheel, her medical mask pulled down to her chin. She was so scared, so careful, unlike me. Hand sanitizer, I thought, was enough to keep that virus at bay. Today would be the last day of school for a very long time. The Corona virus had reached my city, Toronto, Canada just a few weeks ago. The number of those infected had been going up steadily for the past few days, and last night it was announced that schools would be shut down for the next three weeks. Of course, anyone with a brain knew that ‘three weeks' would turn into three months, or maybe years, but the government needed to tell us what they could to keep us from rebelling or panicking. Everyone was so scared. It seemed funny to me. How hard could it be to stay at home, to practice basic hygiene? Spending months at home would basically be a vacation for me. That's all I ever wanted. That was four months ago. Four months ago, when I was just a lonely freshman in highschool, stressed about schoolwork and still struggling to make friends. Every day at school felt like a walk through a fish market, one where I'd be carrying 30 pounds in my bags with no sleep and no companion to guide me through. Every second was lonesome and painful, my ears sore from my headphones to tune out the sound of my peers having fun with each other, the constant jealousy and bitterness swelling inside of me. Do you see why quarantine sounded so pleasant to me? How I managed to look past the thousands of deaths around the world and deal with it like it was doing me a favour? All this time at home has made me happier than I could ever be at that hellhole of place, school. However, I had plenty of time to think. And a tragedy in my family is what opened my eyes during this pandemic. There was a little while when my entire family thought my dad had the virus. I specifically remember us not daring to be in the same room as him, to keep our distance. It was the first time I feared the virus. My dad was in his office room, working as he always did, managing his business while staying in quarantine. That business was what my family lived on, and without my dad, it wouldn't exist. I had woken up that morning, fresh from the anxiety and desperate prayers asking God to make sure my dad was okay. I would never let those emotions show, though. I put on a tough exterior and calmly went to my brother, lightheartedly telling him, “We should get dad checked up.” “Yes, we should. But don't tell him how they do the testing. He'd never agree to have a stick up his nose,” he said, laughing it off. It seemed like he tried not to let his emotions show, either. I noticed that people control their stress by pretending. Acting a certain way does so much for you, more than you could ever imagine. Of course, this is a temporary solution to dealing with stress but, staying calm projects onto the people around you, making the situation more clear and easy to analyze. I also realized that so many things don't seem to bother me until I experience it. I thought I was different, but it was time to change. This is the case for many, many people around the world and it has always been a problem leading to disaster. Take racism, for instance. There are people dealing with racism every single day, and sure, most people will speak out against it once in a while, but do they care enough to do something about it? Rarely. Most people wouldn't take the necessary action, like reporting the case or attending protests until they've experienced racism first hand. I wish there was a way for us all to have a global or human perspective of issues like this. We can take action and care by doing research and simply believing in what's right instead of waiting for us to experience it ourselves. A few days passed and my dad stopped coughing and feeling sick. Were we worried for nothing? Was it a simple cold or did my dad defeat the virus that quickly? I guess we'll never find out, since we never tested him… The reality of this pandemic is that people will die and things will be hard. And that is the plain truth. The world is going through this together. Without the support of one and other, everything would be falling apart. But open your eyes. It's okay. Everything is working out when we follow rules and support one and other. We are all living, and to our brave hearts that have passed due to this virus, we will remember them for what they have left behind; a lesson to the world. To not think like a citizen of your country, but as a citizen of the world.

Learning to love myself has been one of my longest life challenges. My self esteem has been at battle with a twenty-year old eating disorder. Turning eleven brought a birthday gift of weight gain and put me on a path of restricting, binge eating and over-exercising. It seems like it has taken forever to understand how manipulating my weight and appearance in both healthy and unhealthy ways was a reflection of how I felt on the inside of myself. Bombarded with images in the media of impossible beauty standards and socialized norms of feminine behavior, my eyes looked into the mirror for a sense of self esteem. Instead of empowering female friendships, mine were competitive. Who had a thigh gap? How many boys were drooling after us? Whose closet was larger than life? All that criteria was external and I couldn't win. So I skipped parties, weddings and graduations because I felt unattractive. The "when, then" game ruled my life: I thought 'when I lose twenty pounds, I will have a boyfriend" and "when I lose twenty pounds, I will be happy." I didn't realize that projecting my happiness to the future meant I was missing out on the present moment. I lost a lot of time to this unhealthy obsession. Instead of building personal coping tools like meditation, work-related skills, or even participating in sports, I spent years hiding in therapy and eating disorder programs. I was desperate to find out what was so wrong in my core that I put so much emphasis on looks and weight. One mind-blowing incident started my journey towards self-love. I remember spotting her six years ago while I rode the subway. She was my ideal self: petite, with manicured nails and blond hair. Why couldn't I look like her? For sure she had a boyfriend! I ruminated over this for most of the ride. Finally my ears decided to interrupt my brain and I heard her speaking to her friend. Her voice was sharp and she spent the whole subway ride complaining about her life. She seemed miserable and shallow. I came home and told my mom I would never want to be that pretty if it came with being so negative. My family physician also held the key to a lesson I still think about daily. She sat me down once and asked me to look outside her door. There was a woman in head to toe Michael Kors, dripping diamonds, with highlighted hair. She asked me what I thought of her and I went with "beautiful." Within two breaths my doctor told me that her patient's life was falling apart because of divorce and bankruptcy. "Never assume someone's happy based on what they look like or what they wear," she warned me. That day my doctor really called me out for the way I was looking at the world. It was as disordered and self-destructive as my eating. Working in fashion was also one giant leap towards recovery for me. I am a sales associate, fitting women of all shapes and sizes and working hard to establish our collective self-esteem. When I accompany my clients to their fitting rooms, young women and their mothers regularly share with me their fears regarding the shape of their thighs, booties, and breasts. It was out in the open now and I confronted how ingrained body shaming is across my gender. Answering “does this outfit looks good on me?” or “does this make me look fat?” is my opportunity to reassure women. I let them know that confidence, posture, and inner beauty radiates beyond body shape or size. As they try on the latest in Spring styles. I like to vocalize my appreciation for what sets them apart, be it their freckles, or their life accomplishments, friendships and career achievements. There are too many stresses in young women's lives. The pressures of social media, peers and fierce academic/job competition face girls every day. Dinners are hardly made at home anymore. Routine discussion between family and friends is often interrupted by constant texting. The pressures of exams, lack of sleep and Red Bull, penetrates young lives. I hear about my client's struggles with their bodies, Mara Teigen and Ashley Greene on Instragram, as well as what boys think about them. This the context in which our feelings and thoughts about our bodies are developed. So when will this self-deprecation end? As long as there are to be beauty products and fashion brands to be sold, marketing may continue to rule female self-esteem. I am writing to let others know that there really is a path to becoming self assured in ourselves. When I chose to put the most value on achieving personal goals, and deciding to really interact with the world, there was socializing and activities which built up my self-esteem. I could really list what I liked about myself based on my capabilities and social media has been banned from my life. I am finally doing the activities I always dreamed of despite of how I worried I am or anyone else is about my looks. I cross my fingers and wish that for every girl and women I ever get the opportunity to dress!

The progression of a disease would be truly fascinating for the patient plagued with it, if it was not so utterly horrific. I imagine their being a map some God can throw down to me, where little red pinpoints mark events that led to, well,where I am mentally. The same way a doctor tracks a patients illness. Look, God would say, finger indicating a scenario in the prior year. Here's when you started losing your sanity. And this one is when you almost smashed in your fathers skull. And here's the one that made you realize you are nothi- Enough, I seethe, wringing my knuckles against my opposite palm; a meek attempt of calming down. Already the virus, the disease, the fucking condition is acting up again. Instead of counting how many times I do it, I should be counting times it doesn't bother me. My fingers twiddle desperately, as if some naive part thinks I can just unravel myself from this mess. I won't do it again. Cold turkey. I'll stop- But now, its creeping into my brain. Making me...feel things. Feel the invisible hands shoving against my back. Feel the cold breath against my skin. Feel the demons crawling inside my skull, infesting me, killing me inside out. No, not killing. Controlling. Brain dead, and yet, still alive. an empty shell to fill with whatever they desire. A puppet. That's what I know. That's all I know. The world is out to get me. One in every ten people I see are casting their spells out, manipulating their hands to send arrays of invisible chains out at me. Muttering their curses under their dead smirk; an attempt to make me a mindless drone. No longer me. I would never be me again. My heart thuds, panic clawing at my throat. And when it's not people, it's the spirits, hiding spells in my room, little flecks of lint or dust I inhale that will grow and grow like a parasite. Toys I adored so much as a child watching me, waiting to attack, to cast their magic. A brush of breath from the unseen monsters, that spread like a cage across my body, capturing me, mindless, forever. Constant terror. I know. I know hearing it sounds absurd. I know there is no logic. Why would a reasonable, somewhat intelligent girl like me believe in such dark magic. Or magic in general. I sound as if I'm some conspiracy speaker waving pamphlets in your face about how Beyonce is in with the president or the moon landing was fake. But, what if? What if I'm right. Why do I feel like there are things crawling all over me? Why does my vision go fuzzy every time I resist the ritual to ward out the spell, or to flinch away from the discomfort? There has to be a reason, and there's that chance, that miniscule chance, that my fears are true. Why does my brain begin squeezing as if two invisible demons are pressing it in, giddily playing the game of WHO CAN MAKE HER SCREAM FIRST? I always scream. My hands have ceased ringing, aware there is no stopping the tidal wave. Shit. Now I feel it crawling in my hair, little invisible bug legs tickling my scalp. I jerk my hand up, fingers raw, and pull at my hair. Now it's in my back. I push my shoulders behind me, an exaggerated pose of when my mother tells me to “sit up straight”. My bones crack. The brushing against my back fades as I hold the pose, unaware if my peers eyes are on me, and completely blank to the class lesson at hand. Because, while I got the feeling to go away, the thoughts came flooding in. You thought of that kid. That kid in the stairwell. Who always snaps. You thought of him while you were doing the back move and now you will become him. I completely believe it. And you may look at me as some idiot, some weak girl (I won't disagree... I am weak) but it's my thoughts. My thoughts are the disease, and there's absolutely no escaping them. I do the move again. The image of the boy floats to my mind. No, just stop. Please please please Stop. The move again, and again, and again, until a clammy sweat breaks out from my body. I imagine a happy memory, one I pretend the parasite has no control over. What a fun game that is; pretend. The picture of the boy-in-the-stairwell-who-I-will-become overpowers my memory. The move again. People are bound to notice. They'd be blind not to. The move again. I freeze, anticipating that random kid to still be etched into my mind, some deadly tattoo branded on by prison flames, but he has scurried away to the back of my brain. For now. A breath escapes, as I turn back to the history lesson, pretending nothing happened. Pretending I'm okay. Pretending I will never give in to the thoughts and rituals again. My hand slaps the back of my neck. What-the-fuck? Something has breathed on, or touched it. They have set their spell in. My head beings squeezing, two walls so tired of holding up against pressure they are moments away from crumbling. The clouds flicker from white to grey, and lightning strikes. I try to resist. I try. Pretend I thrust my shoulders backwards, and my never ending cycle continues.

Throughout the past few years of my life, I have grown mentally and spiritually. I have gone through many stages and experiences in order to get to who I am now. As a teenage student, I feel successful and proud of how much I've grown and improved as a person. With the help of my many friends and families, I'm proud to have the confidence to say, there has been a spark that lit this faith I now have for my future and I. It all started in middle school where I was a 7th grader, I really wanted to be like the “cool” kids: failing classes, wearing the newest Jordans, having the best style, and skipping class. I envied them. I failed on purpose in order to be like them. I even asked others if I should fail this specific class on purpose, and of course, they encouraged me to. I had C's, D's, and mostly F's. As an immature 7th grader, I didn't know what others had thought of me, like my family and “friends”. I never really talked to anyone throughout my 7th grade year because I was too busy trying to fit in with the crowd. In my 8th grade year, I was pulled into a program called Coca Cola Valued Youth Program. It's a program where kids with bad grades go to improve, you tutor little children from elementary school to see how improvement and achievements looks like to encourage yourself to thrive for the better. The purpose of this program was to help you grow academically, but as for me, I didn't. I was still the same person from a year ago, but my grades did improve only because I feared not passing 8th grade. My slovenly effort was decent but the quality of my work was far below basic. Came along my freshmen year, I still thought I was a “cool” kid. I kept trying to fit in with the others. I failed my classes again because I didn't try until the last semester where I had a D in my Advanced English class, which was not a passing grade in order to get into state universities. I joined NJROTC and had many “friends”. I stayed for a year then quit, and when I did, all my “friends” vanished from my social life. I was a lonely person with only two friends who had always left me for their significant other, which caused mental breakdowns leaving me to always ponder why it was always me who had to feel this way. Loneliness had the best of me, which made me feel as if I did not have anyone to lean on, although they said they were “always” going to be there for me. In my sophomore year, I tried a little harder. In the beginning of the school year, I was still a little lonely but I started to get out of my personal bubble. I made a few more friends but they were just not as close. I still thought I was cool. As the lazy person that I was, I came to 1st period late all school year. I did try in my classes, I had A's and B's but the quality of the work was slovenly. I could say I grew a little more mentally, but my life seemed to be on a repetitive pattern, all I did was go to school, then dance practice, and go home to binge watch my Korean dramas. Around March 2018, I became best friends with someone, a simple guy I had met on Black Friday. As we started to get to know each other, I learned something new about Christianity as the days went by. I learned many things from just knowing God: I learned to be patient, I learned to love others even when I was mad, I learned more about God, I also learned how to calm myself, and be open-minded. I was grateful to learn these things and to pass what I have learned to someone else. This was when I started to actually want to see how my future would look like. I grew spiritually, mentally, and physically, I got out of my comfort zone and started to explore, like communicating and listening to other songs in different genres like Christian Worship music. I now have a place in my heart for worship songs because it has led me to new hobbies. My hobbies of dressing up, doing makeup, and collecting Jordans, shifted to learning musical instruments, helping out with housework and volunteering for community service. Today as a junior in high school, I am glad I have met new friends who always encourage me to thrive for the better, and I appreciate my family who is so loving and supportive. I have improved on my attendance of tardy first periods and absent Mondays. I have also been trying my best to keep up my grades. I am satisfied with who I am now, because of the sacrifices I have made. During finals week, I was a little stressed out because of the presentations and tests. I was also in a dance crew called Monsterz Inc but because of how much stress I was under, I had to push something I loved to the side so I can focus on my school work. Now I know I don't want to be who I was in the past because I know that's not me. I want to be better than who I was then, knowing I have potential to improve myself. In my future, I'd want this story to be a motivation that I can tell to those who were in my position because I know I'm not the only one. And that is why I know I will be okay.