Becoming a part of the disability community wasn't something I sought out, but it has fundamentally shaped the way I see the world. From navigating inaccessible environments to confronting the discrimination that too often accompanies invisible illnesses, I've experienced firsthand the systemic barriers that hinder participation and inclusion. As a journalist and activist, I have a platform to promote awareness and identify issues unique to the disability community, those that are often overlooked by others. Becoming disabled has sparked a fierce determination to challenge societal norms and redefine notions of success and worth. In a world that too often equates value with productivity and physical ability, individuals with disabilities are often overlooked or underestimated. But through my own journey I've come to recognize the inherent worth and dignity of all individuals, regardless of their abilities. The university I attend has nearly a hundred clubs, but lacked even one for people with disabilities. So, I co-founded the Northwestern Chronic Illness Alliance. Moving forward in my career, I plan to continue to advocate for inclusion through my journalism and activism. By championing inclusivity, I'm confident I can contribute to a more equitable future.

Writing has always been my sanctuary, offering solace and inspiration in equal measure. As an indigenous female with a disability, my journey has been shaped by the power of literacy and the transformative impact of representation in literature. From self-publishing children's books to pursuing a course of study in journalism and creative writing, my passion for storytelling knows no bounds. Growing up, books were my windows to the world, opening doors to new perspectives and possibilities. Picture books and early readers have played a significant role in my life. As a child, they were my first introduction to storytelling, igniting my imagination and sparking a lifelong love of literature. I fondly recall my childhood visits to the Los Angeles Central Library, where I sat enthralled in the story theater listening to Patricia Polacco captivate eager young minds with her beautiful illustrations and heart warming stories. I related deeply to her stories as a child, and later as an adult when I learned that she overcame learning disabilities and dyslexia. I remember bravely raising my hand as a young elementary school student, to ask Kate DiCamillo how she was inspired to write her book Flora & Ulysses, focusing on students with autism. Reading about children overcoming prejudice and discrimination and living with disabilities helped to expand my worldview and empathy for others. As a child, finding quality literature with inspiring characters who shared similar experiences was a rarity. So I chose to write them. Writing and self-publishing two children's books that celebrate women in STEM, was rewarding as well as a source of empowerment for other young readers and writers, showing them that they too can aspire to greatness like the women I wrote about. Literacy has been my ticket to success, opening doors to top colleges and affording me the opportunity to attend Northwestern University. But its impact extends far beyond academic achievements. Reading has been my refuge during challenging times, offering comfort and companionship when I needed it most. Through books, I've found the courage to confront my own struggles, including my journey with disability, and to embrace my place in the world as a young woman. To this day I keep my most prized possessions on the book-shelf in my childhood bedroom. There sits beloved books like The Keeping Quilt, The Miraculous Adventures of Edward Tulane, Ivy & Bean and the entire Winnie the Pooh series, all enshrined on the shelf as they are in my memory. With my endeavors, I hope to pay it forward by becoming a published author and championing diversity in the books that I write. I envision a world where every child sees themselves reflected in the pages of a book, where stories of empowerment and resilience abound. This scholarship will not only support my education at Northwestern but by doing so, provide me with the resources and opportunities to bring my own stories to life. I am committed to amplifying diverse voices and fostering a more inclusive literary landscape. I hope to empower others to share their unique stories, enriching the lives of young readers and shape the future of children's literature. With every word written and every page turned, we have the power to inspire change and create a brighter, more equitable world for generations to come.

Waking up used to be a routine affair. Like most people, I'd start my day with an ample supply of spoons - those metaphorical units of energy often discussed within the chronic illness community. But then, in the blink of an eye, everything changed. A bicycle accident, a concussion, and suddenly, my life took a sharp turn. The diagnosis of Dysautonomia and POTS became my reality, and my spoon supply dwindled to a precious few. Becoming a part of the disability community wasn't something I actively sought out, but it has fundamentally reshaped the lens through which I view the world. It's as if a veil has been lifted, revealing the myriad of challenges that individuals with disabilities face every single day. From navigating inaccessible environments to confronting the stigma and discrimination that too often accompany invisible illnesses, I've experienced firsthand the systemic barriers that hinder full participation and inclusion. College acceptances should have been a cause for celebration, and initially, they were. Yet, as I embarked on campus tours and asked questions, the reality of campus accessibility hit me like a ton of bricks. The sprawling hills of UCLA's campus presented insurmountable obstacles, while the logistical challenges of attending the nine day orientation at Northwestern University felt like a Herculean feat. Even once I found workarounds for the physical barriers, the social hurdles persisted. Explaining why I couldn't join in on campus events or partake in certain activities drained precious spoons, leaving me physically and emotionally exhausted. But amidst the challenges, there's been a silver lining - a newfound sense of empathy and solidarity with others in the disability community. Engaging with individuals from diverse backgrounds has broadened my understanding of diversity and intersectionality, highlighting the interconnected nature of social justice issues. It's no longer enough to advocate for disability rights in isolation; true progress requires addressing the intersecting factors of race, gender, socio-economic status, and beyond. Perhaps most importantly, being part of the disability community has sparked a fierce determination to challenge societal norms and redefine notions of success and worth. In a world that too often equates value with productivity and physical ability, individuals with disabilities are often overlooked or underestimated. But through my own journey and interactions with fellow community members, I've come to recognize the inherent worth and dignity of all individuals, regardless of their abilities or limitations. I was surprised to learn that the university I chose to attend, ranked number 9 in the country, with a student body of over 20,000 and nearly one hundred clubs and student organizations, did not have even one specifically for people with disabilities. So along with like-minded peers, I started the Northwestern Chronic Illness Alliance. We work closely with the Accessible NU (the office of disability services) to implement necessary changes on campus. As I look towards the future, I'm driven by a desire to use my experiences to effect positive change. Whether it's furthering my education, entering the workforce, or engaging in community activism, I'm committed to incorporating disability perspectives and priorities into my work. By advocating for accessibility, accommodation, and representation, I hope to create a more inclusive world where individuals with disabilities can thrive and contribute their talents fully. By embracing diversity, challenging societal norms, and prioritizing intersectional approaches, I'm confident that I can make a meaningful impact and help build a more equitable and inclusive society for all. Thank you for providing this scholarship and for considering my application.

Waking up used to be a routine affair. Like most people, I'd start my day with an ample supply of spoons - those metaphorical units of energy often discussed within the chronic illness community. But then, in the blink of an eye, everything changed. A bicycle accident, a concussion, and suddenly, my life took a sharp turn. The diagnosis of Dysautonomia and POTS became my reality, and my spoon supply dwindled to a precious few. Becoming a part of the disability community wasn't something I actively sought out, but it has fundamentally reshaped the lens through which I view the world. It's as if a veil has been lifted, revealing the myriad of challenges that individuals with disabilities face every single day. From navigating inaccessible environments to confronting the stigma and discrimination that too often accompany invisible illnesses, I've experienced firsthand the systemic barriers that hinder full participation and inclusion. College acceptances should have been a cause for celebration, and initially, they were. Yet, as I embarked on campus tours and asked questions, the reality of campus accessibility hit me like a ton of bricks. The sprawling hills of UCLA's campus presented insurmountable obstacles, while the logistical challenges of attending the nine day orientation at Northwestern University felt like a Herculean feat. Even once I found workarounds for the physical barriers, the social hurdles persisted. Explaining why I couldn't join in on campus events or partake in certain activities drained precious spoons, leaving me physically and emotionally exhausted. But amidst the challenges, there's been a silver lining - a newfound sense of empathy and solidarity with others in the disability community. Engaging with individuals from diverse backgrounds has broadened my understanding of diversity and intersectionality, highlighting the interconnected nature of social justice issues. It's no longer enough to advocate for disability rights in isolation; true progress requires addressing the intersecting factors of race, gender, socio-economic status, and beyond. Perhaps most importantly, being part of the disability community has sparked a fierce determination to challenge societal norms and redefine notions of success and worth. In a world that too often equates value with productivity and physical ability, individuals with disabilities are often overlooked or underestimated. But through my own journey and interactions with fellow community members, I've come to recognize the inherent worth and dignity of all individuals, regardless of their abilities or limitations. I was surprised to learn that the university I chose to attend, ranked number 9 in the country, with a student body of over 20,000 and nearly one hundred clubs and student organizations, did not have even one specifically for people with disabilities. So along with like-minded peers, I started the Northwestern Chronic Illness Alliance. We work closely with the Accessible NU (the office of disability services) to implement necessary changes on campus. As I look towards the future, I'm driven by a desire to use my experiences to effect positive change. Whether it's furthering my education, entering the workforce, or engaging in community activism, I'm committed to incorporating disability perspectives and priorities into my work. By advocating for accessibility, accommodation, and representation, I hope to create a more inclusive world where individuals with disabilities can thrive and contribute their talents fully. By embracing diversity, challenging societal norms, and prioritizing intersectional approaches, I'm confident that I can make a meaningful impact and help build a more equitable and inclusive society for all. Thank you for providing this scholarship and for considering my application.

Roaring, the engines accelerate with an explosive kick, barreling us through the sky. The skin on my face wrenches back, rib cage crushing my lungs. BANG! The fuel tanks separate. Silence. A white, green, and blue orb shines through my porthole. Goodbye Earth. A soft smile grows on my lips as the anesthesia seeps into my pod. Ahimsa, here I come. At twelve, I would daydream about a world where every Miss Universe gets their wish for world peace, money grows on trees, and street tacos are free. A utopia. Flipping on the TV would remind me that it was a dark time in the US for human rights and equality. As I sat riveted, I attempted to make sense of the world around me. Thus, the mechanism for my curiosity and creativity was born: writing a 130,000-word novel, starring my own utopia, planet Ahimsa. The word Ahimsa is Sanskrit for the absence of violence from the spirit. If the world around me was unkind and chaotic, I would write my way out. I’d come home from school, crawl into my papasan chair, and with my pudgy orange cat curled up on my lap, I would write. I relished the sanctuary of my imaginary world. Earth is my planet’s ugly twin whose inhabitants force Ahimsians to bend and break their utopian morals. Even the most enlightened and well-intentioned are subject to the inherent evil of humanity. A dark theme for a twelve-year-old! But over the years, I realized my novel’s message helped elucidate my life’s quest: how can we all strive to keep good things in the world? For me, “Good Things” are the millions of citizens in Ukraine electing to stay rather than evacuate; like the teacher peeling potatoes in a soup kitchen, the DJ answering emergency calls, and the videographer transporting supplies to frontline soldiers. The empathy in these acts of heroism reminds me that it’s possible to experience vignettes of humanity’s potential just by reading the morning paper. My search for capital “G” good in the world catapulted me toward journalism. Watching journalists like Rachel Maddow taught me that journalism is a powerful way to help people better understand our world and that the best news stories unfold around our everyday life. During my freshman year, I founded the school newspaper and established the journalism program. I coached a dozen editors and guided over fifty staff writers who, like me, were inspired by heroes in our community. I learned to listen closely and be meticulous with the details I was entrusted to share. As Editor in Chief, I published numerous articles starring these heroes. Like the editorial about the Fernañdeno Tavaiam Band of Mission Indians advocating for the retirement of the neighboring high school’s race-based mascot. The fortitude of the tribe inspired me to connect with my own indigenous heritage. I was honored when my article won several international and national awards. And the feature interview with Mia Tretta, wounded survivor of the local Saugus High School shooting, working to ban ghost guns to protect students in schools. Grieving students, like myself, were humbled by the power she harnessed through her pain. I was proud to amplify her efforts through my journalistic work. Writing about these triumphs ignited a fire within me. Burning to do my own Good Things, I reported on sexual assaults at our homecoming dance. The article opened with a survivor's first-hand account. My intention was for readers’ stomachs to sour - because discomfort activates our moral compass. Mine started spinning when the school administration censored the piece. On days like those, I pleaded: where’s the spaceship to take me to Ahimsa? I fought for the article’s republication and, when I prevailed, my story became a catalyst for collective action by the student body to make our dances safer. It’s instinctual for humans to strive to do Good Things when we see Good Things. Inspired by the actions in my community, and the pages of my book, I intend to remain an active part in working to understand and to create a better world. Maybe then I will no longer dream about that spaceship to Ahimsa.