Although we never had much, my mom always made sure to help others when she could. Volunteering at church, going to hospitals to pray, making donations to charities in the form of clothes, food, and time, going on missions with our church; my mom has always been a helper. She’s passed that spirit of generosity down to me, and I enjoy every second of my volunteer work. Among my volunteering activities, my favorite has always been childcare. I’ve been teaching Sunday school classes since I was twelve years old, and spending time with my kids has never stopped bringing me joy. The most rewarding part of my work is when one of my quieter students begin to open up to me. I remember I had a student named Samaria, and she didn’t talk to anyone. Her parents had to force her to come to class, and while she was in class she wouldn’t participate and would stay quiet. I was quite new to teaching at the time, so I didn’t really know how to integrate her into the class. I began to observe her and I noticed that she had a passion for art. During the worship, she would draw in a little notebook she carried everywhere. I thought that the heavens had opened because now I had something I could use to integrate her into the class. To accompany the lesson, I started to do a small craft with the class. Slowly but surely, her passion won out, and she started coming to class voluntarily. She still wouldn’t talk to anyone, but progress is still progress. As time passed by, I began asking her about her art, and to my surprise she would shyly show me her work. I would praise her art as much as I could until I didn’t have to ask her to see; she would show me herself. Samaria and other children like her have taught me how to reach out and show compassion. As someone who has a condition that affects their interpersonal abilities, working with children has taught me how to communicate effectively, show kindness, how to collaborate and compromise with others, and how to adapt my approach to those who cannot seem to integrate themselves into the group. Working with kids is tough, but it teaches you interpersonal skills that are crucial for life, both professional and personal. My experiences with my kids have formed me into a more compassionate and patient person who understands that everyone is on a different level and needs a different approach. You may be thinking that I’m going to pursue a career working with children, but that’s not it. I enjoy giving back to my community, and I want to pursue a career in which I’ll be able to give the most; prosecution. I believe that those who work in law commit themselves to the people, specifically prosecutors. They are the voice of the victim, and I want to be that; a voice for the little guy. Dedicating my life to a career as a public servant is the ultimate way to fulfill my dream of helping others. If I’m chosen to receive the scholarship, the money would be an investment into our community’s security, as there will be a pillar of justice dedicated to protect her community. In the little that I have, I’ve always tried to give the most, and I’m going to continue doing that for the rest of my life.

Throughout my life, I was the little guy. I had a condition that made me act differently from the rest of the kids (autism), hence why I was cast out of the social scene in school. However, I did my best to make friends and show kindness to my classmates. My efforts were never matched though, and I was viciously bullied by two of my classmates throughout elementary to middle school. No one stood up for me, not even the adults. In elementary, when I would receive beatings during recess, none of the supervisors came to my aid. In middle school, when my classmates would make fun of me in class, my teachers wouldn’t intervene. It was a very lonely experience…When my mother complained, she was reassured by principals and office staff that the situation would be taken care of; it never was. No one held my bullies accountable, nor were my teachers disciplined for allowing bullying in the classroom. In eighth grade, my mom put me in an online academy for my own safety. I never understood why people hate things or others that are different from them, but I vowed to never stand idle in the face of someone else’s abuse. I made myself a promise, “When I’m a big guy, I’m gonna help the little guys.” The pain from my experience is the driving force behind my desire to serve justice. As a prosecutor, I will be the authority that stands between a wrongdoer and freedom. It's not a need for vengeance; I don’t hold the actions of my aggressors against them. It’s empathy for the victim and an unwillingness to become an accessory to violence through passivity. Many have told me that I’m retarded, slow, and not what the law is looking for; I believe that I’m exactly what the law needs. Someone who will be an immovable pillar of justice, someone who won’t stand for shameless individuals who disregard the law and hurt others. Literature, composition and the arts became my refuge during those hard years (and all the difficult times in my life). Given that I was alone, I didn’t have anyone to talk to about my pain, so I would write poems and draw scenes from imagination, enabling me to express myself in the solitude of my room. My outlet for emotion became my passion, my trauma a moral conviction, and I decided to attempt to mold it into a career.

As the daughter of a single mother, I have always strived to become the embodiment of my mom’s wildest dreams. She came to the US in search of opportunity, but instead she found misery. Used by my father and then cast aside like garbage, she found herself with a little girl with autism and no support. Mama is a hardy, stubborn woman who works herself to the bone. That dedication and hard work have set the benchmark of what I need to do with my life. She may not have made the life she wanted for herself, but I can use the chance and support she’s given me to reach for the sky. How am I going to do this? By becoming a prosecutor! It’s just me and mama; my father left because he didn’t want the responsibility of a family, especially one with a disabled child. But my mom never left and always told me that I could do whatever I set my mind to. “Si yo pude llegar aquí, tú puedes llegar a las estrellas.” I want to become a prosecutor for two reasons: the paycheck, and the opportunity to pay my mom back for all the suffering she went through. I want her to look back and feel as though her progress, as harsh and rocky as it was, was still progress. I also want to thank her for taking care of me because it’s not easy to care for an autistic person. My mom worked hard to provide basic needs for us, but she still struggled to pay rent and utilities. As much as she tells me to not worry about it, I know that she can’t afford to send me to college. This scholarship will enable me to lighten the financial burden on my tuition because I don’t want her to kill herself working trying to send me to school. I’m trying to apply to as many scholarships as possible in order to achieve my dream, and make my mom proud of me (and to assuage the pain of her sacrifices). Many people who come to the U.S. for the opportunity, and some lucky souls find it; that wasn’t the case for us. Although she couldn’t get to the finish line, I’ll take the baton and run like hell. I will finish the race for her.

My birth certificate only has one name; my mother’s name. There will never be an existence in which I’ll wish it was two. Maybe that means God still has work to do within my heart, but I was challenged the moment I came out of the womb. My father was a horrible person. He offered to pay for my mom’s abortion, but she refused; this led to a feud that would last well into my teenage years (I’m currently 17). When my mom drove to his house to show me to him (I was born out of wedlock), he left her and his newborn daughter out in the rain. However, I’m not completely sure on the specifics, the court ordered visitations on my father and he had to take responsibility of the child he didn’t want. For years, I was subjected to the cruel punishment that is being in a family with no love. My father ignored my existence; if I count our conversations on one hand, I would have fingers left over. He saw me if he needed to let out his anger on something though. My grandmother wasn’t warm or kind, as grandmothers usually are. She never wasted an opportunity to tell me how much of a nuisance I was, and how I was the root of all of her troubles. My older half-brother would threaten to kill me in my sleep, brandishing knives and scissors at me with sadistic malice. He would beat me black and blue, but no one would do anything about it. My brother was the golden child who could do no wrong, while I was the bad influence. And my grandfather, a passive observant of it all. As a child, I didn’t know why Daddy never talked to me, or why I had nightmares about him. I didn’t know why I felt empty in a place that should’ve filled me up. I didn’t know why I wasn’t wanted. When I walked around and saw other little girls sitting high on their daddies’ shoulders, being showered with fatherly love, I would become jealous because my father only showered me with cold apathy. When my mother returned to church after being in witchcraft, she would take my older sister and I with her. In the Sunday school classes, my teacher would talk about my father up in the clouds who made me and sent His sent His son to die for me out of His everlasting love for me. This was a hard concept for me to wrap my head around…My father? Who loves me? Since when? The teacher had to explain the difference between my terrestrial father and my Heavenly Father. Every class the story was different, but the lesson was the same; I have a Father who loves me, who wants me, up in a place called Heaven. I have a brother who died for me on the cross; his name is Jesus. I have a friend who will comfort me every time I feel down, and will watch out for me when I’m in danger; the Holy Spirit. Over time, I went from an empty little girl who longed for the love of a father, to a sprightly ball of energy passionate to tell others about God and Jesus. God poured out His love and filled me with a passion for Him, something that has followed me to this day. My terrestrial father kept an iron-like guise on me until I was twelve, when I finally chose to speak out about the abuse. With God’s help, I now live free of him.