My grandfather was much more than my best friend; the line just outside his funeral service was my proof. To his 6 brothers and large family, he was a family-oriented man who, weekly, visited his parents' grave years after their passing. To his friends, he was a man of comedy, whose stories filled the local Whataburger they convened at every morning with booming laughter. And to the companies he served for decades, he embodied the true work ethic of an immigrant. For over twenty years, my grandpa and his brothers worked at a dairy factory, where his dedication steadily earned him advancement through the company. Even then, long shifts were rarely enough, and he worked another 15 years in construction to provide more for his family. What moves me most is that, despite decades of labor already behind him, he returned to school in his fifties to earn his associate's degree in finance, proving to me that ambition is not limited by circumstance. Beneath his labor was a deep intellect and passion for education; despite limited opportunities for higher education, I've yet to see anyone else mirror it. I remember, as a child, watching him skim through what might be the only remaining collection of encyclopedias in El Paso as he sought to share trivia. Later in life, he'd use the morning to tend to his prosperous garden, listing each plant by full name, and the evening to rest quietly in his recliner, playing complex compositions as he tore them apart and sang individual melodies. Each component a testament to his passion for education. He'd tell me often, "Aprovecha al máximo cada oportunidad que se te presente, mija, tu pasión marcará la diferencia que yo alguna vez esperé marcar." "Make the most of every chance you get, mija, your passion will make the difference I had once hoped to." I'm proud to acknowledge that I did just that by starting my school's first mock trial club, serving as head attorney, and becoming my marching band's drum major. Each outlet is a commitment to excellence I carry with me as I attend The University of Texas at Austin this fall. As much as I took pride in these extracurriculars, though, they pale in comparison to my love for speech and debate. I joined speech and debate because I had spent my life watching people in my community hold stories that rarely translated into larger conversations. Growing up in El Paso, I understood early on how often border communities are spoken about rather than listened to, which made speech and debate feel like an opportunity to represent perspectives frequently overlooked. I became determined to help my school and city excel in spaces where we had historically lacked recognition. In doing so, I realized my passion extended beyond competition to advocacy, which drew me to pursue a future as an immigration attorney. Though my grandpa was never able to see me use my voice for reason, he remained my reason for pursuit. On trips to state competitions within the Texas circuit and on my NSDA debut, I reminisced about the days we'd argue politics, laughing as each of us got too passionate. In championing Extemporaneous rounds locally to placing second speaker in the UIL state policy debate, I found myself thinking about how proud he'd be watching his grandchildren carry his philosophy through an activity he would've loved. In every accomplishment I carry with me, I see the reflection of a man who taught me passion means little without sacrifice, and that education becomes the most meaningful when used in service of others.

The book of Proverbs is intended to impart foundational wisdom and help individuals live righteously and successfully in God's world. "Life and death are in the power of the tongue" (Proverbs 18:21) The verse emerged from a literate, Yahweh-centered monarchy where spoken words carried judicial, social, and spiritual power. Still, beyond its origin, I've found a spiritual tie to its involvement in speech and debate, the activity I credit most to my wisdom rooted in God's word. I remember the hum of the UT Austin classrooms during the UIL Cross-Examination State Tournament just this past March. I, being a nervous debater, had already sweated through my blazer before my partner and I's rounds. I sat shaking under the intellectual weight of the best minds in Texas sitting eaches away from me. As a 6A debater from El Paso, my partner and I were outliers. Often referred to as "West Texas" kids, we were often overlooked in the shadow of massive East Coast Texas programs. With that disproportion in mind, unlike regional competitions, a ballot was the last thing on my mind. That competition, I became El Paso's first 6A Octafinalist, placing 2nd speaker overall, the first in my city's history to break into that top tier. I don't mention these accolades to boast in my own merit, rather I credit everything to the grace of God. His wisdom was what drove me through the high-stakes pressure of TFA State and the Harvard National Tournament, among the first competitions where I realized my voice was not my own. When I was competing in International Extemporaneous, I had seven minutes to bring order to global chaos. In the World Schools Debate at the NSDA National tournament, I had to find common ground with teammates from across the country who often didn't see eye to eye with meteams moral stances. Through these rounds, I began to see a parallel between the "round" and the "Great Commission." If I could advocate for complex public policy under the scrutiny of a judge, how much more should I be prepared to advocate for the Gospel under the scrutiny of a skeptical world? This activity gave me a profound sense of meaning in my voice. Growing up in church, my faith has always been a component of my life. Since 2021, I've volunteered in the nursery, children's, and teens ministry, hoping to teach Scripture in a way that inspires future generations. Often, though, I found myself nervous to give my testimony or teach the Gospel, with a confidence that exceeded my anxiety. Debate is what changed that. It drove me into Scripture with a researcher's discipline and a disciple's heart. As a foundational member of my youth group, I found myself no longer afraid to lead discussions or answer the "hard questions" my peers were asking. I realized that the same skills required to navigate a Congressional debate session, like active listening, rebuttal with grace, and firm conviction, were exactly what was needed to lead a small group. Perhaps the most humbling application of this "power of the tongue" is found every Sunday morning in the children's nursery. There, the "advanced" vocabulary of a national debater is useless. Instead, I've learned to use the extreme patience and clarity I learned in the heat of a cross-examination debate to teach toddlers about the love of Jesus. Because policy debaters and toddlers exhibit more similar qualities than I care to admit... Today, whether I'm debating in Harvard auditoriums or on colorful rugs with a group of three-year-olds, I carry the same mission: using the tongue to bring life.

Growing up, I've always aspired to be an attorney. My passion for law was instilled the moment I was born in the borderland. El Paso, Texas, a minority-majority city where roughly a third of our people are immigrants, has always felt like a privilege, a community so connected to culture that we carry it across the border weekly. I remember throughout childhood feeling so "perfect American family"-esque, but as I grew in my comprehension, that reality shifted. “Queríamos vivir a lo grande, darte todo lo que necesitabas. Y, aun así, nunca parece suficiente.” "We wanted to live bigger than we were, provide for you. It still never feels like enough." My heart broke as my grandpa recounted his immigration story while considering the possibility of retirement in late 2021, just two years before he passed. That was the first vocalization of struggle I understood. For much of my childhood, I missed the sacrifices right before me. As the children of immigrant families, my cousins and I grew up navigating systems not built with us in mind as translators and representatives for our greater family. I had always believed we embodied the American Dream, my grandpa above all, in pursuing opportunity and letting determination alone dictate our success. Until his passing, he worked manual labor in construction, driven by his commitment to his family's prosperity, despite a depth of intellect that far exceeded the opportunities available to him. But my belief was far different from his reality. As red, white, and blue as his blood ran, he remained limited financially and structurally by a system that never fully recognized his contributions. His story was what first sparked my interest in immigrant advocacy, rooted in addressing the sacrifices families like mine make in communities like mine. As a young, aspiring advocate, I began doing my own research on immigrants in El Paso, specifically on our access to equal opportunity, our place in political discussions, and our representation. That research quickly amounted to frustration within the system I was brought up in, but also inspiration from individuals like Ira Kurzban, who carved out space for meaningful immigration advocacy.  I found myself returning to the case McNary v. Haitian Refugee Center (1991) that I stumbled upon in research for a student congress debate where Kurzban served as lead counsel for the respondents and where his victory was critical in protecting the due process rights of Haitian asylum seekers, and, by extension, immigrants alike. His voice, serving on one of the most important immigration decisions in a quarter-century, was the first time I saw the law as a living mechanism capable of giving people like my family a voice in exclusionary spaces. Research aside, my interest became something far more personal as I competed in state-level policy debates and yearly mock trial tournaments at the El Paso County courthouse through high school, where I learned how the law breathes. I'm blessed to have made strong connections with life-changing attorneys in my area and to sit through hearings as I've grown closer to the law in real time. Those proceedings reflected my community, highlighting El Pasoans actively asserting their presence. My passion today lies in providing legal aid in detention centers like the El Paso and Otero County Processing Centers, and in working alongside organizations like the Hope Border Institute that advocate for the human impact of immigration policy. But beyond that, I am drawn to the law itself. I aspire to grow through immigration, government law, or public policy and become the advocate that individuals like my grandfather needed, on the largest scale possible.