My intellectual curiosity is sparked by the hidden ecosystems in my own neighborhood. It started when I found a strange-looking mushroom growing at the base of an oak tree in my local park. Instead of ignoring it, I took a picture and fell down a rabbit hole of urban foraging. I spent weeks learning to identify local flora, not just the common weeds, but the edible and medicinal plants hiding in plain sight. I learned that the dandelion my neighbor cursed was a nutrient-rich food source and that the "weed" in the sidewalk crack was plantain, a historical remedy for stings.

This hobby excites me because it is like learning a secret language. It has transformed my daily walks from a simple exercise into a scavenger hunt. I now see the world not just as a collection of buildings and sidewalks, but as a complex ecosystem with its own history and rules. It has taught me to look closer and question what is overlooked. This curiosity is not just about finding free food; it is about understanding the resilience of nature, the lost knowledge of our ancestors, and the intricate web of life that thrives in the most unexpected places.

I grew up in a house of well-intentioned failures. Every Saturday was "Project Day," a family tradition where we would tackle a new DIY challenge. We tried to build a bookshelf that ended up permanently slanted. We attempted to fix our lawnmower, only to leave it in more pieces than when we started. Our most ambitious project, a backyard pizza oven, looked more like a lumpy clay pot than a functional appliance. For years, I saw these Saturdays as a string of comical disasters.

But this environment of constant, low-stakes failure shaped me more than any success ever could. I learned to embrace the process of trial and error. The goal was never to build a perfect bookshelf, but to work together, to laugh at our mistakes, and to figure out how to make our wobbly creation a little bit stronger. This upbringing taught me resilience and the joy of collaborative problem solving. It made me a person who is not afraid to try something new and fail. I am comfortable with imperfection and understand that the most valuable learning happens when things do not go according to plan.

When I joined my high school’s theater tech crew, it was a deeply divided community. The senior members, who called themselves the "Gods of the Booth," held all the knowledge about the light and sound boards. Newer members like me were stuck painting flats and feeling useless. The division made our work slow and created a tense, unwelcoming atmosphere. I knew something had to change.

My contribution was simple: I proposed a "buddy system." I convinced the crew chief to pair each new member with a senior mentor for every production. I also organized weekly "skill-share" sessions, where one person would teach a specific skill, like how to properly coil a cable or program a lighting sequence. At first, the seniors were hesitant, but they soon took pride in their teaching roles.

The impact was immediate. New members learned quickly and became confident contributors. We finished our set builds a week ahead of schedule, and the tech booth, once a place of intimidation, became a hub of collaboration and laughter. I learned that an inclusive community is not built by accident. It is built by creating systems that empower everyone to learn, contribute, and feel valued.

I want to explore the idea of "digital decay." We live with the preconception that the internet is permanent, an eternal archive of our lives. My art challenges this. I am fascinated by what it means for digital information to be lost, corrupted, or forgotten.

In my current project, "Digital Ghosts," I take family photos and intentionally corrupt the image files, creating "glitch art." The resulting images are fractured and surreal, full of vibrant, unexpected colors and broken patterns. I then print these corrupted images on fragile, handmade paper that I embed with flower seeds. Over time, the paper will decompose, and the seeds will grow, transforming the decayed digital memory into new life.

This work disrupts the idea of a perfect, permanent digital self. It forces a conversation about the ephemerality of our online identities. At SMFA at Tufts, I want to continue this exploration. The interdisciplinary nature of the program is perfect for my work. I hope to use the printmaking studios and sculpture workshops to experiment with new ways of giving physical form to digital decay, imagining a world where our data has a natural life cycle, just like we do.

I am applying to Tufts because it is a place where my different passions do not have to live in separate worlds. I want to explore the intersection of technology and human expression, and Tufts offers the perfect environment for this. I am excited by the prospect of majoring in Computer Science while also taking classes in the Music department and through the Experimental College. I can imagine myself developing software for interactive music composition, a project that would require both technical skill and artistic understanding.

Beyond academics, I am drawn to Tufts' emphasis on active citizenship. In my community, I organized a project to build a new bus shelter for elderly residents, an experience that taught me the power of local, grassroots change. At Tufts, I want to get involved with the Leonard Carmichael Society and the Tisch College of Civic Life, using my problem solving skills to contribute to the Medford and Somerville communities.

Finally, I am excited by Tufts' collaborative and slightly quirky culture. I am a serious student, but I am also a person who loves to juggle and wants to join the Tufts Juggling Club. Tufts feels like a place where I will be challenged academically and also encouraged to be my full, multi-talented self.