I don’t always wake up at 7:00 a.m. to my alarm. More often, I wake up at 3:00 a.m. with my father. From my room, I hear him brushing his teeth, making coffee, and starting his car in the frigid Wisconsin winter before heading to his factory job making windows. He is my motivation—not because I want his life, but because I want to build a different one. Growing up, I’ve watched my parents endure the quiet cruelty of a world that gives little back to those who work the hardest. Over time, I’ve begun to see that same grayness myself as I walk crowded hallways into windowless classrooms for seven hours a day. Education, to me, is a way out of that grayness. I want a higher education not just for stability, but so I can create beauty and meaning for others. I dream of becoming an architect—someone who designs spaces people can feel proud of, places that bring light, comfort, and dignity. I don’t want people like my father coming home exhausted because their workplace lacks basic care. There is so much to love in this world, and I want to be someone who opens the door and lets others see it. Being a first-generation student means learning everything the hard way. There is no roadmap at home—no one who has filled out FAFSA forms, college applications, or scholarship essays before. Many nights are spent sitting at the kitchen table with my parents, confusion turning into frustration, words getting shouted, tears getting shed, and Google doing most of the explaining. But even when it’s hard, we finish what we start. That perseverance has become one of my greatest strengths. Despite these challenges, I’ve pushed myself academically. I balance rigorous coursework with leadership roles and extracurriculars, I joined as many clubs as I could, taking every opportunity available, all while working to help support myself. Still, the financial pressure is constant. This scholarship would do more than help pay for school—it would give me breathing room. It would relieve some of the stress that weighs heavily during my senior year and allow me to focus more fully on my education, my clubs, and preparing for college. Most importantly, it would bring me one step closer to transforming my determination into a career that improves lives. As a first-generation student, my journey is about more than me. It’s about honoring my parents’ sacrifices and proving that their hard work can lead to something brighter. This scholarship would help turn that belief into reality.

As a child, I often stayed up late building houses for my Sims characters, crafting perfect lives for them before starting over with someone new. Over time, I realized that just like my Sims, the world around me shapes my emotions. My name is Mallory Wisemiller. I’m a high school senior and a future architect. Growing up in the small town of Elk Mound, Wisconsin, I often walked through windowless hallways that left me yearning for more. I wanted my future to mean something, I wanted to have an impact–not just through design, but by showing that young women belong in spaces where decisions are made and futures are built. Choosing architecture wasn’t an easy decision for me, since there are so many careers that can make positive impacts. But once I explored the field, everything clicked. Architecture offers the chance to design open, welcoming spaces where people can truly thrive. The idea that a building I create could influence culture and communities for centuries inspires me deeply. I want to design schools where students feel connected to the world outside—where they notice the rain during class, not just when the final bell rings. I want to help people stepping out of their comfort zones feel at ease in places like therapy offices or hospitals. Architecture is a beautiful blend of technology and creativity, and I know it will fulfill me by offering new challenges and opportunities every day. Growing up, I would often try to connect with my male peers in group settings. When I shared that The Sims was my favorite video game, I was met with scoffs: “That’s not a real game—you’re just making people do boring stuff.” Their words made me doubt my passions. But then I’d go online and see women YouTubers like me making full careers out of the game. They weren’t just playing—they were building, storytelling, designing. They showed me that women didn’t need approval to create meaning in their work. Entering high school, I joined student council and quickly learned how often women’s leadership is undervalued. After our elected male president failed to show up for most of the year, I decided to run against him. Though I lost, I was elected vice president—and ended up running nearly all the meetings and organizing most events. I led fundraisers, handled planning, and kept our class moving forward, even while hearing sarcastic comments like, “Way to go, Mr. President. You really killed it at that meeting.” These experiences taught me how easy it is for women’s work to be overlooked—and how important it is to speak up and take credit. That’s why I’m committed to advocating for women in whatever space I’m in, especially in male-dominated fields like architecture. Whether it’s mentoring younger students, spotlighting women-led projects, or speaking up when others stay silent, I plan to use my voice to make sure no girl feels like her passions are “less than.” Architecture isn’t just about buildings—it’s about the people who live, learn, and heal inside them. I want to design spaces that make people feel seen, safe, and inspired. Just like the women I looked up to when I was younger, I hope to build a career that not only creates change through design, but through leadership, representation, and advocacy. I believe that by pursuing my passion and using my voice, I can help shape a world where every girl knows her ideas are worth building.

As a kid, I dreamed of being a YouTuber. I watched mermaid videos so often, I thought two ads in a row was YouTube punishing me. Then came my Minecraft phase. PopularMMOs practically raised me. And like every childhood YouTuber, they either got divorced, had allegations, or quit entirely. Naturally, I launched my YouTube career with a painfully botched version of Let It Go, directed by my sister. My mom found it. I was grounded. But that didn’t stop me. I started editing and made mini documentaries starring my cat like he was Taylor Swift on the Eras Tour. Then came the dark age: middle school with no phone. While everyone Snapchatted across the lunch table, I sat like an NPC. I couldn’t hang out unless my mom called their mom. But when I finally got a phone freshman year, it was like stumbling across a lake in the middle of a digital desert. That’s when I found fanfiction. Bad grammar? No paragraphs? Didn’t matter. The creativity was unmatched. I even wrote my own (and then ghosted my readers with a fake “family emergency”). It was perfect. Now I’m a full-blown Spotify detective. I’ve uncovered everything from classmates’ emo playlists to the football player’s “Cry My Heart Out” Olivia Rodrigo mix. Respect. Who doesn’t cry to "Hope ur ok"? These days, I’m in my final Gen Z form: scrolling TikTok at 2 a.m., flipping between ASMR, conspiracy theories, and space facts. (Did you know our galaxy is being gravitationally pulled in by something we can’t see? Same energy as my FYP.) I didn’t just grow up Gen Z…I fought my way into it! And now? I’m spontaneous, sleep deprived (it's 3:42 AM right now), unhinged in the best way, and powered by funny videos. I am Gen Z.