back when i was 10, i wanted to be an astronaut. i didn't care if it was a one-way trip; i just wanted to float out there in the unknown, to be weightless, to escape. but then i found out how impossible it was—how much money it would take—and i realized it wasn’t for someone like me.
so i thought, maybe i could be a pilot. to still be close to the sky, to feel the rush of leaving the ground. but that was expensive too. then, maybe a flight attendant, at least i'd be flying, right?
but i wasn’t tall enough.
so i tried imagining myself as a model, a pageant queen. i knew i could do it. i could nail every question, hit every pose with grace and confidence. but when i stood in front of the mirror, my height betrayed me again.

i started to see the world differently, like every dream i had came with a door that i couldn’t open. i told myself, maybe i’m not meant for the air, or the spotlight, or the stage. maybe i belong here, on the ground.

so i thought about joining the air force, serving my country—another dream. but...