I always believed that pursuing a post-secondary education would always remain a distant dream. I was always aware that my father’s middle school diploma paired with my mother's self-education didn’t equate to the necessary resources to finance my higher education. Thus, my future has unfortunately been reliant on an "if." If I can afford tuition, if I can purchase books, if I can juggle a job and studies" - these are only a couple of the ifs I've carried throughout my transition from high school to college. These streams of thoughts encouraged my family and I to search for scholarships. "Una beca es la única manera de que hagas una carrera," said my father. It was clear that he was right. During the latter part of 2022, my father suffered chronic injuries that led to him becoming unemployed. Shortly after, he was admitted to the hospital for an urgent surgical procedure. These events made it clear that a scholarship was the only way to afford a college education. I couldn't bear to think that my mother, while single-handedly supporting the family, would still have to stretch every dollar to give me the education she never had. This is why I felt so grateful when I learned about the Bright Lights Scholarship opportunity. This opportunity presented a life-changing experience, not only for me, but also for my family. It meant that, if awarded, I could finally achieve my academic goals without putting my family through a financial burden. Becoming a Bright Lights Scholarship recipient would have a significant impact on my family's financial situation. It would mean that I wouldn't have to add to the financial burden that my father's unemployment and medical expenses have placed on us. It would provide a sense of stability and alleviate the stress my mother is under as she supports our family. This scholarship would open doors for me academically and also offer a sense of hope and a brighter future for my family. I am confident that I can achieve both my personal and educational goals of obtaining a degree in which I can practice pharmacy. With this scholarship, I am determined to work hard and apply my knowledge and skills to help those in need. I am committed to giving back to my community, and I am certain that I can make a difference and foster positive change through my education and career.

The desire to help others has always run through my blood. This passion has driven me to seek out opportunities to make a positive difference in the world. It has become a fundamental characteristic that has helped define me. By consistently pushing myself to find ways to serve others, I have been able to discover previously unknown corners of my heart, furthering my understanding of what it truly means to live a meaningful life. Since the death of my brother, I have become increasingly conscious of this desire. Regardless of how hard I tried, my intention to support him with his alcoholism issue was insufficient. However, the grief I once felt has grown into something more. A newfound passion to better serve others by dedicating myself to a career in the medical field. This newfound purpose has allowed me to tap into my own inner strength while deepening my sense of what it truly means to live a life of meaning. I now strive to bring the same level of commitment to my work in the medical field; honoring my brothers' memory, and using it to inspire me to continue giving back to others. My goal is to become a pharmacist and work with people from all walks of life. In light of this, I have decided to pursue a degree in biology and chemistry to gain the necessary knowledge to enter the field of pharmaceuticals. With a degree in pharmacy, I will be able to continue helping people by providing them with the medication they need to stay healthy. I am overcome with vigor and determination to make a tangible difference in the world. I believe my knowledge and experience in the field will help to further improve the quality of healthcare available to our community as I am committed to giving back to my hometown the love and care I once received and continue to receive. I believe that when we work together and support each other, we can create a more compassionate and inclusive society. I also believe in the power of empathy and understanding, and that by reaching out and helping others, we can foster a sense of unity and resilience within our communities. I am certain that I can make a difference and create positive change through my education and career. I look forward to learning new things and advancing my knowledge in this field. I am excited to see what the future holds for me.

I hesitated as I pondered a question that was so seemingly straightforward yet so complex to answer. My mouth twitched with the intent to respond, but it stopped at that. The muscles encircling my mouth were frozen and an onset of palsy erupted in my vocal cords. A stimulus activated my fight or flight responses, but none of them were triggered efficiently. It wasn’t long before a wave of anxiety rushed over my body. My brain frantically fished for an answer, but it eventually drew a blank. Awkwardness engulfed the room and, at last, the question was reiterated; “Are you an only child?” I reluctantly decided to answer with a timid “Yes.” At that moment, I denied my brother’s existence. When I was 16, I mocked my brother's skin color. It appeared as a mustard yellow with a hint of green, one which would only be seen in a Simpsons episode. I aired my source of laughter at the dinner table, but no one seemed to fancy my humor. My parents' faces grew puzzled, trailed by a concerned state of mind. In a flash, we found ourselves at the University Medical Center of El Paso. Upon arrival, my father made his way into the room my brother had been admitted into. Not long after, my mother was approached by a doctor who was obliged to discuss my brother's health. My curiosity sparked. My sense of hearing became suddenly acute, and I listened to their almost muted conversation intently. Unfortunately, I had set myself up for disappointment. “Your son has been diagnosed with stage 4 cirrhosis and a severe case of hepatitis C.” Immediately, I turned to the internet in search of answers. I was dismayed by my findings. I disabused myself of such reality and thought “Everything will be okay.” On the day of my birthday, my brother gave his last breath. God granted me another year of life while putting an end to his. Initially, I felt burdened by guilt, a blanket that covered me from head to toe, weighing me down. Why wasn’t I there to help him? I couldn't hold back the deluge of tears causing floods in my pores. My mind often found itself dominated by both the ripe and rotten memories. From the cool autumn nights when we would play chess, to the bitter evenings when he’d come home drunk and irritable with the intent to coerce me into taking his breathalyzer test. I tried to run from my past, but I only ended up in a never-ending quick-sand pit. In the midst of darkness, I stumbled across a beacon of light, and those haunting memories receded. It was then that I sought solace under what I now call a hectic concoction of my part-time job, the gym, advanced courses, and volunteer work. Through this, I discovered that there were strengths within me I didn't realize I possessed. I was proficient in the most challenging core subject of all, math. I discovered a newly found passion for the beloved sport of soccer. Most importantly, I gained confidence and showed the world what I was truly capable of. My comfort level in answering the question “Are you an only child?” has not been completely restored as I have yet to recover from his absence. However, I am content to say that my pain is gradually reaching towards sobriety and my outlook in life has never looked as promising as it does today.

The desire to help others has always run through my blood. This passion has driven me to seek out opportunities to make a positive difference in the world. It has become a fundamental characteristic that has helped define me. By consistently pushing myself to find ways to serve others, I have been able to discover previously unknown corners of my heart, furthering my understanding of what it truly means to live a meaningful life. Since the death of my brother, I have become increasingly conscious of this desire. Regardless of how hard I tried, my intention to support him with his alcoholism issue was insufficient. However, the grief I once felt has grown into something more. A newfound passion to better serve others by dedicating myself to a career in the medical field. This newfound purpose has allowed me to tap into my own inner strength while deepening my sense of what it truly means to live a life of meaning. I now strive to bring the same level of commitment to my work in the medical field; honoring my brothers' memory, and using it to inspire me to continue giving back to others. My goal is to become a pharmacist and work with people from all walks of life. In light of this, I have decided to pursue a degree in biology and chemistry to gain the necessary knowledge to enter the field of pharmaceuticals. With a degree in pharmacy, I will be able to continue helping people by providing them with the medication they need to stay healthy. I am overcome with vigor and determination to make a tangible difference in the world. I believe my knowledge and experience in the field will help to further improve the quality of healthcare available to our community as I am committed to giving back to my hometown the love and care I once received and continue to receive. I believe that when we work together and support each other, we can create a more compassionate and inclusive society. I also believe in the power of empathy and understanding, and that by reaching out and helping others, we can foster a sense of unity and resilience within our communities. I am certain that I can make a difference and create positive change through my education and career. I look forward to learning new things and advancing my knowledge in this field. I am excited to see what the future holds for me.

The desire to help others has always run through my blood. This passion has driven me to seek out opportunities to make a positive difference in the world. It has become a fundamental characteristic that has helped define me. By consistently pushing myself to find ways to serve others, I have been able to discover previously unknown corners of my heart, furthering my understanding of what it truly means to live a meaningful life. Since the death of my brother, I have become increasingly conscious of this desire. Regardless of how hard I tried, my intention to support him with his alcoholism issue was insufficient. However, the grief I once felt has grown into something more. A newfound passion to better serve others by dedicating myself to a career in the medical field. This newfound purpose has allowed me to tap into my own inner strength while deepening my sense of what it truly means to live a life of meaning. I now strive to bring the same level of commitment to my work in the medical field; honoring my brothers' memory, and using it to inspire me to continue giving back to others. My goal is to become a pharmacist and work with people from all walks of life. In light of this, I have decided to pursue a degree in biology and chemistry to gain the necessary knowledge to enter the field of pharmaceuticals. With a degree in pharmacy, I will be able to continue helping people by providing them with the medication they need to stay healthy. I am overcome with vigor and determination to make a tangible difference in the world. I believe my knowledge and experience in the field will help to further improve the quality of healthcare available to our community as I am committed to giving back to my hometown the love and care I once received and continue to receive. I believe that when we work together and support each other, we can create a more compassionate and inclusive society. I also believe in the power of empathy and understanding, and that by reaching out and helping others, we can foster a sense of unity and resilience within our communities. I am certain that I can make a difference and create positive change through my education and career. I look forward to learning new things and advancing my knowledge in this field. I am excited to see what the future holds for me.

I hesitated as I pondered a question that was so seemingly straightforward yet so complex to answer. My mouth twitched with the intent to respond, but it stopped at that. The muscles encircling my mouth were frozen and an onset of palsy erupted in my vocal cords. A stimulus activated my fight or flight responses, but none of them were triggered efficiently. It wasn’t long before a wave of anxiety rushed through my body. My brain frantically fished for an answer, but it eventually drew a blank. Awkwardness engulfed the room and, at last, the question was reiterated; “Are you an only child?” I reluctantly decided to answer with a timid “Yes.” At that moment, I denied my brother’s existence. When I was 16, I mocked my brother's skin color. It appeared as mustard yellow with a hint of green, one which would only be seen in a Simpsons episode. I aired my source of laughter at the dinner table, but no one seemed to fancy my humor. My parents' faces grew puzzled, trailed by a concerned state of mind. In a flash, we found ourselves at the University Medical Center of El Paso. Upon arrival, my father made his way into the room my brother had been admitted to. Not long after, my mother was approached by a doctor who was obliged to discuss my brother's health. My curiosity was sparked. My sense of hearing became suddenly acute, and I listened to their almost muted conversation intently. Unfortunately, I had set myself up for disappointment. “Your son has been diagnosed with stage 4 cirrhosis and a severe case of hepatitis C.” Immediately, I turned to the internet in search of answers. I was dismayed by my findings. I disabused myself of such reality and thought “Everything will be okay.” On the day of my birthday, my brother gave his last breath. God granted me another year of life while putting an end to his. Initially, I felt burdened by guilt, a blanket that covered me from head to toe, weighing me down. Why wasn’t I there to help him? I couldn't hold back the deluge of tears causing floods in my pores. My mind often found itself dominated by both ripe and rotten memories. From the cool autumn nights when we would play chess, to the bitter evenings when he’d come home drunk and irritable with the intent to coerce me into taking his breathalyzer test. The past was something I tried to run away from, but I seemed to be running in place. Over time, the grief I once felt has grown into something more. A newfound passion to better serve others by dedicating myself to a career in the medical field. This newfound purpose has allowed me to tap into my own inner strength while deepening my sense of what it truly means to live a life of meaning. I now strive to bring the same level of commitment to my work in the medical field; honoring my brothers' memory and using it to inspire me to continue giving back to others. In light of this, I have decided to pursue a degree in pharmacy. With a degree in pharmacy, I will be able to continue helping people by providing them with the medication they need to stay healthy. I believe my knowledge and experience in the field will help to further improve the quality of healthcare available to our community. I am certain that I can make a difference and create positive change through my education and career.

The desire to help others has always run through my blood. This passion has driven me to seek out opportunities to make a positive difference in the world. It has become a fundamental characteristic that has helped define me. By consistently pushing myself to find ways to serve others, I have been able to discover previously unknown corners of my heart, furthering my understanding of what it truly means to live a meaningful life. The desire to help others has always run through my blood. This passion has driven me to seek out opportunities to make a positive difference in the world. It has become a fundamental characteristic that has helped define me. By consistently pushing myself to find ways to serve others, I have been able to discover previously unknown corners of my heart, furthering my understanding of what it truly means to live a meaningful life. Since the death of my brother, I have become increasingly conscious of this desire. Regardless of how hard I tried, my intention to support him with his alcoholism issue was insufficient. However, the grief I once felt has grown into something more. A newfound passion to better serve others by dedicating myself to a career in the medical field. This newfound purpose has allowed me to tap into my own inner strength while deepening my sense of what it truly means to live a life of meaning. I now strive to bring the same level of commitment to my work in the medical field; honoring my brothers' memory, and using it to inspire me to continue giving back to others. My goal is to become a pharmacist and work with people from all walks of life. In light of this, I have decided to pursue a degree in biology and chemistry to gain the necessary knowledge to enter the field of pharmaceuticals. With a degree in pharmacy, I will be able to continue helping people by providing them with the medication they need to stay healthy. I am overcome with vigor and determination to make a tangible difference in the world. I believe my knowledge and experience in the field will help to further improve the quality of healthcare available to our community as I am committed to giving back to my hometown the love and care I once received and continue to receive. I believe that when we work together and support each other, we can create a more compassionate and inclusive society. I also believe in the power of empathy and understanding, and that by reaching out and helping others, we can foster a sense of unity and resilience within our communities. I am certain that I can make a difference and create positive change through my education and career. I look forward to learning new things and advancing my knowledge in this field. I am excited to see what the future holds for me.

The desire to help others has always run through my blood. This passion has driven me to seek out opportunities to make a positive difference in the world. It has become a fundamental characteristic that has helped define me. By consistently pushing myself to find ways to serve others, I have been able to discover previously unknown corners of my heart, furthering my understanding of what it truly means to live a meaningful life. Since the death of my brother, I have become increasingly conscious of this desire. Regardless of how hard I tried, my intention to support him with his alcoholism issue was insufficient. However, the grief I once felt has grown into something more. A newfound passion to better serve others by dedicating myself to a career in the medical field. This newfound purpose has allowed me to tap into my own inner strength while deepening my sense of what it truly means to live a life of meaning. I now strive to bring the same level of commitment to my work in the medical field; honoring my brothers' memory, and using it to inspire me to continue giving back to others. My goal is to become a pharmacist and work with people from all walks of life. In light of this, I have decided to pursue a degree in biology and chemistry to gain the necessary knowledge to enter the field of pharmaceuticals. With a degree in pharmacy, I will be able to continue helping people by providing them with the medication they need to stay healthy. I am overcome with vigor and determination to make a tangible difference in the world. I believe my knowledge and experience in the field will help to further improve the quality of healthcare available to our community as I am committed to giving back to my hometown the love and care I once received and continue to receive. I believe that when we work together and support each other, we can create a more compassionate and inclusive society. I also believe in the power of empathy and understanding, and that by reaching out and helping others, we can foster a sense of unity and resilience within our communities. I am certain that I can make a difference and create positive change through my education and career. I look forward to learning new things and advancing my knowledge in this field. I am excited to see what the future holds for me.

I hesitated as I pondered a question that was so seemingly straightforward yet so complex to answer. My mouth twitched with the intent to respond, but it stopped at that. The muscles encircling my mouth were frozen and an onset of palsy erupted in my vocal cords. A stimulus activated my fight or flight responses, but none of them were triggered efficiently. It wasn’t long before a wave of anxiety rushed over my body. My brain frantically fished for an answer, but it eventually drew a blank. Awkwardness engulfed the room and, at last, the question was repeated; “Are you an only child?” I reluctantly decided to answer with a timid “Yes.” At that moment, I denied my brother’s existence. When I was 16, I mocked my brother's skin color. It appeared as a mustard yellow with a hint of green, one which would only be seen in a Simpsons episode. I aired my source of laughter at the dinner table, but no one seemed to fancy my humor. My parents' faces grew puzzled, trailed by a concerned state of mind. In a flash, we found ourselves at the University Medical Center of El Paso. Upon arrival, my father made his way into the room my brother had been admitted to. Not long after, my mother was approached by a doctor who was obliged to discuss my brother's health. My curiosity sparked. My sense of hearing became suddenly acute, and I listened to their almost muted conversation intently. Unfortunately, I had set myself up for disappointment. “Your son has been diagnosed with stage 4 cirrhosis and a severe case of hepatitis C.” Immediately, I turned to the internet in search of answers. I was dismayed by my findings. I disabused myself of such reality and thought “Everything will be okay.” On the day of my birthday, my brother gave his last breath. God granted me another year of life while putting an end to his. Initially, I felt burdened by guilt, a blanket that covered me from head to toe, weighing me down. Why wasn’t I there to help him? I couldn't hold back the deluge of tears causing floods in my pores. My mind often found itself dominated by both ripe and rotten memories. From the cool autumn nights when we would play chess, to the bitter evenings when he’d come home drunk and irritable with the intent to coerce me into taking his breathalyzer test. I tried to run from my past, but I only ended up in a never-ending quick-sand pit. In the midst of darkness, I stumbled across a beacon of light, and those haunting memories receded. It was then that I sought solace under what I now call a hectic concoction of my part-time job, the gym, advanced courses, and volunteer work. Through this, I discovered that there were strengths within me I didn't realize I possessed. I was proficient in the most challenging core subject of all, math. I discovered a new found passion for the beloved sport of soccer. My confidence grew and I showed the world what I could accomplish. My comfort level in answering the question “Are you an only child?” has not been completely restored as I have yet to recover from his absence. However, I am content to say that my pain is gradually reaching sobriety and my outlook in life has never looked as promising as it does today.

I hesitated as I pondered a question that was so seemingly straightforward yet so complex to answer. My mouth twitched with the intent to respond, but it stopped at that. The muscles encircling my mouth were frozen and an onset of palsy erupted in my vocal cords. A stimulus activated my fight or flight responses, but none of them were triggered efficiently. It wasn’t long before a wave of anxiety rushed over my body. My brain frantically fished for an answer, but it eventually drew a blank. Awkwardness engulfed the room and, at last, the question was reiterated; “Are you an only child?” I reluctantly decided to answer with a timid “Yes.” At that moment, I denied my brother’s existence. When I was 16, I mocked my brother's skin color. It appeared as a mustard yellow with a hint of green, one which would only be seen in a Simpsons episode. I aired my source of laughter at the dinner table, but no one seemed to fancy my humor. My parents' faces grew puzzled, trailed by a concerned state of mind. In a flash, we found ourselves at the University Medical Center of El Paso. Upon arrival, my father made his way into the room my brother had been admitted into. Not long after, my mother was approached by a doctor who was obliged to discuss my brother's health. My curiosity sparked. My sense of hearing became suddenly acute, and I listened to their almost muted conversation intently. Unfortunately, I had set myself up for disappointment. “Your son has been diagnosed with stage 4 cirrhosis and a severe case of hepatitis C.” Immediately, I turned to the internet in search of answers. I was dismayed by my findings. I disabused myself of such reality and thought “Everything will be okay.” On the day of my birthday, my brother gave his last breath. God granted me another year of life while putting an end to his. Initially, I felt burdened by guilt, a blanket that covered me from head to toe, weighing me down. Why wasn’t I there to help him? I couldn't hold back the deluge of tears causing floods in my pores. My mind often found itself dominated by both the ripe and rotten memories. From the cool autumn nights when we would play chess, to the bitter evenings when he’d come home drunk and irritable with the intent to coerce me into taking his breathalyzer test. I tried to run from my past, but I only ended up in a never-ending quick-sand pit. In the midst of darkness, I stumbled across a beacon of light, and those haunting memories receded. It was then that I sought solace under what I now call a hectic concoction of my part-time job, the gym, advanced courses, and volunteer work. Through this, I discovered that there were strengths within me I didn't realize I possessed. I was proficient in the most challenging core subject of all, math. I discovered a newly found passion for the beloved sport of soccer. Most importantly, I gained confidence and showed the world what I was truly capable of. My comfort level in answering the question “Are you an only child?” has not been completely restored as I have yet to recover from his absence. However, I am content to say that my pain is gradually reaching towards sobriety and my outlook in life has never looked as promising as it does today.

I hesitated as I pondered a question that was so seemingly straightforward yet so complex. My mouth twitched with the intent to respond, but I couldn’t. The muscles encircling my mouth were frozen and an onset of palsy erupted in my vocal cords. A stimulus activated my fight or flight responses, but none of them were triggered efficiently. My brain frantically fished for an answer, but it eventually drew a blank. Awkwardness engulfed the room and the question was reiterated; “Are you an only child?” I reluctantly answered with a timid “Yes.” At that moment, I denied my brother’s existence. When I was 16, I mocked my brother's skin color. It appeared as a mustard yellow with a hint of green. I aired my source of laughter at the dinner table, but nobody seemed to fancy my humor. My parents' faces grew puzzled, trailed by a concerned state of mind. In a flash, we found ourselves at the hospital. Upon arrival, my father made his way into the room my brother had been admitted to. Not long after, my mother was approached by a doctor eager to discuss my brother's health. My curiosity sparked. My sense of hearing became suddenly acute, and I listened to their almost muted conversation intently. “Your son has been diagnosed with stage 4 cirrhosis and a severe case of hepatitis C.” Immediately, I turned to the internet for guidance. I was dismayed by my findings. I disabused myself of such reality and thought “Everything will be okay.” On the day of my birthday, my brother gave his last breath. God granted me another year of life while putting an end to his. Initially, I felt burdened by guilt, a blanket that covered me from head to toe, weighing me down. I couldn't hold back the deluge of tears. Oftentimes, my mind found itself dominated by both ripe and rotten memories. From the cool autumn nights when we would play chess, to the bitter evenings when he’d come home drunk with the intent to coerce me into taking his breathalyzer test. I tried to run from my past, but I only ended up in a never-ending tunnel. In the midst of darkness, I stumbled across a beacon of light, and those haunting memories receded. It was then that I sought solace under what I now call a hectic concoction of my part-time job, the gym, advanced courses, and volunteer work. I discovered that there were strengths within me I didn't realize I possessed. I was proficient in the most challenging subjects. I discovered a passion for the beloved sport of soccer. My confidence rose and I showed the world what I could accomplish. My comfort level in answering the question “Are you an only child?” has not been completely restored as I have yet to recover from his absence. However, I am content to say that my pain is gradually reaching sobriety and my outlook in life has never looked as promising as it does today. I now relish the thought of studying medicine and giving back to the community from which I came. I know my studies will not be done in vain as the pursuit of a medical degree is my ultimate dream.

I hesitated as I pondered a question that was so seemingly straightforward yet so complex. My mouth twitched with the intent to respond, but I couldn’t. The muscles encircling my mouth were frozen and an onset of palsy erupted in my vocal cords. A stimulus activated my fight or flight responses, but none of them were triggered efficiently. Awkwardness engulfed the room and the question was reiterated; “Are you an only child?” I reluctantly answered with a timid “Yes.” At that moment, I denied my brother’s existence. When I was 16, I mocked my brother's skin color. It appeared as a mustard yellow with a hint of green. I aired my source of laughter at the dinner table, but nobody seemed to fancy my humor. My parents' faces grew puzzled, trailed by a concerned state of mind. In a flash, we found ourselves at the hospital. Upon arrival, my father made his way into the room my brother had been admitted to. Not long after, my mother was approached by a doctor eager to discuss my brother's health. My curiosity sparked. My sense of hearing became suddenly acute, and I listened to their almost muted conversation intently. “Your son has been diagnosed with stage 4 cirrhosis and a severe case of hepatitis C.” Immediately, I turned to the internet for guidance. I was dismayed by my findings. I disabused myself of such reality and thought “Everything will be okay.” On the day of my birthday, my brother gave his last breath. God granted me another year of life while putting an end to his. Initially, I felt burdened by guilt, a blanket that covered me from head to toe, weighing me down. I couldn't hold back the deluge of tears. Oftentimes, my mind found itself dominated by both ripe and rotten memories. From the cool autumn nights when we would play chess, to the bitter evenings when he’d come home drunk with the intent to coerce me into taking his breathalyzer test. I tried to run from my past, but I only ended up in a never-ending tunnel. In the midst of darkness, I stumbled across a beacon of light, and those haunting memories receded. It was then that I sought solace under a hectic concoction of my part-time job, the gym, advanced courses, and volunteer work. I discovered strengths within me I didn't realize I possessed. I was proficient in the most challenging subjects. My confidence rose and I showed the world what I could accomplish. My comfort level in answering the question “Are you an only child?” has not been completely restored. However, I am content to say that my pain is gradually reaching sobriety and my outlook in life has never looked as promising as it does today. I now relish the thought of studying medicine and giving back to the community from which I came. I know my studies will not be done in vain as the pursuit of a medical degree is my ultimate dream.

I hesitated as I pondered a question that was so seemingly straightforward yet so complex. My mouth twitched with the intent to respond, but I couldn’t. The muscles encircling my mouth were frozen and an onset of palsy erupted in my vocal cords. A stimulus activated my fight or flight responses, but none of them were triggered efficiently. My brain frantically fished for an answer, but it eventually drew a blank. Awkwardness engulfed the room and the question was reiterated; “Are you an only child?” I reluctantly answered with a timid “Yes.” At that moment, I denied my brother’s existence. When I was 16, I mocked my brother's skin color. It appeared as a mustard yellow with a hint of green. I aired my source of laughter at the dinner table, but nobody seemed to fancy my humor. My parents' faces grew puzzled, trailed by a concerned state of mind. In a flash, we found ourselves at the hospital. Upon arrival, my father made his way into the room my brother had been admitted to. Not long after, my mother was approached by a doctor eager to discuss my brother's health. My curiosity sparked. My sense of hearing became suddenly acute, and I listened to their almost muted conversation intently. “Your son has been diagnosed with stage 4 cirrhosis and a severe case of hepatitis C.” Immediately, I turned to the internet for guidance. I was dismayed by my findings. I disabused myself of such reality and thought “Everything will be okay.” On the day of my birthday, my brother gave his last breath. God granted me another year of life while putting an end to his. Initially, I felt burdened by guilt, a blanket that covered me from head to toe, weighing me down. I couldn't hold back the deluge of tears. Oftentimes, my mind found itself dominated by both ripe and rotten memories. From the cool autumn nights when we would play chess, to the bitter evenings when he’d come home drunk with the intent to coerce me into taking his breathalyzer test. I tried to run from my past, but I only ended up in a never-ending tunnel. In the midst of darkness, I stumbled across a beacon of light, and those haunting memories receded. It was then that I sought solace under what I now call a hectic concoction of my part-time job, the gym, advanced courses, and volunteer work. I discovered that there were strengths within me I didn't realize I possessed. I was proficient in the most challenging subjects. I discovered a passion for the beloved sport of soccer. My confidence rose and I showed the world what I could accomplish. My comfort level in answering the question “Are you an only child?” has not been completely restored as I have yet to recover from his absence. However, I am content to say that my pain is gradually reaching sobriety and my outlook in life has never looked as promising as it does today. I now relish the thought of studying medicine and giving back to the community from which I came. I now my studies will not be done in vain as the pursuit of a medical degree is my ultimate dream.

I hesitated as I pondered a question that was so seemingly straightforward yet so complex. My mouth twitched with the intent to respond, but I couldn’t. The muscles encircling my mouth were frozen and an onset of palsy erupted in my vocal cords. A stimulus activated my fight or flight responses, but none of them were triggered efficiently. My brain frantically fished for an answer, but it eventually drew a blank. Awkwardness engulfed the room and the question was reiterated; “Are you an only child?” I reluctantly answered with a timid “Yes.” At that moment, I denied my brother’s existence. When I was 16, I mocked my brother's skin color. It appeared as a mustard yellow with a hint of green. I aired my source of laughter at the dinner table, but nobody seemed to fancy my humor. My parents' faces grew puzzled, trailed by a concerned state of mind. In a flash, we found ourselves at the hospital. Upon arrival, my father made his way into the room my brother had been admitted to. Not long after, my mother was approached by a doctor eager to discuss my brother's health. My curiosity sparked. My sense of hearing became suddenly acute, and I listened to their almost muted conversation intently. “Your son has been diagnosed with stage 4 cirrhosis and a severe case of hepatitis C.” Immediately, I turned to the internet for guidance. I was dismayed by my findings. I disabused myself of such reality and thought “Everything will be okay.” On the day of my birthday, my brother gave his last breath. God granted me another year of life while putting an end to his. Initially, I felt burdened by guilt, a blanket that covered me from head to toe, weighing me down. I couldn't hold back the deluge of tears. Oftentimes, my mind found itself dominated by both ripe and rotten memories. From the cool autumn nights when we would play chess, to the bitter evenings when he’d come home drunk with the intent to coerce me into taking his breathalyzer test. I tried to run from my past, but I only ended up in a never-ending tunnel. In the midst of darkness, I stumbled across a beacon of light, and those haunting memories receded. It was then that I sought solace under what I now call a hectic concoction of my part-time job, the gym, advanced courses, and volunteer work. I discovered that there were strengths within me I didn't realize I possessed. I was proficient in the most challenging subjects. I discovered a passion for the beloved sport of soccer. My confidence rose and I showed the world what I could accomplish. My comfort level in answering the question “Are you an only child?” has not been completely restored as I have yet to recover from his absence. However, I am content to say that my pain is gradually reaching sobriety and my outlook in life has never looked as promising as it does today. I now relish the thought of studying medicine and giving back to the community from which I came. I now my studies will not be done in vain as the pursuit of a medical degree is my ultimate dream.

The method of stuffing multiple people into a car should globally be a human rights violation, but that was how my mother got here. At 12 years old, my mother, having a notion that the United States was a place of opportunity and hope, made her way from El Salvador in search of the American dream. She saw this opportunity as a ticket into what she thought would be the ideal product of her actions. Entirely unaware of the importance an education had on the living standard in the U.S, she struggled to keep our family afloat. Since my parents’ arrival to the U.S, they have spent their lives living paycheck to paycheck. In an attempt to lessen the immense wage gap between us and almost every other American, I was sent to sell popsicles for a dollar. At the age of 7, I didn’t understand why such a fragile, weightless, and oddly green piece of paper was so valuable to many, especially to my family. Little did I know that my father's middle school diploma and broken English did not equate to twenty dollars an hour, but rather a minimum wage. “Cuando sea grande quiero ser doctora, papi.” (When I’m older I want to be a doctor, dad.) He proceeded to respond with a statement that stuck with me like the gum on the bottom of a shoe. “No tenemos el dinero necesario para esas cosas así que deja de soñar tan grande y ponte a trabajar.” (We don’t have the money necessary for those things. So stop dreaming so big and get to work). My father was closed off to the idea of post-secondary education and believed that working fresh out of high school was the ideal road. My parents' story was bound to become a cycle repeated by me. I was on the road to becoming the rule stating that eighty-nine percent of Hispanics don’t pursue a post-secondary education. My father’s words played a pivotal role in my life. They became a gravitational force that pulled me into pursuing an education that I, according to my parents, was never destined to have. Soon enough, my perspective towards Hispanics pursuing an education altered when I grew confident in my own abilities. My forehead was no longer marked with the word “unworthy” written in my mother’s barely legible handwriting. Despite not having the financial means nor the moral support necessary, I was worthy of an education. I had the work ethic along with the intellect to continue my education. It is now more clear than ever that my background does not define my future. Rather than believing I was destined to become a cafeteria worker like my mother or unemployed like my father, I now believe I have the grit to achieve my dream to become a healthcare professional.

I hesitated as I pondered a question that was so seemingly straightforward yet so complex to answer. My mouth twitched with the intent to respond, but it stopped at that. The muscles encircling my mouth were frozen and an onset of palsy erupted in my vocal cords. A stimulus activated my fight or flight responses, but none of them were triggered efficiently. It wasn’t long before a wave of anxiety rushed over my body. My brain frantically fished for an answer, but it eventually drew a blank. Awkwardness engulfed the room and, at last, the question was reiterated; “Are you an only child?” I reluctantly decided to answer with a timid “Yes.” At that moment, I denied my brother’s existence. When I was 16, I mocked my brother's skin color. It appeared as a mustard yellow with a hint of green, one which would only be seen in a Simpsons episode. I aired my source of laughter at the dinner table, but no one seemed to fancy my humor. My parents' faces grew puzzled, trailed by a concerned state of mind. In a flash, we found ourselves at the University Medical Center of El Paso. Upon arrival, my father made his way into the room my brother had been admitted into. Not long after, my mother was approached by a doctor who was obliged to discuss my brother's health. My curiosity sparked. My sense of hearing became suddenly acute, and I listened to their almost muted conversation intently. Unfortunately, I had set myself up for disappointment. “Your son has been diagnosed with stage 4 cirrhosis and a severe case of hepatitis C.” Immediately, I turned to the internet in search of answers. I was dismayed by my findings. I disabused myself of such reality and thought “Everything will be okay.” On the day of my birthday, my brother gave his last breath. God granted me another year of life while putting an end to his. Initially, I felt burdened by guilt, a blanket that covered me from head to toe, weighing me down. Why wasn’t I there to help him? I couldn't hold back the deluge of tears causing floods in my pores. My mind often found itself dominated by both the ripe and rotten memories. From the cool autumn nights when we would play chess, to the bitter evenings when he’d come home drunk and irritable with the intent to coerce me into taking his breathalyzer test. I tried to run from my past, but I only ended up in a never-ending quick-sand pit. In the midst of darkness, I stumbled across a beacon of light, and those haunting memories receded. It was then that I sought solace under what I now call a hectic concoction of my part-time job, the gym, advanced courses, and volunteer work. Through this, I discovered that there were strengths within me I didn't realize I possessed. I was proficient in the most challenging core subject of all, math. I discovered a newly found passion for the beloved sport of soccer. Most importantly, I gained confidence and showed the world what I was truly capable of. My comfort level in answering the question “Are you an only child?” has not been completely restored as I have yet to recover from his absence. However, I am content to say that my pain is gradually reaching towards sobriety and my outlook in life has never looked as promising as it does today.

I hesitated as I pondered a question that was so seemingly straightforward yet so complex to answer. My mouth twitched with the intent to respond, but it stopped at that. The muscles encircling my mouth were frozen and an onset of palsy erupted in my vocal cords. A stimulus activated my fight or flight responses, but none of them were triggered efficiently. It wasn’t long before a wave of anxiety rushed over my body. My brain frantically fished for an answer, but it eventually drew a blank. Awkwardness engulfed the room and, at last, the question was repeated; “Are you an only child?” I reluctantly decided to answer with a timid “Yes.” At that moment, I denied my brother’s existence. When I was 16, I mocked my brother's skin color. It appeared as a mustard yellow with a hint of green, one which would only be seen in a Simpsons episode. I aired my source of laughter at the dinner table, but no one seemed to fancy my humor. My parents' faces grew puzzled, trailed by a concerned state of mind. In a flash, we found ourselves at the University Medical Center of El Paso. Upon arrival, my father made his way into the room my brother had been admitted to. Not long after, my mother was approached by a doctor who was obliged to discuss my brother's health. My curiosity sparked. My sense of hearing became suddenly acute, and I listened to their almost muted conversation intently. Unfortunately, I had set myself up for disappointment. “Your son has been diagnosed with stage 4 cirrhosis and a severe case of hepatitis C.” Immediately, I turned to the internet in search of answers. I was dismayed by my findings. I disabused myself of such reality and thought “Everything will be okay.” On the day of my birthday, my brother gave his last breath. God granted me another year of life while putting an end to his. Initially, I felt burdened by guilt, a blanket that covered me from head to toe, weighing me down. Why wasn’t I there to help him? I couldn't hold back the deluge of tears causing floods in my pores. My mind often found itself dominated by both ripe and rotten memories. From the cool autumn nights when we would play chess, to the bitter evenings when he’d come home drunk and irritable with the intent to coerce me into taking his breathalyzer test. I tried to run from my past, but I only ended up in a never-ending quick-sand pit. In the midst of darkness, I stumbled across a beacon of light, and those haunting memories receded. It was then that I sought solace under what I now call a hectic concoction of my part-time job, the gym, advanced courses, and volunteer work. Through this, I discovered that there were strengths within me I didn't realize I possessed. I was proficient in the most challenging core subject of all, math. I discovered a newfound passion for the beloved sport of soccer. My confidence grew and I showed the world what I could accomplish. My comfort level in answering the question “Are you an only child?” has not been completely restored as I have yet to recover from his absence. However, I am content to say that my pain is gradually reaching sobriety and my outlook in life has never looked as promising as it does today.

The method of stuffing multiple people into a car should globally be a human rights violation, but that was how my mother got here. At 12 years old, my mother, having a notion that the United States was a place of opportunity and hope, made her way from El Salvador in search of the American dream. She saw this opportunity as a ticket into what she thought would be the ideal product of her actions. Entirely unaware of the importance an education had on the living standard in the U.S, she struggled to keep our family afloat. Since my parents’ arrival to the U.S, they have spent their lives living paycheck to paycheck. In an attempt to lessen the immense wage gap between us and almost every other American, I was sent to sell popsicles for a dollar. At the age of 7, I didn’t understand why such a fragile, weightless, and oddly green piece of paper was so valuable to many, especially to my family. Little did I know that my father's middle school diploma and broken English did not equate to twenty dollars an hour, but rather a minimum wage. “Cuando sea grande quiero ser doctora, papi.” (When I’m older I want to be a doctor, dad.) He proceeded to respond with a statement that stuck with me like the gum on the bottom of a shoe. “No tenemos el dinero necesario para esas cosas así que deja de soñar tan grande y ponte a trabajar.” (We don’t have the money necessary for those things. So stop dreaming so big and get to work). My father was closed off to the idea of post-secondary education and believed that working fresh out of high school was the ideal road. My parents' story was bound to become a cycle repeated by me. I was on the road to becoming the rule stating that eighty-nine percent of Hispanics don’t pursue a post-secondary education. My father’s words played a pivotal role in my life. They became a gravitational force that pulled me into pursuing an education that I, according to my parents, was never destined to have. Soon enough, my perspective towards Hispanics pursuing an education altered when I grew confident in my own abilities. My forehead was no longer marked with the word “unworthy” written in my mother’s barely legible handwriting. Despite not having the financial means nor the moral support necessary, I was worthy of an education. I had the work ethic along with the intellect to continue my education. It is now more clear than ever that my background does not define my future. Rather than believing I was destined to become a cafeteria worker like my mother or unemployed like my father, I now believe I have the grit to achieve my dream to become a healthcare professional.

The method of stuffing multiple people into a car should globally be a human rights violation, but that was how my mother got here. At 12 years old, my mother, having a notion that the United States was a place of opportunity and hope, made her way from El Salvador in search of the American dream. She saw this opportunity as a ticket into what she thought would be the ideal product of her actions. Entirely unaware of the importance an education had on the living standard in the U.S, she struggled to keep our family afloat. Since my parents’ arrival to the U.S, they have spent their lives living paycheck to paycheck. In an attempt to lessen the immense wage gap between us and almost every other American, I was sent to sell popsicles for a dollar. At the age of 7, I didn’t understand why such a fragile, weightless, and oddly green piece of paper was so valuable to many, especially to my family. Little did I know that my father's middle school diploma and broken English did not equate to twenty dollars an hour, but rather a minimum wage. “Cuando sea grande quiero ser doctora, papi.” (When I’m older I want to be a doctor, dad.) He proceeded to respond with a statement that stuck with me like the gum on the bottom of a shoe. “No tenemos el dinero necesario para esas cosas así que deja de soñar tan grande y ponte a trabajar.” (We don’t have the money necessary for those things. So stop dreaming so big and get to work). My father was closed off to the idea of post-secondary education and believed that working fresh out of high school was the ideal road. My parents' story was bound to become a cycle repeated by me. I was on the road to becoming the rule stating that eighty-nine percent of Hispanics don’t pursue a post-secondary education. My father’s words played a pivotal role in my life. They became a gravitational force that pulled me into pursuing an education that I, according to my parents, was never destined to have. Soon enough, my perspective towards Hispanics pursuing an education altered when I grew confident in my own abilities. My forehead was no longer marked with the word “unworthy” written in my mother’s barely legible handwriting. Despite not having the financial means nor the moral support necessary, I was worthy of an education. I had the work ethic along with the intellect to continue my education. It is now more clear than ever that my background does not define my future. Rather than believing I was destined to become a cafeteria worker like my mother or unemployed like my father, I now believe I have the grit to achieve my dream to become a healthcare professional.

I hesitated as I pondered a question that was so seemingly straightforward yet so complex to answer. My mouth twitched with the intent to respond, but it stopped at that. The muscles encircling my mouth were frozen and an onset of palsy erupted in my vocal cords. A stimulus activated my fight or flight responses, but none of them were triggered efficiently. It wasn’t long before a wave of anxiety rushed over my body. My brain frantically fished for an answer, but it eventually drew a blank. Awkwardness engulfed the room and, at last, the question was repeated; “Are you an only child?” I reluctantly decided to answer with a timid “Yes.” At that moment, I denied my brother’s existence. When I was 16, I mocked my brother's skin color. It appeared as a mustard yellow with a hint of green, one which would only be seen in a Simpsons episode. I aired my source of laughter at the dinner table, but no one seemed to fancy my humor. My parents' faces grew puzzled, trailed by a concerned state of mind. In a flash, we found ourselves at the University Medical Center of El Paso. Upon arrival, my father made his way into the room my brother had been admitted to. Not long after, my mother was approached by a doctor who was obliged to discuss my brother's health. My curiosity sparked. My sense of hearing became suddenly acute, and I listened to their almost muted conversation intently. Unfortunately, I had set myself up for disappointment. “Your son has been diagnosed with stage 4 cirrhosis and a severe case of hepatitis C.” Immediately, I turned to the internet in search of answers. I was dismayed by my findings. I disabused myself of such reality and thought “Everything will be okay.” On the day of my birthday, my brother gave his last breath. God granted me another year of life while putting an end to his. Initially, I felt burdened by guilt, a blanket that covered me from head to toe, weighing me down. Why wasn’t I there to help him? I couldn't hold back the deluge of tears causing floods in my pores. My mind often found itself dominated by both ripe and rotten memories. From the cool autumn nights when we would play chess, to the bitter evenings when he’d come home drunk and irritable with the intent to coerce me into taking his breathalyzer test. I tried to run from my past, but I only ended up in a never-ending quick-sand pit. In the midst of darkness, I stumbled across a beacon of light, and those haunting memories receded. It was then that I sought solace under what I now call a hectic concoction of my part-time job, the gym, advanced courses, and volunteer work. Through this, I discovered that there were strengths within me I didn't realize I possessed. I was proficient in the most challenging core subject of all, math. I discovered a new found passion for the beloved sport of soccer. My confidence grew and I showed the world what I could accomplish. My comfort level in answering the question “Are you an only child?” has not been completely restored as I have yet to recover from his absence. However, I am content to say that my pain is gradually reaching sobriety and my outlook in life has never looked as promising as it does today.