grant stuff

My grant does not require a lot of this information, so the things I am posting here now aren't very long or detailed. My finished product will have more information.

Illini Robotics is the umbrella organization that consists of several robotics teams for students ages 4-18 that compete in various FIRST Robotics competitions. Illini Robotics' mission is to engender interest in science and engineering, particularly among youth and participate in events to raise profile of robotics, science and engineering in the community.

The purpose of Illini Robotics’ demos is to get more students and adults interested in robotics and STEM. Currently, teams must transport equipment - including robots, computers, and more - to demos in personal vans and cars which is not only difficult, but inefficient. A trailer would enable teams to bring more equipment to events so the people there would have more to look at and learn from. Additionally, the trailer would make it easier for Illini Robotics’ teams to hold demos, giving teams power to hold demos more frequently. Increasing the number of quality demos gets us closer to our goal of engaging one student per one dollar invested. For this project we are targeting 3,000 kids.

Illini Robotics would like $2,000 towards a trailer to improve robotics and STEM outreach through demos.

bound to the gender binary (editorial)

I feel like I don’t really explain anything very well in this essay, so please let me know anywhere I can clarify or elaborate.

This was inspired by a quote I heard recently --

“The world I’m fighting for is a world where we allow people to self-narrate their bodies.”

There’s no reason to put people into boxes. Genders are not defined by whether or not you wear glitter and play with barbies or wear cargo shorts and play with action figures. Feminine/masculine looks, affinities, and materialistic items are norms that vary by culture. Gender is much more complex and harder to define than just two words, but as we grow up we are groomed to fit more into our certain box. Having boy/girl sections in stores just further enforces these categories everyone is put into that are really just social constructs. Certainly male and female is a real thing, but masculinity and femininity are made up ideas that we are all confined to. A lot of people can fit in a box, but no one completely fits every criteria. It’s impossible since the definitions of what is masculine and what is feminine vary depending on when, where, and who you are.

By creating rules that genders have to follow, we are destroying originality. Some people say that there isn’t originality left in this world, but that’s because we oppress the originality to society deems unacceptable. Whether you like it or not, clothing is an outward display of yourself to those who see you, and therefore a form of self expression. It’s harder to find yourself when you’re dressed like everyone else, or play with the same toys as everyone else because you are told to. Clothing always has the opportunity to act as individualism on display, and by saying that only some clothing is appropriate for people to wear, we are restricting this beauty vehemently.

You don’t really know who you are yet as a child, but you are already placed into a box.  Why should you have to wear “girl clothes” or “boy clothes” if you don’t feel like a girl or a boy? Individuals are not meant to be put in boxes. You feel better in so many ways when you are more yourself. People feel empowered when they are allowed to be what they want to be, and they should be allowed to be so. When people are happy they make other people happy. When you’re allowed to be yourself and when people acknowledge that you are yourself it validates you. You are your strengths and your weaknesses and you need both.

Even the artificial blue and pink backgrounds behind the displays of toy and clothing are problematic. This is extremely evident of how deeply rooted and defined these categories are. Colors do not have gender. Colors are reflection of light and don’t fundamentally have anything to do with gender, but our culture has taught us that half of the population shouldn’t wear pink.

Sweden recently got rid of boy/girl divisions in many stores, and even came out with ads of kids playing with toys that don’t fit their gender norms. They also now have a gender neutral pronoun. I’ve never been to Sweden, but I think we could take some lessons in America. We need to back down a little with the labels. We are raised in a world where different is wrong. And although we are just fighting for what we think is right, we are oppressing so many people. If as a society we adopt a more open view of the world we live in, everyone can be nicer to everyone.

breathing underwater

This is just really really bad. It needs help. It's also too long, and it ends weird. And this blog messes up the formatting. There used to be paragraphs, I swear. I just can't figure out how to get them back.

I started swim team when I was seven years old. After a summer of going to the pool and hearing family friends brag about swim lessons I wanted to join them. It was difficult to get into when I first signed up. Difficult is an understatement- I hated it. I was a toothpick-thin little girl in “heated” pool water early in the morning, and it was frigid. Bending my arms and legs in the ways they told us to make the strokes felt awkward and unnatural. And afterwards my limbs felt like wet noodles; they certainly weren’t stable enough to walk on. But somehow I loved it. I came back the next year and the year after that. I made friends on my swim team and I loved spending every morning of my summer with them. A couple years later when I started to complain of worrying myself awake every night, my mom signed me up for a winter club team so I could get some exercise. My summer team made me work, but never this hard. But somehow it was even more rewarding. Since the act of swimming is an individual sport, the water became a place for me to think and unwind. Even more than the pool, I love the ocean. I love the salt, and the life, and the vastness of the waves that stretch out over the horizon. Sometimes I wish I could stay underwater forever, but alas I have to breathe. It is for this reason that if I had a superpower it would be to breathe under water.

I’ve always told people my superpower is being able to guess what time things will happen, but I would prefer breathing underwater. One perk of being able to breathe underwater would be that you can’t get caught nearly as easy as you can flying over houses or traveling in time. Even Harry potter got caught in his invisibility cloak. Breathing underwater is more of a masked superpower. As long as you don’t stay under too long when people are watching then it’s foolproof.

As much as I like to hang out with people, I seriously need my alone time. It’s what revives me, and water is what rejuvenates me. Sometimes it feels impossible to get away from all the chaos, but it’s always tranquil underwater. Being able to breathe underwater is a very personal super power in that it may not be the most practical, and whenever I use it I would most likely be alone. However, the ability to stay underwater as long as I want is that it would become a form of avoidance for me. It could become a hiding place I go when I’m procrastinating working or evading people.

I would love to go exploring in the ocean if I could breathe underwater. Life underwater is different. The creatures underwater look completely distinct from the animals on land; like aliens from some other planet. If I could stay underwater as long as I wanted I could become so connected to the sea life. Proximity and being able to breathe the same water they do would bond us together. I would become best friends with all of the sea creatures. It would be like snorkeling except I could go as deep as wanted, and I wouldn’t have a bothersome snorkel tying me to the air above the surface.

Maybe I just want breathing underwater to be my superpower because I always used to loose underwater breath-holding contests to my friends as a kid even though I was supposed to win because I was a swimmer and a flute player. I just took a buzzfeed quiz on what superpower I should have and I got the ability to melt into a puddle, which fits how I act when I’m supposed to be a hero in stressful situations, but it also kind of fits the water theme. Puddles can hide underwater very easily. Breathing underwater may not be as superfluous as other superpowers, but it’s superpower that suits me. Other superpowers are fun to show off like super speed, or help people all the time like super strength. Breathing underwater is serene being alone, but also exciting getting to explore sea life. There is a certain energy below the surface of the water that I would love to be able to experience more.

commutes without communication

Do you ever eavesdrop?

My essay is 100 words short of the limit, but I feel like it's still repetitive...

I started taking the bus when I switched elementary schools. Getting put in a totally new environment of kids who were already friends for two years of taking the bus together, did not improve my chronic, paralyzing shyness. They all sat in the back four rows. They all had the same look -- third graders with bed-hair, unzipped hoodies, and untied shoelaces that were gray and fraying at the ends from tripping over them. Their black-worn-gray soles all hit the ground in unison as they chanted “we will rock you” to the beat of the bus bouncing over potholes. They were chill, but confident, and great friends. They exuded the kind of cool I wanted to be a part of.

Unfortunately, because of the shy thing, I was not rocking with them for the first day, or week, or even couples months. Instead, I sat in the first seat in front of them and just eavesdropped. I grew up  with a listening/watching personality in a house with thin walls, so I was a natural. I was a part of their conversations without them even realizing it. I listened one boy who came every day with a story about his pitbull who dragged him down the sidewalk every time he took a walk, and another kid who would only talk about how he was getting a skateboard for Christmas. He told us he wouldn’t even have to take the bus anymore because he would be riding to school on his skateboard from then on. It never actually happened, but all of the other bus kids believed it so I did, too.

I didn’t mind being an eavesdropper. Each day I heard conversations about new and exciting things in the lives of the hooligan boys. I thought I was getting the best of both worlds hiding behind the brown pleather; I got to participate in their discourse without ever speaking. The world at the back of the bus was so different from the goody-two-shoes world I was used to, but I liked to feel like I was a part of it.

I sang with them a couple times, but I never worked up the courage to talk to those boys. I sat with them every day, but I’m not sure they even knew my name. I moved to a new house a couple years later and I walked to school. There’s no one to eavesdrop on, but I have maintained my skills nonetheless. I’ve learned new methods since then; classics like looking like you’re reading, and headphones in with no music. I am fluent in body language and able to pick out all the important consonants in whispers. I listen in on conversations everywhere; classrooms, on the bus, in the hallway, cross country warm-ups. I always have been an eavesdropper, and I always will be.
While my nasty habit keeps me entertained, I think it keeps me from actually talking to people sometimes. Maybe I could have been friends with those hooligan boys if I ever decided to turn around and talk to them. Maybe I could even make friends with the people on my bus now. Maybe someday I’ll try it, talking to people I don’t know, but habits are hard to break.

never doing nothing

Is "doing nothing" a good use of your time?  

This is a really rough draft- I don't really know what the structure should be...

Some people think doing nothing is a good use of time. Take all of those people that meditate, for instance. Maybe they think they’re doing something, but I’ve tried it before and that’s what it feels like. I’ve never come close to a deeper mindful connection the world. The most exciting thing that’s happened to me meditating before is my foot fell asleep. My mom is really into meditation and really wants me to be into meditation but I just can’t do it. Maybe I’m doing it wrong, but doing nothing just makes me feel more anxious. Doing nothing just isn’t something I enjoy.

Actually, I hate doing nothing. I also find it pretty much impossible to do nothing. My short attention span combined with my inability to sit for more than four minutes worsens this problem. I can’t ever do nothing for more than four seconds. I’m a very hands-on person, sitting back and watching things happen is not my strong suit. Doing nothing makes me feel like nothing. It either makes me feel bad about all of the things I’m not doing, or feel bad about my inability not do anything. Sometimes I feel like I’m missing some spiritual understanding of the universe by not being capable of simply taking a break to take it all in, but I guess I’ll have to find it somewhere else.

The closest thing to doing nothing that I am actually capable of doing is sleeping. I don’t really like sleeping. In fact I feel like it’s a total waste of time. I often procrastinate sleeping in the same way I’m sure many people procrastinate doing things like chores. I mean, if you think about it, that’s 4 to 8 more hours each day you could potentially get back to do stuff. I could get a part time job and maybe pay for college if I stopped sleeping. I could learn how to play violin, become comfortably fluent in Portuguese, or write a book with that time. The possibilities are endless. (Well actually they aren’t endless because the majority of the population sleeps at least some each day, but there are still plenty of things I could do from my room.) How am I possibly supposed to sleep when I have all the things I could be doing to think about? Unfortunately giving up sleep for a new hobby or making a living would not be healthy.

As much as I wish I didn’t, I really need sleep. Sleep is healthy. Breaks in general are healthy. Since breaks kind of are doing nothing, then I guess doing nothing is healthy once in a while. Healthy things are always a good use of time. Like exercising, for example. A lot of people feel like exercising is a waste of their time; especially when they’re exercising and they don’t want to be. But exercising is still healthy. Just maybe not constantly. Eating is healthy to do sometimes but not constantly. Just like breaks, and just like doing nothing.

Maybe I should change my thoughts about doing nothing. All those people that meditate seem pretty at peace, and people have been doing it centuries so it must be worth it. ADD makes doing nothing more of a challenge, but maybe I have something to learn from it. Even if I don’t learn anything, it would still be good for the health of it. Everyone knows I could always use a couple extra hours of sleep, even if I won’t admit it’s a good use of my time.

why my parents don't have a blog about me

Would you mind if your family blogged about you? (I'm 20 ish words over)

I would mind if my parents blogged about me. Not because it’s an invasion of my privacy, which it is by the way, but honestly I don’t think my parents could blog about me. They spend too much time in their own worlds to know enough about mine. My mom is working from 5:00 a.m. to 8:00 p.m. most days. And as you can imagine, by the end of it all, she’s practically dead. Occasionally she’ll forward me an email about school, but she doesn’t even see that it was already sent to me. My dad is always running around, too. He fills his days somehow, and has never been one to ask to help me with things going on in my life. He asks me in the evenings how school was, but never questions the fact that I reply every day with a simple ”good.”

My melodramatic middle school sister takes up a lot of the energy my parents do have left at the end of the day. She’s outgoing, high energy, and noisy- making her a vacuum for attention since she could cry. It’s not uncommon for the four of us to spend all of dinner talking about something that happened in her world. Nor is it uncommon for her to get in loud fights with my dad. If they wrote a blog about her it would certainly be an exciting read.

My parents’ blog about me would be based on when they see me when they drive me to school in the morning, and for dinner maybe 2 nights during the school week. I feel like they don’t really get to know me during that time, so I don’t know how they could make a blog about me. Part of it is my own doing. There’s so much I feel like they could never understand, so I decide not to tell them. And the older I get the more our personalities clash, so I try to stay farther and farther away.

I’m not home a lot anymore because I’m always off doing other things. I promise I’m not a little sneak of a child- I try to tell my parents where I will be whenever I can. But even though I tell them where I am, they don’t know what I do. For example, I spend almost 12 hours a week with my robotics team. Obviously my parents know I’m on the team, but they don’t know what it is I do there or what the team does. I also sleep over at my friend’s house every other week, and if I don’t I still spend a lot of time with her. But if I lined all of my friends up they wouldn’t be able to pick her out. They still ask about people I haven’t hung out with in two years, but can’t remember the name of the friend who’s house I spend every weekend at. The only blog worthy parts of my life they don’t really know about.

They don’t know my grades in school, they don’t know who my teachers are. They only seem to have time and energy to care about what time I go to sleep each time and what I eat. Their blog would be a fascinating recap of “Tori went to bed at 12:30 again tonight even though we tell her to go to bed at 10” interspersed with “Tori says she will eat lunch at Rachel’s house. I wonder how she if ever eats when we aren’t watching her.” All of the other information in this fantasy blog would be stale and outdated, from back when they could care about what was happening in my life. I would actually be curious to read a blog they wrote about my life. It would be interesting to see what they think is going on based on the bits of information they get. But I’ll never know because they live too much in their worlds to write one.

my life in terms of a bracelet

What object tells the story of your life?      

(I'm not sure this actually counts as an essay...) 

At first the colors are too bright. They’re super-saturated and clashing with each other. They look foriegn against my skin, and the tightly woven threads rub wrong against my wrist. I think that maybe it wasn’t the best idea to tie this bracelet on permanently. I was never one for unconditional permanence, and I’m not sure if this has any practicality whatsoever. It doesn’t match most of my outfits. It snags in my hairbrush. It feels like more of a nuisance than an accessory. I decide to keep it, though. I like how it makes me feel; like someone I want to be.

Soon the color fades. Only slightly at first. Of course it’s not what I wanted initially, but I like it better this way. I think the slight pastel vibe suits me better. Now you see it on my wrist and it looks like it belongs there. The stiffness meshes to the shape of my wrist. It’s comforting. Wrist in bracelet is like hand in glove.

Pretty soon it’s a part of me. I know each stitch like the back of my hand, because it is the back of my hand. I wouldn’t know my own wrist without it. It goes everywhere. It runs cross country meets in 90 degree heat advisories, and shakes hands with all the parents I have to meet. It soaks up my tears and my melting ice cream, but never stays dirty long. It gets yanked on by curious preschoolers and my neighbor’s crazy dog. I got it stuck on a nail on the fence on block over. It’s still intact. I’m still intact.

One day the ends start to fray slightly. They’re slightly lighter than the rest of the bracelet by now. They turn soft and the strings untwist slightly. I untwist them sometimes without even thinking about it. I pull on the ends walking into my math final and when you tell I’m not what you want anymore. I don’t think anything of it.

This bracelet is something always there for me to hold on to. Holding my hand like my best friend, it’s the only thing that I can count on to not fall apart. Bracelets don’t stop hanging out with you when they get a boyfriend. Bracelets don’t lie to your face like you’re too young to understand. Bracelets don’t let go. It feels more like a lifeline than an accessory.

And then one day it falls off.