"I tried to scream, but my head was underwater." That line from Billie Eilish’s “Everything I Wanted” doesn’t just describe a moment - it echoes a reality I’ve lived. In my Hispanic, immigrant family, pain is often something you swallow. Struggle is invisible. And expectations? They don’t wait for you to catch your breath. I grew up believing I had to be everything for everyone - proof that the sacrifices my parents made were worth it. I got good grades, worked a job, led teams, smiled through hallway breakdowns. But inside, I was sinking. In “Everything I Wanted,” Billie puts words to the invisible - the weight of success that doesn’t feel like enough, the fear that no one sees the real you until you break. That song reminded me I wasn’t alone in feeling like I had to fall apart quietly. But it also speaks to the power of one voice - someone saying, “If I could change the way that you see yourself…” I’ve clung to those words. They’re what I try to offer to others - whether it’s teammates I’ve mentored, kids I’ve coached, or patients I hope to care for in the future. I know what it’s like to carry quiet pain. I also know how healing it is to be seen. That’s why “TV” also resonates so deeply. That numbness - staying in the pool, sinking into the sofa, watching others fall apart while the world spins on - felt eerily familiar. There were times I lost track of myself in the noise of others’ expectations. Times I thought maybe I’m the problem. But through those moments, I found my grounding. I learned that what we suppress doesn't disappear; it just waits to be transformed. And I’ve tried to turn it into empathy - into helping others navigate those same waters. Then there’s “My Future.” It’s not sad. It’s hopeful. It’s the moment you look at your reflection and decide to stay - not for anyone else, but for yourself. That song helped me reframe how I saw my life. I didn’t need to chase perfection anymore. I could chase growth. I joined sports not just to compete, but to learn how to trust my own strength. I stepped into leadership to uplift others and remind them that progress is more important than perfection. I volunteered, mentored, showed up - not because I had to, but because I knew how much it matters when someone does. Now, as I prepare for a future in nursing, I carry Billie’s lyrics with me - not as a soundtrack, but as truths I’ve lived. I want to be the kind of nurse who sees patients not just for their symptoms, but for their stories. Who listens when no one else has. Who reminds people, “They don’t deserve you,” just as I needed to hear once. Billie’s music doesn’t pretend healing is linear. It doesn’t romanticize pain. Instead, it gives it language - so people like me can find meaning in it, and eventually, hope. That’s what her songs have done for me. And it’s what I want to do for others.

Constantly treading the roaring waters of expectations, I found the phrase “Will any of it ever be enough?” rattling in my head. In my Hispanic family, struggles are often dismissed, and to not do better than the generations before is unacceptable. I took that pressure and set even higher standards for myself, hoping it would protect me from failure. But the load never lightened. Eventually, I realized I wasn’t weak, I was just human. That shift began when I joined wrestling and cross-country. With the support of my coaches, I discovered resilience I didn’t know I had. I grew into a team captain, mentoring athletes from similar backgrounds. I reminded them: perfection isn’t the goal, progress is. I helped them take pride in small steps forward, just as I was learning to do myself. Helping others didn’t stop on the field. I volunteered at a local thrift store, where every task-folding clothes, working the register-contributed to services for people facing homelessness and unemployment. I also worked in my school’s maintenance department, learning discipline and how to show up, even when no one’s watching. Every job taught me that support, no matter how quiet, makes a difference. Now, I’m enrolled in a CNA program, gaining clinical experience while taking college classes toward my Bachelor’s in Nursing. I want to be a nurse who sees the whole person—not just their symptoms. I want to create space where people feel understood and empowered, the way I once needed. A scholarship would lift the financial weight my family and I have carried for years. It would allow me to keep moving forward-not just for myself, but for the people I hope to care for in the future. Because I’ve learned that even when the waters rise, I’m strong enough to swim.

No one warned me how sick I’d be of my teenage years. How much it would feel like drowning. We’re told these are the best years of our lives, but for many of us, they’ve been the years we spent just trying to keep from breaking. Olivia Rodrigo summed it all up in three minutes. Her song “Pretty Isn’t Pretty” captured what I couldn’t explain: “And everybody’s keepin’ it up, so you think it’s you.” That one line says everything. You put on a smile, show up, stay up late, and still feel like you’re behind. Behind every good grade, every sports practice, every smile in the hallway, was a kid second-guessing everything. A kid trying to hold it all together while quietly falling apart. For me, that pressure showed up in running. I kept running even when my shins screamed. I thought the pain meant I was weak, so I pushed harder. By the time I finally said something, I had already broken. I watched the people I started the season with-people I encouraged and helped- run past me as I sat on the sideline. I told myself, next year I’ll do better. And I did. I trained smarter, strengthened my body, worked hard every day. But then my hips gave out. And then my knees. Every time I thought I had made it to shore, another wave crashed over me. "You can win the battle, but you'll never win the war.” That lyric hit me the hardest. Because it felt like no matter how much I improved, it was never enough. It was in my phone, in the hallway, in the mirror. I did everything I was told would make me better, and I still felt worse. I tried so hard to be someone worth being proud of-for my coaches, my teammates, and especially for my parents, who sacrificed everything so I could have these opportunities. I beat myself up before anyone else could. I told myself I was fine, when I wasn’t. I lived in fear of being seen as lazy, or worse, ungrateful. But maybe I wasn’t weak, I was just human. And maybe everyone else was falling apart too, just in different ways. Maybe the goal isn’t to win everything, but to survive it. To grow from it. To keep showing up anyway. I never really found my teenage dream. Mine wasn’t late-night adventures and high school parties. It was physical therapy, silent breakdowns, and watching people I started with leave me behind in sports, in confidence, in life. I felt like I was always one step too slow. Always three steps behind where I should be. But I’ve learned something: falling behind doesn’t mean failing. Sometimes, just staying in the race is enough. And even if I didn’t finish first, I kept moving forward. Even when it hurt. Olivia said it best all throughout her album and that’s what being a teenager was like for me chasing an impossible standard. But now I know, I’m more than what I haven’t achieved. I’m more than how far I’ve fallen behind. And that is enough.

The expectations of an immigrant family can be crushing—but also motivating. In my Hispanic household, struggle is often dismissed, and not doing better than the previous generation can feel unacceptable. My parents didn’t go to college, but they worked tirelessly to build a life that would allow me to have a different future. My mom picked up a part-time job on top of both my parents' full-time jobs just to keep us afloat. That kind of sacrifice doesn’t go unnoticed. Growing up with these expectations, I constantly asked myself, “Will any of it ever be enough?” Haunted by the idea of not meeting people’s standards, I took it upon myself to create even higher ones. But the weight never lightened, and eventually, I began to feel like I was drowning under the pressure. I felt like a failure—not because I couldn’t keep up, but because in chasing validation, I forgot to value my own life. But that struggle helped me find a new perspective. I began to understand that my worth doesn’t rely on how others see me, but on how I see my ability to make an impact in the world. That realization changed the way I approached life. I became a team captain in sports like wrestling and cross-country, where I mentored younger athletes, many from backgrounds like mine. I helped them shift their focus from perfection to progress, from self-criticism to self-growth. I reminded them—just as I had to remind myself—that it’s okay to ask for help, and that our experiences, even the painful ones, have meaning. Choosing to pursue higher education is my way of honoring my family’s sacrifices and turning my struggles into something positive. To me, a degree is more than just another piece of paper. It means being the first in my family to step into a world they never got to experience. It means honoring all the late nights and early mornings we’ve endured. It means showing my younger sister and cousins that college is possible. I’ve prepared myself for this next step in every way I could. I’ve worked throughout high school, saving up money for college while balancing school, work, and leadership roles. I took a job in my school’s maintenance department, where I learned time management and responsibility. I also enrolled in a Certified Nursing Assistant (CNA) program to gain hands-on clinical experience, and I’m taking community college courses to get ahead on my nursing prerequisites. These experiences have taught me more than any textbook could. I’ve learned how to manage my time, how to support others, and how to keep showing up even when life gets overwhelming. I’ve learned that optimism isn’t about ignoring hard times—it’s about believing that we can move through them. I’ve learned that our darkest moments can become our greatest strengths if we use them to light the way for others. I want to take all that I’ve learned and use it to become a nurse who uplifts people in their most vulnerable moments—someone who listens, who sees the whole person, and who reminds them that they’re not alone. College is the path that makes that possible. As a first-generation student, I know the road won’t always be easy—but I also know I’m prepared for it.

Constantly treading the roaring waters of expectations leaves people struggling to figure out how they can survive the next wave. In the Hispanic community, feelings are rarely talked about, and specifically in immigrant families, there is immense pressure to succeed because of the sacrifices made by previous generations. Any struggle is dismissed, and to not do better than those before you feels unacceptable. I grew up under the weight of those expectations, with the phrase “Will any of it ever be enough?” stuck in my head. I took it upon myself to create even higher standards so that I’d never be subpar again. But no matter how hard I pushed, the load never lightened. I felt like a failure—not because I wasn’t trying, but because I neglected my own value in the process. There were times when the pressure became so overwhelming that it felt pointless to continue. I let guilt be an anchor, drowning me in a reclusive retrospect of my mistakes. I was isolating myself, letting shame and dread take over. But I’ve realized that in the end, we’re forced to live with ourselves—from our flaws to our victories—and we can’t change what others think, but we can strip their words of power. I began learning how to view my story differently and how to use my experiences to help others do the same. Sports like wrestling and cross-country taught me that I had more strength than I gave myself credit for. With the encouragement of coaches and my family, I learned to push past self-doubt and unlock my resilience—not just physically, but emotionally and mentally too. As a team captain, I mentored teammates through their struggles, especially those who came from backgrounds like mine. I helped them reframe their setbacks and create realistic steps to meet their goals. I reminded them that progress is more important than perfection. Through those experiences, I saw how powerful it is to simply feel supported and not alone. That’s what led me to nursing. I want to be someone who helps others in their most vulnerable moments. I want to create an environment where people can ask for help without fear of judgment—where no one feels belittled or alone. Nursing gives me the opportunity to care for people holistically, beyond their symptoms, and see them as whole individuals with unique stories and strengths. I want to provide the kind of compassionate care that empowers others, just like I once needed. Right now, I’m preparing for this path by working toward my Bachelor’s in Nursing. I’m enrolled in a Certified Nursing Assistant (CNA) program, gaining hands-on clinical experience with patients. I’m also taking college classes to help me get ahead in my degree. Balancing school with work has taught me discipline, time management, and how to stay focused under pressure—all of which I know will help me succeed in nursing school and beyond. As for my future, I’m exploring specializations that align with my passion for mental and emotional support, including pediatrics, psychiatry, or anesthesia. I want to work in a field where I can remind people of their strength when they’ve forgotten it themselves. For me, nursing is more than a career. It’s a calling that grew out of my own struggle and my desire to make sure others feel seen, supported, and understood. I know what it’s like to carry weight quietly—and I want to be someone who helps lift it.

Ideas of painless passing used to emerge in my thoughts. Drowning in the weight of unrealistic expectations, I felt like an island. In the Hispanic community, and especially in immigrant families, struggle is often dismissed. You’re told to keep going, stay strong, and be grateful—but no one ever talks about what it feels like to quietly fall apart while doing all of that. Growing up, I asked myself constantly: Will any of it ever be enough? I built impossible standards just to avoid disappointing those around me. I tried to fill the emptiness with perfection, but the void only deepened. I began to realize I didn’t fail because I wasn’t good enough—I failed because I neglected the value of my own life in search of validation. Mental health is a global issue, but in my world, it felt invisible. In many families like mine, feelings are pushed aside, replaced by the constant pressure to achieve. I wasn’t the only one hurting, but no one wanted to say it out loud. Everyone just tried to stay afloat. That silence is what hurt most. Eventually, what began to shift things for me wasn’t some grand revelation—it was wrestling practice and cross-country. It was showing up to school exhausted and still being cheered on by my coaches. It was my teammates letting me be human, letting me mess up and still lead as captain. I realized I had strengths I hadn’t tapped into, not just physical but emotional. I saw myself more clearly, and more importantly, I saw others. I started having conversations with teammates who carried burdens of their own. We’d talk about family, grades, fear, and guilt. I used to think I had to be perfect to be strong, but I found strength in showing others that it’s okay to struggle and still keep going. I helped them reframe their setbacks and taught them to take small steps, emphasizing progress over perfection. What I realized through all this is that mental health isn’t just a personal issue—it’s a community one. When we’re not open about mental health, we create islands out of people who are already drowning. I want to change that. That’s why I’m pursuing nursing: not just to treat symptoms, but to create space where people feel safe enough to be vulnerable, seen, and supported. I want to be the kind of nurse who recognizes when a patient is hurting, even if they don’t say it out loud. I want to treat the whole person, including the emotional battles they carry. I want patients to feel like they’re not just surviving—but that they’re finally allowed to breathe. Mental health is something I care deeply about because I lived the silence. I know how dangerous it is to feel like no one understands or cares. And I know how healing it can be when someone does. I may not be able to fix everything for someone, but I can help them find their strength again. Just like I found mine.

Constantly treading the roaring waters of expectations leaves people struggling to figure out how they can survive the next wave. In the Hispanic community, feelings are rarely talked about, and in immigrant families especially, there is immense pressure to succeed because of previous generations’ sacrifices. Any struggle is dismissed, and to not do better than those who came before feels unacceptable. Growing under the weight of those expectations, the thought constantly rattling through my head was whether I was doing enough to show I was grateful for everything my parents gave up for me. Haunted by the reactions of not meeting people's expectations, I took it upon myself to create higher standards so that I’d never be subpar again. But the load never lightened, and I eventually found it pointless to continue. I felt like an island. I let guilt be an anchor that drowned me in a reclusive retrospect of my mistakes, condemning me to unnecessary suffering. But through that detour, I realized something: my worth doesn’t rely on how others perceive my capabilities, but on how I see that I’m capable of making an impact in the world. That shift in perspective changed everything. I began taking on leadership roles as a team captain in sports, where I supported peers from similar backgrounds. I had conversations with them about setting realistic goals and letting go of unrealistic expectations. I helped them focus on the small steps, emphasizing the importance of progress over perfection. I watched them let go of the need to torture themselves trying to be perfect and instead start moving confidently toward their goals. Finding strength within myself—and through helping others find strength within themselves—has inspired me to pursue a career in nursing. I want to provide compassionate care that empowers others, just as I once needed. Nursing offers the opportunity to care for people holistically, to see them not just as patients but as individuals with their own battles. I aspire to create an environment where people can ask for help without fear of judgment, where no one feels belittled or alone, and where there’s always someone willing to help them through. Despite finding my calling, the finances of pursuing this career remain another fork in the road. My parents have worked tirelessly to support me, but the costs of basic needs keep multiplying. I’ve recognized their effort, so I’ve put in countless hours—waking up early, staying up late, and balancing school with work. I picked up a job in high school, and my mom even took on a part-time job on top of both my parents’ full-time jobs just to keep us afloat. Even with all our combined efforts, there’s only so much we can do. I continue striving to move closer to my goal of honoring my family by becoming part of the first generation to attend college and entering the nursing field to support others. But I keep reaching hurdles I can’t cross on my own. I know my education is my responsibility, not my parents’, but I still need help. With support through this scholarship, I can continue using my experiences to help create an environment that uplifts others in their most vulnerable moments—just like others once did for me.

He showed up late to practice again, dragging his feet and avoiding everyone’s eyes. It wasn’t like him. He had always been one of the most energetic runners on our cross-country team, always cracking jokes and pushing himself hard. But lately, something had shifted. His pace slowed, his smile faded, and his presence dimmed. Most people dismissed it. “He’s just being lazy,” someone whispered. Others stopped expecting much from him. But I couldn’t. I’d seen that look before—the kind that hides exhaustion and pain behind silence. It reminded me too much of myself. I knew what it was like to carry the weight of expectations and feel like no one saw the struggle behind the performance. I couldn’t ignore it. After one practice, I caught up with him and asked if he was okay. He brushed me off at first, but I didn’t walk away. I told him I wasn’t there to lecture him, just to listen if he ever needed it. That’s when he finally opened up. He told me about his stress at home, how school was overwhelming, and how he felt like he was failing—like no matter what he did, he was never enough. In that moment, I didn’t try to fix everything. I just listened. I shared my own experiences with burnout and feeling invisible under the pressure to succeed. I reminded him that progress isn’t always obvious, and that even small steps forward matter. We talked for a long time, and I kept checking in with him after that. Over time, his energy started to return—not just in his running, but in how he carried himself. That moment changed how I understood compassion. It’s not about having the perfect words or solving someone’s problems. It’s about being present. It’s about seeing someone fully, even when they’re trying to hide, and offering a space where they can just be human without fear of judgment. As a team captain, I used to think leadership meant being the strongest or the fastest. But that experience showed me that real leadership is rooted in empathy. It’s about walking alongside others, especially when the path gets heavy. This lesson is one of the biggest reasons I want to become a nurse. In healthcare, patients aren’t just facing physical challenges—they’re often carrying emotional ones too. I want to be the kind of nurse who doesn’t just treat symptoms, but who sees the whole person. Someone who makes people feel heard, valued, and less alone. Whether it’s through a kind word, a listening ear, or a calm presence in the chaos, I want to offer the kind of compassion that reminds people of their strength. That single conversation with my teammate may not have solved everything, but it created space for healing to begin. And in that space, I found something, too—a sense of purpose that continues to guide me. Compassion, I learned, can start small. But its impact reaches far beyond the moment.

Pursuing a career in nursing wasn’t a sudden decision—it was a realization shaped by the people I’ve met, the struggles I’ve faced, and the lessons I’ve learned along the way. I’ve always felt drawn to helping others, but it wasn’t until I started learning how to face my own challenges that I understood how meaningful that calling could be. In my Hispanic, immigrant household, struggle wasn’t something you talked about. Feelings were swept under the rug, and the pressure to succeed was always present—especially as the oldest child of parents who never had the chance to go to college. I used to chase perfection, thinking that if I could meet every expectation, I’d finally feel like I was enough. But instead, I burned out. I found myself tangled in guilt and shame, asking, “Will any of it ever be enough?” I didn’t realize that I was neglecting the value of my own life while searching for external validation. That journey taught me something essential: we are more than what others expect of us. We are more than the titles we carry or the grades we get. We are human—and sometimes, being human means needing help. It means being seen and supported, especially when you feel like you're drowning in silence. That understanding became the foundation of my purpose: to be someone who offers that kind of care and compassion to others. As I grew, I began stepping into leadership roles—first as a team captain in sports, then as a mentor to younger students and athletes. I learned how to support others through their own struggles, helping them reframe setbacks and take small steps forward. It wasn’t just about encouragement; it was about creating a space where they could be honest, where they could be themselves without fear of judgment. Watching them grow gave me purpose. It helped me realize I wanted to keep doing that but in a more hands-on way. That’s when I found nursing. Nursing gives me the opportunity to care for people holistically-to treat not just their symptoms, but their stories. It’s a career where compassion meets action, where empathy isn’t just appreciated, it’s essential. It’s where I can be the kind of person I once needed: someone who reminds you that you’re not alone and that you’re stronger than you think. To begin this journey, I enrolled in a Certified Nursing Assistant (CNA) program, where I’ve gained hands-on clinical experience and learned how to be present for patients in their most vulnerable moments. I’ve also taken community college courses to prepare for my Bachelor’s in Nursing. Each step is a reflection of the sacrifices my parents made, the strength I’ve built, and the responsibility I feel to give back to the community that shaped me. My parents were my first inspiration. They gave everything: late nights, early mornings, second jobs just to keep us afloat. I carry that with me every day. But I’ve also been inspired by the people I’ve helped along the way, the teammates who found confidence, the peers who stopped hiding their struggles, and the patients I’ve met during my training who reminded me how sacred trust and care truly are. Nursing is more than a career goal. It’s a promise I’ve made to myself, my family, and my future patients to show up, to care deeply, and to lead with empathy. I found out about this scholarship opportunity through Bold.org.

The expectations of an immigrant family can be crushing—but also deeply motivating. My parents didn’t go to college. They were kids trying to raise kids, figuring out adulthood while raising me. My mom picked up a part-time job on top of both of my parents’ full-time work just to keep us afloat. That kind of sacrifice doesn’t go unnoticed. Every late night I spend studying, every shift I work, and every class I attend is because I want to make that sacrifice worth something. Nursing interests me because it gives me the opportunity to take everything I’ve been through and transform it into something healing for someone else. I want to be the person who helps others feel seen in their most vulnerable moments, who offers not just care but understanding—because I know what it’s like to carry pain quietly and still keep going. I know how powerful it can be when someone simply acknowledges that struggle. A degree in nursing is more than a career step. It’s a promise: to honor everything my family has been through, and to use my strength to support others. It’s the chance to bring compassionate care to people who need more than just treatment—they need connection. I want to be a nurse who treats the whole person, not just the symptoms. That vision drives me every day. I’ve already taken steps toward this path. I’m currently enrolled in a Certified Nursing Assistant program, where I’m gaining hands-on clinical experience with patients. The program has exposed me to the realities of care—helping people with basic needs, providing comfort, and learning to be present even when words fall short. It’s challenged me, but it’s also confirmed that I belong in this field. I’m also taking community college classes to start working toward my Bachelor’s in Nursing and prepare for the academic rigor ahead. Outside of the classroom, I’ve learned through leadership and service. As a captain in wrestling and cross-country, I mentored younger athletes, many from similar backgrounds. I helped them navigate stress and pressure by breaking down goals into manageable steps. I showed them that setbacks weren’t the end of their journey, but part of their growth. Several of those teammates later became leaders themselves—proof to me that support makes a difference. I’ve also volunteered at a local thrift store that funds services for families in need. Folding clothes or running the register might seem small, but I saw firsthand how those efforts ripple outward—providing meals, job support, and shelter for others in my community. I even worked in my high school’s maintenance department, cleaning cafeterias and kitchens after hours. That job built discipline and humility. It showed me that no task is beneath us when it helps others. All of these experiences have taught me that success isn’t about perfection—it’s about showing up with purpose and care. I’ve faced mental, emotional, and financial challenges, but each one has made me stronger and more committed to this path. Nursing allows me to turn every hardship into something that uplifts someone else. My goal is to become a Registered Nurse and eventually earn my Master’s degree, potentially specializing in pediatrics, psychiatric care, or anesthesia. I want to serve underserved communities—people who, like my family, have often had to do more with less. I want to be the kind of nurse who sees people fully, offers comfort in silence, and reminds them of their own resilience.

Constantly treading the roaring waters of expectations just leads to burnout, leaving people struggling to figure out how they can survive the next wave. In the Hispanic community, feelings are rarely talked about, and specifically in immigrant communities, there is immense pressure to succeed because of previous generations' sacrifices. Any struggle is dismissed, and to not do better than the previous generations is unacceptable. Rattling through my head, as I sat in a ball entangled in sheets, was the phrase, “Will any of it ever be enough?” My mind sent me down rabbit holes showing only films of my shortcomings. Haunted by the reactions to falling short of expectations, I created impossibly high standards so I’d never be subpar again. But the load never lightened. It felt pointless to continue. Ideas of painless passing would conjure without temptation. I felt like a failure—not because I couldn’t keep up, but because in the search for validation, I neglected the value of my life. I was trying to fill a void and just kept digging deeper. I learned that we are born naive, and with age, naivety can mature into ignorance. My ignorantly envious eyes perceived individuals as perfect—until I realized that behind the curtains, these people were just that: people. Nobody can get everything right. While I hid under my sheets, the expectations didn’t fade. The problems didn’t go away. Eventually, the sheets became drenched with shame and dread. Our ignorance is a steed of poignant beauty, carrying us to isolated islands of envy, shame, and guilt, hiding the comforting continents of acceptance. Isolation consumed me, and I let guilt be an anchor, drowning me in reclusive retrospect. I’ve since realized we must live with ourselves—our shines, our shimmers, and our sullied spots. We can’t change what others think, but we can strip their words of power. Through this awakening, I began to notice how false comparisons of struggle were isolating those around me, especially in my community. So many young people from similar backgrounds were also drowning in silence, weighed down by expectations they were never taught to carry. As a team captain in wrestling and cross-country, I started having real conversations with my teammates—most of whom came from the same kind of communities. I helped them break down their goals into manageable steps and reminded them that three steps back didn’t erase the value of one step forward. I emphasized progress over perfection and helped them reframe their thinking to reduce the stress that so often leads to burnout or shame. Several of them went on to become captains themselves, crediting those moments of guidance as turning points. That’s something I’ll always carry with pride. In helping them find their way, I discovered mine. That fork in the road that once felt like a dead end became the turning point to a greater purpose. My self-worth no longer depends on how others think I’m doing—but on what good I can do in the world. These lessons shaped my desire to pursue nursing, a field that allows me to care deeply, listen fully, and help others feel seen in their most vulnerable moments. I want to offer compassionate care, especially to underserved communities, ensuring that no one feels belittled or alone. The strength I’ve found within myself is something I now use to uplift others and that, to me, is true success in the face of adversity.

Constantly treading the roaring waters of expectations leaves people struggling to figure out how they can survive the next wave. In the Hispanic community, feelings are rarely talked about and specifically in immigrant communities, there is immense pressure to succeed because of previous generations' sacrifices. Any struggle is dismissed and to not do better than the previous generations is unacceptable. Growing under the weight of these expectations, constantly rattling through my head was whether I was doing enough to show I was grateful for what my parents did to give me a better life. Haunted by the reactions of not meeting people's expectations, I took it upon myself to create higher standards so that I’d never be subpar again. The load never lightened and I found it pointless to continue. I felt like an island. I let guilt be an anchor that drowned me in a reclusive retrospect of my mistakes condemning me to unnecessary suffering. However, through this detour, I began to realize that my worth doesn’t rely on how others perceive my capabilities but on how I see that I'm capable of making an impact in the world. This shift in perspective led me to roles as a team captain in sports, where I helped my peers from similar backgrounds reframe their struggles. Through conversations, I helped them make realistic plans to meet their goals and even surpass other expectations by encouraging them to look at the small steps emphasizing the importance of progress over perfection. As I helped them through, I saw them begin to let go of the need to torture themselves and begin to gain the confidence to pursue their aspirations without allowing the unrealistic expectations to pour down and sink them down in pointless stress. Finding strength within myself and through helping others find strength within themselves has inspired me to pursue a career in nursing. I want to provide compassionate care that empowers others, just as I once needed. Nursing offers me the opportunity to care for people holistically, ensuring patients feel cared for as unique individuals with unique struggles. I aspire to create an environment for individuals to ask for help without fear of judgment where no one feels belittled or alone and where they always have someone to help them through. Despite finding my calling, the finances of pursuing my career remain another fork in the road. My parents have worked tirelessly to support me, but the costs of utilities, food, and other basic needs have continuously multiplied. I've recognized the work they have put in so in turn I put in countless hours waking up early in the morning and staying up late at night to get coursework done. Thankfully the results have helped me qualify for some aid and for the remaining costs there is only so much my parents can do to make college affordable. I picked up a job alongside going to high school and my mom even picked up a part-time job on top of both my parents´ full-time jobs just to keep us afloat. I continue to strive to move further toward my goal of honoring my family by being a part of the first generation to attend college and becoming a nurse to support others but I keep reaching hurdles I can't cross. I am responsible for my education, not my parents but I still need help. With support through this scholarship, I can continue using my experiences to help create an environment that uplifts those around me in their most vulnerable moments.

Constantly treading the roaring waters of expectations leaves people struggling to figure out how they can survive the next wave. In the Hispanic community, feelings are rarely talked about and specifically in immigrant communities, there is immense pressure to succeed because of previous generations' sacrifices. Any struggle is dismissed and to not do better than the previous generations is unacceptable. Growing under the weight of these expectations, constantly rattling through my head was the phrase “Will any of it ever be enough?” Haunted by the reactions of not meeting people's expectations, I took it upon myself to create higher standards so that I’d never be subpar again. The load never lightened and I found it pointless to continue. Ideas of painless passing would emerge. I felt like a failure. I realized I did fail, not because I couldn’t keep up but because in search of validation, I neglected the value of my life. I was trying to fill a void and I just kept digging deeper. My ignorant eyes perceived individuals as perfect until I realized behind the curtains, that these people were just that: people. Nobody can get everything right. While I hid under my sheets the expectations didn't fade; my problems didn't go away. Eventually, the sheets I covered myself in became drenched with shame and dread. I rode a steed of poignant beauty that took me to isolated islands of envy, shame, and dread and hid the comforting continents of acceptance. Isolation consumed me and I let guilt be an anchor that drowned me in a reclusive retrospect of my mistakes condemning me to unnecessary suffering. I have realized in the end we’re forced to live with ourselves from the mistakes to the accomplishments. We can’t change what others are going to think but we can strip their words of power. It wasn’t until I joined sports like wrestling and cross-country that I began to realize I had untapped strengths; with the encouragement of my coaches and family, I learned how to push past my self-doubt and discover my resilience- not just physically, but mentally as well. This helped me not only accept myself but also deepened my understanding of others. I understood that each person’s experience is unique and even though it seems they have it better, the false comparison of struggles leaves them feeling like an island. Through this detour, I began to realize that my worth doesn’t rely on how others perceive my capabilities but on how I see that I'm capable of making an impact in the world. This shift in perspective led me to roles as a team captain in sports, where I helped kids from similar backgrounds reframe their struggles. Through conversations, I helped them make realistic plans to meet their goals and even surpass other expectations by encouraging them to look at the small steps emphasizing the importance of progress over perfection. As I helped them through, I saw them begin to let go of the need to torture themselves and begin to gain the confidence to pursue their aspirations without allowing the unrealistic expectations to pour down and sink them down in pointless stress. Finding strength within myself and helping others find strength has inspired me to pursue a career in nursing. I want to provide compassionate care that empowers others, just as I once needed. Nursing offers me the opportunity to care for people holistically, ensuring patients feel cared for as unique individuals. I aspire to create an environment for individuals to ask for help without fear of judgment where no one feels belittled or alone.

Constantly treading the roaring waters of expectations leaves people struggling to figure out how they can survive the next wave. In the Hispanic community, feelings are rarely talked about and specifically in immigrant communities, there is immense pressure to succeed because of previous generations' sacrifices. Any struggle is dismissed and to not do better than the previous generations is unacceptable. Growing under the weight of these expectations, constantly rattling through my head was the phrase “Will any of it ever be enough?” Haunted by the reactions of not meeting people's expectations, I took it upon myself to create higher standards so that I’d never be subpar again. The load never lightened and I found it pointless to continue. Ideas of painless passing would emerge. I felt like a failure. I realized I did fail, not because I couldn’t keep up but because in search of validation, I neglected the value of my life. I was trying to fill a void and I just kept digging deeper. My ignorant eyes perceived individuals as perfect until I realized behind the curtains, that these people were just that: people. Nobody can get everything right. While I hid under my sheets the expectations didn't fade; my problems didn't go away. Eventually, the sheets I covered myself in became drenched with shame and dread. I rode a steed of poignant beauty that took me to isolated islands of envy, shame, and dread and hid the comforting continents of acceptance. Isolation consumed me and I let guilt be an anchor that drowned me in a reclusive retrospect of my mistakes condemning me to unnecessary suffering. I have realized in the end we’re forced to live with ourselves from the mistakes to the accomplishments. We can’t change what others are going to think but we can strip their words of power. It wasn’t until I joined sports like wrestling and cross-country that I began to realize I had untapped strengths; with the encouragement of my coaches and family, I learned how to push past my self-doubt and discover my resilience- not just physically, but mentally as well. This helped me not only accept myself but also deepened my understanding of others. I understood that each person’s experience is unique and even though it seems they have it better, the false comparison of struggles leaves them feeling like an island. Through this detour, I began to realize that my worth doesn’t rely on how others perceive my capabilities but on how I see that I'm capable of making an impact in the world. This shift in perspective led me to roles as a team captain in sports, where I helped kids from similar backgrounds reframe their struggles. Through conversations, I helped them make realistic plans to meet their goals and even surpass other expectations by encouraging them to look at the small steps emphasizing the importance of progress over perfection. As I helped them through, I saw them begin to let go of the need to torture themselves and begin to gain the confidence to pursue their aspirations without allowing the unrealistic expectations to pour down and sink them down in pointless stress. Finding strength within myself and helping others find strength has inspired me to pursue a career in nursing. I want to provide compassionate care that empowers others, just as I once needed. Nursing offers me the opportunity to care for people holistically, ensuring patients feel cared for as unique individuals. I aspire to create an environment for individuals to ask for help without fear of judgment where no one feels belittled or alone.

I often felt like an island in my youth, isolated by the weight of racing thoughts and the overwhelming pressure to fit in. Being called 'too girly' for enjoying things like blowing bubbles or hosting tea parties with my sister made me feel small and belittled. These moments left me struggling with my mental health, unsure of my worth or where I fit in, and at times, I was consumed by anxiety and depression. This constant self-doubt and feeling of being misunderstood weighed heavily on me, affecting my relationships and sense of self. As I grew older, I found solace in nurturing my sister, but I also found myself retreating into friendships with girls that, while fulfilling, seemed to defy others' expectations of me. Through these friendships, I began to explore my interests and find comfort in shared experiences to the point where I could easily recite any Olivia Rodrigo or Sabrina Carpenter lyric. However, the ridicule for my “girly” interests still lingered. I would constantly hear phrases like “Boys don’t do that” and “Boys don’t like that,” leaving feelings that I wasn't a good enough son, grandson, nephew, friend, or person because I wasn't fitting into what everyone expected me to be. Despite this, my friendships played a vital role in helping me confront my insecurities, as I began to see that connection and understanding could help alleviate the weight of my struggles. However, my perspective began to shift. It wasn’t until I joined sports like wrestling and cross-country that I began to realize I had untapped strengths; with the encouragement of my coaches and family, I learned how to push past my self-doubt and discover my resilience- not just physically, but mentally as well. As a team captain in cross-country, I not only encouraged my teammates to see their potential but also reminded them that setbacks didn’t define us. This philosophy helped me build confidence, and it was through this growth that I realized something important: worrying about others' preconceived notions of me, in all honesty, wasn’t my burden to carry. The pressure to conform to biased expectations was stifling my ability to mature into who I could be. As I climbed toward self-acceptance, I adopted the mindset of “Who cares what others think?” and began to see myself more clearly. I understood that each person’s experience is unique, and the journey toward self-discovery is something no one else can define for us. This newfound freedom helped me not only accept myself but also deepened my understanding of others, particularly when it comes to seeking help in difficult times. Too often, individuals put off asking for help, especially when it comes to their mental or physical health, out of fear of being perceived as weak. I learned that isolating ourselves can lead to overwhelming exhaustion, and recovery requires the courage to reach out for help. My experience with mental health has fueled my desire to pursue nursing. Struggling with anxiety and self-doubt has given me a unique perspective on the importance of empathy and understanding when caring for others. I’ve learned that reaching out for help is a sign of strength, not weakness, and I want to provide compassionate care to others who are facing their own battles. As a nurse, I aim to create an environment where people feel seen, heard, and supported, especially in their most vulnerable moments. My journey has shaped my belief that mental health should never be minimized, and I am committed to making a difference by offering care that uplifts others.

Constantly treading the roaring waters of expectations leaves people struggling to figure out how they can survive the next wave. In the Hispanic community, feelings are rarely talked about and specifically in immigrant communities, there is immense pressure to succeed because of previous generations' sacrifices. Any struggle is dismissed and to not do better than the previous generations is unacceptable. Growing under the weight of these expectations, constantly rattling through my head was whether I was doing enough to show I was grateful for what my parents did to give me a better life. Haunted by the reactions of not meeting people's expectations, I took it upon myself to create higher standards so that I’d never be subpar again. The load never lightened and I found it pointless to continue. I felt like an island. I let guilt be an anchor that drowned me in a reclusive retrospect of my mistakes condemning me to unnecessary suffering. However, through this detour, I began to realize that my worth doesn’t rely on how others perceive my capabilities but on how I see that I'm capable of making an impact in the world. This shift in perspective led me to roles as a team captain in sports, where I helped my peers from similar backgrounds reframe their struggles. Through conversations, I helped them make realistic plans to meet their goals and even surpass other expectations by encouraging them to look at the small steps emphasizing the importance of progress over perfection. As I helped them through, I saw them begin to let go of the need to torture themselves and begin to gain the confidence to pursue their aspirations without allowing the unrealistic expectations to pour down and sink them down in pointless stress. Finding strength within myself and through helping others find strength within themselves has inspired me to pursue a career in nursing. I want to provide compassionate care that empowers others, just as I once needed. Nursing offers me the opportunity to care for people holistically, ensuring patients feel cared for as unique individuals with unique struggles. I aspire to create an environment for individuals to ask for help without fear of judgment where no one feels belittled or alone and where they always have someone to help them through. Despite finding my calling, the finances of pursuing my career remain another fork in the road. My parents have worked tirelessly to support me, but the costs of utilities, food, and other basic needs have continuously multiplied. I've recognized the work they have put in so in turn I put in countless hours waking up early in the morning and staying up late at night to get coursework done. Thankfully the results have helped me qualify for some aid and for the remaining costs there is only so much my parents can do to make college affordable. I picked up a job alongside going to high school and my mom even picked up a part-time job on top of both my parents´ full-time jobs just to keep us afloat. I continue to strive to move further toward my goal of honoring my family by being a part of the first generation to attend college and becoming a nurse to support others but I keep reaching hurdles I can't cross. I am responsible for my education, not my parents but I still need help. With support through this scholarship, I can continue using my experiences to help create an environment that uplifts those around me in their most vulnerable moments.

Constantly treading the roaring waters of expectations just leads to burnout, leaving people struggling to figure out how they can survive the next wave. In the Hispanic community, feelings are rarely talked about and specifically in immigrant communities, there is immense pressure to succeed because of previous generations' sacrifices. Any struggle is dismissed and to not do better than the previous generations is unacceptable. Rattling through my head, as I sat in a ball entangled in sheets, was the phrase “Will any of it ever be enough?” My mind sent me down rabbit holes only showing films of my shortcomings. Haunted by the reactions of not meeting people's expectations, I took it upon myself to create higher standards so that I’d never be subpar again. The load never lightened and I found it pointless to continue. Ideas of painless passing would conjure without temptation. I felt like a failure. I realized I did fail, not because I couldn’t keep up but because in search of validation, I neglected the value of my life. I was trying to fill a void and I just kept digging deeper. I learned we are born naive and with age, naivety matures into ignorance. My ignorantly envious eyes perceived individuals as perfect until I realized behind the curtains, that these people were just that: people. Nobody can get everything right. While I hid under my sheets the expectations didn't fade; my problems didn't go away. Eventually, the sheets I covered myself in became drenched with shame and dread. Our ignorance is a steed of poignant beauty that takes us to isolated islands of envy, shame, and dread and hides the comforting continents of acceptance. Isolation consumed me and I let guilt be an anchor that drowned me in a reclusive retrospect of my mistakes condemning me to unnecessary suffering. I have realized in the end we’re forced to live with ourselves from the shines to the shimmers alongside the sullied spots, and from the mistakes to the accomplishments. We can’t change what others are going to think but we can strip their words of power. So although the younger generations have more resources and opportunities, the false comparison of struggles leaves them feeling like an island. I began to see all these little islands forming in my community and realized how the lack of communication combined with heavy expectations was conditioning them to self-destruct. Through my role as a team captain in sports, with a majority of the kids coming from these communities, I had conversations with them to help them make realistic plans to meet their goals and even surpass other expectations without torturing themselves and allowing the high aspirations pour down and create a sinkhole of pointless stress. I helped them see the tiny steps that are crucial before they leap to the top of the mountain. The light at the end of the tunnel can be impossible to imagine and reframing the 3 steps back they were forced to take to show how even more valuable the one step forward becomes allowed them to recognize the importance of progress over perfection. Seeing the people I’ve encouraged and helped to see things in a different light succeed has reinforced these lessons and helped me continue to look on the brighter side. Helping people in my community deal with these deep-rooted issues by showing them that in order to get through the chilling dark waters they need to trust in their abilities has helped me find my purpose in helping others. The fork in the road that felt like a dead end was crucial to the path I’m on now and I wouldn’t have made my way through it without learning the vitality of persistence and optimism. Thanks to it, my self-worth has grown as it no longer relies on how people think I do but on what good I can do in the world. I am now capable of using the lessons learned throughout this uncertain path to support others in the future. They have also fueled my desire to pursue nursing, a field that allows me to provide care in a way that uplifts others—showing them they are seen and capable, just as I was able to see my own strength. I’m now driven to offer compassionate care in nursing, ensuring that no one feels belittled or alone in their struggles and that they always have someone to help them through.

Ding, ding, ding! "Who doesn't have their seatbelt on?" asked my mom, not knowing the sound was coming from the radio. Suddenly, captivating heartfelt vocals and a slowly speeding rhythm filled the air. “Drivers License” by Olivia Rodrigo had cut through the car's quiet and I thought to myself, "Isn’t that the girl from Bizaardvark?" I was in the car with my mom and both of us were astounded by the Disney star's ability to convey her emotions so beautifully. I was in eighth grade, a time when I believed concerts were reserved for adults; I never imagined I would attend one. Soon enough Olivia's album SOUR dominated my playlists, and I became obsessed with her angsty and sentimental ballads. Sophomore year was when I first heard about my friends going to concerts- buzzing with excitement to see Taylor Swift and Paramore play in the same place as them. It sparked a realization that concerts were something I could go to too and I could sit in a room with my favorite artists and listen to them sing to me. That thought ignited a passion I had never felt before. The second I heard the piano intro to “Vampire,” I knew I had to see Olivia perform it live. When she released “Bad Idea Right?” soon after, my excitement bubbled over. I turned to my mom, eager to buy tickets, but I expected her to say "No, we can't." To my surprise, she was all in and even encouraged me to bring a friend but I wanted her to join me instead. On pre-sale day, chaos ensued. My mom navigated the website, only to have the best seats snatched away in an instant. Nevertheless, she persisted, securing two tickets right next to each other. I was ecstatic and deeply grateful. As the concert date approached, I battled a wave of nerves. What if my mom regretted joining me? What if she felt embarrassed by her son singing along to an artist primarily appealing to teenage girls? On the drive three hour drive to Palm Springs, I played Olivia's albums and even introduced my mom to songs from the opening act, Chappell Roan, to prepare for the experience ahead. Upon arrival, I settled into my seat and fear consumed me once more. But as the lights dimmed and Olivia opened with “Bad Idea Right?”, I glanced over at my mom. Her eyes sparkled with excitement, and to my relief, she began singing along, matching my enthusiasm note for note. That's when I realized this was a shared experience; it was her first concert as well. She wasn't embarrassed by me she was just nervous too. Together we yelled the lyrics to “Drivers License,” losing ourselves in the music, lights, and stars hanging above us. The crowd singing along and Olivia's interaction with us made the night unforgettable. It became clear to me that the power of music overcomes stereotypes. Looking back, my only regret is that I allowed the fear of judgment to overshadow my excitement for an artist whose music has brought me so much joy and inspiration. That experience taught me about the importance of embracing what I love unapologetically because nothing that makes you happy can truly be embarrassing. I cherish my mom for sharing this journey with me. The experience strengthened our bond and deepened my appreciation for music’s transformative power. Now I sing along to Olivia and Chappell with my mom in the car and on my runs in public and it has even helped me build friendships.

I often felt like an island in my youth, stuck in life with racing waves of thoughts without a way to float through them. Amidst the deep waters, I found solace in joys like blowing bubbles and drawing, and when my sister came of age, I relished the opportunity to nurture her through play—hosting tea parties and playing with dolls. While these activities were typical for a 3-year-old girl, they weren’t so much for a 6-year-old boy. As I grew older, I formed predominantly female friendships, shaping my interests in literature, television, and music to the point where I can now easily recite any Olivia Rodrigo or Sabrina Carpenter lyric. Despite having fulfilling connections with friends, I faced ridicule from others for being “too girly.” I would often hear “Boys don’t do that,” or “Boys don’t like that” and feel I would be ashamed. The weight of others' words anchored my mental state to an abyss and left only debilitating feelings of anxiety and depression. With time, I eventually realized that worrying about others' preconceived notions of me wasn’t my issue to deal with. The pressure to conform to biased expectations was stifling my ability to mature into who I could be. As I climbed toward acceptance, I discovered the power to let go. I adopted the mindset of "Who cares what others think?" This new perspective not only helped me accept myself but also deepened my understanding of those around me. My eyes were opened to the fears that paralyze many others, especially when it comes to seeking help in their trying times. Too often, individuals put off seeking help, particularly medical attention, because they fear being perceived as weak or vulnerable. By isolating themselves, people fall into overwhelming exhaustion, and to recover holistic care is crucial. I witnessed this in my tia's battle with anorexia, my dad's grapple with PTSD, my mom's navigation through anxiety and depression and my sister's fight with bulimia. Seeing them all in pain and often unwilling to seek help inspired me to help people find the courage to seek help. My family highlighted the fact that everyone is unique and requires different approaches to their problems. Through this journey, I have decided to pursue a career in nursing so that I can channel my experiences into supporting others. As graduation approaches, I have realized my goal is to support a society where individuals understand the value of seeking help and that it is a strength, not a weakness. I believe obtaining a Bachelor of Science in Nursing will provide me with the education and experience to become a compassionate healthcare provider who inspires people to cast aside their worries about others' opinions when seeking assistance. The path to healing is paved with courage and understanding, and I am committed to being a guiding light for those lost at sea. Through nursing, I aspire to embody the message that every individual's journey is unique and deserving of empathy.