My name is Arabella Felise Flores and I am an incoming freshman at UC Santa Barbara on my way to earn my bachelor's degree in both Psychology and Economics. I am a first generation Filipina-Chinese immigrant, music composer, and proud scleroderma warrior. I'm very proud of my heritage and my identity as a Filipina and strive to be like my parents; bold and resilient. My parents struggled with poverty in the Philippines and in the US. Growing up, and still to this day, they tell me their stories of how to survive both emotionally and physically. I never knew how these stories could be applicable to me until I had to be put on IV steroids for 12 weeks and chemotherapy shots every week. I was met with constant brain fog, nausea, and dizziness I could barely attend school. Even when my treatment with IV steroids ended, my scleroderma became worse and tore away at the muscle of my arms. My nerves were then affected, then all of a sudden my fingers and wrist would lock up sporadically for an upwards of ten minutes. I had to power through many of my hobbies such as guitar, painting, and poetry writing with writhing pain constantly. Surprisingly, through this tragic story about myself. I learned a lot of things about empathy. Yes, my chemotherapy affected me physically in several ways. However, it affected me the worst mentally. I became a totally different person. Instead of patient and quiet, I became very brash and irritable. My cognition was so foggy I couldn't remember a lot of things, and I couldn't read much either since it would make me so nauseous. Me skipping school almost every day impacted my social life, I practically had no friends. I wish I had realized sooner before my grandpa died, but his brain cancer led him to experience many of the same things as me. He was a gentle, kind, and loving man. My grandma took care of him and he was always healthy. The sudden tumor in his brain changed everything, and within just a year he couldn't walk. He also had aphasia too, but he could still understand what we were saying. He was always forgetful and tired, like me, but on a grander scale. I loved him, but hearing him snap over the phone yelling at my family to tend to him made me so angry. I didn't know at the time, but he was just like me. Now today, through my experiences, his, and many others, empathy to me means to have true understanding. It isn't just telling someone that "you get it" because, really, you don't. To have empathy you don't need to relate, you need to connect. Giving someone empathy is to be uncomfortable with them, then you can connect, thus understand. I strive to be a psychiatrist and further research on the effects of aggressive treatments on the mind. I want to work with the ones that struggle, yell, cry, and experience a pain that makes them feel like no one understands. For my grandpa and I, the way chemotherapy changed us pushed many people away. We were barely functioning and lost, but we were still truly just as human as anyone else. True understanding is important in the health care field in general, not just psychiatry. Yes, in health care a patient's physical health is what health care aims to do. However, the best way someone can recover, even if physically is beyond repair, is mentally. Connecting and true understanding equals healing. I would ensure these efforts through not only working with a diagnosis, but a whole person. This means listening to their stories, respecting their values, and feeling their experiences. By combining medical knowledge with empathy, sensitivity, and collaboration, I can make sure my work benefits people. Most importantly in ways that truly respect their dignity and improve their quality of life, Both physically but importantly mentally.

My name is Arabella Flores and I am a first generation 17 year old Filipino-Chinese-American. I attended Rocklin Highschool in California and I am an incoming freshman at the University of California - Santa Barbara. I plan on double majoring in Psychological and Brain Sciences/Economics with a minor in religious studies to either become a Drug Rehab Therapist or a School based Therapist. Living in a dominantly White American upper middle class suburb I can say our society needs to be taught one thing; to be open minded. I think the one of tradition's biggest mistakes is to confine other's to what they think is systemically correct in the way one presents themselves. Whether it be they have a foreign accent, are neurodivergent, or have niche interests. The other mistake is to close off our minds to vulnerability, and understanding. Statistically, we have become a more polarized society, and the increasing poverty worldwide is one of the causes of that. I can say that these are our biggest mistakes because I have experienced both. My freshman year I had just transferred and quickly found it difficult to make friends. I didn't attend school that often because I was on chemotherapy for my localized scleroderma, also known as "Morphea". I would be met with dizziness, brain fog, and cognitive problems everyday. I had my freshman year during the tail end of covid, so you can imagine my chemotherapy mentally and socially did not help. I was into anime, mobile games, and art. I was loud, laughed a little too hard all the time, and I had a stutter. These attributes were stereotypically "perfect for a bullying victim". I was usually the last chosen for group projects, every time I opened my mouth I would watch people glance at each other and try not to laugh. I tried to pretend like it wasn't happening, but it got too much when I saw random photos of me shared with classmates on snapchat stories making fun of my short hair or Shein clothes. Immediately, I felt even more pushed to escape attending school besides the effects of chemo, and quickly my grades began to slip. I asked my parents if I could transfer schools but they told me to "just ignore it, they're just jealous." I've had my share of invalidation from them already growing up, so it was no surprise. But honestly, I don't blame them. They both came from third world countries and poverty. So they learned to suppress their emotions, because they didn't have the time to think of it in the Philippines. Even when they immigrated here, they were homeless. They had one objective and that was to build themselves up to the "American Dream". Even though we are comfortable now, they still haven't let go of this suppression mindset. I felt alone for a lot of my high school career, but I wasn't alone either. Many of my friends turned to drugs, alcohol, self harm, to distract themselves from the world's stresses. Even in their vulnerability, they'd make jokes about it to cope, and people would just laugh. This taught me that really, we all feel lonely, but we can't just become comfortable in that isolation and just stay. This experience has taught me that in the future, I will always look beyond the exterior of someone. Open mindedness is the most human thing anyone can possess, and with that I will gladly start "uncomfortable conversations" just to save lives. Because of my experiences, I will always strive to get deeper connected with others perspectives and hearts, always.

As a child of third world immigrants, mental health is taboo not only in our family but in our Filipino culture. If you are found studying psychology, they'll call you "Baliw" (or, crazy, in Tagalog). If you are found crying, they might just yell at you to stop. My dad didn't grow up with a father figure, and my mom's house in the Philippines was buried with ash after being consumed by a volcano. They didn't really have time to cry, they had to survive in their poverty stricken country. As a Filipino-American however, you have to carry the weight of expectations that your parents hold above you since they have sacrificed it all to move to the US. I was never a gifted student, I was always loud, misbehaved, and mischievous growing up. My parents were never really home growing up because they would be working hard to pay the bills, or even just arguing. I felt alone as a child, and if I ever spoke up about it I'd be shunned. Later on in life, the struggle increased after I was subjected to chemotherapy after being diagnosed with a very rare disease, and the change of who I am as a result was stark. It was extremely hard to get out of bed, to manage my emotions, and even go to school. Everything that was repressed from the "resilience" my parents taught me from their childhood spilled and I turned to self harm. But as I grew older, I found out that's the reality for many Asian-Americans with immigrant parents. I didn't realize how much my chaotic childhood and chemotherapy affected my mental health. I lost many relationships and almost failed classes, and my family still wasn't there for me. I was later diagnosed with BPD and anxiety and I genuinely had no idea where I was going in life. I was pulled out of class one day with a counselor and I met up with a school therapist. I realized after going to therapy at school that psychology was my passion. My passion deepened after I did hospital volunteering with my friends later that summer and I faced dying patients, venting about their regrets or the decisions their descendants were making. I loved the fulfilling connections and art of conversation, but also I loved the idea that these people felt heard and empathized with. To expand my mind more, I created the multicultural club at my high school junior year to show people other perspectives and show the beauty of others all around the world. I also volunteered at a Vacation Bible School program and gave children who experienced hardships at home an ear. I loved meeting so many new people and being the figure in one's life that is there for them. That same program is also where I met my bandmates. With my band, I feel the same connections and fulfillment when we play music and strangers get up to dance and sing. Though I've experienced a lot of hardships and I still struggle with my mental health, at least I know that music, words, mind, soul, everything, unites us all. I aim to become a drug rehab therapist to show others it's never too late to be understood or to change for the better, or a school therapist to show invalidated youth that they are never alone. I stand to break toxic traditions and mindsets within my family still, and hope to use my education in Psychological and Brain Sciences at UCSB to hopefully educate them too.

As Americans, we as a society have statistically over time have become more divided and isolated. However, as Filipinos, one of the greatest introductory foundations of our culture isn't our karaoke skills or the food. It's rather a simple word; "Kapwa". Kapwa means "brotherhood", through our nation, our music, and our people. Music runs through my family's blood. My mother sings and my father plays all sorts of instruments with his band. Growing up, me and my family friends would watch our fathers play. We'd watch strangers come over and dance, the on and off switch between English, and Tagalog between parents and their children. Despite the music being in a different language and the people being different colors, the melody and chords spoke a language that was universal. I like to think those times were my prime example of Filipino-American Kapwa between natives and immigrants. Until high school came I found that not everyone's tunes could compute with one another. Not only was I bullied relentlessly, but I was struggling with a rare autoimmune disease called localized scleroderma. All of quarantine and high school I had to be put on chemotherapy which resulted in cognitive impairment and skipping school to go on IV steroids weekly. Because of my chronic illness, I lost a lot of social skills, struggled in school, and friends. It ruined my joints so I could barely play guitar, but I always thought of my parents struggles as Immigrants and the sacrifices made. I wanted to do good for them and achieve their American dream. This is where I learned another foundation of Filipino culture which is "Katatagan", which means resilience. Even though I was skipping school, I created my own lesson plans, changed my diet, taking walks every morning, and talking to friends to see what I have missed. All of this consistently brought me out of the chemo and onto a much milder medication. The profound renewing power I had just earned led me to become the Multicultural president of my highschool junior year and open others minds' to cultures such as mine. I also started a band with my friends and played at Filipino festivals, college campuses like UC Davis, and parties. In the end, my parents genes really did pull through, because I saw strangers dancing the same way I did when I was little. This is my unique "Kapwa" and "Katatagan".

"Kapwa" in tagalog means brotherhood. When my titas and titos filled my plates up because their bones were once bare of flesh growing up, or when I'd play guitar for my little cousins and nephews while they ran around during a Christmas party, this was "Kapwa". I don't know how to speak tagalog, or kapampangan, like everyone else, but the glow of the room and buzzing of laughter is a universal language. I shared my love towards my brotherhood through writing music. I was heavily involved in school music performances, festivals, and my catholic church. However, the bridge over the language barrier was burned down when I learned I had morphea, a 1 in 100,000 skin condition that affected my nerves with scar tissue, stripping my muscles away. Due to this, I was put on aggressive steroids and chemotherapy. I could barely handle going to school without throwing up and skipping because I felt so nauseous, my grades dropped and my relationship with my parents became strained because of this. There was no "Kapwa" in my household anymore, and I became very depressed. I didn't know what I wanted to do in life until I reached out to mental health resources in my school and realized psychology was my passion. During quarantine, when I saw struggle in myself, my friends, and even my parents, it inspired me to take on what many Filipinos consider taboo. Because, well, breaking norms and sitting down and sympathize with others out of unconditional love IS "Kapwa". I decided to hone in on my academics. I took initiative to rest well, go on a healthier diet, and go on walks while I talked to my friends over the phone about what I missed in school. Over time, I compiled my own learning plan, did physical therapy, and my condition is much better now since I'm on a much milder medication present day! I'm much happier in my household and there's a lot more harmony. Today, I realize my parents sacrificed a lot to be in the US now and we started off rough in San Francisco. However, no amount of money can ever explain how much reverence I have for my parents when they worked hours to provide for our family yet still cramming time to throw my 7th birthday party. They truly outdid themselves even growing up without present parents. Knowing the struggle from my family, visiting the Philippines and seeing those less forutnate than me but always laughing and helping eachother inspires me to do my hardest with the opportunity to live in the US, because I stand for Kapwa. I strive to break generational curses and hope to end our community's natural "No thinking of our mental health, we need to survive" mindset. Resilience is something my parent's childhood taught me when they and myself lived through poverty, a key to surviving in the Philippines. But growing up here in the US and meeting a diverse set of people taught me that resilience does not equal suppression. Now I'm in a band where we play at Filipino youth led festivals, restaurants, and birthday parties and on my way to UC Santa Barbara as a Pre-Psychological and Brain Science Major on the way to be a Psychiatrist. My synchronization of both my proud Filipino and American culture truly taught me that no matter what, "We'll [always] get by with a smile" - Eraserheads

In white, American, suburban Rocklin Highschool, you'd expect that there wouldn't be much representation. Well, you'd be right. Our school's BSU (Black Student Union) Club deactivated because of the groupchats created to make fun of it, and our AYLA (Asian Youth Leadership Association) club barely got any representation. Me and my buddies decided to start a multicultural club after watching how successful one went in the same white suburban city we lived in, just in another school. We took action and quickly started planning the club and what activities we would partake. These activities included slide shows on a country presented by someone of it's origin, accompanied by the food from it's country. Luckily, the club became a hit because of this and I was proud to be the president of it. I gathered many of the unseen people to be seen by having them present their unique cultures with delicious food. The classroom was full and the environment had many smiles and laughs every bi-weekly meeting. However, the behind-the-scenes work was a constant struggle. Coordinating everyone's schedules and making sure there was enough food for everyone often felt like a treacherous task. The stress of ensuring everything ran smoothly was tough, but seeing the joy and connections formed made it all worthwhile. Because of this, public speaking became very fluid and easy for me, when it used to be very hard considering how extroverted I am. I became comfortable with fellow minorities and the feeling was mutual because we all saw each other. Eventually, me and the other cultural clubs came together to host a talent show showcasing talents learned from their origins, or just talents in general. This came with a lot of preparation, financial management, and trekking emails and our campus back and forth asking teachers and staff for their assistance. They were kind enough to help come with microphones and I even decided to bring in my own band to play music for the event, which helped me bring me out of my shell in front of the people I was most insecure around. We created sign up sheets and we got over 25+ volunteers to help decorate, set up, and contribute food for the event. The turn out was phenomenal with 100+ people attending, having people sit on the floor because of how many people came. After all of this, I can say that Multicultural club in white suburban rocklin has become a haven for the minorities that dwell in our school. The leadership skills I've developed from coordinating meetings and this successful event has taught me that I truly do have an impactful voice to not only my generation, but the school staff has reflected my voice can echo to older generations as well. Because of the smiles my team and I have planted amongst others. I believe that my future aspirations can sit ontop of this foundation; I wish to touch people's hearts and souls by becoming a therapist in children's mental health. I want to "sing" to the world, by being the music that makes people harmonize. I want to connect people and get in touch with people, and this experience has further qualified and inspired me to do so.

"Anak, when I was your age I had to bike with your tito to school on a bike while rabid dogs would chase us," my mother stared at me with disappointment and contempt, "this should be nothing for you." She left my room sighing while I sobbed on the couch. I thought it was the end of the world at the time, but really I was just 6 years old and all of my friends had abandoned me. My trusted parent and guardian growing up was my ipad and the internet. Technology guided me as my parents fought over issues I can't seem to recall now because I was younger and went to work as a struggling family. Even though it was as little as my friends leaving me when I was six, this wasn't the only time I was dismissed. I was bullied, I was excluded, and a lot of the time I was unwelcomed in public school because of the color of my skin, or how I acted because of the culture I was raised in, or my natural filipino features. When I would report these things to my parents, I would get the same "When I was your age" talk. As years passed and I eventually got a hold of social media, I began seeking for attention and comfort to make up for the lack my parents showed. I would then end up having a lot of my life broadcasted to the entire world as a child, but this wasn't enough for me. My mental health and the way I grew up so fast due to being raised by the internet was so rough I started self harming at the age of 10 yeats old. I was the first case in my elementary school to do this, so it was pretty big among the staff. Once my parents found out, they scolded me and told me I was going to go to hell for hurting myself and overall a disappointment to God. I was brought to therapy and I spent that single entire therapy session looking at a website of hobbies for me to partake in (even though I had plenty) because my therapist thought I was just unproductive and I didn't have actual problems. All of this overall discouraged me to seek any further help and I never went back to that therapist. So I turned to relationships, relationships that were abusive sexually, verbally, sometimes even physically, my first one being at 12 years old. I couldn't stay single for 5 years because I was so reliant on relationships to keep me company since I was so scared of being alone. My mental health was still declining and I ended up self harming again. I was desperate to get better since I didn't want my whole life to be a waste so I finally sought out help, I gave therapy another chance. One of the first things the school therapists asked me was "What do you wanna do in the future?" and I said "Well I wanted to be a nurse, but I'm not passionate about it.. Then a teacher, but I'm not good at teaching, so I'm not sure." The therapist put down his pen and asked "What if you did what I did?" and it sparked in me. I want to be a therapist to help the unseen youth since their problems are always down played for being "too young". Ever since then I found a path I was happiest with by seeking help, even after so much discouragement.