My name is Aryana Hodjat, but to most people, especially my little brother, I am just Yana. When he was younger, he could not pronounce “Aryana,” so he shortened it, and the nickname stuck. As his big sister, six years older, I have grown into the role of being his guide, protector, and mentor. I have taught him to be kind, responsible, and to work hard. In doing so, I have learned those lessons more deeply myself. Our late night talks, spontaneous slushie runs, and even our arguments have shaped who I am—someone who leads with heart, shows up, and wants to make a difference. That desire to lead and uplift others has been a theme in every part of my life. As an athlete, I have played softball at a national level and swam competitively on elite teams. Sports have taught me discipline, resilience, and confidence—but they also opened my eyes to the inequality that women in athletics often face. I have seen talented female athletes go unnoticed while boys’ teams received better funding, equipment, and visibility. I have played through injuries, worn mismatched gear, and watched my teammates work twice as hard for half the attention. I did not accept it—I decided to act. In high school, I mentored younger girls on my team. I organized gear drives so every player had what she needed. I encouraged new athletes to speak up and believe in their abilities. These efforts showed me how powerful it can be when women support each other—and how much change is still needed. This is not always a popular issue to care about, and this scholarship is the only one I have come across that directly supports young women who want to uplift other women. That alone means a lot to me. Support for women's goals, ambitions, and dignity should not be rare. Academically, I developed a strong interest in business and economics through challenging courses like AP Microeconomics, Macroeconomics, and Statistics. These classes made the numbers come alive and helped me understand how systems affect real people. My teacher, Mrs. Holliday, sparked a passion in me for using data and logic to improve lives. That is why I will be majoring in business and economics at the University of South Carolina. My dream is to work in sports business or law, focusing on equity and inclusion for women. I plan to pursue a minor in sports management so I can build a career where I combine my passions. I want to advocate for fair funding, equal coaching opportunities, and better media representation for female athletes. But more than that, I want to change how young girls view their own potential. I want them to know their dreams are valid and within reach. Too often, women are told to wait their turn, to accept less, or to stay quiet. We are interrupted in classrooms, passed over in boardrooms, and not taken seriously in healthcare settings. I want to help build a world where that does not happen. I want to use my education and voice to open doors and create better systems—for athletes, students, and future leaders. I am Aryana—Yana—big sister, athlete, student, and future business leader. I am committed to uplifting women, not only by breaking barriers but by helping others break theirs too. Whether it is on the field, in the classroom, or in the workplace, I will continue to stand for equity, empowerment, and the belief that every woman deserves the chance to lead and thrive.

My name is Aryana, but most people call me Yana. I’m an 18 year old high school senior, big sister, part time online seller, volunteer, and full time dreamer. I come from a loving but financially struggling family, and from a young age, I’ve taken on the responsibility of helping keep things running, not just in the house, but in our future. Being the oldest sibling comes with its own kind of pressure, but I’ve always embraced it. My younger brother looks up to me, and I try every day to be the kind of example he can be proud of. I’ve taught him everything from doing homework on a schedule to learning how to save money instead of spending it on impulse. I want him to grow up strong, responsible, and ready to make smart choices, no matter how hard things get. To help support our family, I started selling clothes on my mom’s Facebook account. I looked up trending styles, took pictures, managed customer messages, and packaged each order myself. What began as a simple idea turned into a small side hustle that helped us buy groceries, pay for school supplies, and even cover birthday gifts. Through it, I learned the basics of marketing, budgeting, customer service, and patience, all without leaving our living room. That experience sparked something in me, a love for business and problem solving. At the same time, I’ve stayed involved in my community. Every December, I volunteer with Shelter Inc. to help collect and distribute toys to families facing homelessness during the holidays. Seeing the joy on kids’ faces when they receive something brand new, something they never expected, is one of the best feelings in the world. It reminds me that generosity and care don’t always come from money. They come from effort, heart, and showing up. These experiences at home and in the community have shaped what I want to do with my life. I plan to attend college and major in Business and Economics, not just to improve my own future, but to help others like me, especially young people of color, understand how to manage their money, create opportunities, and become economically independent. I want to teach them what I had to learn on my own, that financial literacy is power. That it’s not just about surviving, it’s about building. It’s about creating a life where we are in control of our futures. So many students like me have the drive and passion, but we’re often held back by financial barriers. College is expensive. And while I’ve worked hard to maintain a 4.3 GPA and take challenging AP courses, scholarships like this one are what make continuing my education possible. I’ve done everything I can to prepare for this next step, now I just need the chance to take it. Receiving the Deborah Thomas Memorial Scholarship would mean more than just help with tuition. It would be a vote of confidence, a sign that someone believes in me, in my story, and in what I’m trying to build for my future and for my community. I hope to pay that forward one day, by starting my own organization or program that teaches young people, especially in underserved communities, how to take control of their financial futures with knowledge and confidence. Thank you for considering my application. This scholarship isn’t just an investment in my education. It’s an investment in all the people I plan to uplift and inspire along the way.

My name is Aryana, aka Yana, and I still remember the first time I heard Billie Eilish’s voice. I was 14, sitting on my bedroom floor after a really rough day at school. Someone had made a comment about how quiet and odd I was. I was scrolling through YouTube when I stumbled on “ocean eyes.” I clicked play and everything changed. That song felt like someone had put all my unspoken feelings into words. Billie’s voice was soft but haunting, vulnerable but strong. Since then, Billie Eilish’s songs have been more than just something I listen to. They’ve become my comfort, my mirror, and my reminder that it’s okay to be different. It’s hard to pick just three favorites, but the songs that mean the most to me are “ocean eyes,” “everything i wanted,” and “my future.” “ocean eyes” is where it all began. There’s this tenderness in her voice that made me feel safe in my sadness. At 14, I didn’t know how to express what I was going through—anxiety, self-doubt, the feeling that I didn’t belong anywhere. It didn’t ask me to explain myself. It just let me feel. Then came “everything i wanted.” I remember playing it on repeat during the pandemic when life felt like it was falling apart. School was online, my mom was working overtime to support us, and I felt really isolated. That line “If I could change the way that you see yourself, you wouldn't wonder why you're here, they don't deserve you” wrecked me in the best way. It was like Billie knew exactly how it felt to not be okay. That song helped me feel less alone at a time when loneliness was my daily reality. Finally, “my future.” This one is like a little anthem for who I’m becoming. At 18, I’m just starting to figure out who I am and what I want. I’ve always been someone who worries about the future—about whether I’ll succeed, make people proud, or even be happy. But this song flipped that perspective. Instead of fearing the future, Billie made me excited about it. That lyric “I’m in love with my future, can’t wait to meet her” made me cry the first time I heard it. It gave me permission to believe that I have potential and that my future self might actually be someone I’m proud of. Another reason I admire Billie so much is because of the way she uses her platform to make a difference. Her work around mental health awareness, climate change, and youth empowerment is truly inspiring. Because of Billie, I started volunteering with local youth programs and food banks in my city. I realized that even though I’m young, I can still make an impact. Whether it's organizing hygiene kits for families or tutoring younger students, I’ve found a sense of purpose in giving back. Billie’s example reminded me that authenticity and kindness can go hand in hand. Now, as I prepare to start college, I carry Billie’s messages with me. I want to help others navigate the same struggles I’ve faced with anxiety and self-worth. Her music gave me the emotional vocabulary to understand myself better, and I want to help others do the same. This scholarship would mean a lot—not just financially, but emotionally. Billie’s music has shaped me, supported me, and reminded me to stay true to who I am. Getting to share that connection feels like a full circle moment. Thank you for reading my story. And thank you, Billie, for being the voice I needed—then and now.

Pursuing a college education has always been part of my plan, not just for personal success, but to uplift communities like the one I grew up in. This fall, I will begin my finance and business studies at the University of South Carolina. My goal is to translate that education into accessible financial literacy programs for underserved families. I was raised in Pittsburg, CA, where my mom has taught at a low-income middle school for over 11 years. She tirelessly supports students coping with poverty, food insecurity, and limited educational opportunities. By watching her stretch every resource and dollar, I learned that true compassion requires intentional sacrifice and resolve. I was also inspired by the hardworking immigrant families in our community who strove to build better futures for their children. Our family faced its own financial hardship. My dad often had trouble securing steady work, and my mom’s teacher salary covered most of our needs. From thrift shopping and coupon clipping to pouring water from half-full bottles onto houseplants, we practiced intentional resourcefulness. When I asked for a laptop, my mom didn’t just buy one—she told me I’d have to earn half the cost. That prompted me to sell old toys and clothes on her Facebook, and run lemonade stands (with cups and ice I bought myself). These early ventures taught me that effort and discipline can translate into opportunity. Reading "Real Insights" by John Graff has given me a clear picture of how to build this vision into sustainable practice. In Chapter Two, Graff issues a warning to real estate agents: nearly 87 percent of new professionals fail within five years due to lack of planning, inconsistent marketing, and inadequate financial discipline. He urges new agents to treat their work as entrepreneurial ventures, budgeting, building their personal brand, and systematically tracking metrics. This resonates deeply with my career aspirations. My workshops must be treated as business ventures from day one: creating clear budgets, marketing through flyers and online platforms, measuring attendance and outcomes, and reinvesting proceeds to expand access. I plan to begin with free budgeting sessions in middle school and add high school investing classes as credibility builds. From Chapter One, Graff identifies traits of the successful minority; discipline, follow-up, data-driven decisions, and unrelenting persistence. I intend to build my workshops around these traits: follow-up surveys, data collection on participants’ progress, and ongoing adjustment to content and outreach based on the findings. These lessons from "Real Insights" underscore that passion for helping others must be reinforced by business acumen and rigorous planning. As a finance student, I take these strategies seriously and I believe that combining them with my community background can turn compassion into measurable impact. Earning the Ashby & Graff Real Estate Scholarship would lift a significant financial burden from my family and allow me to focus on refining this educational model. With your support, I can bring that service to college communities and beyond.

My journey into Christianity was neither immediate nor without questions. I was raised in a household filled with cultural depth but religious complexity. My mother, a devoted Catholic and a compassionate schoolteacher, lost trust in the Church during the sex abuse scandals. Her faith, once a steady presence, turned into quiet disillusionment. My father, a Muslim who fled Iran as a child during the revolution, practiced his faith with caution and critical thought. He encouraged me to think independently, often repeating, “Don’t be brainwashed. Think for yourself.” Instead of enforcing religious belief, my parents gave me and my brother the freedom to explore. That exploration led me to Wildside, the children’s program at our local Presbyterian church. It started as a fun weekly activity, but over the years, it planted seeds of curiosity and faith. As I matured, I began to wrestle with deeper spiritual questions. I saw how the media often portrayed religious people in a negative light and how conflict around the world was sometimes tied to religion. And yet, I found that faith, real, quiet, personal faith, was a source of comfort and direction. Christianity eventually became the place where I could set down my questions and rest in grace. It wasn’t about having all the answers, but about finding peace. Last summer, I answered a long growing call and got baptized. It was the most significant decision of my spiritual life, one that signaled a new chapter of commitment to God, service, and leadership. That commitment deepened during an Easter break mission trip to Tijuana, where I helped build homes for families in need. It was physically hard but spiritually uplifting. On the final day, we wrote down our regrets, mistakes, and burdens on sticky notes and nailed them to a cross we had built. That symbolic act, letting go and giving it to God, filled me with hope and reminded me of the meaning of sacrifice, forgiveness, and new beginnings. Now, as I prepare to attend the University of South Carolina to study finance, I carry that hope with me. I’ve come to see finance not just as a career path but a calling. Growing up in a working class Mexican American family, I learned about budgeting through lived experience. When I wanted a laptop as a kid, my mom told me I’d have to earn half the cost. So I sold my old toys and clothes on her Facebook account. I had lemonade stands where I had to buy my own ice and cups. We clipped coupons, poured leftover water into houseplants, and turned thrift store jeans into cool DIY shorts. It wasn’t just frugality, it was resourcefulness. It was stewardship. These early lessons made me realize that many families like mine could benefit from financial literacy. That’s why I want to use my degree to help people in under resourced communities make smarter financial choices. I envision teaching free budgeting workshops in middle schools and investing basics in high schools. I want to launch a nonprofit that bridges finance and faith, equipping others with practical tools while leading with integrity and compassion. Faith plays a central role in these goals. It’s what gave me the strength to push forward during hard times. It’s what fuels my desire to serve others with honesty and empathy. My faith teaches me that leadership isn’t about titles or recognition, it’s about lifting others up and making a difference in the everyday lives of those around me. That’s why receiving the Patricia Lindsey and Eva Mae Jackson Memorial Scholarship would mean so much. Patricia and Eva Mae were women who lived their lives with purpose, integrity, and unwavering dedication to education and their communities. Their legacy is deeply inspiring to me. Like them, I believe in the power of education to change lives and in the importance of serving others with heart and humility. I see their values in my mother, who has spent her life teaching and supporting students while raising me with strength and sacrifice, and in myself, as I strive to honor her sacrifices through my own education and service. I may not have had a traditional path into faith or privilege in my upbringing, but I have been shaped by faith, perseverance, and the commitment to serve. With this support, I will continue their legacy and be a good steward of the opportunity I’ve been given.

My journey into Christianity was anything but smooth, it was, in every sense, a winding and sometimes confusing path. I was born in Boston around the time the Catholic Church was reeling from publicized sex abuse scandals, and the world around me was filled with skepticism toward religious institutions. For my mom, a lifelong Catholic and a devoted teacher whose entire adult life had been spent caring for children, the revelations were more than heartbreaking—they were enraging. Her faith, once a source of comfort, became a place of conflict. Though she never stopped believing in God, she distanced herself from the Church. For years, I watched her wrestle with resentment, disappointment, and silence. My dad, on the other hand, had grown up in Iran and had experienced a different kind of religious tension. As a child, he fled the Iranian Revolution with his family. Although he identified as a Muslim, his approach to faith was more relaxed and academic than spiritual. He never pushed religion on us; in fact, he often repeated one core idea: “Don’t be brainwashed—think for yourself.” He taught us to question everything, to analyze, to reflect. From a young age, my brother and I were told that we could choose our own path, whatever that may be. No pressure. No fear. That open road led me to Wildside—the children’s program at our local Presbyterian church. It wasn’t a place of pressure, either. It was joyful. There were Bible stories, of course, and lessons about Jesus, but mostly there were games, snacks, songs, and laughter with friends. I didn’t know then what it meant to have a relationship with God. But looking back, I see it now: the seeds were planted there. Seeds of curiosity. Seeds of kindness. Seeds of faith, even if I didn’t yet have the words for it. During these meetings I learned that during difficult teen moments, God was with me and was encouraged to make thoughtful and kind decisions that reflected God's expectations of me. As I grew older, I began to wrestle more seriously with questions of faith. The media often portrayed religious people as harsh, judgmental, or out of touch. Wars across the world, both historical and present—were tied to religious differences. I began to ask myself: How could a loving God allow such division? How could faith, meant to unite people, also be the source of so much conflict? These questions didn’t drive me away from faith, but they made me cautious. I didn’t want to blindly follow anything. I needed to experience God for myself. Christianity eventually became the place I could call home. It wasn’t about blind obedience or checking boxes, it was about grace. It was about love. The more I read the Bible, the more I saw a consistent, gentle invitation to live a life of compassion, humility, and peace. I realized that the God I was coming to know wasn’t harsh or angry, He was patient. He was steady. He had been with me all along, quietly guiding me through every twist and turn. Last summer, I was baptized. I had felt the calling for a while, but that moment felt right, like the completion of one journey and the start of another. As I came out of the water, I felt something I can only describe as peace. Not the kind of peace that comes from having all the answers, but the kind that comes from knowing you’re on the right path. My path. A path both my parents encouraged and supported. One of the most transformative faith experiences I’ve had came during an Easter break mission trip, where I helped build homes for families in Tijuana. It was a physically exhausting but spiritually uplifting week. We spent our days hammering, painting, lifting, doing the hard but joyful work of service. But one moment stands out. On the last day, we each wrote our mistakes, regrets, and personal pains on Post-it notes. Then, one by one, we walked up to a large wooden cross we had built and nailed those notes to it. It was a small but deeply symbolic gesture—a way of handing our burdens over to God. In that moment, I truly understood what it meant to be redeemed by Christ’s sacrifice. I felt lighter, freer, and more open to living a life rooted in grace. That simple act of surrender filled me with a hope I hadn’t known before and reminded me that no matter how broken we feel, God offers us a fresh start. This fall, I will begin a new chapter at the University of South Carolina. Alongside my academic journey where I will be studying finance. I am excited to join a Christian church and deepen my understanding of God’s word. I plan to participate in Bible studies, campus ministry, and service projects that allow me to live out my faith in real and tangible ways. I want to walk the path of goodness and reflect God’s love in how I treat others, how I carry myself, and how I serve my community. I believe God has a purpose for each of us, and for me, that purpose involves financial literacy and economic empowerment, especially in underserved communities. I have always had an interest in business, but I’ve come to see finance not just as a career, but as a calling. I’ve seen how economic struggle can break families, stifle dreams, and limit opportunities. I’ve also seen how even a small amount of financial knowledge can change lives. I want to become a financial consultant with a focus on education, equity, and faith-based service. My vision is to launch a nonprofit that offers free financial literacy classes to youth and families in under-resourced communities. This would include everything from budgeting and saving to understanding credit, applying for loans, and planning for college. I want to make these programs accessible in both English and Spanish and host them at community centers, schools, and churches. My dream is that by equipping people with financial tools and biblical wisdom, I can help them build not just wealth but peace of mind, self-worth, and freedom. To make this dream a reality, I need to succeed in college not just academically, but practically. Like many students, my family faces financial limitations. Paying for tuition, books, housing, and basic living expenses will be a serious challenge. My mom, who continues to work tirelessly as a teacher, has done so much to support me, but she simply cannot afford to cover the cost of college. My dad does what he can, but we’ve always lived on a tight budget. I’ve been working part-time jobs and applying for scholarships, knowing that every bit helps. Receiving this scholarship would relieve a tremendous burden from my shoulders. It would allow me to focus on my studies, say yes to internships and extracurriculars, and spend more time serving others instead of just trying to make ends meet. More than that, it would affirm the journey I’ve taken, the risks I’ve faced, the questions I’ve asked, the decisions I’ve made. God has taken me through different paths, some challenging, some unexpected but I trust that His way will keep me safe. I believe that He has been preparing me all along: through my questioning childhood, through the joy of Wildside, through the heartbreak of a skeptical world, through the peace of my baptism. He has built a fire in me to serve. To lead. To help. And to live a life that reflects His love. In four years, I hope to be a college graduate, already working in the field of finance while volunteering with faith-based nonprofits that promote economic empowerment. In ten years, I hope to have launched my own organization, a space that blends spiritual support with financial education. A place where someone like my mom could go, not to be judged, but to be helped. A place where someone like me; confused, questioning, hopeful, could find clarity, and purpose, and peace. This scholarship would not just help me attend college, it would help me live my calling. It would make higher education possible, yes, but more importantly, it would make it meaningful. With this support, I will be able to turn my faith into action, my education into empowerment, and my dreams into service. Thank you for considering my application and for investing in students like me. Your support would change my life—and through my life, I hope to change the lives of others.

This fall, I will begin my journey at the University of South Carolina, where I’ll be majoring in finance. While I am incredibly excited about the courses I will take and the doors a degree in finance will open, I’m even more driven by what I hope to give back. As a young Mexican American woman from a working-class background, I know how deeply finances impact every part of a family’s life; our opportunities, stability, choices, and even our sense of dignity. My dream is to take what I learn in the classroom and bring it back into communities like mine, communities full of intelligence, drive, and talent, but often lacking in resources, access, and financial literacy. Unknowingly, finance has always been part of my life. It wasn’t taught formally, but through lived experience. When I was a child, I asked my mom for a laptop. I expected the usual yes or no answer, but instead, she told me, “You can get it but you have to earn half.” That moment changed everything. I got creative. I used her Facebook account to sell clothes that no longer fit and toys I didn’t use anymore. I set up a lemonade stand, but I quickly learned that even lemonade came with costs, I had to buy ice and cups! Later, a Christmas gift—a bracelet-making kit—became the start of a school-side business with a friend. Looking back, those little “side hustles” were my introduction to business planning, budgeting, and entrepreneurship. I was just a kid trying to buy a laptop, but I was unknowingly learning some of the most important principles of finance. Actually, the most important one, GRIT! Life at home was always filled with love, but also the reality of financial instability. My dad struggled to keep a steady job, and my mom worked long hours as a teacher. On top of that, she volunteered at my school as a room parent, often working late into the night on lesson plans and helping organize classroom events. She gave us everything she could—but I also saw what it cost her. I’ll never forget our classic conversations: “Mom, can we get In-N-Out?” and without missing a beat, she’d say, “We have food at home.” At the time, it felt frustrating. Now, I see it for what it was: a quiet lesson in discipline and self-sufficiency. My mom didn’t just save—she stretched. She walked around the house turning off lights, reused half-full water bottles by pouring them into houseplants, and made grocery lists around coupons and store sales. She taught me how to shop the clearance rack and find quality clothes at thrift stores. I still remember buying “fancy” jeans for just a few dollars, cutting them to make trendy shorts. It wasn’t just frugality—it was resourcefulness. I learned that money isn’t just about what you have; it’s about how you use it. These experiences gave me a deep understanding of financial awareness, long before I ever heard the term in school. Another person who truly shaped my understanding of resourcefulness was my AP Economics teacher, Mrs. Holliday. She taught us more than just the textbook curriculum—she taught us how to think. She reminded us that economics isn’t just about charts and numbers, but about choices, incentives, and creativity. Outside the classroom, Mrs. Holliday goes home and codes. She’s already created and sold five apps. Her example showed me that financial intelligence is tied to innovation, and that women—especially women of color—can thrive in spaces traditionally dominated by others. Her story was a reminder that the skills we build in school can translate into real-world impact if we’re willing to put in the effort and take risks. As I’ve grown older, I’ve realized how deeply the lack of financial education holds people back. I’ve watched friends’ families fall into debt with credit cards or car loans because they didn’t understand interest rates. That’s why, once I graduate with my finance degree, I want to become a community-focused financial educator and consultant. My mission is to help people—especially in minority and low-income communities understand money in a way that empowers them, not intimidates them. Over the next four years, I plan to offer free-of-charge budgeting workshops for middle school students and investing classes for high school students. Financial literacy must begin early in life. The earlier young people are introduced to these concepts, the more prepared they’ll be to make smart decisions about credit, savings, college debt, and long-term planning. I hope to partner with schools, churches, and youth organizations to bring this education to the places where young people already gather. In college, I want to take this idea further by launching a student-led initiative that connects finance majors with local residents and small businesses in need of financial guidance. Many small, minority-owned businesses have the talent and drive to succeed but lack access to financial advising. I want to help fill that gap by providing pro bono services—helping entrepreneurs create budgets, analyze spending, apply for loans or grants, and build strategies for long-term growth. Strong businesses build strong neighborhoods, and I believe in the power of bottom-up economic development. In the long term, I see myself becoming a financial consultant with a focus on sustainable and equitable development. I’m particularly interested in combining finance with environmental sustainability—teaching people how to invest in eco-friendly businesses, save on energy bills, and make ethical consumer choices. My dream is to eventually open a nonprofit financial education center that offers free courses, coaching, and resources in both English and Spanish. I want to work with businesses that are committed to racial equityand be part of a movement that doesn’t just talk about equity but actively builds it into business practices. But while my vision is clear, the road is not always easy. Like many students, I come from a family that cannot afford the rising costs of higher education. My mom has done everything she can to help, but as the oldest child in a working-class home, I’ve always known I would need to carry much of the financial burden myself. The cost of tuition, books, housing, and transportation adds up quickly. I’ve been working part-time jobs and applying for every scholarship I can, but even with all my efforts, making college affordable is still a challenge. That’s why this scholarship would make such a meaningful difference in my life. It would relieve a tremendous amount of financial pressure not just for me, but for my entire family. It would allow me to focus on my education, instead of constantly worrying about how I’ll pay for next semester’s classes. It would give me the breathing room to say yes to internships, workshops, and leadership opportunities that will shape my future. And most importantly, it would bring me one step closer to turning my dreams into reality. I’m not just going to college for myself. I’m going for every student who was told they couldn’t afford it. I’m going for every young girl who thinks finance isn’t for her. I’m going for my little brother, who already has big ideas, and for my parents, who gave up so much so I could get to this point. I’m going because I believe that knowledge and especially financial knowledge, should be accessible to everyone, no matter where they come from. I envision myself standing in a community center, leading a budgeting class for teenagers. I see myself sitting across the table from a local entrepreneur, helping them map out their growth. I see myself in boardrooms, on panels, and maybe even writing books, always working toward the same goal: empowerment through education. Thank you for considering me for this scholarship. With your support, I won’t just be able to attend college, I’ll be able to maximize every opportunity it offers, and give back tenfold (yes, I grew up in a pious household). This degree is not just a step forward for me, it’s a tool I will use to create real, lasting change for the people and places that raised me.

Starting this fall, I’ll be attending the University of South Carolina to study finance, and while I’m incredibly excited about all the opportunities ahead, I’m even more passionate about what I plan to give back. As a young Mexican American woman stepping into a field that historically hasn’t always reflected people who look like me, I know the importance of representation, equity, and using education to uplift not just myself but my entire community. Unknowingly, finance has always been a part of my life. When I was little, I asked my mom for a laptop. Instead of just saying yes, she told me I had to earn half the price. So I got to work. I used her Facebook account to sell clothes that no longer fit and toys I no longer played with. I had the classic lemonade stand, but I quickly learned that even that had startup costs, I had to buy the ice and cups myself. One Christmas, I received a bracelet-making kit. My friend and I started selling bracelets at school, turning a simple gift into a small business. I didn’t realize it at the time, but I was learning the basics of entrepreneurship, budgeting, and return on investment. Life was not easy for my parents. My dad struggled to keep a steady job, and my mom worked long hours as a teacher and even longer hours volunteering as a room parent. She made sure we always felt supported, but it wasn’t hard to see the sacrifices she made. I’ll never forget the conversations that became almost routine: “Mom, can we get In-N-Out?” and her response, every time: “We have food at home.” At the time, it felt frustrating. Now I see it was love, discipline, and wisdom. My mom also taught me how to stretch everything we had. I remember her always walking around the house, turning off lights in empty rooms, and pouring leftover water from our bottles into the plants instead of dumping it down the sink. She used coupons for groceries and taught me how to buy from the sale rack. We would go to the thrift store and buy fancy jeans for cheap, then cut them into cool shorts. It wasn’t just frugality, it was being resourceful. That mindset shaped the way I view money, sustainability, and the connection between the two. To me, creating a positive environmental impact means more than just caring for the planet. It also means building sustainable economic ecosystems in underserved communities. I want to help create a world where families like mine aren’t just getting by but building toward long-term security and success. I plan to use my finance degree to launch financial literacy programs that serve minority youth and families. These programs will teach real-world skills like budgeting, saving, credit, applying for financial aid, and basic investing. I believe that financial literacy must begin early in life. That’s why I plan to provide free-of-charge budgeting workshops at middle schools and investing classes at high schools. Giving students these tools early sets the foundation for financial confidence and smarter decisions later in life. I also hope to intern with companies like FLIK Hospitality Group that are committed to equity and long-term impact. I admire FLIK’s dedication to removing structural barriers and investing in the careers of Black and Brown employees from hire to retirement. Whether I’m sitting in a community center or a boardroom, I want to be someone who empowers others through financial knowledge. That’s how I’ll change the environment around me, by planting seeds of understanding and watching them grow into opportunity.

As an 18-year-old girl who unapologetically loves Love Island, I can honestly say I live for the drama, the recouplings, the fire pit chats, and yes, the completely ridiculous challenges. I watch every episode with snacks, a group chat blowing up, and my full attention. I know all the slang, I yell at the screen when someone’s acting shady, and I can practically predict a bombshell’s entrance by the tone of the background music. I even make my boyfriend Dylan watch it with me. He pretends to hate it, but I’ve caught him asking, “Wait, did Ella and Ty actually recouple?” and that says everything. My mom, on the other hand, is convinced this show is slowly killing my brain cells. She’ll walk past the TV, roll her eyes, and say something like, “Is this the one where they wear swimsuits and cry?” Yes, Mom. And I love it. So if I had the chance to create a challenge for Love Island, it would be one the islanders would never forget. I’d call it "Text-ationship Trouble." It’s inspired by something all of us have experienced—those weird, chaotic, slightly toxic conversations we’ve had over text with a crush. You know the kind. Where punctuation suddenly matters, where “k” feels aggressive, and where you're reading back your own message twelve times wondering if you sound too eager, too dry, or just... weird. Here’s how it works. The islanders are split into couples, obviously. Each couple receives a phone with a pre-loaded fake text conversation between two people who are definitely into each other, but also acting suspiciously casual. Think of texts like: “Lol yeah I’m not really looking for anything serious rn but I think ur cool” “Haha ok have fun with your lil party or whatever” “You didn’t text me back for 4 hours but it’s chill I wasn’t even on my phone” The couple has to act out the entire text convo in real life, in front of the other islanders. But here’s the twist—they can only communicate using the exact words from the text thread. No extras. No facial expressions. No emojis. Just vibes and awkward energy. Picture a really tense, slightly sarcastic breakup, but acted out like a Shakespeare play. After each performance, the rest of the villa has to guess what stage of the "talking phase" the couple is in. Is it pre-first-date? Mid-situationship meltdown? Post-ghosting comeback attempt? Bonus points if they can guess who left who on read. Then, we move on to the create-your-own round. Each islander is asked to write a fake “cringe text” they once sent to a crush—something they still regret but can laugh at now. They put the texts anonymously into the "Thirsty Text Box." A host reads them out loud in full dramatic fashion while the islanders try to guess who wrote what. like; “Hey just wondering if you made it home safe… even though it’s been three days” “Was that meant for me?” “I swear I’m not stalking you I just happened to be at the same restaurant as you and your ex” Once everyone has guessed, the truth is revealed, and of course, plenty of roasting and dramatic music follows. This challenge would be hilarious, chaotic, and weirdly relatable. Who hasn’t overthought a message or cringed at something they sent at 1:12 a.m.? It would become instantly iconic. It’s giving love. It’s giving chaos. It’s giving painfully real. So producers, if you're reading this—DM me. Until then, I’ll be on my couch with Dylan, brain cells and all, yelling “I’ve got a text!” every time my phone buzzes.

How My Family’s Story Shaped My Beliefs and Career Aspirations In 2018, more than 63% of foreign-born adults were employed in the United States, compared to about 60% of native-born adults. But behind the numbers are real people—brilliant thinkers, innovators, and incredibly hard-working individuals. Among them are my parents, whose stories have deeply shaped the person I am today and the future I strive to build. My father, Hooman, immigrated to the U.S. from Iran after facing unimaginable horrors during the 1979 revolution. His grandfather was shot by the new regime, and his father and uncles were forced to flee the country in fear for their lives. Families were torn apart, and safety, once taken for granted, was gone. As a young man, my dad arrived in the U.S. with little more than hope. He had to navigate a completely new language, culture, and way of life. Everything he had once known and felt comfortable with had been stripped away, and his future in this country was uncertain. Still, he persevered. My mother is the daughter of a Mexican immigrant and also faced her own struggles. Growing up, she tried to balance her Mexican heritage at home with the American values taught at school. Like so many first-generation children, she had to find her place between two cultures—never quite feeling like she fully belonged in either. Despite these challenges, she went on to become a teacher, dedicating 27 years of her life to educating and uplifting the next generation. I am the product of these two very different lives coming together to raise me and my younger brother, Alex. Our family is a true representation of the American Dream—an example of how resilience, sacrifice, and love can create something powerful. My dad has built a career in the technology field, contributing to innovation and progress, while my mom has shaped countless lives in the classroom. Together, they have shown me that success isn’t given—it’s earned through perseverance, integrity, and a belief in something greater than yourself. Their experiences have shaped my beliefs about the world. I believe in the strength of immigrants and the richness of diverse backgrounds. I believe that opportunity should not be determined by birthplace, language, or skin color. And I believe that education and community are the keys to breaking cycles of inequality and opening doors for future generations. Inspired by their journey, I plan to pursue a degree in business with a minor in public policy or sports management. My goal is to create programs that empower underrepresented youth—especially young women and immigrant students—to achieve their full potential. I’ve already started mentoring younger athletes, organizing gear drives, and volunteering with English language learners. These small actions are the first steps in a career devoted to advocacy, equity, and impact. I’m also inspired by friends and teammates like Paige and Sophia, who wake up early to train, miss social events for tournaments, and stay up late studying after long practices. My teammates cheer louder after my mistakes and hold me when I need to regroup. They remind me that resilience is not just personal—it’s communal. My family’s story is short in years, but rich in values: hard work, sacrifice, love for family, and never giving up—especially when the obstacles seem insurmountable. Their story is not unique; it’s one of many immigrant stories that form the strong backbone of the American Dream. The Carlos F. Garcia Muentes Scholarship represents everything they’ve taught me: that learning is powerful, purpose is essential, and giving back is nonnegotiable. And now, it’s my turn to carry that legacy forward.

My name is Aryana Hodjat, but to most people, especially my little brother, I’m Yana. When he was younger, he couldn’t quite say “Aryana,” so he called me Yana—and it stuck. As his big sister, with a six year age gap between us, I’ve embraced the responsibility of being his role model. I’ve taught him to be respectful, responsible, and kind. It hasn’t always been easy, but it’s been one of the most meaningful roles in my life. Now, as I prepare to leave for college, I know I’ll miss our talks, even our silly arguments, and our tradition of running to the gas station for slushies. Alongside being a sister and student, I am also an athlete. I’ve competed at high levels in both swimming and softball. These experiences have taught me discipline, grit, failure, and how to show up even when it's hard. Through sports, I’ve found my happy place—on the softball diamond, in the weight room, or sprinting through drills, dirt flying and sweat pouring. These spaces taught me how to push past limits, how to lead, and how to grow. Academically, I’ve worked just as hard. I’ve earned a 4.3 GPA and found that the same drive I bring to athletics fuels my learning. I was surprised to discover how much I enjoyed AP Microeconomics, Macroeconomics, and Statistics. My teachers brought numbers to life, revealing how economics can tell a story and solve real-world problems. That clarity and structure excited me. Despite receiving offers to play softball at three Division III colleges, I’ve chosen to attend the University of South Carolina, where I will pursue a degree in business with a minor in sports management. My dream is to combine my two passions—sports and business—to support and uplift young women in athletics and education. I’ve seen how women’s sports are undervalued, underfunded, and often overlooked. I’ve played with broken fingers and concussions, while still watching men's teams receive more recognition, better facilities, and more resources. I want to change that. I plan to use my business education to advocate for equity in sports, helping girls and women access the support, funding, and respect they deserve. I want to build organizations and systems that empower female athletes to dream big and achieve even more. In high school, I mentored younger teammates, ran gear drives for our local softball league SRVGAL, and reminded them they were capable and worthy. Much of who I am has been shaped by the people around me, especially my teammates and friends. I’m inspired by Paige and Sophia (aka Spud), who wake up before sunrise to train, miss birthday parties for tournaments, and stay up studying after late practices. I’m inspired by teammates who cheer louder after my errors, hug me when I score, and hold me tight when I need to regroup. They’ve taught me that resilience isn’t just about being tough, it’s about having people who believe in you, even when you doubt yourself. I get up and literally dust myself off because their support gives me strength. Those are the values I carry forward: discipline, loyalty, humility, and sisterhood. Whether I’m building policy, managing a sports brand, or launching a nonprofit, I want my work to reflect those lessons. I want to lead with the same heart and grit that carried me through tough games, tough tests, and tough days. I am Yana—big sister, athlete, student, future business leader—and I’m just getting started.

My name is Aryana Hodjat, but to most people, especially my little brother, I’m Yana. When he was younger, he couldn’t quite say “Aryana,” so he shortened it to Yana, and the name stuck. As his big sister, with a six year age gap between us, I’ve come to embrace the responsibility of being his role model. I've taught him to be respectful, responsible, and kind. It's been challenging at times, but also incredibly meaningful. Now, as I prepare to leave for college, I know I’ll miss our late night chats, our arguments, and our spontaneous slushie runs to the gas station. In addition to being a sister and a student, I am an athlete through and through. I’ve swam competitively on top swim teams and played softball at a national level. Sports have shaped me in ways I never imagined. They’ve taught me discipline, resilience, grit, and how to grow through failure. These lessons extended far beyond the field and into the classroom, where I’ve earned a 4.3 GPA. Still, my true refuge has always been the field, the weight room, and the dirt beneath my cleats as I slide into home. Sports have been where I’ve found my strength and identity. Despite being offered three roster spots to play softball at Division III colleges, I made the difficult but exciting decision to attend the University of South Carolina. There, I plan to pursue my second passion: business and economics. I was surprised by how much I enjoyed my AP Microeconomics, Macroeconomics, and Statistics classes. They were challenging, but the numbers made sense to me. They told a story, they showed patterns, and they helped me understand how systems work. Mrs. Holliday brought those numbers to life, and I began to see a future where I could apply this knowledge in powerful ways. Recently, I’ve been thinking about how to blend my passion for sports with my academic interest in business. I plan to pursue a minor in sports management alongside my business degree. My dream is to support young women in athletics and education, helping them reach their full potential and bring their dreams to life. I’ve seen firsthand how women’s sports are often treated as second tier, receiving less funding, less equipment, and less visibility than men’s teams. As an athlete, I’ve played with broken fingers and concussions. I’ve seen my teammates work twice as hard for half the recognition. Women athletes are scholars, warriors, and leaders, and they deserve better. I want to be part of the change. I want to harness the power of business, policy, and leadership to uplift women in sports and in schools. Whether it’s advocating for equal funding, better coaching opportunities, or visibility in media, I plan to use my education and voice to fight for equity. Empowering women isn’t just a cause for me, it’s a personal mission. In high school, I helped my younger teammates find their confidence and voice. I volunteered as a mentor and organized gear drives to make sure every player had what she needed to succeed. In college and beyond, I plan to do more. I envision working in sports business or law, creating systems and policies that ensure women athletes receive the resources, support, and respect they deserve. I want to be part of the generation that makes sure young girls grow up knowing that their dreams are valid, powerful, and within reach. On the field, in the boardroom, or wherever their passion leads. I am Yana, big sister, athlete, future business leader, and I’m just getting started.

Growing up in a suburban city in California, I often felt like I was living in a picture-perfect neighborhood. However, beneath the surface, my family was grappling with economic instability and emotional strain. As the eldest daughter, I found myself stepping into the role of a caregiver for my younger brother, Alex, especially during my parents' frequent arguments and financial struggles. The weight of these responsibilities began to take a toll on my mental and emotional well-being, prompting me to realize the importance of prioritizing my health. One pivotal moment occurred during my junior year of high school. Balancing academic pressures, extracurricular activities, and my role at home left me feeling overwhelmed. I noticed a decline in my sleep patterns, increased irritability, and a sense of constant fatigue. Recognizing these signs as indicators of burnout, I decided to take a step back and reassess my priorities. I sought support from a school counselor, Mrs. Blackburn, who introduced me to mindfulness techniques and stress management strategies. These practices, such as deep breathing exercises and journaling, became essential tools in managing my emotions and reducing anxiety. I also established boundaries at home, communicating with my parents about the need for personal time to recharge. This was a challenging conversation, but it was necessary for my well-being. Through this experience, I learned that self-care is not selfish; it is a vital component of being able to care for others. By addressing my own needs, I became more present and effective in supporting my family. Softball has always been a place where my mind found peace and my heart settled. On the field, my focus was clear, and my mind was strong. The rhythm of the game provided a sanctuary from the chaos at home, allowing me to reconnect with myself. I hope to continue playing sports in college and encourage others to find wellness through physical activity. In addition to softball, I incorporated Pilates into my routine a few times a week in the mornings. This practice not only strengthened my body but also cleared my mind, providing a sense of calm and focus that carried me through the day. I also made conscious efforts to eat healthy foods that fueled my body for long school days. Consuming a diet rich in fruits, vegetables, and whole grains provided sustained energy and improved my concentration and memory. These changes were not easy, as most of my friends loved eating at In-N-Out. I'll admit to occasionally having a hamburger and French fries after a football game. However, I recognized the importance of making healthier choices to support my physical and mental health.I also gave up drinking Celsius, realizing they could lead to health issues. As I prepare for my future, I am committed to maintaining a balance between my personal health and responsibilities. I plan to pursue a career in sports management, aiming to support athletes and sports organizations in fostering environments that prioritize mental and physical well-being. I believe that by advocating for mental health awareness and providing resources, I can help others navigate their struggles without sacrificing their well-being. In conclusion, prioritizing my mental health during a period of familial stress was a transformative experience. It taught me the importance of self-care, the value of seeking support, and the necessity of setting boundaries. These lessons continue to shape my approach to life, ensuring that I remain resilient and compassionate as I move forward into adulthood.

I’ve been a female athlete for as long as I can remember—starting with ballet as a toddler, transitioning through gymnastics and swimming in grammar school, and dedicating my teenage years to competitive softball. At San Ramon High School, sports were taken seriously, but the disparities between male and female programs couldn’t be ignored. Boys’ football and baseball teams traveled by charter bus, enjoyed catered meals, and used top-tier equipment, while our softball squad was driven by parents, packed our own pasta dinners, and practiced in a battered batting cage. That inequity fueled my dual passions: athletic excellence and gender equity. Despite earning three NCAA Division III roster offers, I chose to study business with a minor in sports management at the Darla Moore School of Business at the University of South Carolina. I want to ensure future female athletes don’t have to settle for less simply because of outdated biases. What I witnessed at San Ramon isn’t rare—it reflects a national pattern. Studies show that men’s programs routinely receive approximately twice as much funding as women’s. Women often get just 40¢ for every dollar spent on men’s sports, even when their teams are highly successful. Recruiting dollars, scholarships, facilities, and coaching staff tend to favor boys’ teams across the country. Even in revenue-generating women’s programs, budget cuts and inequitable treatment remain common. Through my minor, I’m learning the tools to drive real change: First, advocating for female-specific equipment. Too often, athletic gear is designed with men in mind, leaving female athletes with suboptimal performance and fit. Investing in products designed for female bodie like sports bras, cleats, protective gear, can improve comfort and athletic performance significantly. Second, increasing representation in coaching. Fewer than one in five Olympic coaches is a woman, and most high school athletic departments remain led by men. By supporting coaching certification programs tailored to women and facilitating mentorship networks, we can foster more female leaders in sport. Third, strengthening academic support systems. Research consistently shows that student-athletes perform well academically, with girls particularly benefiting through improved time management, concentration, and college attendance rates. I aim to implement tutoring, life-skills workshops, and structured career guidance within athletic programs to ensure academic and athletic success go hand in hand. Fourth, demanding accountability through transparent funding and Title IX compliance. Schools must pass equity audits, share budget breakdowns, and take corrective action when disparities appear. Mentorship and community building are essential complements to systemic support. Female athletes often stay engaged when they see others like them succeeding. I plan to mentor younger athletes, collaborate with nonprofits, and support networks that connect girls with women leaders in sports and business. My long-term vision includes: Equipment Grants—funding performance gear for under-resourced female teams. Coach Scholarships—supporting women through certification and continuing education. Career Pathways—creating paid internships and mentorships in sports administration and business. These initiatives combine firsthand experience with business strategy and sports-management expertise to ensure sustainable progress. I’ve seen how unequal treatment—unequal buses, gear, coaching—limits potential. But I’ve also seen how equitable support transforms lives. With business skills and sports-management tools, I’m ready to build a future where every female athlete can thrive—on the field, in the classroom, and in leadership roles beyond. This is about more than playing—it’s about empowering girls to lead.

If you had told me that one of the most meaningful experiences of my high school years would involve spending 10 Saturdays covered in sweat, dirt, paint, and fiberglass insulation, I probably would’ve laughed and said, “Yeah, no thanks.” And yet, that’s exactly what happened. When I turned 16, the real dream wasn’t driving a car. It was being old enough to join the "construction crew" for Habitat for Humanity. I imagined operating power tools like a boss or maybe even knocking down walls in dramatic HGTV fashion. But instead, I was handed a shovel, a pair of gloves three sizes too big, and a yellow construction helmet. I was also pointed toward a trench and told, “Dig.” “For plumbing,” they added. So there I was, knee-deep in clay soil, learning that my glamorous debut as a builder would begin with back-breaking plumbing prep—and a helmet that looked like a Lego hat. Still, I stuck with it—and I’m so glad I did. Every Saturday for 10 weeks, I was up at 7:00 a.m., sacrificing sleep and social time to spend seven hours building homes for local families. I started from the ground (literally) and worked my way up. After my trench-digging debut, I graduated to installing insulation (a.k.a. battling itchy pink fluff and not crying in front of the crew), nailing in window sills and carefully painting door frames. Was it exhausting? Yes. Did I question my sanity at times? Also yes. But every splinter, sore muscle, and paint-splattered hoodie felt worth it when I saw the home take shape. The best moment came at the end of the build, when we handed over the keys to the families. One little boy ran into his new bedroom like he’d just won the lottery. His mom hugged had tears in her eyes, and I just stood there trying not to cry. That’s when it hit me: this wasn’t just a house—it was "home." And I helped make it happen. Volunteering with Habitat for Humanity didn’t just teach me how to build things. It taught me the value of showing up, doing unglamorous work that matters, and being part of something bigger than myself. I wish more people—especially students—could experience this kind of project. It’s one thing to talk about “giving back,” and another to actually spend weekends in steel-toed boots and yellow helmets, building homes from the ground up. I’d love to see my community expand programs like this, making service projects more accessible and maybe even adding a little fun (can we get a coffee truck next time?). As someone who’s both Mexican and Persian, I know what it feels like to not always fit the mold. But when you’re on a build site, no one cares about labels. You’re just part of the crew. Whether you’re carrying plywood, cracking jokes over lunch, or silently praying the ladder doesn’t collapse while painting a third-story window frame, you feel connected. Useful. Important. Now, as I head to the University of South Carolina to study Business with a minor in Sports Management, I’m taking those lessons with me. I want to build more than homes—I want to build opportunities, equity, and communities that lift each other up. And while I may never pursue a full-time career in construction (for everyone's safety and the sake of fashion), I’ll keep showing up—ready to work, ready to lead, and probably still wearing that yellow helmet like I mean it. Because in the end, it all started with a shovel, a little sweat, and a whole lot of heart.

Empowerment, to me, is about stepping up and taking control of your life while inspiring others to do the same. It’s realizing you don’t need permission to lead or make a difference—you just do it. And you don’t do it alone; you motivate others to take charge of their own lives, too. My mom’s favorite saying was, "Actions are worth more than words," and it’s stuck with me ever since. I could talk all day about wanting to make a change, but the real magic happens when I actually do something. That’s how my leadership journey began. In 4th grade, I ran for Vice President and won—pretty much everyone voted for me, so it’s safe to say I was a hit. I used that chance to organize discussions about social and racial issues, teaching me the power of action in creating change. Then came the pandemic. We all learned how to master Zoom calls (and pretend we weren’t in pajamas). I saw a chance to lead during online school, so I ran a Zoom campaign for class president. I didn’t win because I was great at public speaking (honestly, I barely knew how to unmute myself), but because I wanted to make a difference for my class. My team and I organized virtual lunch activities, and suddenly, my school felt like a community again. Empowerment, I realized, is about stepping up, even if you're not sure how it’ll turn out—but knowing you have to try. Leadership is also about listening and taking responsibility. This year, I had the opportunity to meet with our district’s superintendent to discuss student concerns, like racism and safety. It was empowering to know that my voice could represent my peers who were too scared to speak up. It reminded me that if I’m in a position to make change, I need to own that responsibility. Empowering others doesn’t always require a microphone or a title—it can be as simple as giving back. My family and I volunteer at the County Food Bank and White Pony Express, sorting food for those in need. My mom’s favorite thing is delivering meals to families through Family House in Oakland—talk about feeling like a superhero! It’s a reminder that empowerment isn’t always loud; sometimes, it’s just helping out behind the scenes to make someone’s day easier. Sports have also played a huge role in teaching me about empowerment. Softball isn’t just about crushing the ball (though, let’s be real, it’s amazing when you do). It’s about supporting teammates, lifting each other up, and working together to reach a common goal. I remember getting called up to the varsity team, but before that, I made a big mistake. After a tough loss, my teammates and I posted a not-so-classy picture flipping off the camera. You know, because we were "feeling rebellious." As a result, I faced consequences, including losing my varsity spot. It was a wake-up call: empowerment isn’t about acting impulsively; it’s about making decisions that reflect who you really are. Balancing academics, sports, and community service has shown me that empowerment is about balance. It’s about not letting one part of your life dominate the others, and inspiring others to do the same. Whether I’m leading at school, volunteering, or playing softball, I’ve learned that empowering myself and others is what makes life meaningful. And while I don’t always get everything perfect, I’m committed to doing better, and learning from my mistakes. In the end, empowerment is about knowing you have the ability to make a difference—and using that power to help others realize they can, too.

Born in Boston and raised in California, I’ve always viewed challenges as opportunities to grow. The biggest challenge I’ve faced? Balancing my passion for softball with my academic and leadership responsibilities. Sports have taught me so much about teamwork, resilience, and dedication—lessons I’ve carried with me both on and off the field. Softball has always been more than just a hobby for me. Since I was young, I’ve been fully immersed in it, competing with travel teams and traveling for tournaments across the country. As a high school athlete, I learned quickly that being successful in sports requires the same discipline and work ethic as excelling in academics. By sophomore year, I was juggling three AP classes, early morning batting lessons, weight training every other day, and still trying to keep up with homework. It wasn’t easy, but it taught me the importance of time management and focus. I’ve consistently challenged myself academically, taking three AP courses each year since 10th grade. Balancing that with softball meant long nights studying for AP Chemistry, U.S. History, and Biology. I’m proud of my GPA, but I think what really matters is that I’ve been able to maintain that academic success while pushing myself in sports. My dedication has earned me several Scholar Athlete Awards, but the most rewarding part is knowing that all those hours of practice and study paid off. On top of academics and softball, I’ve also taken on leadership roles. As the captain of my high school softball team, I’ve learned that leadership isn’t just about being the best player—it’s about being the one who motivates others, sets an example, and helps teammates push through tough moments. Being a leader has taught me how to manage my time effectively, keep a positive attitude, and hold myself—and my teammates—accountable. I’ll be honest: balancing everything hasn’t been easy. I’ve woken up at 6 a.m. for batting lessons, hit the weight room every other day, and traveled for weekend tournaments that often meant missing friends' birthdays and family events. While my friends were celebrating milestones, I was either playing in a game or studying between matches. The sacrifices were tough, but I learned that the hard work and dedication are what make success truly meaningful. One of the best moments of my athletic career came during my junior year when our team won the regional championship. It wasn’t just about winning—it was about the journey. We had spent months working hard together, practicing, supporting each other, and pushing ourselves past what we thought were our limits. That win showed me that success isn’t just about the final outcome—it’s about everything that leads up to it. Through all of this, I’ve learned the importance of balance. Sports have taught me the value of discipline and persistence, and I’ve carried those lessons into my academic and personal life. Even when life felt hectic, I always made sure to prioritize my goals. I know that the ability to balance hard work and fun is something that will stay with me in college and beyond. As I look to the future, I’m excited to continue pursuing both athletics and academics. The lessons I’ve learned—about perseverance, leadership, and balance—are ones I plan to carry into every area of my life. Whether I’m competing, studying, or taking on leadership roles, I know that my experiences as a scholar-athlete will guide me toward success in whatever comes next.

The best advice I’ve ever received is, “Don’t be afraid to take up space.” As an 18-year-old Mexican-Persian American girl growing up in a predominantly white town, I’ve learned that taking up space—owning my identity, my passions, and my voice—isn’t always easy, but it’s necessary. My name is Aryana Hodjat, but most people call me Yana. I will be a freshman at the University of South Carolina, majoring in Business with a minor in Sports Management. My dream is to advocate for women in sports—especially Latinas—by helping build more equitable systems and amplifying underrepresented voices. I’ve played competitive softball my whole life, earning roster spots at top schools across the country, but ultimately chose South Carolina for its nationally ranked business program and the chance to grow as a leader beyond athletics. My goal is to make a lasting impact through both business and service. I want to work with athletic organizations to address gender disparities and ensure girls from diverse backgrounds see themselves represented. This mission stems from personal experience—my high school softball team practiced with broken equipment, while the boys’ baseball team had access to multiple functional batting cages. As president of the Athletic Leadership Council, I led a campaign that raised enough money to improve our facilities and ensure fairness. That experience taught me that advocacy and collaboration can create real change. My desire to serve others was also shaped by volunteering with Habitat for Humanity when I turned 16. I had imagined myself using power tools, but instead, I was handed a shovel and assigned to dig plumbing trenches. It wasn’t glamorous, but I gave it my all. Over time, I moved up to hammering sheetrock and painting window sills. The moment that made it all worth it came when we handed over the keys to the families. I saw the joy on their faces and realized that even small acts of service can have a huge impact. That day, I understood that change starts with showing up, even when the task feels small or unseen. Another experience that changed me was a summer visit to Tijuana, Mexico. It was supposed to be a fun family trip, but walking the streets gave me a deeper connection to my roots. I saw mothers asking for help, children washing car windows for spare change—scenes that reminded me of the struggles my own mother, a Mexican immigrant, once faced. My father also immigrated—fleeing Iran during the revolution—and both my parents built a life here from almost nothing. That trip reminded me of the privilege I carry and the responsibility I have to use it for good. Growing up in Danville, where most people don’t look like me or share my background, came with challenges. I’ve been asked if I’m “really American” or expected to explain immigration policies in class. These moments made me feel invisible at times—but they also made me determined to speak up, not just for myself, but for others who have felt overlooked or misunderstood. At South Carolina, I plan to continue this work—through student organizations, service projects, and mentoring. I want to build inclusive communities where people feel seen, heard, and valued. I believe leadership is about service, and I want to lead by listening, advocating, and uplifting others. I may not know exactly where my path will lead, but I know this: I will keep showing up—for my community, for girls in sports, and for anyone who's ever felt like they didn’t belong. Because taking up space isn’t just about being seen—it’s about creating space for others, too.

Growing up in Danville, California—a town where over 75% of the population is white and less than 7% is Hispanic—I often felt like I was living in between worlds. On the outside, I might not fit the typical image of what people expect a Latina to look like. With my fair skin and light brown eyes, I’ve been told, “Wait, you’re Mexican?” more times than I can count. But what’s even more painful are the moments when people do know and still reduce me to a tired stereotype. One moment that really shaped my perspective happened during a class discussion in AP U.S. History. We were talking about immigration policy, specifically “the wall,” and suddenly every eye in the room turned to me—as if I was supposed to represent an entire population or somehow explain it all. No one said anything out loud, but I felt the weight of their stares. I wasn’t just Aryana anymore—I was “the Mexican girl.” That moment left me feeling small, confused, and frustrated. I went home that day carrying a strange mix of emotions: pride in my culture, but also a heavy sense of invisibility and misunderstanding. That experience was a turning point for me. It made me realize just how often people try to simplify what they don’t understand. I’m not just Mexican. I’m also Persian. My father fled Iran during the 1979 Revolution and rebuilt his life in the United States. My mother—Mexican, Spanish, and French—raised me on a foundation of family, faith, and food. We celebrated Nowruz in March with a traditional Persian haft-seen table, and made tamales together every December for Christmas. Our house was full of languages, smells, and stories that told me who I was long before I understood what it meant to be bicultural. But outside our home, I often felt like I had to choose between two identities—or hide parts of myself to fit in. Over time, though, I started to realize that my background isn’t something to downplay—it’s something to celebrate and share. I began speaking up in class, educating others when they made assumptions, and embracing my voice as a young Latina in a place where there aren’t many of us. One way I’ve taken pride in my identity is by bringing culture into my community. I’ve organized small cultural events at school, bringing in food like enchiladas and Persian kubideh, and explaining traditions like Nowruz and Día de los Muertos to classmates who had never heard of them. I’ve even written essays and speeches that reflect my family's history, not to prove anything, but to open minds and build bridges. Being Latina means so much more to me now than it did when I was younger. It means resilience, family, pride, and showing up even when your voice shakes. It means carrying generations of hard work, sacrifice, and love on your shoulders—and doing something meaningful with it. This experience helped me understand that identity is never just one thing. It’s layered and evolving. It’s something we define for ourselves. I carry both my cultures proudly, and I’m committed to creating space for others in the Latinx community to feel seen, valued, and heard—especially those of us who exist at the intersections of multiple identities. Receiving this scholarship would not only support my education, but also honor the journey I’ve taken to fully embrace who I am. I hope to keep lifting up my community—not just by sharing our stories, but by making sure there’s always room for more.

As I step into this new chapter, I’m driven by a vision where women are not just participants but leaders in sports. I believe that asking the right questions—can drive real change. My goal is to uncover new opportunities and pave the way for future generations of female athletes and professionals. I’m ready to embrace the challenges ahead and reshape the narrative and expand women’s opportunities in the national sports arena, ensuring that young women like me can dream big and achieve even bigger. Who knows? Maybe I’ll end up working with the Red Sox one day! Growing up, sports were my lifeline. I spent countless afternoons on the softball field, where I learned not just the thrill of competition but also the importance of teamwork and grit. After four years of hard-fought games, I was fortunate enough to receive three offers to play in college, a mix of excitement and pressure. Reflecting on this journey, I realize that my experiences sparked a curiosity about the business side of sports, especially regarding women’s roles in an industry that often sidelines us. One game stands out vividly: we were down by three runs in the final inning. The energy was electric, and as we rallied together, our pitcher hit a triple, and thanks to an error by the catcher, we pulled off a win by just one run. That sense of achievement against all odds fuels my desire to study sports management. I’m eager to ask questions, push boundaries, and explore how I can help expand opportunities for women in this field. I can already picture myself working directly with organizations and applying what I learn in the classroom to real-world situations. I’m excited to dive into projects that tackle the unique challenges women face in sports management. I want to engage in conversations that not only highlight these issues but also find solutions to empower women in leadership roles. My experience as the Athletic liaison in high school taught me about event planning, from ensuring medical care at games to coordinating the finer details. In college, I see this as a fantastic platform to create initiatives that promote women’s leadership and mentorship programs for aspiring female professionals. This is personal for me—I’ve seen the barriers firsthand. In high school, the boys' baseball team had four batting cages, while we had just one that didn’t even work! Throughout my softball journey, I’ve learned about resilience in both victory and defeat. I remember a tough loss where we gave it our all but still fell short. Instead of moping, we celebrated how far we’d come as a team. This reinforced my belief that success is about collaboration and learning from setbacks.

Hi, my name is Aryana Hodjat, but most people call me Yana. I’m an 18-year-old about to be freshman at the University of South Carolina, majoring in Business with a minor in Sports Management. I’m beyond excited to start building a future that blends my love for sports, leadership, and creating opportunities for others. But being an out-of-state student comes with a pretty big financial challenge. Despite graduating high school with a 4.3 GPA, I only received a $500 academic scholarship. Paying for college has been a constant stress, and that’s why this scholarship would mean so much to me—it would give me the chance to focus more on school and less on making ends meet. I’ve played competitive softball since I was nine years old. I was a varsity starter all four years of high school and spent my summers traveling the country with my club team, playing in national tournaments and showcases. I was even offered roster spots at two of the top softball programs in the country. That was a dream come true for younger me. But when it came time to decide, I followed a different path. I chose the University of South Carolina—not because I lost love for the game, but because I gained clarity on my long-term vision. USC has one of the top-ranked business programs in the country, and I knew I wanted to build something bigger than just my athletic career. I also can’t lie—the sunny weather didn’t hurt either. I knew this was the right environment for me to grow academically, personally, and professionally. Softball will always be a huge part of who I am, but now I’m ready to be on the other side of the game—working to support athletes, especially women, through business, marketing, and sports management. I’ve always noticed how differently women in sports are treated compared to men. The lack of media coverage, smaller salaries, fewer sponsorships—it’s frustrating, especially knowing how hard female athletes work. I want to change that. I want to use my business degree to amplify women’s sports, create more opportunities for female athletes, and make sure the next generation of girls grows up seeing people like them in the spotlight. My ultimate goal is to work with major athletic organizations to push for equity and representation, both on and off the field. But my journey here hasn’t been smooth. During my last year of high school, my mom was hospitalized from exhaustion. Overnight, I became the one holding things down at home: helping my younger brother Alex, cooking meals, keeping up with school, and still working part-time. There were moments I felt like I was running on empty. I remember sitting on the floor of my room one night, textbooks open, laundry in a pile, and just crying from the weight of it all. What got me through were the little things—supportive texts from my best friend Cari, teachers like Mrs. Willford who believed in me, and the steady voice in my head reminding me what I was fighting for. I started journaling, planning my days better, and learning to give myself grace. That experience taught me true strength—not the kind you show on a scoreboard, but the kind that shows up when no one’s watching. This scholarship would take off some of the financial pressure, allowing me to stay focused on school, get involved on campus, and chase the vision I have for the future. Thank you so much for considering my story. I’m not just asking for support—I’m promising to pay it forward.

If you asked me to name one person who has had a lasting impact on how I live, lead, and connect with others, I wouldn’t hesitate—Ms. Janet Wilford, my high school leadership teacher. For the past four years, she has been more than just an educator; she’s been a mentor, a guide, and someone who has helped shape who I am today. Ms. Wilford showed me that real leadership is about service, empathy, responsibility, and knowing when to listen more than you speak. From the moment I joined the leadership program as a freshman, she pushed me to think bigger and act with purpose. One of the first things she trusted me with was helping manage our school’s $100,000 student activities budget. She walked me through everything—how to balance competing priorities, allocate funds responsibly, and stay transparent. She made budgeting feel less like math and more like a tool for making a real difference in people’s lives. Under her guidance, I helped plan massive school events like prom, which hosted over 200 students. I also coordinated small but meaningful moments, like a baby shower for Mrs Trainor. Ms. Wilford taught me that no event is too big or too small—what matters is that it brings people together. She emphasized the importance of being inclusive of different points of view, and to always ask, “Who isn’t at the table, and how do we invite them in?” But one of the most powerful lessons came from a moment of pain. During a basketball game we had planned, a student in the stands shouted the N-word at a player. It was a shocking and heartbreaking moment, especially for an event that was supposed to bring our school together. I remember feeling overwhelmed, unsure how to respond. But Ms. Wilford didn't ignore it. She turned the moment into a greater lesson, guiding us to organize a series of student-led workshops about respect, inclusivity, and how to be an ally. It wasn’t about quick fixes or image repair—it was about doing the hard, uncomfortable work of helping people grow. She taught me that leadership isn't only about celebration; it's about having the courage to confront what's wrong and build something better. She also taught me how to make the tough calls. Saying no to students' requests, especially when I understood their excitement, was never easy. But she helped me see that being a leader isn’t about saying yes to everyone—it’s about making thoughtful, sometimes difficult, decisions for the greater good. Whether we were organizing a vigil after our community lost a student or celebrating our football team’s championship with a town-wide rally, Ms. Wilford always reminded us that our role was to serve, unify, and uplift. In every situation, she reminded us: “Family first. Friends always. And lead with love and inclusivity.” Ms. Wilford didn’t just prepare me to lead school events—she prepared me for real life. She taught me how to carry responsibility with humility, how to build consensus without losing direction, and how to speak up when silence would be easier. I carry her lessons with me every day, and I know I’ll continue to carry them into college, my future career, and every community I’m lucky enough to be a part of. Because of Ms. Wilford, I no longer see leadership as a role—it’s a mindset. It’s about doing the right thing, even when it’s hard. It’s about showing up for others, creating space for every voice, and keeping your priorities grounded in what truly matters. Thanks to her, I’m not just a student leader—I’m someone who’s ready to lead with heart.

I was born in Boston to a unique and diverse family—Hispanic, Persian, Christian, and Muslim. From the start, my identity was shaped by a rich blend of cultures, traditions, and beliefs. When my family moved to California when I was six, I faced the challenge of figuring out who I truly was. I struggled to reconcile the different parts of me—how I could be both Hispanic and Persian, how my Christian faith could coexist with my Muslim heritage, and how to navigate the expectations of the world around me while honoring my roots. California, however, is a diverse and welcoming place, and it provided me with a community where being different wasn’t something to hide but something to celebrate. I learned to speak both Spanish and Farsi, and I found joy in embracing all the parts of my identity. Celebrating Easter with my Christian side and Nowruz, the Persian New Year, with my Muslim and Persian family, gave me a sense of connection to both cultures. The food we share is equally diverse—my favorite meals are tacos de carne asada, a nod to my Hispanic heritage, and ghormeh sabzi, a savory Persian stew that reminds me of family gatherings. In California, I found a place where it was okay to be many things at once, and where the diversity of my background was not just accepted but celebrated. Growing up in such a diverse community helped me understand that my multi-faceted identity didn’t make me less than anyone else; it made me unique. I’m proud to carry the richness of my Hispanic, Persian, Christian, and Muslim roots, and grateful to live in a place where I can express every aspect of myself. This has shaped me into someone who values inclusion, acceptance, and the beauty of different perspectives.

When I was six, my dad took me to Philadelphia. We hit the usual tourist spots—the Liberty Bell, Reading Terminal, and Independence Hall—but what stuck with me most were the steps leading up to the Philadelphia Museum of Art. My dad crouched beside me at the bottom, pointed up, and asked, “You know who ran up those steps?” I shook my head. “Rocky Balboa,” he said. That night in our hotel room, I met Rocky for the first time. I was too young to grasp everything, but something about his quiet strength and relentless drive pulled me in. I didn’t know it then, but that film would end up shaping how I live my life. Over the years, I’ve rewatched "Rocky" more times than I can count. It wasn’t just about boxing. It was about showing up every day, even when no one’s clapping. Rocky reminded me of my dad—not in gloves, but in values: humility, perseverance, and the importance of family. My dad isn’t loud about his strength. He just works. He taught me real toughness means getting up when it’s easier to quit. Watching Rocky train—running through freezing streets, punching meat in a freezer—I felt like I was watching my dad in metaphor. The same heart. The same grit. One scene that always makes me laugh is in "Rocky II", when Mickey makes Rocky chase a chicken to improve his footwork. As a kid, I thought it was hilarious—until my dad said, “It’s not about the chicken. It’s about doing what no one else wants to do.” That stuck with me more than I realized. The summer before Sophomore year, I woke up at 6 a.m. every morning for batting practice. I wasn’t guaranteed a spot on varsity, but I wanted it badly. I hit until my hands blistered, trained in the heat, and kept going when no one else was watching. When I made the team, it wasn’t about glory—it was about every early morning I showed up, even when I didn’t feel like it. At the same time, I loaded up on AP classes during the school year—not just for GPA, but because I wanted the best education I could get. Some nights, I’d come home from practice, exhausted, and still have hours of reading or essays ahead. But I reminded myself of Rocky’s voice: “Keep moving forward.” In the summers, I worked—at Marshalls, babysitting, doing odd jobs—so I could pay for my own expenses. It wasn’t glamorous, but it taught me humility and responsibility. I learned that success isn’t handed to anyone; it’s earned, often quietly. There’s a line in "Rocky" I carry with me: “It ain’t about how hard you hit. It’s about how hard you can get hit and keep moving forward.” That’s gotten me through rejection letters, tough losses, and moments of self-doubt. Each time, I think of Rocky. I think of my dad. And I keep going. Now, at 18, standing at the edge of adulthood, I don’t just see "Rocky" as a film. It’s a blueprint. It taught me that you don’t need a spotlight to be strong. You just need heart, work ethic, and people you love in your corner. So yes, the movie that’s impacted me the most is "Rocky". Because through it, I didn’t just fall in love with a story—I understood my dad, myself, and the kind of person I want to become. And yeah, sometimes, to grow into that person, you’ve just got to chase the chicken.

My Brother, the Thief of All Things—and the Giver of So Much More I used to be everything—the firstborn, the only daughter, the center of the universe. My toys stayed where I left them, my parents' attention never had to be split, and Christmas morning was an uninterrupted celebration of me. Even the idea of a puppy was mine alone, something I begged for year after year. Then Alex arrived. He was pink and loud and ridiculously small. I still remember holding him in the hospital, barely four years old, peering into his wrinkly face and feeling something unspoken shift inside me. It was love—raw, inconvenient, and deeply permanent. And then, he started taking everything. He took the title of “baby,” the extra cuddles, the bigger pile of Christmas gifts. Suddenly, my toys became our toys. My spotlight dimmed. I went from being the whole world to being the older sister—the responsible one. I had to wait to shower. I had to give up the last cookie. And don’t get me started on the chocolate—he always ate mine without asking, and then smirked like he’d done me a favor. My friends were obsessed with him. They’d walk in the house, say “Hey” to me, and beeline straight for him. “Alex is so funny!” “Alex is adorable!” He became everyone's favorite scene-stealer. And while I had to wait forever for my first cell phone, Alex got one with barely a fight. The puppy I dreamed about since kindergarten? Magically arrived on his birthday. And yet… Every Saturday morning, Alex makes me chocolate chip pancakes. He gets up early, plays music way too loud, and leaves the kitchen a disaster. But they’re perfect—always. It’s his quiet way of saying “I love you” without actually saying it. He’s also the one who knocks gently on my door when I’ve had a rough day. Who leaves cool stickers and funny notes on my desk when he knows I’m stressed. Who, on snowy drives home from Tahoe ski trips, always fell asleep on my shoulder without saying a word—just leaned in like he belonged there. Alex has taken a lot, but he’s also given me more than I ever expected. He’s given me the chance to be someone’s example. I helped him write his first essay. I taught him how to write his name in cursive. I laced up his first pair of soccer cleats and cheered until I lost my voice on the sidelines. I’ve pushed him to work harder, aim higher, be better. And when he does—when he crushes a test or scores a goal—I feel this quiet, deep pride. Because I know I had something to do with the person he’s becoming. He’s not just my brother. He’s my best friend. We still fight—over the shower, over missing snacks, over whose turn it is to walk the dog he got. But behind all that is a bond built from years of laughter, chaos, whispered secrets, and yes, chocolate chip pancakes. I was the firstborn. The only daughter. But Alex made me something far better: a sister. And for that, no matter how much chocolate he steals, I’ll always be grateful.