In the future, I want my education and career to become a bridge back to Guatemala, the place that shaped my values and my sense of responsibility. I grew up surrounded by stories of people who work hard but never get the chance to break out of the cycle they were born into. Many communities in Guatemala don’t have real access to schooling, and a heartbreaking number of adults still can’t read or write. That reality weighs on me, because I know how much potential is being lost simply because opportunity isn’t reaching the people who need it most. My dream is to change that. My education here in the United States is giving me the skills, knowledge, and financial foundation to eventually build something meaningful back home. With a career in business and finance, I want to create sustainable jobs in rural areas where employment is scarce and most people rely on unstable or low-paying work. Creating jobs isn’t just about income. It’s about dignity, stability, and giving families a chance to build a better future without having to leave the country they love. I want to create businesses that hire locally, train locally, and make it possible for people to grow without leaving their hometowns behind. But the goal that matters to me most is education. I want to build schools in communities where children walk miles just to sit in overcrowded classrooms or where learning stops after a certain grade because resources run out. More than buildings, I want to bring teachers, books, and programs that give kids a real chance at a future. I also want to open free literacy centers for adults, because I’ve seen how deeply it affects a person when they can’t read a prescription, a contract, a job application, or even a street sign. Teaching someone to read and write doesn’t just change their life. It changes the future of their entire family. Everything I’m learning now — whether in business classes, leadership roles, community service, or professional experiences — is shaping me into someone who can turn those goals into real projects. I’m learning how to organize, how to budget, how to manage people, how to build partnerships, and how to lead with purpose. My education isn’t just for me. It’s fuel for something bigger. One day, I want to return to Guatemala not just as someone who left and succeeded, but as someone who came back to build. I want the opportunities I’m earning here to become opportunities for people there. My dream is to help create a Guatemala where education isn’t a privilege and where people don’t have to leave home to have a future.

My experience with mental health, especially being diagnosed with mild depression in high school, has shaped the way I understand myself, the people around me, and the future I’m working toward. Back then, I didn’t have the language for what I was feeling. I just knew I was exhausted, easily overwhelmed, and carrying emotions I couldn’t explain. I kept most of it to myself because I didn’t want to worry anyone or make my problems feel like a burden. Looking back, that diagnosis was the first time I realized that taking care of my mind mattered just as much as taking care of everything else in my life. One of the biggest changes this experience created was in my beliefs about strength and vulnerability. I used to think strength meant staying quiet and pushing through on my own. I thought emotions were something to hide instead of something to understand. But dealing with depression taught me the opposite. Strength isn’t pretending you’re fine. It’s learning to be open, to ask for help, and to give yourself permission to feel without judgment. That shift helped me develop a level of self-awareness I didn’t have before. I became more patient with myself, more accepting of my limits, and more intentional about the way I moved through the world. My mental health journey also changed my relationships, especially romantic ones. Before, I would shut down when I felt overwhelmed, expecting the other person to somehow “just know” what was going on. But that only created confusion and distance. Depression made me realize that healthy relationships require real communication. You have to be honest about what you’re feeling, even when it’s uncomfortable. You have to allow someone to see you during your lows, not just the version of you that looks put together. As I learned to explain my emotions instead of hiding them, my relationships became deeper and more mutual. I began choosing people who value emotional stability, empathy, and patience. And in return, I became someone who could offer those same things back. This experience improved my friendships too. I’m more understanding when someone disappears for a while or needs space. I pay attention to the small changes in people’s tone or behavior because I know how often those quiet signs communicate what words don’t. I try to be someone others can rely on without feeling judged. My mental health journey also shaped my career aspirations. I want to work in a field where empathy matters just as much as skill. Whether it’s business, marketing, or finance, I want to lead with awareness and compassion. I want to create spaces where people feel supported, where they don’t have to pretend to be okay to feel valued. My own experience taught me that mental health affects every part of life, including the workplace, and I want to be a leader who understands that. In the end, depression didn’t hold me back. It changed me in ways that made me more grounded, more emotionally intelligent, and more driven to build a future where I can help others feel seen and understood. It shaped the kind of person I’m becoming: patient, open-hearted, and committed to growing in every part of my life.

Going to college means stepping into a future that once felt out of reach for me and my family. I grew up in a home where education wasn’t something people had access to, so the idea of attending college wasn’t presented as a natural next step. It was more like a distant dream that other families could afford, but not ours. Being in college now feels like breaking through that barrier and proving that someone from my background can change the direction of their family. For me, going to college is a symbol of possibility. It represents resilience, sacrifice, and the decision to rewrite my own story no matter how difficult the road has been. A huge part of what college means to me comes from the challenges I’ve had to face on the way here. When my father was in hospice during the pandemic, I had to step in and take over responsibilities that most people my age never have to think about. Paying bills, helping my family stay afloat, and carrying emotional stress while trying to figure out my own path was overwhelming. That experience forced me to mature quickly, but it also lit a fire in me. It made me realize that I needed a career strong enough to provide stability not only for myself, but for my parents who spent their entire lives working hard with little reward. When you come from a family with limited resources, you don’t just go to college for yourself. You go for everyone who didn’t get the chance. As a DACA recipient, the path has been even more complicated. I don’t have access to federal financial aid, which means every semester is a battle of budgeting, saving, and working long hours just to stay enrolled. Still, I don’t let that stop me. I’ve earned Dean’s List, joined Lambda Theta Phi Latin Fraternity Incorporated, and serve as treasurer for the American Marketing Association. I work at NJM Insurance Group and stay involved in community service. I stay motivated because I know that each step forward brings me closer to the life I’ve always wanted for my family. What I’m trying to accomplish goes far beyond getting a diploma. I want a career in business and finance that allows me to help my parents retire comfortably after everything they’ve sacrificed. I want to be able to give back to my community, mentor students who face the same barriers I did, and create opportunities for immigrants and first-generation students who need someone to believe in them. College is the foundation for all of that. It’s where I’m learning how to lead, build relationships, and turn my determination into real impact.

Honestly, the performance that hits me the hardest is “All Too Well (10 Minute Version)” live at the 2021 SNL stage. It wasn’t flashy, it wasn’t packed with choreography, it wasn’t even a big stadium moment. It was just Taylor, a guitar, a single spotlight, and every emotion she’d carried for almost a decade. And the reason it feels so moving is because she didn’t hide behind production. She let the story breathe. You could hear the crack in her voice on certain lines, you could see the way she looked down like she was reliving the past in real time, and the whole thing felt like someone finally letting themselves heal in public. It’s one of those performances where an artist steps out of the “superstar” frame and reminds you they’re a person who’s felt loss, heartbreak, anger, nostalgia, and growth. And the wild part is how she turned that vulnerability into power. The SNL performance also marked a shift. It wasn’t the same Taylor who had to prove herself. It was a woman fully owning the narrative that once hurt her. She didn’t rush the lyrics. She didn’t cut corners. She gave the song space to unfold like a story she finally had control over. The audience wasn’t just listening, they were witnessing closure. And for an album concept like “The Life of a Showgirl,” that performance fits perfectly. Being a “showgirl” isn’t just about sparkle and spectacle. Sometimes it’s standing in front of people with nothing but your truth, and trusting that the story is enough. That SNL moment showed how a single performance can feel more intimate than an entire stadium tour, purely because of the honesty behind it. So yeah, that’s the one for me. It’s raw, it’s vulnerable, and it captures the kind of emotional storytelling Taylor built her entire career on.

I grew up in a family where college wasn’t just rare, it felt almost impossible. My parents came to this country with nothing guaranteed, and as the oldest, I learned early that responsibility wasn’t optional. Being a first-generation student isn’t just about being “the first to go.” It means carrying your family’s hopes in one hand and your own fears in the other, and still showing up anyway. For me, it means rewriting what my family’s future can look like, not because it’s easy, but because someone in the family has to take that first step. My journey hasn’t been straight or simple. When my father entered hospice during the pandemic, everything shifted. I had to step in, pay the bills, handle paperwork, and show up as the adult in the room even when I felt like a kid who was just trying to keep it together. That experience forced me to grow fast. It also made me decide that going back to school wasn’t optional anymore. I needed an education strong enough to build the stability my family never had. I needed a career that would let me help my parents retire with dignity. And as a DACA recipient, none of that was ever going to be handed to me. No federal aid, no safety net, no roadmap. Just determination. College has been my way of choosing a future that goes beyond survival. I’ve pushed myself to be more than just a student. I earned Dean’s List at Rider University, joined Lambda Theta Phi Latin Fraternity Incorporated, and took leadership roles like serving as treasurer for the American Marketing Association. I’ve worked at NJM Insurance Group, completed community service at River Edge Apartments, and kept showing up in every space where I could learn, serve, or build something meaningful. Everything I do is rooted in this idea that success means nothing if I’m not lifting others along the way. That’s what being first-gen has taught me: you don’t climb to the top alone. But the truth is, the financial side is still the hardest part. DACA students walk a tightrope. Tuition, fees, transportation, books — nothing moves without sacrifice. I’ve paused semesters to save money. I’ve worked long hours while juggling full-time classes. And still, I keep going, because my dreams are bigger than my obstacles. I want to build a career in business and finance that lets me provide for my family, give back to my community, and eventually create opportunities for students who grew up like me: immigrant households, limited resources, big dreams. This scholarship wouldn’t just help with tuition. It would give me room to breathe, to focus on my studies, to take on opportunities without worrying about whether my bank account can survive them. It would bring me one step closer to graduating, one step closer to giving my parents the peace they’ve earned, and one step closer to becoming the kind of leader my younger self needed to see.

I am a first generation college student, a Dreamer, and someone who has had to grow up faster than most people my age. My story has been shaped by responsibility, family, and a deep sense of purpose. When my father became seriously ill during the pandemic and I had to step in to help support my household, I learned quickly what stability really means. That experience pushed me to return to school with a different kind of motivation. I want a future where my family does not have to worry, and where the sacrifices they made for me turn into something meaningful. A big part of who I am comes from the communities I belong to. I am a brother of Lambda Theta Phi Latin Fraternity Incorporated, which has connected me to leadership, service, and a sense of cultural pride that keeps me grounded. I have helped with donation drives in Trenton, volunteered in local community cleanups, and taken part in events that give Latino students a place to feel supported. I am also involved with the American Marketing Association and I work with NJM Insurance Group, where I continue to grow professionally while representing Dreamers and first generation students in spaces where we are not always visible. These roles have shown me how much impact one person can have simply by showing up with intention. In the future, I plan to make a positive impact through my career by using what I learn to lift others. I want to work in business or insurance and eventually move into leadership, not just for the title but to create opportunities for people who share my background. I want to mentor younger students who feel lost the way I once did and help them navigate school, work, and life with confidence. I want to advocate for immigrant families, share resources, and make sure Dreamers feel seen in professional environments. More than anything, I want my career to open doors for my family and my community. I want to help my parents retire, support students who need guidance, and build a life where I can give back consistently, not just when I have free time. My goal is to combine everything I have overcome with everything I am learning now and turn it into real change. If I can use my success to make someone else’s path easier, then I will know I am making the kind of impact that truly matters.

For me, the American dream is not about chasing perfection or trying to match someone else’s idea of success. It is about having the chance to build a life that feels fuller, brighter, and more open than the one you started with. Growing up as a Dreamer, the idea of opportunity always felt delicate, like something I had to protect and work for at the same time. When I think about the American dream, I picture the ability to go to college and create a future that my parents never had the chance to imagine. I also think about the peace that comes from knowing that hard work can turn into real progress and not just survival. My own idea of the American dream always connects back to my family. They left everything behind so that I could have choices they never had. I want to be able to support them, help them retire, and give them a sense of security that they went without for so long. When I sit in a classroom, take an exam, or accept a leadership position, I always think about the sacrifices behind me that made all of it possible. That is why my education holds so much meaning. It is not just for me, it is for all of us. A huge part of my American dream has been shaped by the communities I belong to. Becoming a brother of Lambda Theta Phi Latin Fraternity Incorporated has connected me to a network of service, leadership, and culture that feels like home. Through the fraternity, I have been part of donation drives in Trenton, community cleanups at apartment complexes, and events dedicated to uplifting Latino students. These experiences remind me that the American dream is not only about personal success, it is also about reaching your hand back and pulling someone else forward. Serving others has shown me that I am not just building a better future for myself but also strengthening the roots of the community around me. My involvement with the American Marketing Association and my work with NJM Insurance Group have also taught me how to show up in professional spaces where people from my background are not always represented. Every meeting, project, and event reinforces my commitment to using my journey to encourage others to dream bigger. The American dream also means breaking cycles that were never meant to limit me. Growing up, I did not often see people who shared my story in leadership roles or corporate spaces. Now I want to be one of the people who changes that. I want younger Latino students, first generation students, and Dreamers to look at my path and feel more confident about their own. Most of all, I want my life to show that where you begin does not have to dictate where you end up. The American dream, to me, is the courage to keep moving, the heart to serve others, and the belief that you can rise even when the world tells you otherwise.

Some of the biggest obstacles I’ve faced in my pursuit of higher education came from simply not knowing where to start. Being a first-generation student means you walk into college blind. There’s no one at home who can explain financial aid, degree plans, or even what office hours are. I had to learn everything through trial and error, and sometimes it felt like everyone else already knew the rules except me. Being a DACA recipient added a whole new layer of challenges. Not being eligible for federal aid meant that every semester was a question mark. I had to work extra hours, budget carefully, and hope that between scholarships and my job I could keep moving forward. It’s a lot of pressure to carry, especially when you know your entire family is counting on you. Things got tougher when my dad got sick during the pandemic. Overnight, I went from being a student to being someone who had to help keep the household going. Balancing school, work, and family responsibilities was exhausting. There were days where I felt stretched thin, but quitting wasn’t an option. My family needed me, and I wasn’t going to let them down. Living with a chronic condition myself also made things harder — trying to stay on top of assignments while dealing with pain or fatigue can feel like climbing uphill, but I’ve learned how to push through and take care of myself at the same time. Even with all of that, I’ve stayed focused on my education because I know what it represents. For my family, it means stability. For me, it means a chance to build a future where I’m not constantly fighting against circumstances. And for my community, it means representation something I didn’t grow up seeing enough of. In the future, I want to use my education to give back in ways that actually matter. I want to mentor younger Dreamers and first-gen students, especially the ones who feel lost or overwhelmed like I did. I want to guide them through college, help them understand their options, and be the support system I wish I had. I also want to continue advocating for immigrant and Dreamer awareness, sharing my story so others don’t feel alone in theirs. My goal isn’t just to build a successful career in business or insurance. I want to open doors, create opportunities, and remind people that backgrounds like ours aren’t roadblocks they’re motivation. My education is the first step, but the impact I plan to make will go far beyond me.

My identity as a Latino, a DACA recipient, and a first-generation college student has shaped every part of my journey so far, and it will continue to guide the future I’m building. Growing up as part of an underrepresented minority population means I’ve always had to work a little harder just to stand in places that many people take for granted. I’ve had to learn how to navigate systems that weren’t designed with students like me in mind, whether it’s higher education, immigration processes, or even professional environments where I rarely see people with stories similar to mine. But at the same time, being part of this community has given me strength, perspective, and a level of resilience that I wouldn’t trade for anything. Being a Dreamer is a big part of that identity. When you grow up without the certainty that other students have, you learn to carry hope and fear at the same time. You learn to celebrate your accomplishments while still staying aware of obstacles that could come out of nowhere. Not being eligible for federal financial aid or certain opportunities has forced me to be resourceful, determined, and creative. It’s made me appreciate my education differently, because every step forward has been earned through work, sacrifice, and persistence. Those experiences didn’t just make me tougher; they made me more aware of how much representation matters. As a Latino student, I also feel the responsibility of showing younger students that we belong in these spaces. Whether I’m active in my fraternity, volunteering in my community, or working at NJM Insurance Group, I know my presence alone challenges stereotypes. Sometimes I’m the first person with my background to walk into a room, and instead of shrinking, I’ve learned to take up space with purpose. I want people to look at me and see what’s possible, not what’s limited. My identity has pushed me to become someone who leads with empathy, who understands struggle firsthand, and who tries to lift others as I climb. In the future, this identity will continue shaping the impact I want to make. I want to be a mentor for other immigrant and first-generation students, especially those who don’t feel seen. I want to work in business or insurance not just to build a career, but to open doors for people who come after me. I want to show that students from underrepresented backgrounds can thrive in leadership, change systems from within, and bring perspectives that are often missing.

Being a first-generation college student influences my career goals in ways that feel really personal. I grew up watching my parents work hard without ever having the chance to get an education, so when I think about my future, I’m not just thinking about myself. I’m thinking about how far all of us can go because I’m the first one to walk this path. That responsibility motivates me every day. It’s what pushes me toward a career where I can grow, lead, and create the kind of stability my family never had. A lot of this became real during the pandemic, when my dad got sick and I had to help pay the bills. That moment changed how I saw everything. I realized I wanted a career that didn’t just pay the rent, but actually gave my family breathing room and peace of mind. It made me want to go into business, marketing, or insurance — fields where I know I can build something solid, move up, and eventually help my parents retire. That’s one of my biggest goals: to give them the comfort they never had. Being first-gen also means I’ve had to figure out everything myself: financial aid I can’t access because of DACA, confusing college processes, juggling work and school, and trying to stay on top of everything with no blueprint to follow. But all of that shaped me into someone who wants to turn around and help the next person. I want a future where I can mentor other first-gen and immigrant students, especially Dreamers, and show them that even with obstacles, there’s still a way forward. It’s also why leadership matters so much to me. I want to be in spaces where people like me usually don’t get seen. I want my presence to make it easier for the next student, the next Dreamer, the next kid who feels lost, to feel like they belong. My career goals aren’t just about making it. They’re about pulling others up with me. Being first-gen didn’t just push me to want more it gave what I want real meaning. It gave my goals a heart behind them. I’m not chasing success just to have it. I’m chasing it so I can change my family’s story and help other students rewrite theirs too.

Right now, I give back by showing up for the communities that shaped me. A big part of that happens through my involvement with Lambda Theta Phi Latin Fraternity Inc., where service isn’t just something we do it’s who we are. Whether I’m helping organize community clean-ups, supporting donation drives in Trenton, or volunteering my time to uplift local neighborhoods, I try to be the kind of person who leaves every space a little better than I found it. I also give back by being a resource for other first-generation and immigrant students. Sometimes that means sharing information, helping them navigate college, or simply being someone they can talk to when they feel lost or overwhelmed. As a DACA recipient, I know what it feels like to have questions with no easy answers, so I make sure the people around me never feel alone in their struggles. At NJM Insurance Group, I give back in a different way—by representing my community in a professional setting where immigrants and Dreamers aren’t always visible. I show younger students that we belong in these spaces, and I build relationships with coworkers and clients that are grounded in respect, empathy, and understanding. Even small things, like translating for families or helping someone understand a process that feels confusing, allow me to support others in meaningful ways. In the future, I want my impact to grow even bigger. My goal is to use my education and career to create real opportunities for people who come from backgrounds like mine. I want to mentor Dreamers, first-gen students, and young professionals who need guidance navigating college, finances, or the workplace. I see myself becoming a leader in business or insurance, someone who not only excels professionally but also opens doors for those who are often overlooked. I also plan to stay active in community service, expanding the work I already do with my fraternity. Whether it’s building youth programs, supporting immigrant families, advocating for Dreamer rights, or creating financial literacy workshops for underserved communities, I want to use my experiences to make life easier for others. Long term, my dream is to reach a point where I can help my parents retire, then invest in projects that support immigrant families—because if I can change the trajectory of my own family, I believe I can help others do the same. Giving back isn’t something I plan to start “one day.” It’s something I’m already doing, and something I’ll keep doing as I grow. My life, my education, and my future career all point toward the same purpose: lifting others the way people once lifted me.

My plans for the future are rooted in creating long-term stability for my family and building a meaningful career where I can grow, lead, and represent communities that often go unseen. As a first-generation college student and DACA recipient, I’ve learned that my education is more than a personal achievement; it’s a way to change the trajectory of my entire family. After graduating, I plan to continue developing my career in business, marketing, and insurance, working toward a leadership role where I can oversee teams, make strategic decisions, and serve as a mentor to others who come from similar backgrounds. I want to be someone who not only succeeds professionally but also opens doors for those who are coming after me. Part of my long-term dream is to help my parents retire comfortably. When my father became ill during the pandemic and I stepped in to help pay the bills, I understood what financial stability truly means. It’s not just about income; it’s about peace of mind. That moment shaped the way I view my degree. I’m not earning it just for myself. I’m earning it to provide my family with security, stability, and the chance to rest after years of sacrifice. I also want to spend time mentoring immigrant and first-generation students, especially those with DACA status, so they can navigate college and their careers without feeling lost or unsupported. My goal is to turn the challenges I’ve faced into guidance for others. This scholarship would play a major role in helping me achieve all of these goals. Because I am a DACA student, I am not eligible for federal financial aid, which places a unique and constant strain on my educational journey. Every semester requires me to balance work, school, leadership roles, and financial responsibilities in ways that many students never have to think about. I am proud of how far I’ve come, but the reality is that financial stress can slow me down, no matter how motivated I am. Receiving this scholarship would relieve a significant amount of that pressure. It would allow me to dedicate more time to my coursework, stay involved in leadership and community service, and continue building the professional skills that will shape my future. It would also reduce the financial burden on my family, who already carry so much. Most importantly, this scholarship would help me stay on track toward graduating on time and stepping into the career that I’ve worked so hard to prepare for. This award wouldn’t just support my education; it would support my family’s dreams, my community’s representation, and my commitment to proving that Dreamers can accomplish extraordinary things when given the opportunity.

I’m a first-generation college student, a Dreamer, and someone who has learned to turn responsibility into motivation. My journey into higher education didn’t follow a straight line. When my father became seriously ill during the pandemic and my family suddenly needed help paying the bills, I stepped into adulthood faster than most people my age. That moment shifted everything for me. I realized that continuing my education wasn’t just a personal dream; it was a path toward stability for all of us. My parents never had the chance to pursue college, so every class I complete and every milestone I reach feels like a promise kept to them. As a DACA recipient, I’ve had to navigate school without federal financial aid and often without certainty about my future, but those challenges have only made me more committed to finishing strong and building the type of life my family worked so hard for me to have. After graduation, my plan is to continue building my career in business, marketing, or insurance, growing into a leadership role where I can make a meaningful impact. My long-term goal is to support my parents financially, help them retire, and provide the stability they sacrificed so much to give me. I also want to mentor other first-generation students and Dreamers, helping them navigate the academic and professional systems that can feel overwhelming when you’re figuring everything out on your own. Whether I’m working in insurance, marketing strategy, or management, I want my work to reflect the same values that got me here: persistence, community, and purpose. Spanish is my first language, and being bilingual has shaped both my identity and the way I move through the world. One challenge is having to constantly switch between languages depending on the space I’m in. At home, I help my family translate documents, legal forms, financial information, and medical instructions. In school or at work, I’m expected to operate fully in English. Carrying both roles at once can be heavy, especially when you’re the first in your family to understand these systems. Sometimes I feel like I’m bridging two different worlds at the same time, making sure nothing gets lost in translation for the people I love. But the benefits of being bilingual are powerful. Speaking two languages allows me to connect deeply with my culture while also building relationships in professional and academic environments. It gives me the ability to help others feel seen and understood, especially other Latino or immigrant students who are navigating similar challenges. Being bilingual helps me serve as a resource in my fraternity, communicate effectively at NJM Insurance Group, and create community wherever I go. It has strengthened my leadership, empathy, and ability to adapt. Being bilingual isn’t just a skill for me; it’s a core part of who I am. It ties me to my roots while giving me the confidence to move forward. My story, my language, and my dreams all work together to push me toward the future I’m working hard to build.

Being a first-generation college student means growing through moments most people never see. I grew up knowing that education wasn’t something my family had access to, so every class I take and every exam I study for carries the weight of my parents’ sacrifices and the future I want for all of us. When my father became ill during the pandemic and I stepped in to help pay the bills, everything became real in a way that changed me. That moment pushed me back into school with purpose. I wasn’t just earning a degree; I was building a path that could give my family stability and one day let my parents retire peacefully. As a DACA recipient, I’ve learned how to move through college without federal financial aid and without guarantees. It taught me resilience and taught me how many Dreamers are fighting the same invisible battles. Being first gen isn’t just a title for me. It’s the responsibility of rewriting a family story and proving that the obstacles meant to slow me down can actually shape my drive. My involvement across campus and the community reflects that mindset. As a representative at NJM Insurance Group, I’ve learned how to navigate professional spaces while showing younger immigrants that we belong in every room we work for. As a brother of Lambda Theta Phi Latin Fraternity Inc., I’ve committed myself to service, leadership, and creating a sense of belonging for Latino students who don’t always feel seen. I’m also the treasurer of the American Marketing Association, where I manage budgets, help build programming, and support a team working hard to grow a strong chapter. Making the Dean’s List at Rider University in both Fall 2023 and Spring 2024 showed me that I can balance work, school, and leadership without losing sight of my long term goals. A big part of my identity now is advocating for immigrant and Dreamer awareness. I share my story openly because I know how many people stay quiet out of fear or uncertainty. I try to be the kind of voice I wish I had when I first started navigating higher education. Whether I’m explaining DACA realities to others, supporting students with similar challenges, or simply representing my community by showing up, I want people to understand that Dreamers contribute, lead, and rise, even while dealing with pressure most never see. My advocacy isn’t separate from my education; it’s woven into everything I do. Being first gen shaped my beginning, but my commitment to uplifting immigrants, Dreamers, and the communities that raised me is what guides the person I’m becoming.

Being a first-generation college student means growing through moments most people never see. I grew up knowing that education wasn’t something my family had access to, so every class I take and every exam I study for carries the weight of my parents’ sacrifices and the future I want for all of us. When my father became ill during the pandemic and I stepped in to help pay the bills, everything became real in a way that changed me. That moment pushed me back into school with purpose. I wasn’t just earning a degree; I was building a path that could give my family stability and one day let my parents retire peacefully. As a DACA recipient, I’ve learned how to move through college without federal financial aid and without guarantees. It taught me resilience and taught me how many Dreamers are fighting the same invisible battles. Being first gen isn’t just a title for me. It’s the responsibility of rewriting a family story and proving that the obstacles meant to slow me down can actually shape my drive. My involvement across campus and the community reflects that mindset. As a representative at NJM Insurance Group, I’ve learned how to navigate professional spaces while showing younger immigrants that we belong in every room we work for. As a brother of Lambda Theta Phi Latin Fraternity Inc., I’ve committed myself to service, leadership, and creating a sense of belonging for Latino students who don’t always feel seen. I’m also the treasurer of the American Marketing Association, where I manage budgets, help build programming, and support a team working hard to grow a strong chapter. Making the Dean’s List at Rider University in both Fall 2023 and Spring 2024 showed me that I can balance work, school, and leadership without losing sight of my long term goals. A big part of my identity now is advocating for immigrant and Dreamer awareness. I share my story openly because I know how many people stay quiet out of fear or uncertainty. I try to be the kind of voice I wish I had when I first started navigating higher education. Whether I’m explaining DACA realities to others, supporting students with similar challenges, or simply representing my community by showing up, I want people to understand that Dreamers contribute, lead, and rise, even while dealing with pressure most never see. My advocacy isn’t separate from my education; it’s woven into everything I do. Being first gen shaped my beginning, but my commitment to uplifting immigrants, Dreamers, and the communities that raised me is what guides the person I’m becoming.