I look around my overcrowded 40-student classroom. On our graffitied desks, 20-year-old weary textbooks and borrowed pencils and notebooks out of the generous pockets of our underpaid teacher. The school bell rings to life, and I make my way to the school’s flickery-lighted hallways meeting me with the menacing glare of police officers and dust-collecting counseling offices. After school, I attend the School Site Council meeting and find state exam results, indicating our school performs “far below state and national standards.” I take a wishful glance at similar communities across the state, but it’s all the same. With frustration and bewilderment, I began to wonder: What if students in my position faced not a lack of resources and support but a welcoming haven of learning, guidance, and equal opportunity to fulfill their potentials? That is when I joined the ACLU of SoCal Youth Liberty Squad (YLS). At first, I was the group’s timidest person--so shy that I still asked my parents to order food for me. But I quickly learned that nothing significant ever happens until a pattern is broken. What began as nervously speaking up in group discussions transformed into independently running bi-weekly workshops teaching students their rights at school. It turned into hours condensing district survey data and delivering speeches about LAUSD’s discriminatory random search policy at board meetings. After a year of breaking my shyness pattern and campaigning against the policy, LAUSD voted to end it, successfully intercepting the school-to-prison pipeline. Yet this was not enough. Realizing the continued lack of resources at California public schools and with my newfound confidence, I joined another educational funding initiative: #SchoolsAndCommunitiesFirst. I walked around community parks and stood in front of grocery stores, met with a trickle of yes’s in the sea of no’s while collecting signatures for our 1.6 million ballot initiative goal. I represented over 6 million students while testifying before the California Legislature about the importance of reinvesting school police funding into student mental health resources and academic support programs. After similar efforts across the state, what resulted was a historic 1.7 million signature support, qualifying #SchoolsAndCommunitesFirst for the November 2020 ballot. And although Prop 15 did not pass, I know that even with district-level change, other communities across the state can follow our example. As I reflect on the past two years in YLS, I notice that I no longer ask my parents to order for me--that YLS helped me grow out of my timid shell and into a student leader that my peers look up to and that future cohorts of YLS will be guided to becoming. Most importantly, however, I’ve learned that leadership is action, not position. That even as a junior in high school, I forced my district administration to pay attention to us--allowing me to revamp the STEM culture by bringing AP Physics and coding classes to my school and reinvest funding for academic support through new school counselors and teachers. Although minuscule, these changes will allow generations of underrepresented students like me to have the opportunities to truly fulfill their potentials and have enough support throughout their journeys. As I embark on my journey to Columbia University, I am excited to use what I learned in YLS to incite change within the NYC public school system. From tutoring and mentoring local underserved high school students through Columbia’s TLC and MyNYC programs to bringing my campaigning ideas and techniques to NYCLU’s Education Policy Center, I will devote every second outside of school to fighting for NYC students from communities like mine to have all the resources needed to fulfill their fullest potentials.

(CS = computer science) “Mama, ¡por favor! Don’t go!” I cried, gently tugging on her brown leather jacket. Raindrops pummeled my bare face, making me squint to see her silhouette in the darkness of the cold night. “I’ll see you soon, mijito,” my mother despairingly said as she wiped the tears trickling down her cheeks. Seconds later, she jumped into the driver’s seat, and the engine roared to life. Before I could say goodbye, the old grey minivan began driving out of sight. My mind raced with questions. Why was my mother leaving? Why didn’t I go with her? Flashbacks to towers of late rent bills and the rumble of my sisters’ empty stomachs made one thing clear: she had to. Ever since I was born, LA’s high rent prices pushed our family onto the brink of homelessness. We lived our life on a coin toss—heads or tails deciding whether we’d pay our monthly rent or groceries. This life meant the roof above my head changed faster than the clothes on my body. It meant doing multiplication tables on the cold pavement while waiting for a bed at the shelter. That rainy night, my mother finally reached her limit and moved to Utah in pursuit of a better life. With my mother gone, my home felt scattered beyond physical confines. However, the emotional sanctuary I yearned for, I discovered in my second home: school. Here, I raced through kinematics problems and sneaked into the computer lab, my hands flying over the keyboards. However, this scholastic stability soon became intercepted by a looming decision: Do I stay in LA with my father or leave for Utah to be reunited with my mother? I chose LA. After months of watery eyes and harrowing headaches produced by images of life without my mother, LA’s charm finally shone through. The allure was in the reality of giving my sister a better education and in taking care of my diabetic father. Aside from this, there was another glaringly obvious gift in my stay: opportunity. LA welcomed my curiosity with open arms, preserving my interest in social equity through campaign initiatives and fostering my computer science passion through LACCD courses and community programs. Once here, I focused on making my sacrifice worthwhile. Whether I was making my daily hour-and-a-half voyage to and from school or passing street corners filled with candles reminding me of friends taking too early by gun violence, I never let my circumstances keep me from pursuing CS. I persevered through countless CS lectures at the local community college on everything from object-oriented programming to data structures. I joined graduate-level research teams at USC Viterbi using artificial intelligence on multi-robot systems. I even learned to and built a mobile application where teenagers can learn their rights in a fun, interactive, and centralized platform. LA’s resources allowed me to slowly carve my place within the computer science community. Yet my CS journey still feels like a jigsaw puzzle with a missing piece. Although grateful for the opportunities, the missing piece is a dream of going beyond the limited curriculum and using what I learned through my hardships alongside my CS education to combat the societal issues I faced. That is why this scholarship is vital: It'll allow me to finally fulfill this ambition. So the next time my mother sees me, I won’t be on the ground, begging her, “Mama, don’t go!” Instead, I will be walking across the graduation stage, as the first in my family’s history to do so, calmly telling her, “Mama, we did it.”

(CS = computer science) “Mama, ¡por favor! Don’t go!” I cried, gently tugging on her brown leather jacket. Raindrops pummeled my bare face, making me squint to see her silhouette in the darkness of the cold night. One by one, she began reluctantly loading her belongings onto our old grey minivan. “I’ll see you soon, mijito,” my mother despairingly said as she wiped the tears trickling down her cheeks. She pulled me into her arms, and I tightly held her, knowing this might be the last time I ever could. Seconds later, she jumped into the driver’s seat, and the engine roared to life. Before I could say goodbye, the old grey minivan began driving out of sight. My mind raced with questions. Why was my mother leaving? Why didn’t I go with her? Flashbacks to towers of late rent bills and the rumble of my sisters’ empty stomachs made one thing clear: she had to. Ever since I was born, LA’s high rent prices pushed our family onto the brink of homelessness. We lived our life on a coin toss—heads or tails deciding whether we’d pay our monthly rent or groceries. This life meant the roof above my head changed faster than the clothes on my body. It meant doing multiplication tables on the cold pavement while waiting for a bed at the shelter. That rainy night, my mother finally reached her limit and moved to Utah in pursuit of a better life. With my mother gone, my home felt scattered beyond physical confines. However, the emotional sanctuary I yearned for, I discovered in my second home: school. Here, I raced through kinematics problems and sneaked into the computer lab, my hands flying over the keyboards. This home I found in the flickering, fluorescent-lighted hallways and weary, purple-colored walls gave me a sense of belonging. However, the small source of stability I was beginning to gather became intercepted by a looming decision: Do I stay in LA with my father or leave for Utah to be reunited with my mother? I chose LA. After months of watery eyes and harrowing headaches produced by images and long phone calls about life without my mother, everything suddenly clicked and LA’s charm finally shone through. The allure was in the cultural respite of a vibrant Mexican community--in the reality of giving my sister a better education and in taking care of my diabetic father. Aside from this, there was another glaringly obvious gift in my stay: opportunity. LA welcomed my curiosity with open arms, preserving my interest in social equity through campaign initiatives, and fostering my computer science passion through LACCD courses and community programs. Most of all, LA allowed me to finally see that education was my golden ticket to giving my family a better life. Once here, I focused on making my sacrifice worthwhile. Whether I was making my daily hour-and-a-half voyage to and from school or passing street corners filled with candles reminding me of friends taking too early by gun violence, I never let my circumstances keep me from pursuing CS. I persevered through countless CS lectures at the local community college on everything from object-oriented programming to data structures. I conducted graduate-level research on using artificial intelligence to optimize multi-robot systems at USC Viterbi. I even learned to and built a mobile application where teenagers can learn their rights in a fun, interactive, and centralized platform. LA’s resources allowed me to slowly carve my place within the computer science community. Yet my CS journey still feels like a jigsaw puzzle with a missing piece. Although grateful for the opportunities, the missing piece is a dream of going beyond the limited curriculum. It’s the dream of using what I learned through my hardships alongside my computer science education to combat the societal issues I faced. That is why I eagerly await the opportunity to attend a university to fulfill this ambition. And one day, using all the experiences and wisdom I gained from my professors and peers, I will return to South Los Angeles not only to inspire future generations of FGLI students to pursue the wonders of CS but to empower them with the tools needed to break through every socio-economic barrier standing in our way. As I embark on my college journey, I will always remember the sight of that old grey minivan driving away. However, instead of viewing it, and the hardships I went through, as moments of weakness, I see them now as defining moments of strength and inspiration. The next time my mother sees me, I won’t be on the ground, begging her, “Mama, don’t go!” Instead, I will be walking across the graduation stage, as the first in my family’s history to do so, calmly telling her, “Mama, we did it.”

(CS = computer science) “Mama, ¡por favor! Don’t go!” I cried, gently tugging on her brown leather jacket. Raindrops pummeled my bare face, making me squint to see her silhouette in the darkness of the cold night. One by one, she began reluctantly loading her belongings onto our old grey minivan. “I’ll see you soon, mijito,” my mother despairingly said as she wiped the tears trickling down her cheeks. Seconds later, she jumped into the driver’s seat, and the engine roared to life. Before I could say goodbye, the old grey minivan began driving out of sight. My mind raced with questions. Why was my mother leaving? Why didn’t I go with her? Flashbacks to towers of late rent bills and the rumble of my sisters’ empty stomachs made one thing clear: she had to. Ever since I was born, LA’s high rent prices pushed our family onto the brink of homelessness. We lived our life on a coin toss—heads or tails deciding whether we’d pay our monthly rent or groceries. This life meant the roof above my head changed faster than the clothes on my body. It meant doing multiplication tables on the cold pavement while waiting for a bed at the shelter. That rainy night, my mother finally reached her limit and moved to Utah to pursue a better life. With my mother gone, my home felt scattered beyond physical confines. However, the emotional sanctuary I yearned for, I discovered in my second home: school. Here, I raced through kinematics problems and sneaked into the computer lab, my hands flying over the keyboards. This home I found in the flickering, fluorescent-lighted hallways and weary, purple-colored walls gave me a sense of belonging. However, this small source of stability became intercepted by a looming decision: Do I stay in LA with my father or leave for Utah to be reunited with my mother? I chose LA. After months of watery eyes and harrowing headaches produced by images of life without my mother, LA’s charm finally shone through. The allure was in the cultural respite of a vibrant Mexican community--in the reality of giving my sister a better education and in taking care of my diabetic father. Aside from this, there was another glaringly obvious gift in my stay: opportunity. LA welcomed my curiosity with open arms, preserving my interest in social equity through campaign initiatives, and fostering my CS passion through LACCD courses and programs. Most of all, LA allowed me to finally see that education was my golden ticket to giving my family a better life. Once here, I focused on making my sacrifice worthwhile. Whether I was making my daily hour-and-a-half voyage to and from school or passing street corners filled with candles reminding me of friends taking too early by gun violence, I never let my circumstances keep me from pursuing CS. I persevered through countless CS lectures at the local community college on everything from object-oriented programming to data structures. I conducted graduate-level research on using AI to optimize multi-robot systems at USC. I even built a mobile application where teenagers can learn their rights in a fun, interactive, and centralized platform. Yet my CS journey still feels like a jigsaw puzzle with a missing piece. Although grateful for the opportunities, the missing piece is a dream of going beyond the limited curriculum. It’s the dream of using what I learned through my hardships alongside my computer science education to combat the societal issues I faced. That is why I eagerly await the opportunity to attend a university to fulfill this ambition. And one day, using all the experiences and wisdom I gained from my professors and peers, I will return to South Los Angeles not only to inspire future generations of FGLI students to pursue the wonders of CS but to empower them with the tools needed to break through every socio-economic barrier standing in our way. As I embark on my college journey, I will always remember the sight of that old grey minivan driving away. However, instead of viewing it and the immense hardships I went through as moments of weakness, I see them now as defining moments of strength and inspiration. The next time my mother sees me, I won’t be on the ground, begging her, “Mama, don’t go!” Instead, I will be walking across the graduation stage, as the first in my family’s history to do so, calmly telling her, “Mama, we did it.”

It is 2041, and I'm 37 years old. As I rest from the long day that passed, I relive a memorable trip home one night, walking past countless makeshift tents in the heart of my Los Angeles hometown. I stopped to give a family lying down on the pavement all I had: a crumpled $5 and leftover sandwich. Unbeknownst to them, I saw myself in their eyes. I saw the long lines my mother and I would stand in outside the shelter. I felt the hard park bench that my brother and I slept on. I heard the rumble of our empty stomachs each night. I notice that homelessness was and continues to be a reality millions face--one that still lingers on my family’s mind every day, and that, most importantly, inspired me to postpone my software engineering life at Google and pursue the computer science Ph.D. I defended two years ago. Now, I’m a postdoc researcher at USC’s Center for Artificial Intelligence in Society, working on violence minimization and suicide prevention among homeless youth, as well as resource-allocation policies to combat homelessness. To minimize violence among teenagers, I’ve begun optimizing prior researchers’ MyPATH intervention plan by implementing collaborative sports that teach youth social networks to transition anger from physical aggression to sports competitiveness. In our suicide prevention team, we’ve begun building optimal algorithms that accurately assess youth’s trauma history, psychological symptoms, and potential drug abuse to cater suicide intervention resources to their individual need. Lastly, in partnership with the Los Angeles Mayor’s Office, our resource-allocation team has built off prior research to eliminate racial discrimination within LA’s currently automated systems by building an AI-driven framework that increases not only racial equity but that is scalable to the immense needs of LA’s homelessness crisis. Despite the long days, nothing surpasses the feeling of solving the issue that plagued your childhood with the very thing that saved it: technology. Nothing beats the feeling of helping your community members reconstruct their lives. Nothing transcends the feeling of giving brothers, sisters, sons, and daughters in your city a reason to continue living. But the impact of my work extends far beyond the concrete jungle of Los Angeles. Researchers, politicians, and cities across the country have begun collaborating with our teams and establishing their own research groups to combat homelessness in their communities. So for as long as I live, I am happy to dedicate my work towards ensuring no other person faces what my family did.

I look around my overcrowded 40-student classroom. On our graffitied desks, 20-year-old weary textbooks and borrowed pencils and notebooks out of the generous pockets of our underpaid teacher. The school bell rings to life, and I make my way to the school’s flickering, fluorescent lighted hallways meeting me with the menacing glare of police officers and dust-collecting counseling offices. After school, I attend the School Site Council meeting and find state exam results, indicating our school performs “far below state and national standards.” I take a wishful glance at similar communities across the state, but it’s all the same. With frustration and bewilderment, I began to wonder: What if students in my position faced not a lack of resources and support but a welcoming haven of learning, guidance, and equal opportunity to fulfill their potentials? That is when I joined the ACLU of SoCal Youth Liberty Squad (YLS). At first, I was the group’s timidest person--so shy that I still asked my parents to order food for me. But I quickly learned that nothing significant ever happens until a pattern is broken. So what began as nervously speaking up in group discussions transformed into independently running bi-weekly workshops teaching students their rights at school. It turned into hours condensing district survey data and delivering speeches about LAUSD’s discriminatory random search policy at board meetings. After a year of breaking my shyness pattern and campaigning against the policy, LAUSD voted to end it, successfully intercepting the school-to-prison pipeline. Yet this was not enough. Realizing the continued lack of resources at California public schools and with my newfound confidence, I joined another educational funding initiative: #SchoolsAndCommunitiesFirst. I walked around community parks and stood in front of grocery stores, met with a trickle of yes’s in the sea of no’s while collecting signatures for our 1.6 million ballot initiative goal. I represented over 6 million students while testifying before the California Legislature about the importance of reinvesting school police funding into student mental health resources and academic support programs. After similar efforts across the state, what resulted was a historic 1.7 million signature support, qualifying #SchoolsAndCommunitesFirst for the November 2020 ballot. And although Prop 15 did not pass, I know that even with district-level change, other communities across the state can follow our example. As I reflect on the past two years in YLS, I notice that I no longer ask my parents to order for me--that YLS helped me grow out of my timid shell and into a student leader that my peers look up to and that future cohorts of YLS will be guided to becoming. Most importantly, however, I’ve learned that leadership is action, not position. That even as a junior in high school, I forced my district administration to pay attention to us--allowing me to revamp the STEM culture by bringing AP Physics and coding classes to my school and reinvest funding for academic support through new school counselors and teachers. Although minuscule, these changes will allow generations of underrepresented students like me to have the opportunities to truly fulfill their potentials and have enough support throughout their journeys. As I embark on my journey to Columbia University, I am excited to use what I learned in YLS to incite change within the New York City public school system. From tutoring and mentoring local underserved high school students through Columbia’s TLC and MyNYC programs to bringing my campaigning ideas and techniques to NYCLU’s Education Policy Center, I will devote every second outside of my studies to fighting for NYC students from the very communities I come from to have the same opportunities and resources as those in wealthier communities. By doing so, we will inch closer to the ideal that is at the core of our nation: a land of opportunity for all.

(CS = computer science) “Mama, ¡por favor! Don’t go!” I cried, gently tugging on her brown leather jacket. Raindrops pummeled my bare face, making me squint to see her silhouette in the darkness of the cold night. One by one, she began reluctantly loading her belongings onto our old grey minivan. “I’ll see you soon, mijito,” my mother despairingly said as she wiped the tears trickling down her cheeks. She pulled me into her arms, and I tightly held her, knowing this might be the last time I ever could. Seconds later, she jumped into the driver’s seat, and the engine roared to life. Before I could say goodbye, the old grey minivan began driving out of sight. My mind raced with questions. Why was my mother leaving? Why didn’t I go with her? Flashbacks to towers of late rent bills and the rumble of my sisters’ empty stomachs made one thing clear: she had to. Ever since I was born, LA’s high rent prices pushed our family onto the brink of homelessness. We lived our life on a coin toss—heads or tails deciding whether we’d pay our monthly rent or groceries. This life meant the roof above my head changed faster than the clothes on my body. It meant doing multiplication tables on the cold pavement while waiting for a bed at the shelter. That rainy night, my mother finally reached her limit and moved to Utah in pursuit of a better life. With my mother gone, my home felt scattered beyond physical confines. However, the emotional sanctuary I yearned for, I discovered in my second home: school. Here, I raced through kinematics problems and sneaked into the computer lab, my hands flying over the keyboards. This home I found in the flickering, fluorescent-lighted hallways and weary, purple-colored walls gave me a sense of belonging. However, the small source of stability I was beginning to gather became intercepted by a looming decision: Do I stay in LA with my father or leave for Utah to be reunited with my mother? I chose LA. After months of watery eyes and harrowing headaches produced by images and long phone calls about life without my mother, everything suddenly clicked and LA’s charm finally shone through. The allure was in the cultural respite of a vibrant Mexican community--in the reality of giving my sister a better education and in taking care of my diabetic father. Aside from this, there was another glaringly obvious gift in my stay: opportunity. LA welcomed my curiosity with open arms, preserving my interest in social equity through campaign initiatives, and fostering my computer science passion through LACCD courses and community programs. Most of all, LA allowed me to finally see that education was my golden ticket to giving my family a better life. Once here, I focused on making my sacrifice worthwhile. Whether I was making my daily hour-and-a-half voyage to and from school or passing street corners filled with candles reminding me of friends taking too early by gun violence, I never let my circumstances keep me from pursuing CS. I persevered through countless CS lectures at the local community college on everything from object-oriented programming to data structures. I conducted graduate-level research on using artificial intelligence to optimize multi-robot systems at USC Viterbi. I even learned to and built a mobile application where teenagers can learn their rights in a fun, interactive, and centralized platform. LA’s resources allowed me to slowly carve my place within the computer science community. Yet my CS journey still feels like a jigsaw puzzle with a missing piece. Although grateful for the opportunities, the missing piece is a dream of going beyond the limited curriculum. It’s the dream of using what I learned through my hardships alongside my computer science education to combat the societal issues I faced. That is why I eagerly await the opportunity to attend a university to fulfill this ambition. And one day, using all the experiences and wisdom I gained from my professors and peers, I will return to South Los Angeles not only to inspire future generations of FGLI students to pursue the wonders of CS but to empower them with the tools needed to break through every socio-economic barrier standing in our way. As I embark on my college journey, I will always remember the sight of that old grey minivan driving away. However, instead of viewing it, and the hardships I went through, as moments of weakness, I see them now as defining moments of strength and inspiration. The next time my mother sees me, I won’t be on the ground, begging her, “Mama, don’t go!” Instead, I will be walking across the graduation stage, as the first in my family’s history to do so, calmly telling her, “Mama, we did it.”

I push open the red oak doors of West Los Angeles College's (WLAC) Intro to Computer Science (CS) and stride to an empty seat at the front of the room. Excitement races through my body. I had anticipated this moment ever since I first glanced at a computer. Although that computer was the beat-up Blackberry my father scarcely managed to afford, its call and text feature kindled countless questions about the power of technology for years until this very moment. Alongside this excitement, however, came waves of nervousness. CS was a foreign world--one that my family’s financial obligations never let me explore, but that I was always eager to unravel. So as I sat there, the only colored face in the sea of students, I decided to leap into the unknown--a leap that kickstarted my perilous journey. Intro to CS loaded me with head-scratching moments as I tried to understand lessons on everything from conditionals to classes. During a particular CS & Society lecture, however, I finally discovered CS’s appeal. Although I cherished bringing thought experiments to life through coding, my main interest lay in the empowering nature of CS--how it fuels space exploration, connects distant parts of the world, and, most importantly, fosters societal advancement. I knew then that this view of using CS as a tool to engineer a better world was where my journey was headed. The lack of CS opportunities at my school and my hunger for more prompted me to look beyond my community and enroll in every CS course and community program LA offered. From studying object-oriented programming and discrete mathematics at WLAC to developing mobile applications and AI frameworks at USC’s ACT Lab, with every new lesson I learned and every new line of code I wrote, I began establishing my place within the CS community. Even so, my CS journey still feels like a jigsaw puzzle with a missing piece. Although grateful for the opportunities, the missing piece is the dream of using what I learned through my hardships alongside harnessing the power of artificial intelligence to combat the societal issues I faced. Now, I have a new mission: providing for society through my CS degree at Columbia University. At sunrise, I’ll study algorithm development & AI techniques while pursuing SEAS’ Intelligent Systems Track. At sunset, I’ll use these skills to develop AI-driven resource allocation policies to combat the homelessness crisis through the Summer Research Program. On weekends, I’ll be working on my civil rights mobile app and preparing for Ph.D. program interviews with guidance from alumni currently in graduate school. Outside campus, I’ll also be pioneering a new CS program to teach coding literacy to students from local NYC public schools. So now, as I embark on my Columbia journey, I’m excited to utilize my CS degree not only to prepare myself for an AI career but to advance society by combatting homelessness & inspiring others from the under-represented communities I come from to pursue the wonders of computer science.

What attracts me to the act of service is not the tally marks of hours spent but the genuine smile on the face of a man who hasn’t had a warm meal in months. It’s the satisfaction you get after seeing children not have to play around the piles of trash. It’s the warmth of community you feel after defeating a critical problem that has plagued generations of community members. Community service not only gives you feelings that are simply unparalleled but allows you to connect with your community members and resolve critical community issues together. As I reflect on a specific time in high school, this becomes apparent: I look around my overcrowded 40-student classroom. On our graffitied desks, 20-year-old weary textbooks and borrowed pencils and notebooks out of the generous pockets of our underpaid teacher. The school bell rings to life, and I make my way to the school’s flickering, fluorescent lighted hallways meeting me with the menacing glare of police officers and dust-collecting counseling offices. After school, I attend the School Site Council meeting and find state exam results, indicating our school performs “far below state and national standards.” I take a wishful glance at similar communities across the state, but it’s all the same. With frustration and bewilderment, I began to wonder: What if students in my position faced not a lack of resources and support but a welcoming haven of learning, guidance, and equal opportunity to fulfill their potentials? That is when I joined the ACLU of SoCal Education Equity Team (YLS). At first, I was the group’s timidest person--so shy that I still asked my parents to order food for me. But I quickly learned that nothing significant ever happens until a pattern is broken. What began as nervously speaking up in group discussions transformed into independently running bi-weekly workshops teaching students their rights at school. It turned into hours condensing district survey data and delivering speeches about LAUSD’s discriminatory random search policy at board meetings. After a year of breaking my shyness pattern and campaigning against the policy, LAUSD voted to end it, successfully intercepting the school-to-prison pipeline. Yet this was not enough. Realizing the continued lack of resources at California public schools and with my newfound confidence, I joined another educational funding initiative: #SchoolsAndCommunitiesFirst. I walked around community parks and stood in front of grocery stores, met with a trickle of yes’s in the sea of no’s while collecting signatures for our 1.6 million ballot initiative goal. I represented over 6 million students while testifying before the California Legislature about the importance of reinvesting school police funding into student mental health resources and academic support programs. After similar efforts across the state, what resulted was a historic 1.7 million signature support, qualifying #SchoolsAndCommunitesFirst for the November 2020 ballot. And although Prop 15 did not pass, I know that even with district-level change, other communities across the state can follow our example. As I reflect on the past two years in YLS, I notice that I no longer ask my parents to order for me--that YLS helped me grow out of my timid shell and into a student leader that my peers look up to and that future cohorts of YLS will be guided to becoming. Most importantly, however, I’ve learned that leadership is action, not position. That even as a junior in high school, I forced my district administration to pay attention to us--allowing me to revamp the STEM culture by bringing AP Physics and coding classes to my school and reinvest funding for academic support through new school counselors and teachers. Although minuscule, these changes will allow generations of underrepresented students like me to have the opportunities to truly fulfill their potentials and have enough support throughout their journeys. As I embark on my journey to Columbia University, I am excited to use what I learned in YLS to incite change within the New York City public school system and with my CS degree. From tutoring and mentoring local underserved high school students through Columbia’s TLC and MyNYC programs to bringing my campaigning ideas and techniques to NYCLU’s Education Policy Center, I will devote every second outside of my studies to fighting for NYC students, from the very communities I grew up in, to have the same opportunities and resources as those in wealthier communities. And one day, using all the experiences and wisdom I gained from my professors and peers, I will return to South Los Angeles not only to inspire future generations of FGLI students to pursue the wonders of CS but to empower them with the tools needed to break through every socio-economic barrier standing in our way. By doing so, we will inch closer to the ideal at the core of our nation: a land of opportunity for all.

“Mama, ¡por favor! Don’t go!” I cried, gently tugging on her brown leather jacket. Raindrops pummeled my bare face, making me squint to see her silhouette in the darkness of the cold night. One by one, she began reluctantly loading her belongings onto our old grey minivan. “I’ll see you soon, mijito,” my mother despairingly said as she wiped the tears trickling down her cheeks. She pulled me into her arms, and I tightly held her, knowing this might be the last time I ever could. Seconds later, she jumped into the driver’s seat, and the engine roared to life. Before I could say goodbye, the old grey minivan began driving out of sight. My mind raced with questions. Why was my mother leaving? Why didn’t I go with her? Flashbacks to towers of late rent bills and the rumble of my sisters’ empty stomachs made one thing clear: she had to. Ever since I was born, LA’s high rent prices pushed our family onto the brink of homelessness. We lived our life on a coin toss—heads or tails deciding whether we’d pay our monthly rent or groceries. This life meant the roof above my head changed faster than the clothes on my body. It meant doing multiplication tables on the cold pavement while waiting for a bed at the shelter. It meant learning to translate and fill out government documents or showing up alone to parent-teacher conferences because my parents were too busy working multiple jobs. That rainy night, my mother finally reached her limit and moved to Utah in pursuit of a better life. With my mother gone, my home felt scattered beyond physical confines. However, the emotional sanctuary I yearned for, I discovered in my second home: school. Here, I raced through kinematics problems and sneaked into the computer lab, my hands flying over the keyboards. This home I found in the flickering, fluorescent-lighted hallways and weary, purple-colored walls gave me a sense of belonging. However, the small source of stability I was beginning to gather became intercepted by a looming decision: Do I stay in LA with my father or leave for Utah to be reunited with my mother? I chose LA. After months of watery eyes and harrowing headaches produced by images and long phone calls about life without my mother, LA’s charm finally shone through. The allure was in the cultural respite of a vibrant Mexican community--in the reality of giving my sister a better education and in taking care of my diabetic father. Aside from this, there was another glaringly obvious gift in my stay: opportunity. LA welcomed my curiosity with open arms, preserving my interest in social equity through campaign initiatives, and fostering my computer science passion through LACCD courses and community programs. Once here, I focused on making my sacrifice worthwhile. Whether I was making my daily hour-and-a-half voyage to and from school or passing street corners filled with candles reminding me of friends taking too early by gun violence, I never let my circumstances keep me from pursuing CS. I persevered through countless CS lectures at the local community college on everything from object-oriented programming to data structures. I conducted graduate-level research on using artificial intelligence to optimize multi-robot systems at USC Viterbi. I even learned to and built a mobile application where teenagers can learn their rights in a fun, interactive, and centralized platform. LA’s resources allowed me to slowly carve my place within the computer science community. Yet my CS journey still feels like a jigsaw puzzle with a missing piece. Although grateful for the opportunities, the missing piece is a dream of going beyond the limited curriculum. It’s the dream of using what I learned through my hardships alongside my computer science education to combat the societal issues I faced. That is why I eagerly await the opportunity to attend a university to fulfill this ambition. And one day, using all the experiences and wisdom I gained from my professors and peers, I will return to South Los Angeles not only to inspire future generations of first-generation, low-income students to pursue the wonders of CS but to empower them with the tools needed to break through every socio-economic barrier standing in our way. As I embark on my college journey, I will always remember the sight of that old grey minivan driving away. However, instead of viewing it and the reality of being a first-generation student as moments of weakness, I see them now as defining moments of strength and inspiration. The next time my mother sees me, I won’t be on the ground, begging her, “Mama, don’t go!” Instead, I will be walking across the graduation stage, as the first in my family’s history to do so, calmly telling her, “Mama, we did it.”

I look around my overcrowded 40-student classroom. On our graffitied desks, 20-year-old weary textbooks and borrowed pencils and notebooks out of the generous pockets of our underpaid teacher. The school bell rings to life, and I make my way to the school’s flickering, fluorescent lighted hallways meeting me with the menacing glare of police officers and dust-collecting counseling offices. After school, I attend the School Site Council meeting and find state exam results, indicating our school performs “far below state and national standards.” I take a wishful glance at similar communities across the state, but it’s all the same. With frustration and bewilderment, I began to wonder: What if students in my position faced not a lack of resources and support but a welcoming haven of learning, guidance, and equal opportunity to fulfill their potentials? That is when I joined the ACLU of SoCal Education Equity Team (YLS). At first, I was the group’s timidest person--so shy that I still asked my parents to order food for me. But I quickly learned that nothing significant ever happens until a pattern is broken. What began as nervously speaking up in group discussions transformed into independently running bi-weekly workshops teaching students their rights at school. It turned into hours condensing district survey data and delivering speeches about LAUSD’s discriminatory random search policy at board meetings. After a year of breaking my shyness pattern and campaigning against the policy, LAUSD voted to end it, successfully intercepting the school-to-prison pipeline. Yet this was not enough. Realizing the continued lack of resources at California public schools and with my newfound confidence, I joined another educational funding initiative: #SchoolsAndCommunitiesFirst. I walked around community parks and stood in front of grocery stores, met with a trickle of yes’s in the sea of no’s while collecting signatures for our 1.6 million ballot initiative goal. I represented over 6 million students while testifying before the California Legislature about the importance of reinvesting school police funding into student mental health resources and academic support programs. After similar efforts across the state, what resulted was a historic 1.7 million signature support, qualifying #SchoolsAndCommunitesFirst for the November 2020 ballot. And although Prop 15 did not pass, I know that even with district-level change, other communities across the state can follow our example. As I reflect on the past two years in YLS, I notice that I no longer ask my parents to order for me--that YLS helped me grow out of my timid shell and into a student leader that my peers look up to and that future cohorts of YLS will be guided to becoming. Most importantly, however, I’ve learned that leadership is action, not position. That even as a junior in high school, I forced my district administration to pay attention to us--allowing me to revamp the STEM culture by bringing AP Physics and coding classes to my school and reinvest funding for academic support through new school counselors and teachers. Although minuscule, these changes will allow generations of underrepresented students like me to have the opportunities to truly fulfill their potentials and have enough support throughout their journeys. As I embark on my journey to Columbia University, I am excited to use what I learned in YLS to incite change within the New York City public school system. From tutoring and mentoring local underserved high school students through Columbia’s TLC and MyNYC programs to bringing my campaigning ideas and techniques to NYCLU’s Education Policy Center, I will devote every second outside of my studies to fighting for NYC students to have the same opportunities and resources as those in wealthier communities. By doing so, we will inch closer to the ideal at the core of our nation: a land of opportunity for all.

I push open the red oak doors of West Los Angeles College's (WLAC) Intro to Computer Science (CS) and stride to an empty seat at the front of the room. Excitement races through my body. I had anticipated this moment ever since I first glanced at a computer. Although that computer was the beat-up Blackberry my father scarcely managed to afford, its call and text feature kindled countless questions about the power of technology for years until this very moment. Alongside this excitement, however, came waves of nervousness. CS was a foreign world--one that my family’s financial obligations never let me explore, but that I was eager to unravel. So as I sat there, the only colored face in the sea of students, I decided to leap into the unknown--a leap that kickstarted my perilous journey. Intro to CS loaded me with head-scratching moments as I tried to understand lessons on everything from conditionals to classes. During a particular CS & Society lecture, however, I finally discovered CS’s appeal. Although I cherished bringing thought experiments to life through coding, my main interest lay in the empowering nature of CS--how it fuels space exploration, connects distant parts of the world, and, most importantly, fosters societal advancement. I knew then that this view of using CS as a tool to engineer a better world was where my journey was headed. The lack of CS opportunities at my school and my hunger for more prompted me to look beyond my community and enroll in every CS course and community program LA offered. From studying object-oriented programming and discrete mathematics at WLAC to developing mobile applications and AI frameworks at USC’s ACT Lab, with every new lesson I learned and every new line of code I wrote, I began establishing my place within the CS community. Even so, my CS journey still feels like a jigsaw puzzle with a missing piece. Although grateful for the opportunities, the missing piece is the dream of using what I learned through my hardships alongside harnessing the power of artificial intelligence to combat the societal issues I faced. Now, I have a new mission: becoming a computer science researcher to provide for society by harnessing AI to combat the homelessness crisis and education inequity. At sunrise, I’ll study algorithm development & AI techniques while pursuing SEAS’ Intelligent Systems Track. At sunset, I’ll use these skills to develop AI-driven resource allocation policies to combat the homelessness crisis through the Summer Research Program. On weekends, I’ll be working on my civil rights mobile app and preparing for Ph.D. program interviews with guidance from alumni currently in graduate school. Outside campus, I’ll also be pioneering a new CS program to teach coding literacy to students from local NYC public schools. So what makes the CS-loving applicant from South Los Angeles the best candidate for this scholarship? A thought-provoking moral compass and hardship-driven motivation to engineer a better world that outlives merely enjoying to code.

I push open the red oak doors of West Los Angeles College's (WLAC) Intro to Computer Science (CS) and stride to an empty seat at the front of the room. Excitement races through my body. I had anticipated this moment ever since I first glanced at a computer. Although that computer was the beat-up Blackberry my father scarcely managed to afford, its call and text feature kindled countless questions about the power of technology for years until this very moment. Alongside this excitement, however, came waves of nervousness. CS was a foreign world--one that my family’s financial obligations never let me explore, but that I was eager to unravel. So as I sat there, the only colored face in the sea of students, I decided to leap into the unknown--a leap that kickstarted my perilous journey. Intro to CS loaded me with head-scratching moments as I tried to understand lessons on everything from conditionals to classes. During a particular CS & Society lecture, however, I finally discovered CS’s appeal. Although I cherished bringing thought experiments to life through coding, my main interest lay in the empowering nature of CS--how it fuels space exploration, connects distant parts of the world, and, most importantly, fosters societal advancement. I knew then that this view of using CS as a tool to engineer a better world was where my journey was headed. The lack of CS opportunities at my school and my hunger for more prompted me to look beyond my community and enroll in every CS course and community program LA offered. From studying object-oriented programming and discrete mathematics at WLAC to developing mobile applications and AI frameworks at USC’s ACT Lab, with every new lesson I learned and every new line of code I wrote, I began establishing my place within the CS community. Even so, my CS journey still feels like a jigsaw puzzle with a missing piece. Although grateful for the opportunities, the missing piece is the dream of using what I learned through my hardships alongside harnessing the power of artificial intelligence to combat the societal issues I faced. Now, I have a new mission: providing for society through my CS degree at Columbia University. At sunrise, I’ll study algorithm development & AI techniques while pursuing SEAS’ Intelligent Systems Track. At sunset, I’ll use these skills to develop AI-driven resource allocation policies to combat the homelessness crisis through the Summer Research Program. On weekends, I’ll be working on my civil rights mobile app and preparing for Ph.D. program interviews with guidance from alumni currently in graduate school. Outside campus, I’ll also be pioneering a new CS program to teach coding literacy to students from local NYC public schools. So now, as I embark on my Columbia journey, I’m excited to utilize my CS degree not only to prepare myself for an AI career but to advance society by combatting homelessness & inspiring others from the under-represented communities I come from to pursue the wonders of computer science.

I push open the red oak doors of West Los Angeles College’s (WLAC) Intro to Computer Science (CS) and stride to an empty seat at the front of the room. Excitement races through my body. I had anticipated this moment ever since I first glanced at a computer. Although that computer was the beat-up Blackberry my father scarcely managed to afford, its call and text feature kindled countless questions about the power of technology for years until this very moment. Alongside this excitement, however, came waves of nervousness. CS was a foreign world--one that my family’s financial obligations never let me explore, but that I was eager to unravel. So as I sat there, the only colored face in the sea of students, I decided to leap into the unknown--a leap that kickstarted my perilous journey. Intro to CS loaded me with head-scratching moments as I tried to understand lessons on everything from conditionals to classes. During a particular CS & Society lecture, however, I finally discovered CS’s appeal. Although I cherished bringing thought experiments to life through coding, my main interest lay in the empowering nature of CS--how it fuels space exploration, connects distant parts of the world, and, most importantly, fosters societal advancement. I knew then that this view of using CS as a tool to engineer a better world was where my journey was headed. The lack of CS opportunities at my school and my hunger for more prompted me to look beyond my community and enroll in every CS course and community program LA offered. From studying object-oriented programming and discrete mathematics at WLAC to developing mobile applications and AI frameworks at USC’s ACT Lab, with every new lesson I learned and every new line of code I wrote, I began establishing my place within the CS community. Even so, my CS journey still feels like a jigsaw puzzle with a missing piece. Although grateful for the opportunities, the missing piece is the dream of using what I learned through my hardships alongside harnessing the power of artificial intelligence to combat the societal issues I faced. Now, I have a new mission: providing for society through my CS degree at Columbia University. At sunrise, I’ll study algorithm development & AI techniques while pursuing SEAS’s Intelligent Systems Track. At sunset, I’ll use these skills to develop AI-driven resource allocation policies to combat the homelessness crisis through the Summer Research Program. On weekends, I’ll be working on my civil rights mobile app and preparing for Ph.D. program interviews with guidance from alumni currently in graduate school. Outside campus, I’ll also be pioneering a new CS program to teach coding literacy to students from local NYC public schools. So now, as I embark on my Columbia journey, I’m excited to utilize my CS degree not only to prepare myself for an AI career but to advance society by combatting homelessness & inspiring others from the under-represented communities I come from to pursue the wonders of computer science.