The love I have for learning and sharing knowledge has only grown with age. From an early age, my favorite game was pretending to be a teacher. I would stand in front of a whiteboard with stuffed animals seated in a half-circle around me, recreating the classroom because it was the safest, happiest place I knew. At the time, the consistency of the educational agenda provided the only predictable and healthy routine in my life. Eventually, I learned I not only wanted to be in a classroom; I wanted to lead one of my own. Growing up, life in Los Gatos was surrounded by privilege, but my experience did not always reflect that. A few months after my stepfather married my mom, he was diagnosed with terminal cancer. I was silently grieving while balancing two AP courses, often overwhelmed by panic attacks. During that time, I found comfort in my English teacher, Mrs. Austin. She never gave up on me, even when I was at my lowest. Her compassion helped me feel seen, and her support inspired me to become that kind of teacher for someone else. Writing and storytelling were my first outlets. Every birthday, I asked for blank notebooks. I loved the feeling of a fresh, empty page—unwritten and full of possibility. Even if I rarely finished the stories I started, I was always excited by the chance to create a new beginning. When life felt uncertain, writing gave me control. I could imagine a happy ending, even if I didn’t see one around me. This naturally led me to love English, a subject that helped me make sense of the world and introduced me to characters who mirrored my struggles and inspired resilience. English classrooms were often the only places where students were invited to be vulnerable, to question, and to connect deeply with themselves and others. I began to understand that my passion for writing and literature could become a foundation for healing and growth—not only for me, but for future students. My experiences in both privileged and under-resourced schools have prepared me with the empathy and purpose needed to be the kind of educator I once needed. At Los Gatos High, I was part of “New Tech,” a project-based learning program that emphasized teamwork and creative thinking. But it was my senior English teacher, Kurt Kroesche, who confirmed my love for teaching. Mr. Kroesche was more than a teacher—he was a coach, a singer, a storyteller. His class encouraged abstract thinking and emotional reflection. I still remember a warm-up he gave us: “Is time real? How does it change for you?” His lessons challenged us to think beyond the curriculum and left lasting impact. When I returned years later to shadow him, I watched students engage with that same prompt. It reminded me just how intentional his teaching always was. Now, I work at Andrew Hill High School, a Title I campus where I’ve seen firsthand how lack of resources can create barriers to learning. In Doug Schaefer’s classroom, I’ve witnessed the power of empathy and consistency in a space that doesn’t rely on flashy tools. He proves that strong relationships and meaningful support matter more than anything. From the students I support now to the teachers who shaped me then, I carry these experiences into my future. In conclusion, English gave me the language and tools necessary to process my past and simultaneously shape my future; I am determined to help my future students do the same.

The love I have for learning and sharing knowledge has only grown with age. From an early age, my favorite game was pretending to be a teacher. I would stand in front of a whiteboard with stuffed animals seated in a half-circle around me, recreating the classroom because it was the safest, happiest place I knew. At the time, the consistency of the educational agenda provided the only predictable and healthy routine in my life. Eventually, I learned I not only wanted to be in a classroom; I wanted to lead one of my own. Growing up, life in Los Gatos was surrounded by privilege, but my experience didn’t always reflect that. A few months after my stepfather married my mom, he was diagnosed with terminal cancer. I was silently grieving while balancing two AP courses, often overwhelmed by panic attacks. During that time, I found comfort in my English teacher, Mrs. Austin. She never gave up on me, even when I was at my lowest. Her compassion helped me feel seen, and her support inspired me to become that kind of teacher for someone else. Writing and storytelling were my first outlets. Every birthday, I asked for blank notebooks. I loved the feeling of a fresh, empty page—unwritten and full of possibility. Even if I rarely finished the stories I started, I was always excited by the chance to create a new beginning. When life felt uncertain, writing gave me control. I could imagine a happy ending, even if I didn’t see one around me. This naturally led me to love English, a subject that helped me make sense of the world and introduced me to characters who mirrored my struggles and inspired resilience. English classrooms were often the only places where students were invited to be vulnerable, to question, and to connect deeply with themselves and others. I began to understand that my passion for writing and literature could become a foundation for healing and growth—not only for me, but for future students. My experiences in both privileged and under-resourced schools have prepared me with the empathy and purpose needed to be the kind of educator I once needed. At Los Gatos High, I was part of “New Tech,” a project-based learning program that emphasized teamwork and creative thinking. But it was my senior English teacher, Kurt Kroesche, who confirmed my love for teaching. Mr. Kroesche was more than a teacher—he was a coach, a singer, a storyteller. His class encouraged abstract thinking and emotional reflection. I still remember a warm-up he gave us: “Is time real? How does it change for you?” His lessons challenged us to think beyond the curriculum and left lasting impact. When I returned years later to shadow him, I watched students engage with that same prompt. It reminded me just how intentional his teaching always was. Now, I work at Andrew Hill High School, a Title I campus where I’ve seen firsthand how lack of resources can create barriers to learning. In Doug Schaefer’s classroom, I’ve witnessed the power of empathy and consistency in a space that doesn’t rely on flashy tools. He proves that strong relationships and meaningful support matter more than anything. From the students I support now to the teachers who shaped me then, I carry these experiences into my future. Through literature and writing, I want to help students find their voice—and learn how to use it.

The love I have for learning and sharing knowledge has only grown alongside my age. At the time, the consistency of the educational agenda provided the only predictable and healthy routine I had ever known. The safest, happiest, most joyful days of my childhood were always spent in a classroom; this is why I sought to recreate that space at home. As a young girl, every birthday, I asked for blank notebooks and journals. I loved the feeling of a fresh, empty notebook; the unwritten pages were a portal to a world full of infinite possibility. I rarely finished the stories I started, but I was always overjoyed at the opportunity to create a new beginning. Through writing, I had the power to imagine a happy ending, even when I was unable to find one in real life. Naturally, this connection to writing and storytelling led me to the English subject. Writing gave me the freedom to explore my own emotions and imagination in ways that felt healing and empowering. Literature introduced me to characters who mirrored my struggles and inspired me with resilience. As the years progressed, I realized that English classrooms were often the only places where students were invited to be vulnerable, to question the world, and to connect deeply with themselves and others. I want to first explore my experiences with my former high school, Los Gatos High School. During my senior year, I had one teacher who truly confirmed my love for teaching: Kurt Kroesche. His class was unlike any I had ever experienced. He was a coach, a father, an actor, a singer; he brought his multifaceted experiences into the classroom in a way that felt fresh and deeply human. Mr. Kroesche encouraged us to think in ways we never had before, often exploring abstract and philosophical concepts through unconventional mediums like Black Mirror or Rick and Morty. Following each viewing, we dissected plot points and analyzed character motivations. Every assignment had a purpose that expanded beyond our classroom walls. My appreciation for Mr. Kroesche’s teaching deepened when I returned to shadow him for a college course. One day, he assigned a warm-up I recognized from when I was his student: “Is time real? How does it change for you?” Watching students engage with that question reminded me how intentional and thought-provoking his teaching truly was. His lessons were never solely about content; they were about challenging students to develop critical thinking skills that would follow them far beyond high school. Growing up, life in Los Gatos was surrounded by privilege. Every street felt polished, every expectation impossibly high. However, as someone who could not relate financially to many of my peers, I often felt like a quiet example of adversity in the classroom. A few months after my stepfather married my mother, he was diagnosed with terminal cancer. I never expected the next invitation we would send after their wedding would be to his funeral. Meanwhile, I was balancing two AP courses while silently struggling with grief. During that time, I found comfort in my English teacher, Mrs. Austin. Her support helped me fully comprehend the profound impact a compassionate educator can have during a transformative time in a student’s life. She, too, inspired my path to teaching. Los Gatos High also provided access to innovative programs and academic enrichment that many schools cannot afford. I participated in “New Tech,” a project-based learning track where each student took at least one interdisciplinary, team-taught course per year. Group “contracts” were crafted to outline expectations and responsibilities. These early lessons in collaboration shaped my purpose-driven approach to education—one rooted in equity and shared growth. In contrast to my experience at Los Gatos High School, my current work at Andrew Hill High School, a Title I campus, has exposed me to the realities of under-resourced educational environments. Often, our classrooms lack basic materials, and technology is unreliable. Counseling and wellness services are present, but limited. These gaps in resources create barriers to learning that require creativity, flexibility, and deep compassion from educators. Nowhere is this more evident than in Doug Schaefer’s classroom, where I have observed a unique balance of depth, humor, and connection. Whether through his “old-school” use of hard-copy assignments or his refusal to own a cell phone, Mr. Schaefer proves that meaningful teaching doesn’t require fancy tools—just a deep commitment to student well-being. Every day in his classroom reminds me that great teaching is rooted in empathy and intention. Witnessing the impact he has on his students has affirmed my belief that quality education should not be a privilege, but a right. At Andrew Hill, I’ve worked with students from a wide range of backgrounds and identities. Some are unsure where they will sleep at night; others miss school to care for younger siblings while their parents work multiple jobs. One student I worked with spoke English well but struggled to write a complete sentence. With targeted support, he graduated on time. Although college was the assumed next step at Los Gatos, my time at Andrew Hill taught me that my role is not to define my students’ future, but to support the one they envision for themselves. As someone who once navigated being a Title I student in a privileged community, I recognize how vital support systems are to a young person’s growth. My experiences at both Los Gatos and Andrew Hill have shown me the transformative power of teachers. These educators—Mr. Kroesche, Mrs. Austin, and Mr. Schaefer—inspired me to become one myself. I plan to bring their same intentionality, empathy, and encouragement into my future classroom. Through literature and writing, I want to help students not only find their voice but also learn how to use it. I hope to empower them to ask questions, challenge societal norms, and imagine possibilities beyond the classroom walls. English gave me the language to process my past and shape my future. I am determined to help my students do the same.

The love I have for learning and sharing knowledge has only grown alongside my age. From an early age, I loved pretending to be a teacher, lining up stuffed animals and leading a classroom from a whiteboard. School was the only predictable and healthy routine I had ever known, and I found joy and safety in its structure. As a result, I knew early on that I didn’t just want to be in a classroom; I wanted to lead one of my own. At the same time, writing became a crucial outlet for me. Every birthday, I asked for blank notebooks, thrilled by the infinite possibilities held in their empty pages. Although I rarely finished the fictional stories I started, the act of creating new beginnings brought me a sense of freedom and control that real life often did not. Through writing, I could imagine happy endings when I struggled to find them in reality. This connection naturally led me to fall in love with English as a subject; it became a space where imagination, self-exploration, and empathy are deeply valued. In high school, my English teachers made a profound impact on me, especially during times of hardship. After losing my stepfather to cancer while balancing advanced coursework, it was my English teacher’s encouragement that kept me grounded. Her compassion taught me the lasting difference a supportive educator can make. Meanwhile, my experience at a resource-rich school showed me the importance of having access to wellness centers, counseling, and innovative learning programs. Today, working at Andrew Hill High School, a Title I campus, has further shaped my philosophy. Many of our students face significant obstacles outside the classroom — from food insecurity to caring for siblings — and the school has fewer resources to offer. I’ve learned firsthand that great teaching doesn’t require the latest technology; it requires deep empathy, creativity, and consistency. Through observing incredible teachers who meet students where they are, I’ve realized my role is not to dictate my students' futures but to empower them to discover their own paths. Ultimately, my journey has confirmed that I am called to be a high school English teacher; I aim to be one who fosters critical thinking, empathy, resilience, and imagination. Literature gave me the tools to heal and grow, and I am determined to create the same empowering space for my future students.