In 9th grade, I entered the foster care system, a place that was supposed to be stable but often felt like a cycle of hurdles to overcome. As a gay teenager of color, I quickly learned that this system wasn’t built for me. It wasn’t just being bounced around through shelters. It was about surviving environments that were often completely indifferent or hostile to my identity. There were moments of growth and connection that did shape who I currently am. The system brought out the best and worst in people. On the worst days, I dealt with staff whose disdain for my queerness was painfully clear. Some called me names, like “fruit loop,” or mocked me with smirks and whispers. It wasn’t overt cruelty. On occasion, there was just a well-placed and cutting comment that adequately let me know I was seen as different — and not in a good way.
There were bright moments too like mentors who saw potential. One staff member, a former foster youth herself, urged me to make music after hearing me sing a bit in the dining area one day. Another mentor, someone who had grown up marching for civil rights, taught me how to turn my anger into advocacy. She often reminded me my voice mattered even when it felt like no one was listening. Though these mentors didn’t erase the pain, they gave me the tools to move through it. Performance art became a major tool in finding confidence in the world. On stage, I could be bold, unapologetic, and loud. That sense of liberation stayed with me long after the curtain fell. I naturally got involved in LGBTQ+ advocacy. While in grade school, I worked with GLSEN to organize my hometown’s first Pride prom for queer youth. I’ll never forget the looks on people’s faces that night as they danced without fear and held hands without shame. That became an annual event and a reminder that even in darkness, light can guide us like stars in the night sky.
It didn’t stop there in my journey into activism. In 10th grade, I joined BLM peaceful protests. Marching alongside others who also felt the weight of oppression reminded me I was a part of something bigger. Aging out of the system, I later joined AmeriCorps to work with kids at The Boys & Girls Club during the height of the pandemic. That experience brought me full circle. I saw myself in the kids I mentored — young and full of untapped potential. It was not just about teaching Science, Technology, Engineering & Mathematics (STEM) classes or conducting service projects, but about healing my community while also being the type of mentor I needed when I was younger.
Now in Los Angeles, I carry past lessons into all that I do. I’m sure the connections I made and trials I have overcome helped me beat the odds. It was those moments — the performance arts, God’s protection, community outreach programs, the mentors and friends who believed in me — that were my lifelines, keeping me afloat. Foster youth deserve environments where their identities and intellectual abilities are affirmed, not erased. Policies should be written to bring in mental health and educational resources shaped for queer youth and youth of color. Staff also need accountability regarding their biases, with training on providing a safe and inclusive environment to all children in their care.
Classism, colorism, and homophobia can be deeply ingrained within the systems of our environment, but they don’t have to be. With better funding, policies, and appropriate accountability, genuine support for every child is possible. Now with tears in my eyes and light in my heart, I reflect on just how my whole story was built around adversity and growth. And even in a system that seemed to work against me at times, it taught me the power of perception, perspective, and wisdom to overcome. The “fruit loop” became a guide and mentor for others.
To the kids still in the system, your story isn’t over yet, and your voice matters so much more than you know. And to all the policymakers, caregivers, and advocates out there, let me say this: listen to us. We are not burdens or statistics; we are the children of reality and have the ability to make changes in the world around us. The system can’t define us. We define ourselves, guided by God and the angels who act as our mentors.
