I'm proudest of being able to accumulate 800+ hours of community service on top of school, leadership positions, and part-time employment. To me, these hours are more than simply numbers on paper; they stand for perseverance through challenges, kindness to others, and a commitment to creating a better life despite my challenges. Throughout my childhood, my family was displaced time after time. Each time I became comfortable in our new place, rising rent or a landlord selling our home forced us to move again. Having to start over repeatedly was tiring, and many times I felt stability was something I may never know. My mom worked long hours to take care of me and my siblings but it was important to me to take on some responsibility at a young age. I helped take care of my siblings, kept up with my school work, and made sure to keep myself involved in my school and community. Instead of letting those challenges stand in the way of my motivation, I used that material for inspiration, and became involved in clubs and leadership positions in the following capacities; Vice President of the Spanish Club, Vice President of the Science Club; Vice President of the House of Muses; and, Secretary of the ASL Club; and a dedicated member of the Marching Band which required commitment and discipline, and hours of practice. I learned teamwork, leadership, and how to stay engaged when it wasn’t always easy When I was not in school, I would volunteer in any way. The experience left a mark and hooked me, as the experience gave me a direct benefit by impacting other lives. Through volunteer activity at Hard Rock Stadium, participating in food drives for locals and nearby churches, and through Habilitation, building a home for people with disabilities. I learned commitment—showing up for people. I volunteered at animal shelters; I participated in food drives; and I volunteered, in person, at organizations like the Salvation Army and the Homeless Voice. Each experience gave me greater purpose; even the smallest act can have a huge impact on ourselves and others. It was challenging to manage this level of service with a part-time job at Wendy's and Sears, especially while suffering from chronic migraines. However, during this entire time, I was able to remain on the Principal's Honor Roll and continue to tutor students in all subjects and help them to be successful, while reinforcing my idea about education. This accomplishment has transformed my life in that it lives with me as the person I am today. It enabled me to build resilience - the capacity to keep trying after being knocked down. It gave me empathy because I witnessed how much people struggle, and how much just a little bit of help can change a person's outlook. And it solidified my belief that success is not only defined by the things we have, but by the opportunities we create and share for others. As I look forward, these experiences set the course for my career goals. I want to become an X-ray technician, and later a medical dosimetrist - I would like to combine science with compassion to help patients. Throughout my community service hours, I learned a lot about myself, and that I am at my best when helping others, and I now have a passion for helping and this would influence my life choices going forward. To most people, 800 hours is strictly understood as numbers, but those hours - to me - symbolize growth, compassion, resiliency, and that through struggle, I can create the future I see.

If I have learned one thing, it is that being "hungry" is not only about ambition, it is about maintaining your resiliency, your dedication, and your hopes, even in your most trying times. For me, that hunger has been a driving force to continue chugging along, despite feeling lost, unsupported, and unsure about where my future would lead. By the end of senior year in high school, everything felt like it was collapsing. I was watching application deadlines come and go for colleges without having applied anywhere. Not for lack of having qualifications—I had the grades, the GPA, the community hours, the leadership roles. It was my life at home that felt heavy. My house was full, chaotic, and I felt more like a shadow in it, more like my existence was an afterthought than anything else. I was, in essence, being pushed from where I had been living physically and emotionally, and there was nowhere solid to land. I felt as if I were invisible, as if nothing I had done mattered. I felt the weight of the stress, of the fear of missing out on my opportunity to pursue the life I had always dreamed of. Then, one day, I opened up to a teacher whom I trusted. I told her everything, how I missed deadlines, how I felt like nobody believed in me, and how I thought that maybe it was too late. She didn't hesitate. She looked straight at me and said, “You still have time.” And not only did she say it, but she proved it; she paid for my college applications out of her pocket. When I tried to thank her, she said, “I'm doing this because I wish someone did this for me.” I broke down and cried right there. In that moment, when I felt like no one was seeing me, she saw me. She believed in me when I barely believed in myself. That moment ignited a fire inside of me. I realized that even when the world makes you feel small, powerless, or forgotten, you cannot stop showing up. I began to apply anywhere I could. I organized my materials together, followed up, asked for help, and fought to get myself into college. That hunger to be successful- to change my circumstances, to break cycles- kept me going. As I look toward the future in the health professions, majoring in biology to become a radiation therapist, I hope to have the same drive to be the person who brings light to a dark place for others, the way my teacher brought light to me. Whether that will mean comforting a patient or mentoring someone who feels lost the way I once did, I will take that hunger and compassion with me wherever I go. Being hungry means not being satisfied. Being hungry means not settling for better for just yourself, but being hungry for better for everyone whose need isn’t met. That’s how I want to have an impact.

I come from a family that has been hurt deeply and has been through a lot. My motivation for getting an education stems from a form of resilience and hope. My mom has always been the pillar of our family, and helped us through everything that came our way, despite life throwing boulders in her way. After we lost my grandfather to cancer, my grandmother struggled very deeply and soon passed herself; she never got to see her daughter, my mom, come to find the love of her life or to be married. That pain warms me when I remember it and reminds me how fleeting life is, and how difficult it can be to manage. Seeing my mom work twice as hard every day and never throw the towel in has given me the motivation to build a future where I could have the moxie to carry that forward. There were so many challenges in our household- money issues, emotional hurt, and instability. There is still a drive within me to work to overcome that cycle and become someone that people can lean on, like my mom was for us. I plan to major in Biology, become a radiologic technologist, and finally a radiation therapist. I'm going into health care because I've seen firsthand how powerful compassion and care can be, especially at the hardest times. Education is my way out, but more importantly, it's my way forward. I hope to be a light for people in their darkest moments, just like others have been a light for me.

Senior year was meant to be a time of celebration - the last chapter of one phase of life before starting another. I was feeling the opposite. While everyone around me was posting their "decision day" photos, announcing college acceptances, and celebrating on Instagram, I was paralyzed. Most deadlines had passed. I hadn’t applied anywhere. I just sat there feeling like I was shrouded in an inescapable cloud of anxiety and regret. I felt as if I had missed the boat. And, the irritating thing was, I knew I could have. My GPA, the rigorous classes I had taken, and my dedication to community service could have led me to good schools - schools which probably would have left me debt-free or close to it. I let time slip away from me, overwhelmed by life, family stress, and lack of self-belief. I didn’t feel seen. I didn’t feel like anyone was helping me. I felt alone. That’s when one of my high school teachers intervened and changed everything. She was more than a teacher. She was someone who listened, someone who heard me talk. One day, I confided in her about how lost I felt - about missing deadlines, the feeling of being so far behind, and how it felt like everyone had given up on me. - I had no expectations of her. I needed someone to listen to me for once. But instead of providing advice or telling me it would all be okay, she did something. Quietly, without drawing attention to it, she offered to help me apply to the few colleges I still had time for. And she even covered the expenses, some of the application fees, out of her pocket. When I asked her why she was helping me, completely shocked and overwhelmed, she simply said, “I am doing this because I wish someone had done it for me.” That was it, I just started crying. She doesn't realize how much that moment meant to me. How much she meant to me, in that moment. During a time in which I felt invisible and unsupported, she gave me worth. She made me feel seen. She made me feel believed in. And it wasn't for attention. It wasn't for a thank you. She did it simply because she had been in that position herself and didn't want that for me. That one simple act of kindness - her kindness, her compassion - altered my perception of the world and myself. I understood that sometimes only one individual has to believe in you for you to find belief again in yourself. She provided the hope that I was not too late. I was not forgotten. I mattered. I will carry her words with me as I progress onward. I’m determined to one day be that person for someone else - a source of kindness, help, or just an ear when someone is feeling like no one else cares. While I’m in a hospital doing my job caring for patients, in a school tutoring students, or just being there for a friend, I want to be the kind of person who sees others through the lens she saw me through. She will always have a special place in my heart. I will never forget what she did for me, regardless of where I am going or where life takes me, not simply because she had to, but because she chose to. And that choice changed everything.

When I prepared to watch Elemental, I hoped to see just another cute Pixar love story. What I didn’t expect was sitting there, completely frozen, with tears filling my eyes and memories crashing into me like waves. I didn't expect to see myself in the flicker of Ember's flame or Wade's tidal swells of emotions. But I did. And somehow between Ember's feelings of duty to honor her parents and Wade's unapologetic softness, I found a version of myself I didn't know I had lost. The journey follows Ember, a fiery spirit trying to walk the line of being the dutiful immigrant family's daughter and honor her own identity. I saw my mother in Ember’s father - so strong, unwilling to budge or break, making sure everyone was still okay despite cracks beneath. I saw Ember in me. The tumble of feeling the pressure of holding the ones that supported you through the storm, and figuring out who you are without causing heartbreak. A tightrope that I’ve walked all too often. Losing my grandfather to cancer was the first time I felt like my world melted and reformed again. Then, soon after, we lost my grandmother. My mom's mom. Not to sickness, but grief deeper than I think I've ever seen, and it swallowed her whole. She never got to see my mom get in love, get married, and build a family that deep in heart, I didn't even think was possible. That kind of loss doesn't go away, it sits underneath everything. So when Ember realized that she was living for someone else's dream and slowly burning out her light, it struck me. I thought about all the times I buried my own dreams to keep others warm, to not disturb the solid concrete of a family we'd yet to rebuild. I thought about how many times I've bitten my tongue, did what I thought was "right" and smiled through the burn. But Wade—sweet, ole, watery, Wade—reminded me of something else. That gentleness does not equal weakness. That emotion, unleashed, can heal more than it hurts. And most importantly, you do not need to dim yourself to be loved. I'll say again, the people that see us will find ways to meet us where we show up, fire and all. Elemental taught me that identity is not something that we owe to others - it is something that we own as people. And that love, when it's real, never demands that you change to fit their version of the world. Love always finds a way to give space for both elements to exist, even if that means it gets messy and murky. That's the way I want to live my life. I hope there is a life for me where I get to honor biology, radiologic technology, and my dream of being a radiation therapist without losing myself. And I hope there is a life for me where I still get to be warm, radiate light and healing for others, without a complete burnout. Elemental did not just entertain my eyes. It peeled away the layers of me that I have kept hidden, and said "It's okay to want more". It said, "You can be both: a daughter, a dreamer, a healer and a whole person." Elemental didn't change my life in the ways I would usually appreciate it - how fun it would be to experience swoon in such ways. Instead, it changed in a more muted way in the realization that I am allowed to bloom wherever I land. Even in the space between fire and water.

While some people consider changing the world through immense acts of goodness, I believe change is more likely to be initiated by one person, one moment, and one act of kindness, which is the mainstay of my academic and professional aspirations. I have a passion for science, health, and serving others, which informs my goals moving forward. I intend to major in biology and work as a radiologic technologist practicing all imaging modalities before specializing as a radiation therapist, where I hope to be the person who helps a patient through some of the hardest moments in their lives; not the person who simply performs medical tasks, but someone who uplifts, listens, and heals with compassion. My interest in healthcare began with my own healthcare experiences. I have spent a great deal of time in hospitals and health centers, and even though it could have easily been disheartening, it catapulted my curiosity. I always had a desire to ask questions: what do they do, how did they get there, and how can I do it too? I have observed how small gestures, such as a friendly nurse or a tech who cares, can profoundly change the course of someone's day. That is the kind of provider I want to be. I believe that with attention to detail and a genuine sense of care, one can change an individual's mental, emotional, and physical state. However, my journey was not only shaped because of academic accolades or my ambition, but also by how I served my community. In the many years, I have been giving back through my many volunteer opportunities, leadership, and consistent involvement in both school and community organizations. From tutoring students in all subjects, volunteering with the Salvation Army and various animal shelters, being Vice President and Secretary in numerous clubs, I put my heart, time, and effort into lifting others. I even took part in the Orlando Careers Internship, served meals to the homeless, wrapped gifts for charity, and volunteered my time with organizations such as the YMCA, Homeless Voice, and All Smiles Loving Care Foundation. Every hour I spent gave me insight into how many people are struggling in a multitude of ways—not only in a physical sense, but an emotional, financial, and social sense as well. Being raised in a family with hardships helps ground us. After losing my grandfather to cancer, and shortly after my grandmother to depression, I carry their memory with me as a reason to keep going. Their stories remind me that behind every face is a story that deserves care and attention. They challenge me to step outside of my needs and step up to the needs of others, especially those who are underrepresented or don't feel seen. I do not pursue my success for the sake of personal gain but rather to serve. I want to pay forward the support I have blessedly received by providing medical care and mentorship to those surely marginalized identities: to help them know they are not alone. This is why I work to achieve academic success, this is why I engage in leadership and service: it is so that I can build a life that contributes. Success to me is not simply degrees and titles, it is how many lives I can touch. My journey into STEM and the healthcare field is start of that agenda and I am determined to use my knowledge, compassion, and ability to contribute to a more just, equal, and caring world—one patient, one person, and one smile at a time.

I've been in and out of hospitals so I feel I have never been healed in a hospital or health centre, and anyone could feel that way. However, I was not disheartened; I had a level of intrigue. I paid attention to the procedures, but more to the people. I identified with the nurses, techs, therapists, etc, and thought about what their roles entailed, how long did they go to school, what steps did they take to get here and so on, This intrigue has never subsided, there was always a component that wanted to join a team of medical colleagues to comfort and provide an environment where individuals feel cared for, secure, and acknowledged. Some of the best nurses and healthcare professionals I interacted with were not only competent and expert in their practice, but they were also wholly kind. They took the time to listen, they expressed compassion, and they came across as genuine people who cared. It was very easy to identify the people who have a passion for helping others, and because of this passion, it shows in their work. That's what I hope to become for someone, someone who puts smiles on others’ faces, especially when they are experiencing the worst of times. It's difficult enough to feel sick, injured, or afraid. Why would anyone want to add further burden? I truly believe a little happiness, a little effort, and kindness make a huge difference in someone's mindset and healing journey. This is why I, Ayanna Alicea am learning many skills in a STEM career path towards the medical field, starting with biology. Biology is the platform upon which all life and health sciences are built. I will understand how the human body operates and what goes wrong, enough to help it fix itself. Biology is the beginning of what I hope is a long journey in the medical field. I would like to work in a radiologic technician role, and expand my roles in all modalities (X-ray, CT, MRI, & mammography) with maximum exposure to all of the knowledge I can accumulate to provide as a provider and grow into a future career. I would like to know it all, so that I know that I can do it all for the patients I will encounter. Eventually, I will pursue radiation therapy as a specialty using focused treatment modalities to assist people, especially cancer patients, with dignity and hope for life. It’s not just about the science for me. It's all about the impact. I want to provide hope, reassurance, and certainty to those receiving really scary diagnoses. I want to be a light in the darkness for someone, like so many people were for my family and me. There is a special joy in being able to help people in any way, whether that is a warm smile, a calm voice, or a properly read scan that leads to the proper diagnosis of a life altering condition. I want to be a part of those meaningful moments in someone else's life. I want to know that every day I walk into work, I am doing something meaningful. To me, being in the STEM field is not just a career—it is a calling. I want to do this for the rest of my life. And there are so many ways I know that I can fulfill that calling with the proper resources and education to get me there, and help me be the healthcare professional I always wanted to be.

Empowerment to me is the quiet strength you get from the people who came before you—the ones who endured heartbreak, carried the weight of others, and still kept going. It’s finding your voice in the middle of pain and using it to shape a future that doesn’t let that pain define you. Empowerment isn’t loud or perfect. Sometimes it’s just getting up, doing your best, and refusing to let what broke you become what limits you. Growing up, I saw empowerment through my mom. She carried our family on her back—mentally, emotionally, and financially. She held everything together when it felt like the world was falling apart. Her strength came from love but also from necessity. She stepped up because she had to, but she never made us feel like a burden. Watching her be strong for everyone else gave me a front row seat to what real empowerment looks like—not just surviving but continuing to show up for the people you love. Her strength was forged through loss. My grandmother—her mom—lost her husband, my grandfather, halfway through their journey together. They still had so many plans, so many dreams left to live out. The grief of losing him consumed her, and not long after, she passed too. What hurts the most is that she never got to see my mom find love. She never got to watch her daughter get married, step into joy, and build something beautiful after all the pain. That’s the part that still hits hard. But even in that heartbreak, my mom kept going. She didn’t let the loss stop her from living. She became love, strength, and resilience for everyone around her, including me. For me, empowerment is rooted in that legacy. It’s taking a deep loss and turning it into fuel. It’s looking at what broke your family and saying, “This is not where our story ends.” That mindset gets me through school, through challenges, and through moments where I feel overwhelmed. It reminds me I am not powerless. That even when things feel uncertain, whether it’s financial struggles, housing issues, or emotional weight, I come from women who kept going. And so will I. That’s why I’m focused on my education, why I’m always looking for opportunities, scholarships, and resources. I would like to build a future where I am not merely surviving—I would like to truly succeed and thrive. One of my dreams is to serve others, especially those who feel forgotten or overlooked. In science, health care, or some other form of service, I would like to carry the load for others, as my mom carried the load for our family. Empowerment is a big part of my daily life. It manifests in the manner in which I stand up for myself, how I face challenges, and how I keep moving forward regardless of the challenges. My mother's strength and my grandmother's memory are always with me. Their stories remind me that even though tough times shape us, they don't necessarily stop us. Empowerment to me is turning struggles into hopes and translating inspiration into action to honor those who came before us.

From a young age, I have never been able to ignore the subject of Money. I did not grow up in a house where financial literacy was discussed directly. I learned about money in real time by observing how real-life circumstances were directly affected by it. I saw how stress and anxiety over money affected one's state of mind, relationships, anxiety about housing, and accessibility to basic needs. My family often had to make tough choices where we lived under the same roof with multiple generations, with little income. For us, there was consistent unemployment, meaning that a sacrifice became an everyday occurrence, emotionally draining all the family members involved. In addition, when I was told that I had to leave due to overcrowding, I came to terms with the fact that no one else was going to teach me financial literacy, and if I wanted it, I was going to have to do it. That’s when I started my educational journey. I began with budgeting apps, free online courses, and YouTube videos. I learned the basics of saving, credit, debt, and shaping my foundation for financial stability. I opened a bank account, started tracking every dollar, and even tried prepaid or debit cards like Bold to avoid hidden fees or overdrafts. I picked up part-time jobs and tutoring assignments—not just for the income, but to learn the flow of money and my role in managing money. I learned that every paycheck became an education in thinking about priorities: how much to save, how much to spend, and how to invest in my education. From these experiences, I've come to a strong respect for financial planning. I've learned that financial education is not just about money, but about the freedom, security, and opportunity that money can provide. It is about the ability to say "yes" to your dreams without worrying about whether you can afford them. That's the kind of stability I want to build for myself and ultimately create for other people, particularly people with backgrounds that aren't as well-resourced as mine. I want to keep learning in the future. I want to learn about investing, building credit, taxes, and owning assets. I want to study healthcare or science, and I know financial literacy will help me make sense of the cost of pharmacy school (tuition, supplies, and living costs). More importantly, I want to share this information with others. I want to create community workshops, mentor young students in my community, or create simple, accessible content that helps people understand their financial power. In the future, I want to start programs that offer real financial education to young people, especially those from marginalized communities. We’re taught to dream big, but we’re rarely taught how to budget for those dreams. I want to change that. I’ve seen firsthand how financial illiteracy keeps people stuck in cycles of poverty and dependence, and I believe education is the key to breaking that cycle. In short my personal experience with finances has taught me that knowledge is not just power—it’s survival. And I’m going to use every lesson I’ve learned to not only better my future but to help others do the same.

Losing someone you love changes your entire world. No matter how many days go by, it still hurts like it did yesterday. I lost my grandfather to cancer and my grandmother to depression. Both of those losses left a huge hole in my heart that I live with every day. They were more than family; they were my backbone, my example, my safety net. The void they left is still real in the stillness of blissful moments, in the middle of celebration, and above all, in moments that feel overwhelmingly empty. But I work hard every day now to let that pain be my fuel instead of my anchor. I grew up in an environment that was not always stable or supportive. My family supported more than one generation, with a backdrop of unemployment and emotional upheaval that often made me feel like I was surviving life rather than thriving in it. When I found myself challenged, through all of this, to leave a home that was becoming unmanageable because of overcrowding and tension, I realized I had two choices: I could either surrender or persevere - I chose to persevere. I researched colleges offering housing for 365 days a year, looked up financial aid offices, and applied for any opportunity I could find, all by myself without anyone holding my hand. I maintained my grades, part-time jobs, volunteered in my community, and wrote down every deadline and every goal in my notebook. I got into the habit of hanging out: I showed up to school, to work, in life. I kept showing up even when things felt hopeless. And that consistency became my power. This scholarship is more than just money to me - it is a lifeline. It would alleviate a bit of the weight of a $13,000 financial gap I have while trying to get a college education. Unless I come up with this kind of help, school feels like a dream that I am always a little too far away from. With it, I can come up for air and think, now I can work on what I came to college to do: learn, develop, and create a future that allows me to support others and especially people who feel marginalized and left behind. Just like Kalia D. Davis, I feel deeply compelled to transform pain into a purpose. Her legacy of excellence, kindness, and ambition speaks to me purposefully. I didn't know her personally, but I understand what it means to keep going through hardship. I have that same spirit every time I enter a classroom, help someone in need, or work toward a future that honors those whom I have lost. This scholarship would alleviate the fear of economic uncertainty in following my education without precedent. This scholarship would allow me to transform my grief into something constructive and engage in social change; lead; and provide. I want to lead a life my grandparents would be proud of, regardless of that reality, and I want to be the kind of person who turns adversity into action, just as Kalia. Thank you for reading my story. I hope to continue Kalia’s legacy by pursuing excellence, living with kindness, and never giving up - especially when life gets hard.

I am invested in the medical field, particularly radiology, because I have always been so curious about the human body and the people who dedicate their time and lives for others to obtain help. As a child, I spent many hours in hospitals and health centers, usually for myself or family members. I do not think anyone ever enjoys being in a hospital or visiting a sick loved one, but these experiences have created who I am as an individual today. I learned the importance of healthcare, and I want to be someone who can know a person is in an often-horrible situation and become part of their lives. When I was younger, I realized I was always watching the professionals around me—not just what did they do, but how did they do it. I found myself thinking about how they got there: how long did they go to college, what did they endure, why did they pick that route. In a world moving too quickly, the best nurses and technicians did not hurry: they took their time, they listened, they cared. It was obvious that they loved helping people. That compassion stuck home with me and became something I hoped to give to others. Radiology interested me as it integrates science, technology and patient care. Usually overlooked from frontline care it plays a necessary role in diagnostic and treatment pathways. I am attracted to the precision and criticality of this work. It requires attention, compassion and good knowledge of how our bodies work. I love the idea of being a person to support both the doctor and patient in obtaining information that can impact major-life decisions. I believe very strongly that even a small kindness - whether it is listening to someone for a few minutes, showing them empathy, or simply injecting a bit of sunshine into their day - matter. Anyone who has been ill truly understands how difficult it is; I want to be one person helping you make it just a little easier. I want to be able to bring a little joy or peace to someone, even just for a minute. I have a joy in helping others that I cannot find anywhere else. In the end, I want to be a light for others as so many healthcare providers have been for me. I want to have compassion, curiosity and commitment to care in every role, whatever that may be.

I am invested in the medical field, particularly radiology, because I have always been so curious about the human body and the people who dedicate their time and lives for others to obtain help. As a child, I spent many hours in hospitals and health centers, usually for myself or family members. I do not think anyone ever enjoys being in a hospital or visiting a sick loved one, but these experiences have created who I am as an individual today. I learned the importance of healthcare, and I want to be someone who can know a person is in an often-horrible situation and become part of their lives. When I was younger, I realized I was always watching the professionals around me—not just what did they do, but how did they do it. I found myself thinking about how they got there: how long did they go to college, what did they endure, why did they pick that route. In a world moving too quickly, the best nurses and technicians did not hurry: they took their time, they listened, they cared. It was obvious that they loved helping people. That compassion stuck home with me and became something I hoped to give to others. Radiology interested me as it integrates science, technology and patient care. Usually overlooked from frontline care it plays a necessary role in diagnostic and treatment pathways. I am attracted to the precision and criticality of this work. It requires attention, compassion and good knowledge of how our bodies work. I love the idea of being a person to support both the doctor and patient in obtaining information that can impact major-life decisions. I believe very strongly that even a small kindness - whether it is listening to someone for a few minutes, showing them empathy, or simply injecting a bit of sunshine into their day - matter. Anyone who has been ill truly understands how difficult it is; I want to be one person helping you make it just a little easier. I want to be able to bring a little joy or peace to someone, even just for a minute. I have a joy in helping others that I cannot find anywhere else. In the end, I want to be a light for others as so many healthcare providers have been for me. I want to have compassion, curiosity and commitment to care in every role, whatever that may be.

There is a saying that I’ve always held close to my heart: “If you can’t be a light, be the light.” That belief soon became my mission when I realized how many people around me, particularly in marginalized communities, had not felt seen or supported. I didn’t have all of the answers, but what I did know was I had the desire to show up, speak up, and create connections where there were none. One of the most significant self-created endeavors I have ever carried out began with a basic understanding: that many of my peers were suffering in silence. Some of them were first-gen students like me who were figuring things out on their own. Others were LGBTQ+ youth being pushed out of their families, or students of color who were being neglected in their advanced courses. I decided I would be there for others. It was a more informal structure at first; I would check in, help with homework, and create group chats to share study guides, scholarship opportunities, and safe conversations. But it soon became more formal. I initiated a peer-led mentoring and resources group after school for students who felt marginalized - whether based on race, gender identity, sexual orientation, disability, or financial instability. I titled it “The Space” because it was, quite literally, a space to breathe, to talk freely, and grow. I scheduled sessions with guest speakers from local nonprofits and counselors who explained college and housing options and offered free tutoring. I did not have a lot of resources, so I collected school supplies through donation drives, borrowed books from friends and family, and shared my own class notes. I taught others how to apply for scholarships, write resumes, and explain to teachers/admin what they needed as self-advocates. Meanwhile, I kept volunteering with shelters and food banks that served unhoused people and families. Having experienced housing instability, I knew firsthand what it felt like to live in uncertainty and fear. I made it a priority to treat every individual with dignity, learned their names, listened to their stories, and asked how we could help in ways beyond handing out supplies. In all those moments, I was able to see how the systems often fail the most vulnerable. And I realized how important it is to meet people where they are and a set of core values nested firmly in compassion and consistency. This is what I've realized: innovation does not always mean invention. Sometimes it means using what exists to make something better for someone else. I didn't have a budget or a formal platform, I had a notebook, a voice, and an energy to make change. And yet, "The Space" supported dozens of students to feel seen and to be successful in school. My work with underserved communities made people remember they were remembered. These experiences have undeniably shaped my path. I'm going to pursue a degree in health sciences and public policy, specifically to be a part of building equity-focused systems going forward. Because when we actually create spaces that honor and uplift underrepresented people, we don't just change lives—we change futures.

There was a period in my life when it seemed everything around me was crumbling, and I had to hold myself together. I was a high school student living in a household that offered more than a definition of support, rather than a supportive lifestyle. There were many factors at play: a household of multiple generations, unemployment, and financial burdens. Peaceful moments and focus were not in abundance, and at times, I was at risk of drowning in disaster. But in that hardship, I found my legitimacy. And I specifically found my purpose. With nowhere to go and no resources, I was being forced from my home due to overcrowding and friction. My family was already dealing with financial constraints, and they couldn’t, or wouldn’t, give me the resources I needed to complete my education. I could have easily given up and let my circumstances define my future. Instead, I chose to take the challenge head-on. I researched colleges offering 365-day housing and started contacting possible support models, counselors, and financial aid offices by myself. There was no roadmap, no mentor, just a singular goal. To remain physically and mentally level, I began assigning myself small tasks every week: finish one scholarship application, talk to one college advisor, and keep my grades high. I always carried a notebook around with me, filled with deadlines, inspiring quotes, and reminders of why I was doing all of this. I was participating in part-time jobs and keeping up with my volunteer commitments—not just to build my resume, but because I needed something to feel like I was contributing to. I also tutored in my very limited free time, which helped me gain a little money but also allowed me to remind myself of good grades and value, especially when things weren't going good. One of the most significant things I did was just show up. Consistently. To classes, to appointments, to work, and to opportunities. Showing up, even when I didn't want to, taught me discipline. While I couldn't control my home life, I could control my response. In the long run, all of the small actions had a cumulative effect. I was enrolled in a local college with the potential for housing, starting to earn a scholarship, and cultivated a community of authentic mentors who were invested in my well-being. I eventually took on leadership positions in school clubs, earned recognition on the Principal's Honor Roll, and found a larger passion in science, despite my challenges of personal trauma. Through that immense hardship, I had acquired a commodity more than college admission—I had developed faith in myself. I learned how to survive in conditions where survival wasn't guaranteed and then how to flourish in environments I once believed could break me. My adversity didn't hinder me—if anything, it clarified what I could do. For now, in each new moment of adversity, I take on the same three-step approach: plan, persist, and carry on.

"Coming out is about letting people in". I didn't entirely understand that at first. When I came out in middle school, I thought coming out was simply being honest about who I was and getting something off my chest. I was anxious and scared wondering if they would forever see me as this version of myself. After letting those words out, everything changed. Not like everyone accepted me, but a whole new world came into view, one where I could finally be me, in my preferred expression. My family certainly didn't accept it. In fact, they made me feel like an alien freak like I was broken for simply existing as my true self. It cut deeper than I can put into words. Home didn't feel like home. There were times I wondered if I messed up and whether being honest was even worth it. What I didn't expect was the world outside of those four walls would show up for me, and quickly. When I came out, it honestly felt like a whole community of loving people just... fell into my lap. Friends I thought wouldn’t know how to respond came forward with open arms. People I hardly talked to already made space for me. Teachers became allies, classmates became family I got to choose, and all of a sudden, I wasn’t in this alone anymore. I was seen. I was heard. I felt loved in a way I didn’t even know existed. This community didn’t only support me, but they got me. They understood the strength of speaking up, the fear of being different, and the power of living your truth anyway. For the first time, I felt I belonged. And that feeling? That made all the difference. Because the moment you have that feeling of love and support, you want to give it back. Now, I strive to be that same light for others. I want people to realize that even if their family won’t accept them, I will. That they are not weird or wrong—they are courageous and beautiful, and a part of something larger. I make it my mission to create a safe space wherever I can. Whether that means supporting a friend, standing up against hate, or simply being there to listen, I want them to know that they are not alone. Because there is a whole community—both past and present—who put their necks on the line for us to live openly and freely. Coming out allowed people to see me for me, and that honesty created the strongest relationships I’ve ever had in my life. I may have lost some comfort at home, but I gained a family, who chose me for me. And now, I’m choosing others with that love.