A Mother’s Greatest Gift “Aaron? Is that how it’s pronounced?” the teacher asked. Yeah, that’s fine “No please, correct me if I’m wrong.” That works. There are many ways of pronouncing my name. My mother used to say that my name, Arun, was special, that the numerous pronunciations would develop me in different ways. But what was special about constantly disrupting the steady flow of class attendance? Well, here goes… Aroon, Urun: I am “Aroon” to my North-Indian family, “Urun'' to my South-Indian family, but as a child, I wasn’t connected to either. I attended my first Indian wedding when I was seven. I recall standing stiff in the center of the dance floor, overwhelmed by foreign lyrics and endless rows of relatives dancing the bhangra. Spotting the exit, I frantically maneuvered through the staggering clash of “oo” and “u” as excited family members called me over to dance. Before I reached the doors, familiar hands spun me around back into the action. My mother smiled softly as she danced with me across the floor. Struggling to keep up with the music’s rhythm, the once harsh cacophony of the “oo”s and “u”s of my name suddenly intertwined with the tempo of the Bhangra, creating blissful welcomes to a beautifully vibrant culture. A-run: My parents' British accent emphasizes the “a” vowel in my name. I spent the first five years of my life in the United Kingdom, a country I still visit regularly. Despite roaring chants with fellow Nottingham Forest football (soccer) supporters at Sunday matches, or late-night binge-watching Doctor Who, my cousins would always make fun of my Americanized accent, insisting that I’m not a true Brit. Noticing my frustration, my mother simply said: “You are British if you want to be,” These words have helped me understand that culture isn’t inherent, but rather something that can be cultivated. Alan-kun: As there is no “r” sound in Japanese, my name is especially difficult to pronounce for them. I moved to Japan when I was five, and because I started school without knowing a word of Japanese, I felt worlds apart from my classmates. When the kindergarten offered a free trip to visit a rural Buddhist temple. I was reluctant to go, but my mother registered us anyway. However, as I entered the temple, isolated amidst beautiful mountains and flowing streams, my frustration became awe. The smiles of the locals gave me an unexpected sense of familiarity, the experience igniting my appreciation for Japanese culture. The name “Alan-kun” was no longer a symbol of discomfort, but a reminder of my mother’s lesson that if I know where to look, I’ll see that cultural beauty can extend far beyond language. Aaron, Eren: I moved to New York when I was eight, the New York twang exaggerating the “a” sound. When we arrived, my mother emphasized that the beauty of America lay within its many cultures. But when my mother was diagnosed with breast cancer and passed away soon after, I was left alone to navigate a universe I had only traversed by the comfort of my mother’s hand. Amidst the pain, I found comfort within my local community who rallied to support me. Hearing my friends call out “Aaron” to offer rides home after soccer games or seeing a misspelled “Eren” on dropped-off baskets of food was heart-warming. Up until this point, I had been focused on the cultural and linguistic virtues in all my old homes, but these acts of kindness united them into one, helping me finally understand my mother's deeper philosophy: seeing the beauty in humanity. My mother’s love has always led me by exposing me to diverse cultures and experiences. This love continues to lead me, my “special” name being a testament to everything she was and everything I aspire to be. “Arun” was my mother's greatest gift, and I will forever welcome all its pronunciations.

Sort, fold, package, repeat. These words solidified in my mind as my mentor continuously repeated such during my training at the Sharing Shelf, our community's local clothing bank. He was three years older than me and took each step very seriously. I could feel him non-verbally questioning my dedication to the process as he made quick glances in my direction, making sure I was paying attention. I was fourteen at the time, and although having volunteered before, I was admittedly not drawn towards it. However, watching him ignited a sense of admiration, and I felt inclined to do my best to replicate him. Each week, I followed his practice, and after a few months we became good friends. He would tell me stories of how children's faces light up after receiving the clothes we package for Christmas, and my admiration for him started to translate to an admiration for volunteerism in general. A few years later, I decided that I wanted to expand my journey as a volunteer, and pursued such through joining Altruism, a youth-led non-profit that promotes literacy in under-resourced areas. This organization ticked every box; It promoted a cause dear to my heart, reading and writing, had an international impact with chapters all over the world, and was led by teens like myself. I managed to attain the Vice President role for the Westchester Chapter, and facilitate speakership events and book drives throughout the New York community. To this day, I translate the lessons taught by my mentor at the sharing shelf to my own ventures, and continue to advocate the importance of volunteerism, just as he had done for me.

“Faster! Faster! Faster!” I shouted at my computer as it booted up, eager to register in time for this month's Call of Duty Tournament. After a few practice games, my team and I were confident we could make it to the podium. However, as usual, this confidence quickly faded. After losing five games in a row, both of my teammates bailed, and I was left alone staring at my screen. When I opened the chat to congratulate the victors, I was shocked by the overwhelmingly hateful messages, the slurs and racist rhetoric used to lambast everyone who had performed poorly. As this environment continued to pervade my gaming experience, I realized that there was a need to properly address it. So, I started FocusUpGaming, an Esports platform that promotes a healthy competitive space for gamers of all skill levels. To start, in order to ensure that players weren’t discriminated against or harassed, I implemented anti-hate speech and pro-diversity policies. Also, wanting to accommodate amateur play, I created skill-based divisions so even less experienced players could build their Esports repertoire. Soon, what started off as small tournaments between me, my brother, and friends eventually grew to custom-made events with thousands of participants from all over the world. One day, while streaming an event, I received a $25 donation from a mother who said, “Hi there! Just wanted to thank you and FocusUpGaming for the opportunity you bring! My whole family enters these tournaments every week and we love it!” A year later, the chat’s hateful messages had turned into a place where amateur gamers from around the world could pursue their dreams in Esports, and freely express their backgrounds on that journey. To me, influence means gaining the respect and appreciation of others from impacting their lives in positive ways. Whether it be as an Esports tournament host, or during my day-to-day life, I always try to create inclusive, non-discriminatory spaces. This mindset was ingrained within me by my late mother, who passed away when I was twelve; she taught me how to value individuals as humans, regardless of their backgrounds, and I continue to carry her teachings in all aspects of life. Overcoming her loss reminds me to treat others with respect, something that reciprocates in relationships. Be it FocusUpGaming, or a future venture, I will continue following my passion to fight against negative social constructs through higher education in Computer Science. A few months into running FocusUpGaming, I noticed tournament organizations implementing live-leaderboard-tracking integrations and complex skill-based-matchmaking algorithms onto their platform. As a sixteen-year-old with little experience programming, this technology was daunting since they offered a gaming experience that we just couldn’t replicate. Here, I internalized that my ability to promote inclusivity was being corroded by cutting-edge tech, which is why I will pursue CS in university. Receiving this scholarship would not only help to achieve my goal of spreading inclusivity through community-building but would allow me to carry Jack’s resolve of pursuing positive influence in society.

My mother used to say that my name Arun was special. She assured me that the uniqueness in its multiple pronunciations was “cool”. As time passed, I started to understand. Aroon, Urun: I am either “Aroon” or “Urun” to my Indian relatives. Although I am ethnically Indian, I never authentically practiced the culture or religion. At the age of eight, I went to my first Indian wedding. I remember standing stiff in the center of the dance floor overwhelmed by foreign lyrics and hundreds of relatives dancing the bhangra, a traditional Indian dance. I had no experience in this setting and eagerly maneuvered through the crowd looking for a way out. Towards my exit, a set of familiar hands spun me around, dragging me back into the party. My mother looked at me with her immaculate smile, and we started to move. Sure, we may not have been doing the bhangra, or even on tempo with the music, but we were having fun. My mother taught me that to be comfortable within a culture, all I need is the willingness to embrace its practices. A-run: I was born in the United Kingdom where I lived for five years and go back annually to see my family. On my visits, I remember complaining to my mother about how my cousins would make fun of my non-British accent. I wasn’t considered a typical Brit, despite my love for football (soccer), fish and chips, and dark humor. My mother responded with this: “You are British if you want to be.” These words echo in my mind to this day. It reestablished my definition of culture as something that is chosen and not necessarily inherent. Aran-kun: At age five, I moved to Japan where I initially didn't feel at home. The thought of entering as a foreigner who couldn't speak Japanese deterred me from assimilating to the culture. At school, there was an optional field trip to visit a traditional Japanese Temple outside of Tokyo. I begged my mother not to sign me up, but instead, she registered us both. My frustration soon turned into awe. The temple, isolated amidst beautiful mountains and flowing streams, was both serene and inviting. The smiles of the local people gave me an unexpected sense of familiarity. This experience unraveled a side of Japanese culture that I quickly explored through endeavors such as Martial Arts. My mother’s enthusiasm showed me that culture extends beyond language, and its beauty can only be found if I seek it. Aaron, Eren: My next move was to Harrison, New York at age eight. America was not defined by a singular culture, which is why my mother advocated for moving there. Unfortunately, before we could experience this international melting pot, she was diagnosed with Breast Cancer, and eventually, the day came when my mother passed away. The center of my universe was now gone, and I was lost. Luckily, the community around Harrison wouldn’t let me sulk alone. The friends that I had made, told their parents to drive me to school, soccer practices, and would even sometimes drop off dinner! These acts helped me see beyond one's culture and encapsulated my mother’s ideology: the beauty in humanity. My mother led me on a global adventure, exposing me to diverse cultures and experiences that have shaped my character. I now understand that my name, Arun, is “cool” because it is adaptable. My mother showed me that I have the freedom of choice in my culture and name’s pronunciation. “Arun” was my mother's greatest gift, and I will forever welcome all its pronunciations.