Everyone deserves the world, but we only have one, so we have to learn how to share it the best we can. When I think about making a positive impact on the world, it’s easy to imagine doing something extraordinary. Discovering something new, solving an impossible problem, or creating something that changes millions of lives. And while I hope to accomplish things like that someday, I don’t believe changing the world always has to begin with something big. Sometimes, it’s as simple as waving to your neighbor, smiling at a stranger, or taking a moment out of your day to make someone else’s a little brighter. I believe these small acts of kindness, our interpersonal connections, and the invisible threads between us are what hold our world together. I remember volunteering to pack snack bags for a homeless shelter. It wasn’t some grand act of service, and to someone else, it might have seemed like a small thing. But as I packed those bags, I thought about the people who would receive them. I didn’t know their names, their stories, or what they were going through. But knowing that someone who might be having one of the hardest days of their life could open that bag and smile, even just for a moment, genuinely brought tears to my eyes. It reminded me that making a difference isn’t always about changing someone’s circumstances entirely. Sometimes, it’s simply about reminding them that someone cares. We’re taught the Golden Rule from the time we’re little: treat others the way you want to be treated. It’s such a simple idea, yet I think it’s one of the most important lessons we will ever learn. Every person we pass has a life just as meaningful and complicated as our own, filled with struggles, hopes, and dreams that we may never know. We don’t have to understand someone’s entire story to treat them with kindness. Someday, I hope to become an engineer. I want to use my creativity, curiosity, and love for problem-solving to make people’s lives better. Whether that means developing new technology, finding solutions to challenges facing our communities, or creating something that hasn’t even been imagined yet, I want my work to have a purpose beyond personal success. Behind every problem worth solving are people who deserve a better future. And I have so much hope for my generation. Gen Z is growing up in a world full of division, uncertainty, and challenges, but I don’t believe those things have to define us. I want our generation to rise above them, to choose compassion over judgment, understanding over division, and action over indifference. We have the opportunity to build a world where progress isn’t measured only by what we accomplish, but also by how we treat one another along the way. I may never change the entire world, but I can change the little pieces of it that I touch. Through engineering, community service, or simply showing kindness to someone who needs it, I want to leave this world better than I found it. Because ultimately, I believe the world isn’t held together by any one extraordinary person or achievement. It’s held together by all of us, by the connections we make, the compassion we share, and the choice to care about someone beyond ourselves.

When I entered middle school, I was extremely scared. Everything felt unfamiliar—the building, the people, the expectations—and I remember how intimidating it was to walk into a place where it seemed like everyone else already knew where they belonged. Because I remember that feeling so clearly, I try to make sure other people do not have to feel alone in the same way. To me, selflessness often begins with simply noticing people. If I see someone sitting alone, I want them to know that they can sit with me. If someone is new, nervous, or unsure where to go, I want to be the person who makes them feel welcome. That is one reason I have enjoyed volunteering at new-student orientation, helping at open house, and leading tours for incoming students. I know that showing someone around a school may seem like a small act, but sometimes having one person smile at you, answer your questions, or make room for you can completely change how a new place feels. Some of my favorite service experiences have also involved younger students. Through National Junior Honor Society, I had the opportunity to read to elementary school students, and I have spent multiple summers volunteering and helping lead Vacation Bible School. I enjoy being someone younger students can talk to, ask questions, and feel comfortable around. I have also participated in food drives, hygiene and cleaning-supply drives, animal-shelter donations, book and pasta drives, bake sales, and other service projects through school organizations. These experiences have taught me that helping others usually does not happen through one enormous gesture. More often, it happens through small decisions made over and over again: giving your time, including someone, listening, helping without being asked, and showing up when people need you. I work hard in school and care deeply about my education, but I do not want my grades or accomplishments to be the most important thing about me. Some of the moments I am proudest of would never appear on a transcript. They are the moments when I have helped someone feel less nervous, included someone who might have been left out, or contributed to something that benefited people other than myself. My experiences have also changed what leadership means to me. Through student government and co-founding my school’s Debate Club, I have learned that leadership is not about having the loudest voice or collecting titles. It is about listening, including people, doing work that others may never notice, and helping create a community where people feel like they belong. I still have ambitious goals for my future, especially in science and engineering, but I never want achievement to become my entire definition of success. I want to work toward the things that make me happy and fulfilled while also making room for other people along the way. If the communities I am part of are a little kinder, more welcoming, and more connected because I was there, that will always matter to me.

Most people trace their interest in a technical field back to a teacher, a class, or a well-known figure in STEM. Mine started with a stranger—an older man I met during a visit to the U.S. Space & Rocket Center. I had always loved space, but at the time, it was more of a fascination than a direction. That changed the day I stood beneath the massive Saturn V rocket suspended above me. I remember how impossibly large it felt, stretching overhead in a way that made me feel small . That’s when I met him. He didn’t look like what I imagined a “technical” person would be. He was older, energetic, and clearly excited to be there, not just to observe, but to explain. Without hesitation, he started talking about the Saturn V: how it was built, how it worked, what each part was, and what made it powerful enough to send humans to the moon. He didn’t simplify it too much or talk down to me, even though I was young. Instead, he spoke with this contagious enthusiasm, like every detail mattered and every question was worth answering. And he knew everything. I don’t remember every fact he shared, but I remember how it felt to listen to him. It wasn’t just information, it was passion. The kind of passion that made something complex feel alive and exciting instead of intimidating. Before we walked away, he smiled and said, “Okay, I hope you got all of that, because I’m going to quiz you next time.” It was such a small comment, but it stuck with me. Not because I was worried about being quizzed, but because I was ready. It made me feel like I was part of something, and that understanding this wasn’t out of reach, that I was capable too. Looking back, that moment changed more than I realized at the time. It shifted how I saw technical fields. They weren’t just about intelligence or memorizing facts (ven though they might be cool facts), they were about curiosity, energy, and a genuine love for understanding how things work. That man didn’t just know about rockets; he loved knowing about them. And more importantly, he loved sharing that knowledge. That’s what I wanted. I didn’t walk away thinking, “I want to build a Saturn V rocket.” I walked away thinking, “I want to care about something the way he does.” I wanted to be the kind of person who could stand in front of something complex and not only understand it, but explain it, like he did. Since then, my interest in technical subjects has grown from curiosity into something more intentional. I approach challenges differently now. Instead of feeling overwhelmed by complexity, I try to break things down, ask questions, and stay engaged, even when it’s difficult. That shift didn’t come from a classroom lesson; it came from a brief interaction with someone who showed me what passion in a technical field actually looks like. He probably never realized he made an impact on anyone that day. To him, it may have just been another conversation, another explanation of something he loved. But for me, it was something much bigger. It was a glimpse into the kind of person I want to become. I don’t know his name, and I never saw him again. But in a single conversation, he showed me everything I needed to know, and that even small moments can shape someone’s future in ways you may never see. One day, I want to be that person for someone else.

Everyone says growing up is exciting—full of new opportunities, independence, and possibility. But no one really talks about the quiet fear that comes with it, the fear of not knowing if you’re ready, or worse, if you’ll ever feel ready at all. That’s why one lyric from Olivia Rodrigo’s GUTS has stayed with me: “They all say that it gets better, it gets better, but what if I don’t?” It’s not just a line, it’s a question I find myself asking more often than I’d like to admit. There was a time when life felt simple without me even realizing it. As a kid, my biggest worries were finishing homework quickly enough to play outside or deciding how to spend a free weekend. Time felt endless, and responsibility felt distant. Now, those same weekends are filled with assignments, studying, and the constant pressure to stay ahead. Somewhere between childhood and now, life shifted from something I lived in to something I have to keep up with. Being a teenager often feels like carrying an invisible weight. There’s pressure to succeed academically, maintain friendships, participate in activities, and somehow prepare for a future that still feels unclear. It’s easy to fall into the mindset that I should already have everything figured out, that I should know where I’m going and how I’m going to get there. Even though I know that expectation isn’t realistic, it still stays in the background, shaping how I see myself and my progress. That’s what makes Olivia’s lyric so powerful. It captures the uncertainty that so many people avoid acknowledging. People love to promise that things will get better, but they rarely explain how, or what happens if it doesn’t feel that way right now. There are nights when that uncertainty feels overwhelming, when I find myself lying awake thinking about college applications, future decisions, and whether I’ll make the “right” choices. In those moments, it’s easy to feel isolated, like I’m the only one questioning everything. But over time, I’ve started to see that the question in that lyric isn’t something to fear, it’s something to accept. Growth isn’t supposed to feel comfortable or predictable. It’s not a straight path where everything suddenly becomes clear. Instead, it’s a process filled with doubt, change, and moments where nothing feels certain. And maybe that’s not a sign that things are going wrong, maybe it’s a sign that they’re moving forward. I still miss the simplicity of childhood, the way life felt lighter and more manageable. But I’m beginning to understand that the challenges I face now are shaping me in ways that simplicity never could. They’re teaching me how to adapt, how to persevere, and how to keep going even when I don’t have all the answers. What I appreciate most about this lyric is its honesty. It doesn’t try to offer easy reassurance or pretend that everything will fall into place. Instead, it acknowledges the fear and uncertainty that come with growing up, and in doing so, it makes those feelings feel valid. Maybe life doesn’t suddenly “get better” in the way people promise. Maybe it just gets more real, more complex, and more demanding. But maybe that’s not something to be afraid of. Because if I can learn to face uncertainty now, to move forward without having everything figured out—then I’m not falling behind. I’m growing. And maybe that’s what “better” really means.

Ever since I can remember, I have loved math, not just for the numbers, but for the way it makes sense of the world. While other subjects sometimes feel confusing or uncertain, math has always been clear and logical. I love the numbers themselves, the patterns they create, and how they can unlock solutions to problems that at first seem impossible. I also love the feeling of solving an equation, when everything suddenly clicks. But I have to admit, I even enjoy the feeling of being stuck. I remember one afternoon working on a problem that I just could not figure out. I felt frustrated and ready to give up, but something inside me kept nudging me to try again. When I finally solved it, the excitement and relief made all the struggle worth it. Those moments remind me why I love challenges—they make the success feel even sweeter. Math also shows me patterns in everyday life. From figuring out how long it will take to save for something I want to noticing symmetry in nature, it connects ideas in ways that make sense. Math pushes me to think creatively, stay patient, and trust myself, showing me that mistakes are not failures, but chances to learn and grow. For me, math is more than a subject. It is exciting, challenging, and full of small victories that make me proud. It reminds me that even when I feel stuck, I am capable of finding solutions. That is why I love math, it teaches me, inspires me, and makes me feel excited.

Ever since I can remember, I’ve been someone who tries to work hard and be kind. I care deeply about doing my best, especially when it comes to school. I always want to learn and grow, but science has always felt different from my other subjects. It’s the one class where I don’t have to worry about being perfect, I just get to enjoy it. Science makes sense to me, and I get excited to understand how the world works. I love the way it explains things I’ve always wondered about, like how atoms form, why certain reactions happen, or how energy moves through the world around us. It’s a mix of curiosity and logic that just clicks for me in a way no other subject does. For a long time, my science classes didn’t go very deep, but everything changed when I joined Science Olympiad. Suddenly, there were all these events and topics I had never heard of before, and I was fascinated. Some events were challenging and some made me think in ways I never had before, but I loved every moment. Around the same time, I had one of the best teachers I’ve ever had, Mrs. DeFilippis, in 7th grade science. She made everything come alive. I got to look into microscopes, learn about atoms, and see how all the little parts of the world connect. That experience expanded my view of science and made me realize how much I love exploring and discovering new things. It made me want to keep learning, experimenting, and asking questions even outside of class. Now, I hope to become a nuclear engineer one day. I know there’s still so much to learn before I get there, but that’s what excites me most. Science and math challenge me in ways that keep me curious and motivated. I love solving problems, analyzing patterns, and thinking about how the things we learn can be used to help others and improve the world. I also love how math and science work together. Solving a tough equation or understanding a complex concept feels like piecing together a puzzle, and I can’t get enough of that feeling. As I keep learning and growing, I want to use my knowledge to make a difference. Whether it’s through research, discovering new things, or teaching others, I want to continue exploring and sharing ideas. For me, learning isn’t just about grades, it is about those moments when something finally clicks, and I can’t wait to keep chasing those moments in science and in life (though I’ll admit, I still care about my grades too). Science isn’t just a subject to me, it’s a way of thinking and exploring that makes me feel like I’m part of something bigger, and I know it will continue to shape who I am and who I hope to become.

I grew up singing Wicked at the top of my lungs with the windows down in the car, and my family laughing and belting out every word right beside me. The soundtrack became part of our lives, road trips, Thursday nights after school, and random car rides. Those songs filled the car with joy and energy, but the one that always stuck with me most was “For Good.” Even back then, I didn’t fully understand why it made me emotional, but I knew it meant something special. As I got older, that song started to mean more. I’ve listened to the Broadway version so many times, and it still gives me chills every single time. There’s something about the way the voices blend together. There are feelings in every lyric, which capture love, friendship, and how people change us forever. It’s one of those rare songs that makes you stop, listen, and feel everything all at once. I think what makes Wicked so special is how real it feels, even though it’s set in the magical world of Oz. Elphaba and Glinda’s story shows how people can come into your life and change you in ways you never expected. That’s what “For Good” means to me. It is about growing, saying goodbye, and still carrying those memories with you. Every time I hear it, it makes me think about the people who’ve shaped me, even in small ways. Now, seeing Wicked come to life in the movie has made that connection even stronger. From the trailers alone, you can already feel the raw emotion and talent. The performances are breathtaking. Ariana Grande and Cynthia Erivo bring such honesty and heart to their roles that you can sense the depth of their friendship and everything that “For Good” really means. It’s hard to even put into words how powerful that feels. The Broadway version has always been close to my heart, but watching it evolve and become this stunning film feels like seeing a dream finally come true. Everyone involved is so talented, and Stephen Schwartz is a complete genius. His music has this timeless quality that connects to people in such a personal way. I think that’s what makes Wicked so unforgettable—it’s not just the story or the songs, it’s the emotion behind them. Wicked has taught me that being different is something to celebrate, that friendship can change your life, and that staying true to who you are matters more than what others think. Every time I listen to “For Good,” I’m reminded that the people we meet and the moments we share can leave a mark that lasts forever.

One lyric from Olivia Rodrigo’s GUTS that really hits me is: “They all say that it gets better, it gets better, but what if I don’t?” Honestly, this line sums up exactly how I feel about growing up. Everyone says that life will get easier, but just thinking about college, my future, and all the responsibilities ahead makes me anxious. Sometimes I just wish I could be a kid again, when life was simple and my biggest worries were finishing homework or deciding what game to play outside after school. Back then, weekends felt like freedom, I didn’t even think about homework until Sunday night. Now, my weekends are completely full of assignments and studying, which makes me miss the carefree feeling of childhood even more. Being a teenager feels like carrying around a backpack full of invisible weight. Between grades, friendships, activities, and the constant pressure of preparing for college, it’s easy to feel overwhelmed. I catch myself believing that I need to have everything figured out already, even though I know deep down that no one my age truly does. Rodrigo’s lyric captures that exact fear, that maybe I won’t “get it right,” that maybe things won’t just magically improve with time. There are nights when I lie awake worrying about college applications, wondering if I’ll choose the right school or if I’ll ever feel ready for adulthood. Those thoughts can feel really isolating, as if I’m the only one struggling to balance it all, even though I know many of my peers feel the same. At the same time, the lyric reminds me that it’s okay to feel anxious and uncertain. Growing up is not supposed to be easy, and every challenge I face, whether it’s a tough class, a stressful deadline, or even just dealing with my own self-doubt, teaches me something about resilience. I may long for the simplicity of childhood, but I also realize that these struggles are shaping me into a stronger, more independent person. What I love about this lyric is how honest it is. Adolescence is messy, confusing, and full of contradictions: wanting freedom but also missing simplicity, wanting independence but fearing the future. Olivia Rodrigo captures that feeling in a way that makes me feel seen. For me, this lyric is a reminder that it’s okay to feel scared of what’s ahead. Even if I don’t have everything figured out yet, that doesn’t mean I’m failing, it means I’m growing, and that’s what being a teenager is all about.