My Personal Profile

There is a kind of work that cannot wait for permission. It does not ask if you are old enough, or loud enough, or ready. It simply asks that you see.

I am seventeen. I am a writer, a volleyball player, a student. But mostly, I am a witness to the things that frighten us, and a believer in the things that save us.

I learned early that while medicine can mend the body, it is the story that tends to the spirit. In communities far from here, I saw children grappling with the terrifying newness of a medical diagnosis; the confusion of it, the sudden weight of it. I saw that fear needs a name before it can be conquered.

So, I wrote "The Day Luna Became a Superhero."

It was not merely ink on paper. It was an offering. A way to tell a child that the thing they are facing does not diminish them; it reveals them. It shows them their own strength. The book is a mirror for the brave, and its proceeds are a bridge; funding medical resources for those who have been left on the other side of care.

Silence is a heavy thing to carry. For years, I held my voice close, afraid it would tremble if I let it out. But the need for change is louder than fear.

In 2025, I traveled to the Capitol, that great stone house of laws and echoes. I went to speak for the Special Diabetes Program, to demand that the research continuing to save lives does not falter. I stood before Congress not as a child asking for a favor, but as a citizen insisting on a future. We secured the funding. We ensured that the science of survival would not pause. I learned then that power is not something you are given; it is something you claim when you decide to speak the truth.

We are not meant to struggle in the dark. When the world shuttered in 2020, I saw another kind of hunger; a hunger of the mind. Families were adrift, and education had become a luxury some could not afford.

I turned Coaches 4 Kids toward this need. What began as sport became a lifeline for the mind. We connected tutors to students, ensuring that a lack of funds did not mean a lack of learning. To see a student grasp a concept, to see the light return to their eyes, is a victory as sweet as any I have known on the volleyball court.

I am young, yes. But I know that the world is made by those who show up to build it. Whether I am writing a poem spiking a volleyball, or working up the nerve to stand in a Senator’s office, the work is the same: to lift the burden, to clear the path, and to make sure that no one has to walk it alone.