Growing up, my parents would regularly take my siblings and I to our local library in the Fruitvale area. I remember running to the back, straight to the kids' corner, where I’d obsess over books like Harry Potter or Charlie Bone . I would dream endlessly about those magical worlds, secretly hoping my own abilities might one day manifest. But as school introduced heavier material, I drifted toward video games as my escape, and those worlds quietly faded into the background.

(Here is a music playlist I created as an accompaniment to this piece. Enjoy while reading or listen to it separately!) I have a purple monster that lives in my chest. It isn’t monstrous and doesn’t have sharp teeth in the traditional sense. It’s soft, formless—an amoeba that shifts and swells whenever I start questioning who I am or what I’m worth. It creeps up my throat, sticky and slow, until it coats my vocal cords and makes it harder for my voice to pass through. Growin