I became interested in engineering through a passion for architecture. I enjoyed the blend between math and numbers with the more creative side of being able to design something new and seeing the beauty in the practical and universal. Through the study of our built environment, I began to notice a lack of sustainable architecture. Making renewable energy cost-effective and more readily available for all is one of the biggest challenges I see in the environmental crisis we find ourselves in. While at a summer program I attended at Brown University, I developed my interest in alternate renewable energy sources. This is where I was first able to put it into words and use practical knowledge to work towards a solution for one of my biggest existential concerns. Today's society is so wrapped up in instant gratification that most of what we create and produce only has an immediate purpose, without any planning past what happens next. Too large a majority of people never think about the ramifications of fast fashion, single-use plastic, or their general carbon footprint on Earth. In America we design for the future in so many aspects of technology, constantly trying to improve and advance what we do, and how we do it, but things like the infrastructure of homes and buildings seem to be afterthoughts compared to other developed nations. If more homes were designed with renewable energy in mind, we could be on the right track toward reducing our harmful impact on the planet. Now, almost five years later, I have the privilege of studying environmental engineering and architecture at Washington University, one of the nation's top schools. I was able to commit to such a prestigious institution because of generous financial aid but as I get closer and closer to completing my undergraduate degree my aid dwindles. As someone with plans to also pursue a graduate degree I find myself getting discouraged and questioning whether or not I will be able to remain enrolled at my school. Higher education is too often a matter of compromise. Students are not guaranteed admittance to competitive universities even if they build the perfect resume in high school or college nor are students guaranteed the means to afford to attend such colleges. I have been fortunate enough to find my passion early on in life and outline a clear path that will allow me to enter my career choice. But at the end of the day, this all rests on my ability to afford college. I didn't want to compromise the quality of my education, and now I find myself paying for it, literally and figuratively.

Making renewable energy cost-effective and more readily available for all is one of the biggest challenges I see in the environmental crisis we find ourselves in. While at a summer program, I attended at Brown, I developed my interest in alternate renewable energy sources. This is where I was first able to put it into words and use practical knowledge to work towards a solution for one of my biggest existential concerns. Today's society is so wrapped up in instant gratification that most of what we create and produce only has an immediate purpose, without any planning past what happens next. Too large a majority of people never think about the ramifications of fast fashion, single-use plastic, or their general carbon footprint on Earth. In America we design for the future in so many aspects of technology, constantly trying to improve and advance what we do, and how we do it, but things like infrastructure of homes and buildings seem to be afterthoughts compared to other developed nations. If more homes were designed with renewable energy in mind, we could be on the right track toward reducing our harmful impact on the planet. After spending hours researching and learning about alternate sources of renewable energy at Brown, I left with the overarching importance of making it accessible to everyone if we want to succeed. Sustainability has become an increasingly critical topic in today's world, with the urgent need to address climate change and environmental degradation. Now, as an environmental engineering major and architecture minor, I want to be well-positioned to make a positive impact in this area. Thus far I have completed my first two years of undergraduate education at Washington University in St. Louis. I have cherished the time I have spent at my college and recognize what a privilege it is to be able to attend such a prestigious university. That being said it does not come without its financial hardships and this year it is more evident than ever as my financial aid package diminishes throughout my time there. This scholarship would relieve a significant amount of the financial strain put on my family to support two children getting degrees, and a third who is struggling to find employment. My interest in sustainability lies in making it accessible and affordable, especially in the housing situation in the United States, where the divide between those who can afford sustainable housing and those who cannot is significant. I plan to focus not only on designing residential housing from the ground up but retrofitting existing infrastructure with sustainable features to make them more energy-efficient and reduce their environmental impact. This approach will not only help to reduce unnecessary waste but also make sustainable features more widely available to a larger portion of the population. I believe that transdisciplinary collaboration is essential for achieving a sustainable future. True sustainability requires addressing the environment, the economy, and inequity. Partnering with people that come from different academic backgrounds provides a holistic problem-solving approach, and it is one of the reasons that I am studying both environmental engineering and architecture so that I can tackle issues from different perspectives. My passion, drive and experience in sustainability will enable me to make a positive impact on the American housing situation. By focusing on retrofitting existing buildings with sustainable features, exploring government incentives and programs, and collaborating with like-minded individuals and groups, I hope to make sustainable housing accessible and affordable for all.

I am a proud first-generation Venezuelan American. My first words were in Spanish and my mother’s native tongue rolls off mine with the ease and comfort of generations before me. However, you’d never assume it from looking at me. I’m a third-culture-kid whose privilege is intertwined with the fact that I am a white-passing daughter of an immigrant. My looks are ‘all American’ (i.e. stereotypical blue eyes, blonde hair, athletic build). In the small town, I’ve grown up in, where racism is as comfortable being covert as it sometimes is overt (even by those who I know love me), being different isn’t always celebrated. With my mom being the only person in town who I regularly get to speak Spanish with, fluency was on me. I put in the work, yet other Hispanics and Latin people often label me a “gringa”. They assume I don’t speak Spanish and minimize me. Even my relatives comment on how my Spanish is improving, though I am fluent and have no accent. Non-Hispanic people find it easier to just ignore that side of me and make racist comments in front of me. They forget to hide it because who I am doesn’t align with their small worldview of how a Hispanic person looks and acts. It’s an Othering that happens from both sides and makes me feel like an outsider of both. When I was younger my mom would send me alone to Spanish-speaking summer programs to help foster my language and cultural skills; Venezuelan camps in Florida or nature camps in Spain. I used these summer activities to foster relationships and see all parts of myself as an incredible asset. People’s wrong assumptions have helped me fully embrace and use this to my advantage. In high school, I saw the real-time effects of being able to help those who were new and struggling with English, by acting as a translator between them and teachers. Speaking Spanish also made learning French easier. As I have matured I have developed an appreciation for what a privilege and honor it is to be Venezuelan and more broadly Hispanic. Sustainability has become an increasingly critical topic in today's world, with the urgent need to address climate change and environmental degradation. Now, as an environmental engineering major and architecture minor, I want to be well-positioned to make a positive impact in this area. My interest in sustainability lies in making it accessible and affordable, especially in the housing situation in the United States, where the divide between those who can afford sustainable housing and those who cannot is significant. I plan to focus not only on designing residential housing from the ground up but retrofitting existing infrastructure with sustainable features to make them more energy-efficient and reduce their environmental impact. This approach will not only help to reduce unnecessary waste but also make sustainable features more widely available to a larger portion of the population. I believe that transdisciplinary collaboration is essential for achieving a sustainable future. True sustainability requires addressing the environment, the economy, and inequity. Partnering with people that come from different academic backgrounds provides a holistic problem-solving approach, and it is one of the reasons that I am studying both environmental engineering and architecture so that I can tackle issues from different perspectives. My passion, drive and experience in sustainability will enable me to make a positive impact on the American housing situation. By focusing on retrofitting existing buildings with sustainable features, exploring government incentives and programs, and collaborating with like-minded individuals and groups, I hope to make sustainable housing accessible and affordable for all.

Making renewable energy cost-effective and more readily available for all is one of the biggest challenges I see in the environmental crisis we find ourselves in. While at a summer program, I attended at Brown, I developed my interest in alternate renewable energy sources. This is where I was first able to put it into words and use practical knowledge to work towards a solution for one of my biggest existential concerns. Today's society is so wrapped up in instant gratification that most of what we create and produce only has an immediate purpose, without any planning past what happens next. Too large a majority of people never think about the ramifications of fast fashion, single-use plastic, or their general carbon footprint on Earth. In America we design for the future in so many aspects of technology, constantly trying to improve and advance what we do, and how we do it, but things like infrastructure of homes and buildings seem to be afterthoughts compared to other developed nations. If more homes were designed with renewable energy in mind, we could be on the right track toward reducing our harmful impact on the planet. After spending hours researching and learning about alternate sources of renewable energy at Brown, I left with the overarching importance of making it accessible to everyone if we want to succeed. Sustainability has become an increasingly critical topic in today's world, with the urgent need to address climate change and environmental degradation. Now, as an environmental engineering major and architecture minor, I want to be well-positioned to make a positive impact in this area. My interest in sustainability lies in making it accessible and affordable, especially in the housing situation in the United States, where the divide between those who can afford sustainable housing and those who cannot is significant. To achieve this goal, I believe that studying and exploring how European cities have adapted to become more sustainable is key. Europe has been at the forefront of sustainable city design, and I am eager to explore its successes and challenges. I believe that experiencing different approaches and solutions to sustainable city design can help me develop more innovative and effective solutions for the US housing situation. I also plan to focus not only on designing residential housing from the ground up but retrofitting existing infrastructure with sustainable features to make them more energy-efficient and reduce their environmental impact. This approach will not only help to reduce unnecessary waste but also make sustainable features more widely available to a larger portion of the population. I believe that transdisciplinary collaboration is essential for achieving a sustainable future. True sustainability requires addressing the environment, the economy, and inequity. Partnering with people that come from different academic backgrounds provides a holistic problem-solving approach, and it is one of the reasons that I am studying both environmental engineering and architecture so that I can tackle issues from different perspectives. My passion, drive and experience in sustainability will enable me to make a positive impact on the American housing situation. By focusing on retrofitting existing buildings with sustainable features, exploring government incentives and programs, and collaborating with like-minded individuals and groups, I hope to make sustainable housing accessible and affordable for all.

I became interested in engineering through a passion for architecture. I enjoyed the blend between math and numbers with the more creative side of being able to design something new and seeing the beauty in the practical and universal. Through the study of our built environment, I began to notice the lack of sustainable architecture. Making renewable energy cost-effective and more readily available for all is one of the biggest challenges I see in the environmental crisis we find ourselves in. While at a summer program, I attended at Brown University, I developed my interest in alternate renewable energy sources. This is where I was first able to put it into words and use practical knowledge to work towards a solution for one of my biggest existential concerns. Today's society is so wrapped up in instant gratification that most of what we create and produce only has an immediate purpose, without any planning past what happens next. Too large a majority of people never think about the ramifications of fast fashion, single-use plastic, or their general carbon footprint on Earth. In America we design for the future in so many aspects of technology, constantly trying to improve and advance what we do, and how we do it, but things like infrastructure of homes and buildings seem to be afterthoughts compared to other developed nations. If more homes were designed with renewable energy in mind, we could be on the right track toward reducing our harmful impact on the planet. I am a proud first-generation Venezuelan American. My first words were in Spanish and my mother’s native tongue rolls off mine with the ease and comfort of generations before me. However, you’d never assume it from looking at me. I’m a third-culture-kid whose privilege is intertwined with the fact that I am a white-passing daughter of an immigrant. My looks are ‘all American’ (i.e. stereotypical blue eyes, blonde hair, athletic build). In the small town I’ve grown up in, being different isn’t always celebrated. With my mom being the only person in town who I regularly get to speak Spanish with, fluency was on me. I put in the work, yet other Hispanics and Latin people often label me a “gringa”. They assume I don’t speak Spanish and minimize me. Even my relatives comment on how my Spanish is improving, though I am fluent and have no accent. Non-Hispanic people find it easier to just ignore that side of me and make racist comments in front of me. They forget to hide it because who I am doesn’t align with their small worldview of how a Hispanic person looks and acts. It’s an Othering that happens from both sides and makes me feel like an outsider of both. When I was younger my mom would send me alone to Spanish-speaking summer programs to help foster my language and cultural skills; Venezuelan camps in Florida or nature camps in Spain. I used these summer activities to foster relationships and see all parts of myself as an incredible asset. People’s wrong assumptions have helped me fully embrace all aspects of my privilege, from the way I look to my ability to communicate with a wider array of individuals and use this to my advantage.

“Trump should build the wall to keep immigrants out,” my friend’s mom said emphatically as we drove to tennis practice one day. It had slipped her mind that Trump’s wall would also keep me out since I’m Venezuelan. In 2016, when Karen (yes, that’s really her name!) made that off-the-cuff remark, I’d known her for ten years and her daughter Alex was my best friend. That, in part, was the reason she didn’t consider me an “immigrant,” stranger, alien, outcast -- someone who didn’t belong in her car. The other part is that I don’t look stereotypically Latin: one can’t distinguish me from the sea of blond, blue-eyed girls populating my New Jersey high school, our local tennis club, and our church. I’m not sure which upset me more, the sheer cruelty and aggression in Karen’s voice as she uttered those words, or the fact that I was their target, albeit unwittingly. I’ve learned since then that personal awakenings often happen when abstract notions like exclusion and prejudice become tangible, personal, and painful. I’ve been unlike other Hispanics my whole life. I’ve always been the one with an accent, the one born in N.J., the “gringa” instead of a “real” Venezuelan. Even years of grammar lessons, Spanish immersion summer camps, and living in a Spanish-speaking home never convinced Latinos that I fit in. People I pass on the street speaking Spanish to one another respond to me in English. No matter how native my pronunciation, my complexion defines me. Family members often comment that my Spanish is improving, even though what they really mean is that they are surprised I don’t have an Anglo accent, considering I’m a de facto Jersey girl. On the flip side, I’m white passing, and while that comes with enormous privileges, it also means the Karens of the world get away with vile anti-immigrant commentary. When I explain that I am, in fact, Hispanic, I get the same age-old response: “But you don’t look Mexican.” At first, I saw my difference from Hispanics and Anglo-Americans as a bad thing, something that would leave me on the outside. In the course of my political awakening, however, my mindset has shifted. I know that I can’t change the way people see me: for the Karens of the world, I’ll continue to be the acceptable, white neighbor, while Hispanics may dismiss me as foreign. However, I won’t let others determine my identity. I choose who I am, and what I do with the opportunities I’m given. This mindset applies to everything I hope to accomplish in life. I know there’ll be obstacles and that sometimes I might not be the “right fit.” But what matters is my response, my effort to establish my place in life, not my effort to fit in. Some may say I’m putting myself at a disadvantage by becoming a woman in STEM, that as a woman I won’t be able to make my way in the field. I’ll work harder, with more determination and passion. Knowing who I am, I won’t let anybody else define me.

“Trump should build the wall to keep immigrants out,” my friend’s mom said emphatically as we drove to tennis practice one day. It had slipped her mind that Trump’s wall would also keep me out since I’m Venezuelan. In 2016, when Karen (yes, that’s really her name!) made that off-the-cuff remark, I’d known her for ten years and her daughter Alex was my best friend. That, in part, was the reason she didn’t consider me an “immigrant,” stranger, alien, outcast -- someone who didn’t belong in her car. The other part is that I don’t look stereotypically Latin: one can’t distinguish me from the sea of blond, blue-eyed girls populating my New Jersey high school, our local tennis club, and our church. I’m not sure which upset me more, the sheer cruelty and aggression in Karen’s voice as she uttered those words, or the fact that I was their target, albeit unwittingly. I’ve learned since then that personal awakenings often happen when abstract notions like exclusion and prejudice become tangible, personal, and painful. I’ve been unlike other Hispanics my whole life. I’ve always been the one with an accent, the one born in N.J., the “gringa” instead of a “real” Venezuelan. Even years of grammar lessons, Spanish immersion summer camps, and living in a Spanish-speaking home never convinced Latinos that I fit in. People I pass on the street speaking Spanish to one another respond to me in English. No matter how native my pronunciation, my complexion defines me. Family members often comment that my Spanish is improving, even though what they really mean is that they are surprised I don’t have an Anglo accent, considering I’m a de facto Jersey girl. On the flip side, I’m white passing, and while that comes with enormous privileges, it also means the Karens of the world get away with vile anti-immigrant commentary. When I explain that I am, in fact, Hispanic, I get the same age-old response: “But you don’t look Mexican.” At first, I saw my difference from Hispanics and Anglo-Americans as a bad thing, something that would leave me on the outside. I know that I can’t change the way people see me: for the Karens of the world, I’ll continue to be the acceptable, white neighbor, while Hispanics may dismiss me as foreign. However, I won’t let others determine my identity. I choose who I am, and what I do with the opportunities I’m given. This mindset applies to everything I hope to accomplish in life. I know there’ll be obstacles and that sometimes I might not be the “right fit.” But what matters is my response, my effort to establish my place in life, not to fit in. Some may say I’m putting myself at a disadvantage by becoming a woman in STEM, that as a woman I won’t be able to make my way in the field. I’ll work harder, with more determination and passion. Knowing who I am, I won’t let anybody else define me.

“Trump should build the wall to keep immigrants out,” my friend’s mom said emphatically as we drove to tennis practice one day. It had slipped her mind that Trump’s wall would also keep me out since I’m Venezuelan. In 2016, when Karen (yes, that’s really her name!) made that off-the-cuff remark, I’d known her for ten years and her daughter Alex was my best friend. That, in part, was the reason she didn’t consider me an “immigrant,” stranger, alien, outcast -- someone who didn’t belong in her car. The other part is that I don’t look stereotypically Latin: one can’t distinguish me from the sea of blond, blue-eyed girls populating my New Jersey high school, our local tennis club, and our church. I’m not sure which upset me more, the sheer cruelty and aggression in Karen’s voice as she uttered those words, or the fact that I was their target, albeit unwittingly. I’ve learned since then that personal awakenings often happen when abstract notions like exclusion and prejudice become tangible, personal, and painful. I’ve been unlike other Hispanics my whole life. I’ve always been the one with an accent, the one born in N.J., the “gringa” instead of a “real” Venezuelan. Even years of grammar lessons, Spanish immersion summer camps, and living in a Spanish-speaking home never convinced Latinos that I fit in. People I pass on the street speaking Spanish to one another respond to me in English. No matter how native my pronunciation, my complexion defines me. Family members often comment that my Spanish is improving, even though what they really mean is that they are surprised I don’t have an Anglo accent, considering I’m a de facto Jersey girl. On the flip side, I’m white passing, and while that comes with enormous privileges, it also means the Karens of the world get away with vile anti-immigrant commentary. When I explain that I am, in fact, Hispanic, I get the same age-old response: “But you don’t look Mexican.” There are few car rides in my life that impacted me as much as the one four years ago. It ignited a political fire that I’d suppressed for years. In 2017 I attended my first march, walking the streets of Manhattan with thousands of others in pink hats carrying signs and fighting to be heard. Hearing their passion and feeling their grit, I knew that the voice I’d just discovered would become my biggest asset. My involvement began with causes that directly affected me: I attended the Women’s March and protests seeking to oust Venezuelan president Maduro. However, this year I took a stand for other minorities and became a part of the Black Lives Matter movement, joining local marches and helping organize events in the New Jersey surfing community remembering those lost to police brutality. At first, I saw my difference from Hispanics and Anglo-Americans as a bad thing, something that would leave me on the outside. In the course of my political awakening, however, my mindset has shifted. I know that I can’t change the way people see me: for the Karens of the world, I’ll continue to be the acceptable, white neighbor, while Hispanics may dismiss me as foreign. However, I won’t let others determine my identity. I choose who I am, and what I do with the opportunities I’m given. This mindset applies to everything I hope to accomplish in life. I know there’ll be obstacles and that sometimes I might not be the “right fit.” But what matters is my response, my effort to establish my place in life, not my effort to fit in. Some may say I’m putting myself at a disadvantage by becoming a woman in STEM, that as a woman I won’t be able to make my way in the field. I’ll work harder, with more determination and passion. Knowing who I am, I won’t let anybody else define me.

Making renewable energy more readily available and less costly is one of the biggest challenges I forsee in the environmental crisis we find ourselves in. At a summer program I attended at Brown, I developed an interest in alternate renewable energy sources. Today’s society is so wrapped up in instant gratification that most of what we create and produce has to have an immediate purpose, and that is about as far as we plan. A large majority of people never think about the ramifications of fast fashion, single-use plastic, or the carbon footprint they are leaving on the Earth. In America we design for the future in so many aspects of technology, constantly trying to improve and advance what we do, and how we do it, but homes and buildings seem to be afterthoughts compared to other countries. If more homes were designed with renewable energy in mind, we would be on the right track towards reducing our harmful impact on the planet. I spent hours researching and learning about alternate sources of renewable energy at Brown, and I left with the overall impression that it needs to be made accessible to everyone. Sustainability and engineering shine a light on my math side. Through bullet journaling I get to express my more free, creative side. My bullet journal is more than a regular agenda: it’s a reservoir of feelings, habits, and moods, and at the same time, a place to write down homework and weekly tasks. It’s my creative outlet, personal almanac, and companion all at once, a hobby that keeps me sane by giving me a place to record and reflect on my life while allowing me to create art each day. Whenever I open a new bullet journal, I am taken aback by the 192 blank pages, wondering how I’ll fill them using the 1000 dots arranged in a grid pattern across each page. The grid helps me plan, while leaving plenty of space for my imagination. In a past Bees and Honey theme, I meticulously calculated each honeycomb’s proportions, but when it came to the bees I drew over the dots and let them fly across the page. Each month, I choose a theme that mirrors my state of mind and what’s going on around me; as the seasons change, one might find schools of fish swimming around the page or flowers blooming. I begin by sketching, then add color and texture using markers, tape, and construction paper and, finally, quotes to round out the month’s theme. Rupi Kaur’s poem “You must want to spend the rest of your life with yourself first” fit perfectly in March, when I was coming to terms with isolation and loneliness during quarantine. No matter the theme, the season, or the world’s state, the root of my bullet journal remains constant: it’s a conduit for emotions, experiences, and impressions, a tool that helps me navigate the world and my life within it.

“Trump should build the wall to keep immigrants out,” my friend’s mom said emphatically as we drove to tennis practice one day. It had slipped her mind that Trump’s wall would also keep me out since I’m Venezuelan. In 2016, when Karen (yes, that’s really her name!) made that off-the-cuff remark, I’d known her for ten years and her daughter Alex was my best friend. That, in part, was the reason she didn’t consider me an “immigrant,” stranger, alien, outcast -- someone who didn’t belong in her car. The other part is that I don’t look stereotypically Latin: one can’t distinguish me from the sea of blond, blue-eyed girls populating my New Jersey high school, our local tennis club, and our church. I’m not sure which upset me more, the sheer cruelty and aggression in Karen’s voice as she uttered those words, or the fact that I was their target, albeit unwittingly. I’ve learned since then that personal awakenings often happen when abstract notions like exclusion and prejudice become tangible, personal, and painful. I’ve been unlike other Hispanics my whole life. I’ve always been the one with an accent, the one born in N.J., the “gringa” instead of a “real” Venezuelan. Even years of grammar lessons, Spanish immersion summer camps, and living in a Spanish-speaking home never convinced Latinos that I fit in. People I pass on the street speaking Spanish to one another respond to me in English. No matter how native my pronunciation, my complexion defines me. Family members often comment that my Spanish is improving, even though what they really mean is that they are surprised I don’t have an Anglo accent, considering I’m a de facto Jersey girl. On the flip side, I’m white passing, and while that comes with enormous privileges, it also means the Karens of the world get away with vile anti-immigrant commentary. When I explain that I am, in fact, Hispanic, I get the same age-old response: “But you don’t look Mexican.” There are few car rides in my life that impacted me as much as the one four years ago. It ignited a political fire that I’d suppressed for years. In 2017 I attended my first march, walking the streets of Manhattan with thousands of others in pink hats carrying signs and fighting to be heard. Hearing their passion and feeling their grit, I knew that the voice I’d just discovered would become my biggest asset. My involvement began with causes that directly affected me: I attended the Women’s March and protests seeking to oust Venezuelan president Maduro. However, this year I took a stand for other minorities and became a part of the Black Lives Matter movement, joining local marches and helping organize events in the New Jersey surfing community remembering those lost to police brutality. At first, I saw my difference from Hispanics and Anglo-Americans as a bad thing, something that would leave me on the outside. In the course of my political awakening, however, my mindset has shifted. I know that I can’t change the way people see me: for the Karens of the world, I’ll continue to be the acceptable, white neighbor, while Hispanics may dismiss me as foreign. However, I won’t let others determine my identity. I choose who I am, and what I do with the opportunities I’m given. This mindset applies to everything I hope to accomplish in life. I know there’ll be obstacles and that sometimes I might not be the “right fit.” But what matters is my response, my effort to establish my place in life, not my effort to fit in. Some may say I’m putting myself at a disadvantage by becoming a woman in STEM, that as a woman I won’t be able to make my way in the field. I’ll work harder, with more determination and passion. Knowing who I am, I won’t let anybody else define me.