My mom was eight months and three weeks pregnant with me when she crossed over to the U.S. I was born two weeks after she had settled down to live in a cramped storage room with my father and 4-year-old brother, a far cry from the "American Dream" that was always preached to her. I heard from family members that my mom bore a difficult pregnancy with me and it made me wonder. Was her aching feet from walking miles away from home worth it? Was taking care of my scared little brother the entire way worth it? Was it still worth it when the person guiding them down turned out to be a rat causing them to be almost caught? My mom would tell me that the entire reason she crossed, even when she was afraid of the future, was to see her kids live and not work themselves to the bone like my father and her. My mom had given up her dreams of becoming a nurse and left behind what she called home. These efforts are always in my prayers, even when I was younger my mom would tell me she would read my Christmas letters to Santa where I would wish for an Elf to help her work less so I could spend more time with her. I would be gifted no elf but gifted the understanding that it was up to me if I wanted to see my mom cry less and smile more. I want to be the reason, as a first-generation college student, she can sit down and relax those bruised feet and calloused hands that carried her through the rough terrain that brought her to the U.S. She gave me the chance at this "American Dream", a chance to fulfill my own life. As her only daughter out of 4 kids, I feel responsible for giving her a chance to live too. Being able to go to college can promise me that goal, the goal to call my mom and not be welcomed by the sound of machines and hammers on the other line. I wished to be welcomed by the sounds of her own family's laughter back home, something she openly expressed she missed when she would call me during her night shift hours. This isn't just my future I am working towards, but her future. Every decision, every opportunity I take is to make life simpler, to make breathing easier for her. She has given me the world out of her scarred hands, and I wish to give it back to her with a graduation certificate that bears her last name. To give her fulfillment that it was because of her she will be able to live the life she left behind.

My mom was eight months and three weeks pregnant with me when she crossed over to the U.S. I was born two weeks after she had settled down to live in a cramped storage room with my father and 4-year-old brother, a far cry from the "American Dream" that was always preached to her through her uncles. Even if I was just a baby in a belly, I've felt responsible for the hardships she's gone through, those being leaving the comfort of her own home, her parents, and the familiarity of her city. I am a first-generation college student who wants to be a beacon of ambition to those who feel isolated with their efforts. I will become a Forensic Psychiatrist, being able to interfere with the lives of the accused and help the public understand why they did what they did. I'd be bringing justice to those who were wrongly accused and justice to the victims with the knowledge and understanding that attending college will give me. This brings a sort of comfort to me, to be able to dig deep into the lives of those experiencing what the law is firsthand. I will be able to practice the knowledge I will learn in college with the help of this scholarship. I won't only be able to learn and grow but also give insight to the public that I am not just another girl who came from immigrant parents. This would be a testimonial to other Hispanic teens like myself that it is not impossible to grow from where there was nothing, take dandelions as an example, they grow from the cracks of concrete where it was forbidden to grow. Being a source of inspiration firsthand can trigger an uproar in the younger Hispanic crowds who are losing faith in their achievements. Such as my younger brothers who express their distressed thoughts of not being able to attend college because of the lack of representation in white-collar jobs. I know I am not the only one on this earth to experience this burden, but I'm also glad I do. I get to experience the frustrations of college and the difficulties of trying to be accepted because, at the end of the day, this was all it was about. I was born on American soil in Mexican sweat so I could even see the chance of attending college. To make a name of myself and bear the last name that was proudly given to me in that cramped storage room. It took my mother's dreams so I could live this life, and I, as a daughter, am responsible for breathing life back into them. I wish to be a sort of fresh breeze to not only my family but to those other Hispanic teens who are struggling to see that their efforts are not in vain.