For my educational poster, I chose the Common Core English Language Arts standard CCSS.ELA-LITERACY.RL.3.3, which focuses on describing characters in a story and explaining how their actions contribute to the sequence of events. I selected this standard because literacy and emotional comprehension are foundational skills in K-12 education, especially during elementary school when students are still developing empathy, communication, and reading confidence. Understanding characters allows children to connect emotionally with literature while also strengthening critical thinking and comprehension skills. My poster is designed for a 3rd-grade classroom and centers around a colorful “Character Feelings Map.” The layout guides students through a story using visual pathways, facial expressions, dialogue bubbles, and illustrated scenes to help them identify how a character feels, why they feel that way, and how those emotions influence their decisions throughout the story. I intentionally designed the poster to feel interactive and emotionally engaging rather than text-heavy because young students learn best when information feels approachable and visually stimulating. Color theory played a major role in my design strategy. I used warm colors such as yellow and orange to represent positive emotions like happiness and excitement, while cooler colors such as blue and purple represented sadness, fear, or confusion. Associating emotions with colors helps students create stronger mental connections and improves memory retention. For younger learners, visual color associations simplify abstract emotional concepts that may otherwise be difficult to explain through words alone. The layout of the poster was also carefully planned to reduce cognitive overload. Instead of placing large blocks of information together, I used sections with arrows, icons, and organized spacing so students could process one idea at a time. This scaffolding approach mirrors how effective teachers introduce information gradually in the classroom. The poster flows from left to right in chronological order, allowing students to visually track how a character’s feelings influence events in the story sequence. Typography was another important component. I selected large, rounded fonts with clear hierarchy to support readability for developing readers and students with learning differences. Keywords such as “feeling,” “action,” and “result” were bolded and color-coded to help students quickly identify important concepts. As someone passionate about inclusive education and special education advocacy, accessibility was extremely important to me throughout the design process. Many students, especially visual learners or neurodivergent learners, benefit from simplified fonts, predictable organization, and image-supported instruction. The imagery on the poster serves as both an instructional and emotional tool. Children naturally respond to visuals before text, and illustrations help students connect concepts to real-world emotions and experiences. By pairing facial expressions and body language with story events, students are able to interpret emotions more effectively and engage more deeply with the lesson. Visual storytelling also supports English language learners and students who may struggle with traditional reading instruction. Visual learning is critical in modern K-12 classrooms because today’s students are constantly surrounded by multimedia communication. Effective visual instruction increases engagement, improves comprehension, and helps students retain information longer. More importantly, visuals create accessibility. Not every child learns best through lecture or written text alone. As a future educator, I believe classrooms should be environments where every child feels capable of learning. Visual learning tools help bridge gaps in understanding, create confidence, and make education more inclusive for all students.

When I was sixteen years old, there was a little boy at one of my family’s childcare centers who rarely spoke. Every morning, he would walk into the classroom gripping the same small blue dinosaur in his hand, avoiding eye contact with everyone around him. While the other children played together, he sat alone near the reading corner, rocking slightly back and forth whenever the room became too loud. Some teachers described him as “difficult.” Some children did not understand him. Some adults spoke about him as if he could not hear them standing right beside him. But I noticed something different. I noticed how his eyes lit up whenever someone showed him kindness instead of correction. I noticed how he memorized patterns, how carefully he lined up his toys, how he quietly watched the other children even when he could not join them socially. One afternoon, while I sat beside him during art time, he suddenly pushed a crayon toward me without saying a word. Then another. Then another. For nearly twenty minutes, we colored silently together. Before leaving that day, he looked at me for the first time and whispered, “You stayed.” That moment changed me forever. I realized then that special education is not simply about accommodating disabilities. It is about recognizing humanity in children the world too often overlooks. It is about helping students feel seen before expecting them to succeed. It is about making sure a child never feels invisible simply because they communicate, learn, or experience the world differently. That is why I am passionate about becoming a special education teacher and advocate. Growing up around my family’s childcare centers allowed me to witness both the beauty and heartbreak within early childhood education. I saw exhausted parents working multiple jobs just to afford care. I saw teachers stretching themselves beyond their limits because they loved their students deeply. Most importantly, I saw how children with autism, Down syndrome, developmental delays, behavioral disorders, and learning disabilities were often misunderstood long before they were understood. Yet despite the challenges, I also witnessed extraordinary breakthroughs. I saw nonverbal children communicate through art and movement. I saw students once labeled “disruptive” thrive once someone took the time to understand their emotional needs. I saw how patience, consistency, and compassion could unlock confidence in children who had spent their lives feeling left behind. Special education teachers are some of the strongest people in the world. They must be flexible enough to adapt every lesson, patient enough to celebrate progress others may never notice, and compassionate enough to continue loving students even on the hardest days. The donor’s description of special education teachers deeply resonated with me because I have already seen how much emotional strength this profession requires. These educators are not simply teaching children; they are protecting their dignity. Professor Harold Bloom stated, “The purpose of teaching is to bring the student to his or her sense of his or her own presence.” To me, this means helping students recognize their own worth and identity. A child’s “sense of presence” is the understanding that their voice matters, their thoughts matter, and their existence deserves respect regardless of ability. Too often, students with special needs are spoken about instead of spoken to. Decisions are made for them. Expectations are lowered for them. Society focuses on what they cannot do instead of nurturing what they can. My mission is to change that. As a future educator, I want every student who enters my classroom to feel emotionally safe, respected, and empowered. I want my students to understand that they are not burdens to be managed but individuals filled with potential. I want to create environments where differences are not hidden, but embraced. Whether through adaptive learning strategies, sensory-conscious classrooms, emotional support systems, or creative expression, I want my students to know they belong exactly as they are. However, my dream extends far beyond a single classroom. Watching my father build and sustain childcare centers showed me that education is deeply connected to business, public policy, and access. I watched him sacrifice endlessly to provide opportunities for families while facing staffing shortages, rising operational costs, and systemic barriers that disproportionately affect vulnerable children. Through these experiences, I realized that helping children requires changing systems too. That is why I hope to combine special education, entrepreneurship, public policy, and law throughout my career. I plan to continue and expand my family’s childcare franchise while creating more inclusive spaces for children with disabilities and developmental differences. I want to advocate for stronger early intervention programs, increased support for special education teachers, and policies that ensure all children—regardless of disability, income, or background—receive equitable access to quality education and care. I want to be a voice for children who are too often left out of the conversation. If I were to describe my journey as a fairy tale, it would not begin in a castle. It would begin in a noisy classroom with a little boy holding a blue dinosaur. The heroine would not carry a sword, but patience. She would not fight dragons, but silence, inequality, and systems that fail vulnerable children. Her greatest power would not be magic, but the ability to make children feel seen. And one day, years from now, I hope one of my students walks confidently into the world knowing they are worthy of love, opportunity, and respect—not because society finally gave them permission to matter, but because someone taught them long ago that they already did. That is the educator I aspire to become.

At 15 years old, I was deeply afraid of death. I would stay awake at night overwhelmed by the vastness of the universe, questioning what happens after life and struggling to understand the purpose of our existence. That fear quietly followed me through some of my most formative years, leaving me feeling small and uncertain in a world that often felt overwhelming. A few years later, however, I found a sense of peace and purpose through Humanistic Buddhism. My journey began with my mother, who gifted me Many Lives, Many Masters by Brian Weiss. The book explored past-life regression and the idea that the soul’s journey extends beyond a single lifetime. For the first time, I encountered a perspective on life centered not around fear, but around growth, reflection, and compassion. That introduction opened the door to Buddhism and transformed the way I viewed both the world and myself. Through Buddhism’s teachings of mindfulness, karma, compassion, and self-reflection, I slowly began replacing fear with understanding. I learned that life is not defined by fear of the unknown, but by how we choose to live, serve, and care for others in the present moment. Buddhism taught me to become more compassionate toward others’ struggles, more mindful of my actions, and more grateful for the people and experiences that shape us. Buddhism also became a bridge between generations in my family. It brought me closer to my mother and grandmother through shared traditions, conversations, and time spent together at temple. For the first time, I felt connected not only to my culture and ancestors, but also to myself. Rather than seeing Buddhism solely as a religion, I came to understand it as a lifelong practice of empathy, humility, service, and inner growth. For the past two years, I have taught the Three Acts of Goodness program every Sunday at my local temple, founded by Venerable Master Hsing Yun, serving more than 40 children ages 4–9. Every week, I teach lessons about kindness, honesty, gratitude, compassion, and respect for others. Some days that means leading storytelling activities; other days, it means simply sitting beside a child who needs encouragement or reassurance. Over time, I realized that teaching children is not only about instruction, but about helping shape the emotional and moral foundation they will carry into the world. Watching these children grow has deeply impacted me. In a world that can often feel divided and unkind, I have come to believe that compassion must be taught early. Through teaching, I discovered not only my passion for early childhood education, but also my responsibility to give back to my community in meaningful ways. These experiences directly shaped my future goals. Growing up around my family’s childcare centers, I witnessed firsthand the challenges families, educators, and children face every day — from financial hardship to unequal access to quality care. As a result, my long-term goal is to become an entrepreneur and leader in the early childhood education industry by creating innovative, accessible, and supportive childcare environments for children and families. I hope to combine education, business, public policy, and emerging technologies to help address systemic gaps in childcare accessibility and educational equity. Most importantly, Buddhism taught me how to live with purpose. The values of mindfulness, compassion, and service continue to guide the person I strive to become every day. Buddhism gave me guidance during a time when I felt lost and fearful, and in return, I hope to dedicate my life to helping others feel seen, supported, and empowered in their own journeys.