A Voice Written, not Spoken by Eva

A Voice Written, not Spoken by Eva - January 2026 Scholarship Essay

My room is covered in books. On every surface, in every corner, you can find some. I wanted to read anything and everything I could find. From mystery to sci-fi, from kids books to college textbooks, from The Odyssey to Crying in H-Mart, I have them all. I have always been an avid reader; my nose has been in a book ever since I got glasses. Books allowed me to escape my own world and jump into a new one. Whenever I got bored of my own reality, I knew that there was a new storyline just waiting to be read.

Having said that, I was never able to share my own narrative. My imagination ran unrestrained in my own mind, but it never got let out into the universe. Most of the problems came when I tried to speak my thoughts out loud to other people. I couldn't talk until I was five-years-old because I have Sensory Processing Disorder, and I had to go to speech therapy all throughout elementary school. I could never figure out how people could tell their stories so easily. They didn't have to wait for their tongues to start cooperating, they could just create art straight off the bat. I wanted to do what they could, but I had no idea where to start. My brain ran too fast for my mouth to keep up, and I was quickly losing hope. I thought I would never be able to express myself; however, I was not going to let my fears stop me. I trained for years, and I was hoping something new would happen when I got ready to speak.

Going into middle school, I was excited to begin my new journey. I was Dorothy on the Yellow Brick Road, and I was ready to take down the Wicked Witch of the West. Despite all of my preparation, it went horribly. I was stuck down by my own poisonous tongue in the end. I was so confident in the beginning, but I quickly became exhausted. The words never fit in my mouth right; no matter what I tried nobody could understand what I was trying to convey. Nobody could hear my thoughts.

However, that all changed when I got my hands on a pencil and paper. Two simple objects, two insignificant things you could buy for less than a dollar, flipped my entire world upside down. Suddenly, it did not matter if nobody could hear me. No longer were the days of yearning for a voice, I had just stolen mine back from the sea witch. I had found my fairy godmother, my noble prince, my superhero ready to save the day. I had no more limitations dragging me down; I could create my own works of art.

The pencil flew across the paper, creating pictures out of words. I could create a grand narrative with nothing more than my imagination. Out of nowhere, I realized that this is what I was made for. I could travel through time, go wherever I wanted, and do anything I liked with my new found powers. The words flowed in a way they never did before; I could finally express myself without the fear of being unheard. I had a golden ticket in my hand, and I was not going to let this opportunity slip past me. With a simple stroke of the pencil, I was ready for anything.

I used to feel like I was screaming into a crowd while heavy metal blared in the background. I felt desperate to be heard but was drowned out. However, even if my words get lost in the cosmos, even if most people don’t want to listen to what I have to say, at least they would resonate with one person. If I can help one person feel seen, understood, or less afraid, then I’ve done something meaningful.

My background as a reader isn’t just an interest; it’s how I make sense of the world. Without this part of me, this identity shaped by stories and strengthened by struggle, I don’t know who I would be. Books gave me comfort when nothing else could, and now I am ready to return the favor. All of the stories and ideas I have waiting around will now see the light of day. They were collecting dust on the shelf, and I am finally ready to shake off all of the cobwebs on them. I truly believe that this is my life's purpose: to write, to connect, and to help others get through their life a little less alone.