My Passion For Forensic Science

As a child, my nose was constantly buried in a book. My parents often tell me that before I was even able to read, I could easily recite the stories my picture books depicted, word for word. Consistently reading years above my grade level, I was infatuated. My hunger for books seemed to never be fulfilled; the privilege of my very own library card when I turned eight years old only fed my addiction. The gift of the card signified the start of weekly visits to the library, all of which concluded with me departing with at least five books, eagerly clutched in my hands. The librarians at my local library knew me by name, often providing me with the newest books and rewarding me for reading the most books out of all the summer reading program participants.
For some, the predictability of books would have been more than enough for them, allowing them to temporarily escape from their unpredictable reality and bury themselves in a world filled with happiness and true love. As the predictable endings led to the vanishing of what was once my only passion, the newfound discovery of science ignited my curiosity. It wasn’t until my eleventh grade forensic science class that I realized science was my new reading. I was mesmerized; the free time I set aside from my academic and extracurricular commitments was devoted to researching online or finding extended information in a book, absorbing as much as possible about the topics being taught merely surface level in class. The familiar feeling of passion and interest that reading once fueled returned. I desperately craved the ability to share all of the information I had found with my less than enthused class, as most had taken the class to get an easy “A” and fulfill a credit requirement. Soon, January arrived and forensics came to an end, taking my new found passion with it, or so I thought. The second semester gave me chemistry, revealing my passion for experimentation and the desire to understand why things occur in the manner that they