The most meaningful relationship in my life is the one I share with my mother. She is not only the person who raised me, but the reason I understand what true human connection looks like—connection built on sacrifice, resilience, and unconditional care. My mother fled El Salvador during the civil war, carrying with her the hope of safety and opportunity. She arrived in the United States with very little, but spent years building a life for us through physically demanding work. Growing up, I watched her pour everything she had into making sure I was stable, even when stability was something she herself never fully had. In a household where we lived paycheck to paycheck, she still made sure I understood one thing clearly: my education was my birthright. That belief shaped not only my academic journey, but the way I understand relationships and human connection. My relationship with my mother taught me that love is not defined by words alone, but by consistency, sacrifice, and showing up even when life is difficult. She taught me that connection is not about perfection—it is about presence. As I grew older and became a first-generation college student, that relationship evolved into something even deeper. I began to see my mother not only as my caregiver, but as my anchor. Navigating college without guidance meant I often faced challenges alone—financial aid systems, academic expectations, and the pressure of balancing school with work. Through all of it, my mother remained a constant source of encouragement. Even when she could not offer technical advice, her emotional support reminded me that I was not alone in my journey. That foundation of care shaped how I now build relationships with others. Because I had to learn everything on my own, I became someone who naturally steps into the role of guide and supporter for others. I actively help my younger cousins and sister-in-law, who are also first-generation students, navigate college applications and connect to resources. I know how isolating it can feel to be in spaces where no one explains the process, so I make it a point to ensure they do not feel that same confusion or silence I once did. In many ways, I am extending the support my mother gave me to the next generation of my family. Beyond my family, I also build connection through my community work. Through Get Lit – Words Ignite, I mentor young people using poetry and storytelling as tools for expression. Many of the students I work with are navigating identity, mental health challenges, or instability, and often struggle to articulate what they are feeling. I have learned that human connection sometimes begins with simply listening—creating space for someone to speak without fear of judgment. In those moments, I see how powerful it is when someone feels understood for the first time. My understanding of connection has also been shaped by my lived experience balancing multiple responsibilities while pursuing my education. I have worked as a part-time cashier, caretaker, Get Lit intern, and recently completed a law firm internship, all while maintaining a 3.8 GPA. These experiences taught me discipline, but more importantly, they taught me empathy. When you carry responsibility at that level, you begin to recognize the unseen struggles in others more easily. At the core of everything I do is the lesson my mother taught me through action: relationships are built through care, sacrifice, and consistency. She showed me that even when circumstances are difficult, you can still create stability for someone else. You can still be a source of strength. Because of her, I do not just value human connection—I practice it intentionally. I listen more deeply, I show up more consistently, and I try to be the person who makes others feel less alone. Whether it is in my family, my community, or my academic environment, I strive to build the kind of relationships that my mother built with me: grounded in love, resilience, and unwavering support. If chosen for this scholarship, I would continue honoring that lesson by expanding my ability to serve others through education and nonprofit leadership. But more importantly, I would continue doing what my mother taught me from the beginning—building connections that make people feel seen, supported, and valued.

Service, to me, is not an act—it is a way of living shaped by responsibility, gratitude, and the understanding that what we overcome is never meant to stay with us alone. As a first-generation Salvadoran-American student with a 3.8 GPA at California State University, Northridge, I have learned that education is not simply personal advancement—it is a tool to return what was once given through sacrifice. My life has been shaped by watching my mother, who fled El Salvador during the civil war, rebuild from nothing through years of physically demanding work. Despite financial hardship, she never stopped reminding me that my education was my birthright. That belief became the foundation of how I move through the world: if I have access to knowledge, I have a responsibility to share it. That responsibility shows up in how I serve my community. As a first-generation student, I had no guidance for navigating college systems—no roadmap for financial aid, applications, or academic expectations. I pride myself on helping my friends' younger siblings and my cousins through the process of pursuing higher education. I guide them through applications, connect them to resources, and reassure them when the process feels overwhelming or unfamiliar. For them, I try to be what I once needed, someone who makes the unknown feel possible. My commitment to service extends beyond my family. Through my work with Get Lit – Words Ignite, I mentor students using poetry and storytelling as tools for healing and self-expression. I work with young people navigating identity, mental health challenges, and instability, helping them find language for experiences they often carry silently. I have also had the honor of performing at the Get Lit Annual Gala alongside nationally recognized poets and artists. Standing in those spaces reinforced something I now carry into every room I enter: stories can shift how people see themselves, and that shift can change the direction of a life. Alongside my community work, I have maintained a 3.8 GPA and earned placement on both the Dean’s Honor List (4 times) and President’s Honor List. These achievements reflect discipline, but they also reflect survival. I have worked as a part-time cashier, caretaker, Get Lit intern, and recently completed a law firm internship. Each role has required balancing financial need with academic ambition, but it has also deepened my understanding of responsibility—both to myself and to others. What drives me most is the belief that service is not limited to helping individuals—it is about building pathways where there were none. This is why I plan to continue my education in business management, with the goal of leading nonprofit initiatives focused on mental health advocacy and community empowerment. I want to create programs that provide mentorship, resources, and access for underserved youth, especially those who feel unseen in academic and social systems. To embody a life of service means to transform lived experience into action. It means recognizing that what you survive can become what someone else is still struggling through—and choosing to stand in that space for them. If given this scholarship, I would carry forward Mrs. Marion Makins’ legacy not only through academic excellence, but through continued commitment to mentorship, education, and community uplift. My goal is not just to succeed within my education, but to ensure that others can succeed because I used mine to open doors.

When my father left my life, it felt like the ground beneath me disappeared. For a long time, I viewed that loss as something that broke me. I carried the pain quietly while trying to continue being a good student, balancing responsibilities at home, and pretending that I was unaffected. As a child growing up in a low-income, first-generation household, losing a parent emotionally created a kind of loneliness that is difficult to explain. It made me question my worth and whether I was somehow responsible for being left behind. At the time, I could not imagine that something so painful would eventually become one of the most transformative experiences of my life. Being left forced me to grow up much earlier than I should have had to. I learned quickly that I could not wait for someone else to save me or guide me through life. I had to learn how to navigate challenges on my own, whether that meant figuring out financial aid applications, balancing work and school, or carrying emotional pain while still pushing myself forward academically. There were moments when I felt exhausted by the pressure of constantly having to be strong, but I kept going because I knew giving up would mean allowing my circumstances to define me. My mother became the person who grounded me through all of it. After fleeing El Salvador during the civil war, she spent years doing physically demanding work just to provide stability for our family. Even when we lived paycheck to paycheck, she always reminded me that my education was my birthright. Those words stayed with me during every difficult moment. They reminded me that my future was still worth fighting for, even when life felt uncertain. Looking back now, I realize that my father leaving forced me to discover strength within myself that I may never have found otherwise. It pushed me to stop searching for validation from people who could not give it to me and instead build confidence through my own perseverance. The pain I experienced became the reason I care so deeply about helping others feel supported and seen. That is why I dedicate so much of myself to mentorship and community work. Through Get Lit – Words Ignite, I help young people process their emotions and tell their stories through poetry and creative expression. Many of the students I work with are carrying struggles they rarely speak about—grief, instability, anxiety, or feeling misunderstood. I recognize that pain because I have lived it myself. I know how life-changing it can be when even one person takes the to listen. As painful as losing my father was, I can now say it shaped me into someone stronger, more compassionate, and more determined than I ever thought possible. It taught me that hardship can either harden you or deepen your ability to care for others. For me, it became fuel. It pushed me to work harder, dream bigger, and create a future rooted not in abandonment, but in purpose. What once felt like the worst thing that could happen to me ultimately became the reason I learned how powerful I could be on my own—and I will spend my life honoring my mother’s support by using my education to build a future that reflects her sacrifices, her strength, and the belief she never stopped having in me.

Education has always been more than an academic goal in my life—it has been a promise, a responsibility, and a form of transformation. As a first-generation Salvadoran-American college student and a woman pursuing higher education at California State University, Northridge, I carry the weight of my family’s sacrifices and the hope of future generations who will come after me. My mother fled El Salvador during the civil war, building a life in the United States through years of physically demanding work. She often reminds me that my education is my birthright, something she never had the opportunity to pursue herself. Growing up in a low-income household where we lived paycheck to paycheck, I quickly learned that education was not just about personal success—it was about breaking cycles of limitation that had existed long before me. Being first-generation has meant navigating college without a roadmap. There was no one in my family who could explain FAFSA, guide me through applications, or prepare me for the structure of academic life. Instead, I learned through trial, error, and persistence while balancing financial responsibility. I have worked as a part-time cashier, a caretaker, an intern at Get Lit – Words Ignite, and most recently completed a law firm internship. Each role was not just a job, but a step toward staying in school and building a future my family once only dreamed of. At the same time, I carry the emotional responsibility of being the first in my family to pursue higher education. There is pressure in knowing that my success represents possibility for those who come after me. I actively help them navigate their own educational journeys, pointing them toward resources, helping with applications, and reminding them that they belong in academic spaces, even when it feels unfamiliar. Education is especially meaningful to me because it has become my way of creating access where none previously existed. Only about 23% of Latinas earn a bachelor’s degree, and I strive not only to be part of that percentage, but to expand it. I want my journey to show other first-generation students that their circumstances do not define their potential. Beyond academics, I have found my voice through poetry and storytelling. I have performed at the Get Lit Annual Gala alongside GRAMMY-winning artists like J. Ivy and H.E.R., been featured at open mics such as Café Con Libros, and shared stages with poets like Yesika Salgado. Through these experiences, I learned that storytelling is also a form of education—it teaches, heals, and connects people across generations and backgrounds. The legacy I hope to leave is one of access, representation, and empowerment. I want to be someone who not only earned a degree against the odds, but who made the path easier for others to follow. I want future generations of my family—and students like me—to see higher education not as something distant or intimidating, but as something possible, supported, and within reach. Education, for me, is not just personal advancement. It is continuation. It is resistance. And most of all, it is legacy.

My journey has been shaped by experiences that have tested my sense of belonging, my mental health, and my resilience. As a first-generation Salvadoran-American and a lesbian, I have had to navigate spaces where I often felt unseen—learning how to carry both cultural expectations and personal identity while trying to understand where I fit in. One of the most difficult moments in my life came when I came out to my father. Instead of acceptance, I was met with rejection, and he chose to leave my life. That loss was not just about a parent—it was about losing a sense of stability and understanding. It forced me to confront feelings of abandonment, confusion, and grief at a young age. I began to internalize the idea that parts of who I was might make me unworthy of love or acceptance. That experience deeply impacted my mental health. There were times when I struggled with anxiety and emotional isolation, trying to process both the loss of a relationship and the fear of being misunderstood by others. At the same time, I was navigating the pressures of being a first-generation college student, balancing financial stress, academic expectations, and the weight of my family’s sacrifices. It often felt like I had to be strong for everyone else while quietly dealing with my own battles. What changed my path was finding support in unexpected places. My mother and stepfather showed me unconditional love, reminding me that my identity was not something to hide, but something to embrace. My friends became a chosen family—people who saw me fully and accepted me without hesitation. Slowly, I began to rebuild my sense of self, learning that I was not defined by rejection, but by the strength it took to keep going. I also found healing through community and expression. My involvement with Get Lit – Words Ignite, a nonprofit focused on empowering youth through storytelling, gave me a space to process my experiences and help others do the same. Through poetry and mentorship, I witnessed how powerful it is when someone feels heard. Many of the students I work with face similar struggles—questions of identity, mental health challenges, or feelings of isolation. Being able to support them, to listen without judgment and validate their experiences, has become a meaningful part of my healing. These experiences have shaped how I view perseverance. For me, it is not just about overcoming obstacles, but about continuing to show up even when things feel heavy. It is choosing to build a life rooted in authenticity, despite moments of doubt or pain. It is turning personal struggles into a source of connection and support for others. The message behind this scholarship deeply resonates with me. Losing someone to suicide is a reminder of how critical it is to create spaces where people feel safe, valued, and understood. I carry that awareness into everything I do. Whether it is through mentorship, everyday conversations, or my future goals in nonprofit mental health advocacy, I am committed to helping others feel less alone. My journey has not been easy, but it has given me purpose. I have learned that even in moments of loss and struggle, there is the possibility of growth, connection, and healing. I continue to persevere not only for myself, but for those who are still searching for a reason to keep going—and for a world where no one feels unseen.

Education is a form of silent protest. Every class I attend and every step I take toward my degree challenges the limitations placed on students like me. It is my way of saying that we are capable, that we are worthy, and that we deserve access to higher education. I am a first-generation Salvadoran-American student pursuing a degree in Business Management at California State University, Northridge. For me, higher education has never been just about earning a degree, it has been about breaking cycles, honoring sacrifice, and creating a future that once felt out of reach. My mother fled El Salvador during the civil war, carrying with her the hope of something better. She built a life here through years of physically demanding work, often sacrificing her own well-being to make sure I had stability. Growing up, we lived paycheck to paycheck, and college felt like a distant dream. But no matter how difficult things became, my mother always reminded me that my education is my birthright. Those words grounded me, especially during moments when I questioned whether I truly belonged in higher education. As a first-generation student, I have had to figure everything out on my own. There was no one to explain financial aid, no one to guide me through applications, and no safety net if I made a mistake. At the same time, I have balanced multiple responsibilities to support myself and stay in school. I have worked as a part-time cashier, a caretaker, an intern at Get Lit – Words Ignite, and most recently completed a law firm internship. Each role has shaped my discipline and resilience, but reflects the reality that I have had to work continuously while pursuing my education. There were moments when the weight of it all felt overwhelming—balancing school, work, and financial pressure while trying to stay focused on my goals. These experiences have strengthened my determination and deepened my purpose. I am building a foundation for my future while learning how to navigate systems that were not always designed for students like me. 23% of Latinas earn a bachelor’s degree. That number is something I carry with me. I strive to be part of that 23%, but more importantly, to help change it. I want other first-generation Latina students to see someone like them succeeding and realize that they belong in these spaces too. This commitment is reflected in how I show up for others. I actively help any student who needs guidance, whether it is understanding college applications, finding resources, or navigating academic challenges. I also support my sister-in-law and younger cousins, who are first-generation students themselves. I walk them through processes I once had to learn alone, helping them access the right resources and reminding them that they are capable of succeeding in college. Being able to be the person I once needed for them is one of the most meaningful parts of my journey. I carry this mindset into my community work. Through Get Lit:Words Ignite, I mentor young people navigating identity, mental health struggles, and uncertainty. Many of them remind me of myself—unsure, overwhelmed, but full of potential. I share my story so they can see that their circumstances do not define their future. My journey has not been easy, but it has given me purpose. I am determined not only to earn my degree, but to use it to uplift others and open doors for those who come after me. I want to be more than a statistic—I want to be part of the change that makes higher education possible for all first-generation students.

I am currently a Business Management student at California State University, Northridge, pursuing a path that allows me to combine my passion for community work with the skills needed to lead and sustain nonprofit organizations. My goal is to work in nonprofit leadership focused on mental health advocacy, particularly for marginalized communities. I chose this field because I believe meaningful change requires both empathy and structure—strong leadership can turn care into lasting impact. As a first-generation Salvadoran-American and a lesbian, my identity has deeply shaped my perspective and purpose. Coming out was not without challenges. When I shared my identity, my father chose to leave my life, which was a painful and defining moment for me. However, I have been fortunate to have the unwavering support of my mother, stepfather, and an incredible group of friends who have become my chosen family. Their support has shown me the importance of acceptance and safe spaces—something I now strive to create for others. Being part of the LGBTQ+ community has given me a deeper understanding of what it means to feel unseen and, more importantly, what it means to be affirmed. It has strengthened my empathy for others navigating identity, mental health struggles, or rejection. These experiences directly influence the work I do in my community. Since I was seventeen, I have been involved with Get Lit – Words Ignite, a nonprofit that empowers youth through literacy and creative expression. Through mentorship and program support, I help create spaces where young people—many of whom are navigating identity, anxiety, or instability—can share their stories without fear. I also contribute to initiatives like the Creative Career Lab, which connects students from marginalized backgrounds to opportunities in the creative industry. In these spaces, I aim to be the kind of support I once needed: someone who listens, validates, and encourages others to find their voice. Outside of formal roles, I give back in everyday ways by being a source of support for my peers. Whether it is listening to a friend struggling with anxiety or reminding someone that their experiences are valid, I believe that showing up consistently is one of the most meaningful ways to build community. These moments, though small, help create trust and belonging—both essential for mental well-being. Financially, my journey has been shaped by significant hardship. My mother fled El Salvador during the civil war and has worked physically demanding jobs to support our family. While she has always encouraged my education, she is unable to contribute financially, and her limited English has meant I have had to navigate college systems—like FAFSA and financial aid—on my own. Growing up in a low-income household, I have balanced part-time work with full-time studies, often under the pressure of financial uncertainty. This scholarship would ease that burden and allow me to focus more fully on my education and community work. More importantly, it would help me continue building toward a future where I can lead nonprofit initiatives that expand access to mental health resources and create inclusive spaces for underserved communities, especially those of LGBTQ+ services, as I know what it is like to be abandoned. My experiences have taught me that giving back is not just about service—it is about creating systems of care that last. I am committed to using my education, identity, and lived experiences to uplift others, reduce stigma, and ensure that no one feels alone.

As a first-generation Salvadoran-American student at Cal State Northridge, pursuing higher education is both an opportunity and a responsibility. I am working to overcome financial strain, generational barriers, and the challenge of navigating academic systems that no one in my family has experienced before. My mother fled El Salvador during the civil war and has spent decades working physically demanding jobs to provide stability for our family, especially for my education. Her sacrifices shaped my understanding of perseverance and continue to motivate my pursuit of education. Growing up, we lived paycheck to paycheck, and financial insecurity influenced many of my decisions. College was never guaranteed. It felt like something I had to fight for. Although my mother has always encouraged my education, she cannot contribute financially, and her limited English and education means she cannot guide me through university processes. I had to learn how to navigate FAFSA, search for scholarships, and balance work with school on my own. These challenges have been difficult, but they have also strengthened my determination to succeed and create opportunities for others who face similar obstacles. Being first-generation also means carrying emotional responsibility. I often feel the weight of knowing that my success represents more than my own achievements—it reflects my mother’s sacrifices and the hopes she carried when she came to the United States. That pressure can be overwhelming at times, but it has also shaped the legacy I hope to create: one rooted in resilience, community empowerment, and access to creative expression. Since I was seventeen, I have been involved with Get Lit: Words Ignite, a nonprofit that uses poetry to amplify youth voices. Through my work there, first as a participant, then a volunteer, and now as an intern, I have witnessed the transformative power of storytelling. Many immigrant youth and students of color struggle with the same challenges I have faced financial instability, language barriers, and the feeling of being invisible in academic spaces. Poetry and storytelling provide them with a way to process their experiences and reclaim their voices. In the future, I hope to create nonprofit programs that support marginalized youth through creative expression, mentorship, and mental health resources. My goal is to build spaces where students can develop confidence in their stories, connect with mentors, and access guidance through the college process. By combining the humanities with community outreach, I want to empower young people to see their identities as strengths rather than barriers. Through education and service, I hope to create a legacy that transforms struggle into opportunity. By shining my light through storytelling and advocacy, I aim to uplift others and ensure that the next generation of students feels supported, heard, and capable of pursuing their dreams.

I give back by supporting others through advocacy, mentorship, and service. I am actively involved with Get Lit Word Ignite, a nonprofit organization focused on empowering youth through literacy, self-expression, and community engagement. In my role, I help create programs and provide mentorship that offer young people safe spaces to share their stories and process their emotions. As well as with their other projects, such as Creative Career Lab, which aims to help students in marginalized communities find careers and connections in the creative industry. Many of the students I work with face anxiety, stress, or instability similar to what I experienced growing up. Being present for them, validating their emotions, and helping them find their voices is my way of turning my own challenges into meaningful support for others. Beyond formal involvement, I give back in everyday ways by being a trusted source of support for peers and younger students. When friends or classmates come to me overwhelmed by anxiety or stress, I listen without judgment and remind them that their feelings are valid. I’ve learned that sometimes the most impactful form of giving back is simply showing up—offering understanding, patience, and reassurance. These moments may seem small, but they help build trust and foster a sense of belonging, which is essential for mental well-being. Looking toward the future, I plan to positively impact the world through nonprofit leadership focused on mental health advocacy. I am pursuing a degree in business management because I believe strong leadership and effective management are essential to creating sustainable, impactful nonprofit organizations. My goal is to lead or work within a nonprofit that expands access to mental health resources, education, and support—particularly in underserved and marginalized communities where stigma and lack of resources often prevent individuals from seeking help. By combining my lived experiences with professional skills in nonprofit management, I hope to design and lead programs that prioritize mental health as a community issue, not just an individual one. I want to help build organizations that create safe spaces, encourage open conversations, and provide practical tools for healing and growth. Ultimately, my goal is to give back on a larger scale by strengthening nonprofits that uplift voices, reduce stigma, and ensure that no one feels unseen or unsupported. My journey has taught me that giving back is not just about service—it’s about creating systems of care that last. Through nonprofit work, advocacy, and leadership, I am committed to making a lasting, positive impact on the world by ensuring mental health is recognized, respected, and supported for all.

As a first-generation Salvadoran-American student at Cal State Northridge, pursuing higher education is both an opportunity and a responsibility. I am working to overcome financial strain, generational barriers, and the weight of navigating academic systems that no one in my family has experienced before. My mother fled El Salvador during the civil war and has spent decades in physically demanding jobs to provide stability for us. Her sacrifices pushed me to pursue college, yet they also highlight the financial limitations we face every semester. Growing up, we lived paycheck to paycheck, and financial insecurity shaped many of my decisions. College was never guaranteed—it felt like something I had to fight for. Although my mother has always encouraged my education, she cannot contribute financially, and her limited English means she cannot guide me through paperwork, university processes, or academic expectations. These challenges have required me to learn everything on my own: how to navigate FAFSA, how to seek out grants, how to balance part-time work with full-time classes, and how to stay committed even when financial stress feels overwhelming. Being first-generation also means carrying emotional responsibility. I often feel the pressure of knowing that my mother’s sacrifices are tied to my success, and that I am pursuing the opportunities she never had. There is no safety net if I fail, and that reality pushes me to work harder, but it also comes with anxiety and the constant need to prove that I belong in higher education spaces. Despite these obstacles, I am determined to continue my studies in the humanities, because storytelling, cultural expression, and community work have always been where I find purpose. Since I was seventeen, I’ve been involved with Get Lit – Words Ignite, a nonprofit that uses poetry to amplify youth voices. My work there—first as a volunteer and now as an intern—has shown me how powerful creative expression can be for immigrant youth and students of color. Many young people face the same challenges I do: financial instability, language barriers, and the struggle to feel seen in academic settings. My dream is to create nonprofit programs that support these students, offering them access to creative spaces, mentorship, and mental health resources grounded in community and cultural understanding. This scholarship would help ease the financial pressure that threatens to disrupt my education. It would allow me to focus more fully on my coursework, on building my skills in nonprofit leadership, and on continuing the community work that has shaped my identity. More importantly, it would help me move closer to creating programs that empower marginalized youth—work that honors both my mother’s sacrifices and the legacy of Sharon L. Smartt, who dedicated her life to uplifting students through the humanities. By pursuing higher education, I hope to break cycles of limitation in my family, create opportunities for others, and transform the challenges I have faced into meaningful change for my community.