As a first-generation Brazilian-American and Latina student, my identity has shaped every part of my journey toward higher education. My parents grew up in the favelas of Rio de Janeiro, where resources were scarce and opportunities even scarcer. They immigrated to the United States with the hope of giving their children a life filled with possibilities they never had the chance to imagine. Being the daughter of immigrants has meant learning to navigate two worlds at once—one defined by the struggles of survival, and one defined by the hope of something better. Growing up, I never saw anyone who looked like me in the spaces I dreamed of occupying. I had never met a Brazilian attorney. I had never even seen one on television. Because of that, pursuing a legal career felt almost unrealistic, like a dream meant for someone else. When you don’t see people with your background in positions of power, it becomes easy to believe that those paths aren’t open to you. For a long time, I didn’t know that someone like me—Brazilian, Latina, first-generation—could belong in the legal field at all. But my identity has also been the force that drives me the most. Watching my father work nights for years, often missing holidays and birthdays so he could afford private Catholic school tuition for me, taught me that sacrifice and opportunity are deeply connected. When he lost his job this year, I felt the weight of our reality even more. As a minority family, one setback can threaten everything. Financial barriers have always been a part of my life, but they have never stopped me from moving forward. Instead, they have shaped my determination to create stability and justice not only for myself, but for others who share my experiences. Being a Brazilian-American woman has shown me both invisibility and resilience. It has shown me how often people underestimate immigrants or treat them as though their voices matter less. It has shown me how easily communities like mine can fall through the cracks when they do not have access to legal knowledge or representation. And it has inspired me to become the kind of attorney my family—and many families like mine—have never had. This scholarship would bring me closer to that goal by easing the financial burden I carry as an independent student. It would allow me to focus on my coursework, leadership roles, and LSAT preparation without constantly worrying about how I will cover basic expenses. More importantly, it would support a dream that once felt impossible simply because I had never seen it modeled. My identity will continue to shape my future—not as a barrier, but as a source of purpose. I want to become a Brazilian Latina attorney not only for myself, but to show other young girls who look like me that their dreams are valid, achievable, and powerful. Representation matters, and I want to become the representation I never had.

Being a first-generation college student means carrying my family’s dreams on my shoulders while building a future none of us were ever shown how to navigate. My parents grew up in the slums of Rio de Janeiro, where education was a privilege and survival shaped most decisions. My father never had the chance to pursue schooling—he worked since age seven . When my parents immigrated to the United States, they did so with nothing but faith in the idea that education could change the path for the next generation. Growing up, I watched my father work overnight shifts for years so he could afford to send me to private Catholic school. I remember waking up on Christmas, Easter, even on my birthday, and noticing that the seat where he should’ve been was empty. He missed holidays not because he wanted to, but because he believed investing in my education would give me the life he never had. Being first-generation means understanding that every opportunity I receive is built on sacrifices no one sees. This past year, when my father unexpectedly lost his job, that reality hit even harder. The same man who worked nights my entire childhood suddenly couldn’t find work. Our roles shifted, and I became responsible for paying my rent, transportation, and daily expenses while staying in school full time. It was overwhelming, but instead of breaking me, it clarified why I am pursuing a career in law. I want to be the kind of advocate my parents never had—someone who understands the fear and vulnerability that come with being overlooked and underserved. My family’s journey has shaped not only my resilience, but also my purpose. I want to attend law school and work in areas like employment law, immigration, or public interest work—fields where people’s rights and livelihoods are constantly at risk. I know what it feels like to watch someone you love lose employment stability. I know what it feels like to navigate systems without guidance. And I know how life-changing it can be when someone steps in to help. That is the kind of lawyer I want to become: someone who turns confusion into clarity, fear into security, and struggle into opportunity. This scholarship would help me take another step toward that goal. As someone financially independent, every dollar matters. Receiving this support would ease the pressure of balancing bills, transportation costs, and school materials while allowing me to stay focused on my academic success and LSAT preparation. It would give me the stability to continue moving forward without sacrificing the opportunities that will help me reach law school. Being a first-generation student means rewriting a family story through determination, purpose, and heart. It means carrying the weight of where I come from while using every challenge as motivation to build something better. With this scholarship, I can continue turning my family’s sacrifices into a future where I advocate, uplift, and open doors for others—just as my parents tried to open doors for me.

Being a first-generation college graduate will mean rewriting the story my family was born into. My parents grew up in the slums of Rio de Janeiro, where opportunity was rare and education was a privilege few could afford. My father never received a real education—he worked from a young age to help his family survive. When my parents immigrated to the United States, they carried nothing but their work ethic and the dream that their children might have a life filled with choices, not limitations. For most of my life, I watched my father work night shifts so that he could afford to send me to private Catholic school. While other families gathered for Christmas, Easter, or even simple Sunday dinners, I remember leaving a plate for him in the microwave because he was at work. I remember birthdays where his absence was the price he paid to keep me in a school that he believed would change my future. Even as a child, I could feel the weight of his sacrifices. He wasn’t just working; he was building the foundation for my education brick by brick, hour by hour, night by night. That is why this past year, when he unexpectedly lost his job, it felt like the ground shifted beneath us. I wasn’t a child anymore—I understood the fear in the silence, the uncertainty in my parents’ voices. For the first time, I felt the urgency of becoming the first in my family to graduate college, not just as a personal dream but as a way to honor everything they had given up for me. My education is no longer just my path forward—it is a symbol of their resilience, their sacrifice, and their refusal to let our story end where it began. Balancing school and independence has only deepened that understanding. I pay my own rent, transportation, and living expenses while managing a full academic schedule. It is not always easy, but I’ve learned that responsibility is not something to fear. It is something that shapes you. It is something I watched shape my parents for decades. My extracurricular involvement has played an equally powerful role in shaping who I have become. As a Student Ambassador at St. John’s University, I went from being shy and unsure to confidently leading tours and representing the school. When I became Training and Recruitment Chair, I found myself mentoring new ambassadors who often shared the same fears I once had. Guiding them helped me realize how much I had grown—and how much I want others to grow with me. My role as co-secretary for the National Society of Leadership and Success strengthened my communication, organization, and ability to lead with empathy. These experiences taught me that leadership is not simply about holding a title—it is about showing up for others, even when life feels overwhelming. It is about understanding that your influence can open doors for people who do not yet have the courage to open them for themselves. Looking ahead, I hope to attend law school and use my skills to advocate for vulnerable communities—people who, like my parents, have been overlooked or underestimated. Their journey from the favelas of Rio to building a life here continues to inspire every step I take. Being a first-generation college graduate will not just be my achievement—it will be my family’s victory. It will honor the nights my father worked through holidays, the moments we sacrificed together, and the belief that education can transform an entire future.