It is a commonly shared belief among high school students that calculus is irrelevant in any setting beyond an AP Calculus classroom. I used to be one of these few. However, after investing time in AB and BC Calculus courses through my junior and senior years, I am a firm believer in the applications of calculus in the world beyond the domain of K-12 education. From differentiating equations to determining the Taylor and Mclaurin series of a function, calculus provides us with a lens through which we view the world in a more pragmatic and multifaceted way. From cybersecurity to biomedical engineering, the foundations of calculus rooted in logical principles and perseverance serve as the building blocks that motivate innovation in our society. Without it, life would remain stagnant. In our modern twenty-first century, there is a reason why mathematicians such as Euler and Déscartes continuously find prevalence. Aside from its inherent logical foundations, calculus also spurs the continuous use of thought in successive generations. As theorems are now referred to as rules and methods, calculus itself is a concrete testament that perseverance, especially in STEM, can have rewarding and precedent-setting effects. In my pursuit of a career in the medical field, I stand firm in my assertion that calculus has contributed largely to my perception of STEM majors in a continuously advancing world––not only as a reliable source of critical thinking in a growing population, but also as a necessary element in the sustenance of life and consciousness. Calculus helps me feel connected to the process of evolution of the human mind. From unconsciously practicing algebra with the bartering system to calculating the distance between planets in our larger solar system, calculus is a humbling reminder of the capacity and potential of the human race. In a society where it is unknowingly applied to numerous facets of life calculus is an unspoken hero of humanity. Life is multifaceted, and calculus is a testament to that. Where optimization techniques help maximize operational farming efficiency and tangent lines aid in constructing architectural world landmarks, the practice of calculus streamlines human capability into tangible works. Rooted in logic, but granted with a sense of worldliness, the foundations of calculus are the pillars on which the human mind discovered logic and it will continue to serve as the medium through which society furthers the connection between science, technology, and life itself.

Life is full of choices and naturally, it is also filled with regret. We often let ourselves become so enraptured by these "what ifs" that they characterize our whole lives and we lose sight of life itself. The Midnight Library by Matt Haig is a fictional book that traces a library between life and death where each book comprises a timeline of past regret. The story follows a girl on the brink of death who explores each of these alternate lives and "what ifs." In some timelines, she was richer, in others, she pursued different careers. But finding the perfect life ultimately was not the point. In each regret that she explored, she found variations of herself, all unhappy. Matt Haig's fictional book on regrets sheds light on how we as humans can lead our lives when they are often riddled with "what ifs." The accumulated decisions that we have made all came to shape the person we are today. In turn, there is no point in spending time dwelling over these missed possibilities because they are not a part of the life you lead now. This sentiment has been an overarching ideal that I instill in my daily life. Whether it is about mending a broken friendship or regret over a missed childhood pastime, life should be lived in its present. The agency and free will to make decisions, mistakes, seize opportunities, is what makes life colorful and fruitful. Regret, while it to an extent, teaches us to yearn and feel, excessive rates prevent us from experiencing fully what life has to offer.

Grocery shopping is where I feel most grounded in humanity. Where bonding over fresh produce can foster simple yet meaningful interactions. Where shopping for groceries as a fixture in life reveals a rare but pure commonality in humanity. My experiences in grocery stores reflect the hopeful future that I envision for the world. I vividly remember the conversation with a kindergarten teacher in the canned goods aisle of Trader Joe’s where we discussed how the supply level of store aisles foreshadowed the struggles that communities face at the forefront of the pandemic. The abnormally empty shelves around us told of how much the Omicron variant affected jobs and peoples’ ability to show up for work. Nor will I ever forget my interaction with an octogenarian man about how he has grown accustomed to rationing out his food stamp supply to afford a few Hass avocados for his daughter. Spacing the avocados throughout the span of five days, he struggles to ensure that each one is ripe by the time she is ready to consume them. It was with conversations like these where grocery shopping encapsulated more than just the purchase of goods to survive, but also the witnessing of a shared sense of humanity. In my grocery store excursions, I learned that behind every grocery store consumer lies a person providing for their family, and behind every overlooked constant in life, a witnessing of the social sciences at play. While shopping for produce, people from all walks of life are grounded in the microcosm of the human pursuit of life that is a grocery store. It is where I am instilled with greater hope for a future where people pause in their journey of survival to embrace the beauty in simplicity and find humanity in the most uncommon of places.

Conventional wisdom has it that desk jobs are dull. For me, it was the way I listened to people and helped them experience a cornerstone of democracy––the value of being heard. Last summer, I interned for Congressman Swalwell’s District Office. Situated in the heart of the East Bay in Castro Valley, we represented California's fifteenth congressional district and helped constituents correspond with federal agencies. I remember the war veteran who was missing Social Security payments over the pandemic and needed to settle his wife’s medical bills from COVID-19 hospitalization. Tired of repeating the same story, he was apprehensive in seeking congressional help. However, in listening to his struggles, I wrote up a detailed ticket to expedite his case. He followed up one month later to express his gratitude with pictures of him and his wife at home. There was also the kindergarten teacher who would call every Tuesday to vent about politics. When kids asked her why people on the news were so mean to each other, she would describe to me in painstaking detail the feeling of having no answer for them. As the first point of contact for constituents, I experienced the importance of empathy in case management and when efforts were exhausted, I witnessed the power of simply listening. Listening to others, I realized, meant prioritizing a shared sense of humanity in interactions. In doing so, constituents no longer perceived seeking help with a sense of powerlessness, but rather a source of agency and support. Within the confines of my cubicle, my hour-long conversations encompassed more than just secretarial duties, but also the alleviation of peoples’ real struggles. In helping others feel heard, I too was grounded in the empowerment of democracy.

It was through performing peritoneal dialysis for my grandma where I practiced gratitude for humanity. As the pandemic caused a collective reevaluation of the importance of a stable income, new responsibilities and expectations were prompted within my household. For my mom, it was going back to work seven days a week. For me, it was performing continuous ambulatory peritoneal dialysis for my grandma. As my grandma’s kidney failure correlated with the onset of the pandemic, she relied on a tube attached to her abdomen to help filter out waste fluids.. In turn, I diligently trained in the three-step procedure of draining, filling, and dwelling that comprised peritoneal dialysis. This process of tubing and manually exchanging solutions became a natural extension of my own morning routine. Within these early excursions, lay a waiting period between connecting the abdominal catheter to the bag of dialysis solution and complete fluid drainage where I sat along my grandma’s bedside. It was in these time intervals that I witnessed familial duty transcend into an invaluable opportunity for intergenerational bonding. From her experiences growing up as an orphan to the loss of her father and husband, the conversations I engaged in with her instilled a sense of humanity in patient care. As I observed her body laying there, abdominal cavity exposed with a protruding catheter, I realized what a privilege it was to witness this vulnerability and be a part of the process of sustaining life. To be able to help perform a procedure for my grandma that we all naturally take for granted, I felt appreciative of the human connection that it could foster. With my interest in pursuing a career in public health law, I hope to impart this same sense of appreciation for humanity into providing life-sustaining support for patients like my grandma.

My teacher once called me quad-lingual––fluent in English, Cantonese, Mandarin, and Spanish. While I still feel undeserving of this label, it remains the way through which I stay true to myself. From a very young age, I became engulfed in the Chinese language. Raised by parents who are fluent in Cantonese, Mandarin, Vietnamese, and its other Asian dialects, adopting these languages came fairly naturally to me. The more I spoke, language grew to be more than just a form of communication, but also a means to connect. Whether it is fluidly transitioning between languages in the midst of a sentence or substituting Chinese idioms and phrases into my vocabulary, my multilingual ability is how I remain rooted in my identity. The opportunity to share this characterizing aspect of my identity with peers came through my involvement in Program 3C in high school. As a mentor to English Learner students, my multilingual upbringing enabled me to reach across language barriers and engage in lunchtime conversations with foreign-born peers. Starting with questions about what the best part about living in El Salvador was or what the weather was like in Guangzhou Province, our interactions soon developed into fuller conversations about adjusting to life in America. These bi-weekly encounters provided me with deeper insight into the perspectives of foreign-born students and the harsh realities of moving to America from abroad. It was my involvement in this program where I witnessed my love for language extend beyond simple communication into the community bonds it was able to foster. This sense of companionship and value of inclusivity that make up my identity is what I hope to bring as a prospective student to promote a more interconnected and culturally diverse atmosphere in all the communities I am to be a part of in the future.

The meaning of life is finding beauty in humanity. This is the conclusion that I have formulated through my weekly trips to the grocery store. Where bonding over fresh produce can foster simple yet meaningful interactions. Where shopping for groceries as a fixture in life reveals a rare but pure commonality in humanity. My experiences in grocery stores instill in me a thankfulness for the people around me. Whether it is a family-owned shop off the street in Oakland Chinatown or at my local Safeway, the conversations I experience in grocery stores remind me what it means to be human. I vividly remember the conversation with a kindergarten teacher where we discussed how the supply level of store aisles foreshadowed the struggles that communities face at the forefront of the pandemic. The abnormally empty shelves around us told of how much the Omicron variant affected jobs and peoples’ ability to show up for work. It was with conversations like these where grocery shopping encapsulated more than just the purchase of goods to survive, but also the witnessing of a shared sense of humanity–––that behind every small constant in life, lies a human life. And behind every grocery store customer, lies a person providing for their family. While shopping for produce, people from all walks of life are grounded in the microcosm of the human pursuit of life that is a grocery store. It is where I am instilled with a greater love for a life with people who pause in their journey of survival to embrace the beauty in simplicity and find humanity in the most uncommon of places.

Last summer was my first time assuming an active role in government. On Tuesdays and Thursdays from nine to five, I interned for Congressman Swalwell’s District Office. Situated in the heart of the East Bay in Castro Valley, we represented California's fifteenth congressional district and helped correspond with federal agencies on behalf of constituents. While most would find a desk job to be dull, for me, it was the lens through which I gained exposure to the political atmosphere of our country. Through every phone call, I witnessed how a politically polarizing democracy can negatively affect the very people it intends to serve and how I can be of prospective change. In simply listening to constituents and their hardships, I offered them something greater than that of assurance from education and experience––the feeling of being heard. As the first point of contact for constituents, I experienced the importance of empathy in case management and when all efforts were exhausted, I witnessed the power of simply listening. Staying on calls with constituents as I opened up their case or logged their concerns allowed them to experience a sense of transparency in government that long eluded them. Though office jobs continue to be regarded as menial and monotonous, it was through every phone call where I found this generalization contradicted. Within the confines of my cubicle, my hour-long conversations with constituents encompassed more than just the handling of casework and secretarial duties, but also the alleviation of peoples’ real struggles. In providing others with the value of being heard, I too was grounded in the empowerment of democracy. This sense of humanity is what I hope to bring in my pursuit of political science in college and in my prospective role in public service.

Good books are those that strike a resonant chord. The best books are those that remind us of a world larger than ourselves. When Breath Becomes Air is a neurosurgeon’s memoir of life after being diagnosed with lung cancer. He dedicates the remaining portion of his life to exploring the meaning of life amidst human mortality. In compressing his pre-death experiences into a 228-page memoir, Kalanithi beautifully encapsulates what it means to be human and what makes life worth living. Often in books, words come across as letters stringed together into sentences, compiled together into a novel. However, in When Breath Becomes Air, Kalanithi pieces together heartwrenching anecdotes with genuine prose that often left me rereading line after line to simply salvage his unique rhetoric. “Human knowledge is never contained in one person. It grows from the relationships we create between each other and the world, and still it is never complete.” Kalanithi’s words not only reflect the themes that he struggled to grapple with in a life cut short but also resonate in the larger context of the human pursuit of survival. In his memoir, he revels in the inherent beauty in humanity. That while death is inevitable, it is death itself that gives life meaning. It is the prospect of an end that motivates us to pursue love and relationships with those around us. It is the ability to ground readers in humanity that is rare to find. But somehow, When Breath Becomes Air effortlessly seizes to do so.

Grocery shopping remains a constant source of hope for me. Where bonding over fresh produce can foster simple yet meaningful interactions. Where shopping for groceries as a fixture in life reveals a rare but pure commonality in humanity. My experiences in grocery stores reflect the overarching hopeful future that I envision for the world. Whether it is a family-owned shop off the street in Oakland Chinatown or at my local Safeway, the conversations I experience in grocery stores remind me of a future instilled with humanity. I vividly remember the conversation with a kindergarten teacher where we discussed how the supply level of store aisles foreshadowed the struggles that communities face at the forefront of the pandemic. The abnormally empty shelves around us told of how much the Omicron variant affected jobs and peoples’ ability to show up for work. Nor will I ever forget my interaction with the octogenarian man about how he buys five different shades of Hass avocados for his daughter every week. By spacing out an avocado each day, he makes sure that by the time she is ready to eat them, they are perfectly ripe. It was with conversations like these where grocery shopping encapsulated more than just the purchase of goods to survive, but also the witnessing of a shared sense of humanity–––that behind every small constant in life, lies a human life. And behind every grocery store customer, lies a person providing for their family. While shopping for produce, people from all walks of life are grounded in the microcosm of the human pursuit of life that is a grocery store. It is where I am instilled with greater hope for a future where people pause in their journey of survival to embrace the beauty in simplicity and find humanity in the most uncommon of places.

I love my curiosity. Whether it be showcased through conversations with my sister about government assistance or small talk with my brother regarding intergenerational mobility, I constantly shaped my inquisitive lens of the world through partaking in the exchanges of ideas and perspectives with people around me. It was the conversations with my dad about illegal immigration where I realized that my love of conversations lay not in the prospect of reaching a definite conclusion, but rather in the process of doing so. When my dad correlated the influx of illegal aliens into the country with the entry of strangers into our home, I realized how much his identity as a parent structured his political view of the world. Initiating sometimes difficult, but insightful conversations became a constant way to which I sought to satisfy and celebrate my curiosity. When the events that started to transpire in our country prompted my pursuit of an internship at my local congressional office, I brought my love of conversation into a professional work environment. I embraced interactions with staffers in my office regarding current events and their political ramifications. Our conversations about the significance of the two-party system and the innate desire within humans to have agency in their representative body were where I felt most connected to the issues in society. This self-education and philosophical exploration became the guiding elements in all the conversations I sought out with people and is what I continuously love about myself. In higher education, I hope to immerse myself in more thought-provoking settings where I feel empowered, but also continually curious.

I find my motivation in grocery stores. Where bonding over fresh produce can foster simple yet meaningful interactions. Where shopping for groceries as a fixture in life reveals a rare but pure commonality in humanity. The ability to find beauty and humanity in the most uncommon of places is a driving force in my day-to-day life. From the deterioration of my parent’s marriage, I found my love for politics. Through the lens of politics, I gained a better understanding of my parents as people and was able to navigate the pitfalls of their marriage. It is the small constants in life that remind me of the potential for greater things. In the case of grocery stores, people from all walks of life are grounded in the common need to provide for their families. Though it may only be for a short while, it is nevertheless a moment where people are mutually bonded and where I am instilled with greater hope and reminded for the shared humanity in people.

All people want is to feel heard. It was through my hour-long conversations with constituents as a congressional intern that I learned this core aspect of democracy. My interest in politics has always been discouraged by my parents. Claimed to be a constant source of divide and polarization in society, my parents believed politics was driven by greed and corruption. A means to an end. And for a while, I thought so too. This changed when I assumed an active role in government. As the first point of contact for constituents, I would engage in conversations with them to open up casework on their behalf or log their concerns. Most of which caused me to contemplate the premise of politics in our country. I particularly remember the war veteran who had been missing Social Security payments over the pandemic and was in dire need of paying for his wife’s medical bills from COVID-19 hospitalization. Even over the phone, his voice wavered with emotion, yet was weary with distress. Growing tired of repeating the same story, he was apprehensive in seeking congressional help. However, in listening to his struggles, I wrote up a detailed ticket to expedite his case. There was also the kindergarten teacher from San Leandro who would call every Tuesday to vent about politics in our country. When kids asked her about why people on the news were so mean to each other, she would describe to me in painstaking detail the feeling of having no answer for them. It was through every phone call where I found my parents’ perception of politics contradicted. In simply listening to constituents and their hardships, I realized that at the core of democracy lies the innate and simple desire of being heard and valued.

It was the study of politics that helped humanize my parents and offered me a way to understand them. Most reflective of this sentiment was their stance on governmental intervention. Their ardent support of laissez-faire governance stemmed from their near-death experiences with communism and contributed to their survival mindset when raising children. Having children was an investment in their legacy and a testament to their ability to survive as immigrants. Not only did politics help me resonate with them as individuals, but it also allowed me to navigate the pitfalls of their marriage. Their gradual transition to no longer being on speaking terms mirrored the behavior of souring political rivals. And their use of my siblings and me as a middle person resembled how legislative aids relay indirect messages between two respective parties. In hindsight, their ultimate announcement of divorce during the pandemic was foreshadowed by the larger struggle of division that our country was simultaneously experiencing. Finding resonance within the political atmosphere of our country brought a sense of companionship to the turmoil that I always dealt with internally at home. The study of my parents through politics motivated my pursuit of AP U.S History, a congressional internship, and a scrupulous study of political autobiographies where I learned the extent to which my personal investment in politics could have real-world applications. From Obama’s Audacity of Hope to The Privileged Life and Radical Presidency of Franklin Delano Roosevelt, I gained insight into how politics could serve as a constant source of agency and support for people in dire times like it was for me throughout my parents’ marriage. Therefore, as a congressional intern at Congressman Swalwell’s District Office, I hoped to promote this same sentiment through my interactions with constituents. As an intern, I strived to connect with constituents as people and impart a sense of humanity in our interactions. It was important to me to immerse myself in each person’s backstory and ensure their voice was acknowledged and understood. I particularly remember the war veteran who had been missing Social Security payments over the pandemic and was in dire need of paying for his wife’s medical bills from COVID-19 hospitalization. Even over the phone, his voice wavered with emotion, yet was weary with distress. Growing tired of repeating the same story, he was apprehensive in seeking congressional help. However, in listening to his struggles, I wrote up a detailed ticket to expedite his case. He would follow up two months later to express his gratitude with pictures of him and his wife at home. There was also the kindergarten teacher from San Leandro who would call every Tuesday to vent about politics in our country. When kids asked her about why people on the news were so mean to each other, she would describe to me in painstaking detail the feeling of having no answer for them. As the first point of contact for constituents, I experienced the importance of empathy in case management and when all efforts were exhausted, I witnessed the power of simply listening. Staying on calls with constituents as I opened up their case or logged their concerns allowed them to experience a sense of transparency in government that long eluded them. It was through every phone call where I found my hour-long conversations with constituents encompass more than just the handling of casework and secretarial duties, but also the alleviation of peoples’ real struggles. It is this same sense of empowerment and humanity that I hope to impart on people through my pursuit of political science as a course of study.

Last summer was my first time assuming an active role in government. On Tuesdays and Thursdays from nine to five, I interned for Congressman Swalwell’s District Office. Situated in the heart of the East Bay in Castro Valley, we represented California's fifteenth congressional district and helped correspond with federal agencies on behalf of constituents. While most would find a desk job to be dull, for me, it was the lens through which I gained exposure to the political atmosphere of our country. Through every phone call, I witnessed how a politically polarizing democracy can negatively affect the very people it intends to serve and how I can be of prospective change. As an intern, I realized that in order to ensure that constituents felt like they were being thoroughly represented by the Member of Congress they elected into office, they required services greater than my job description. Connecting to constituents as people and imparting a sense of humanity in our interactions was imperative. It was important to me to immerse myself in each person’s backstory and ensure their voice was acknowledged and understood. Nevertheless, I often found myself reflecting on my conversations with constituents as my days became characterized by the lessons they left me. Most of which caused me to contemplate the overarching effect that politicization of issues has on already underserved populations in society. Confiding in representatives about stances on issues and feeling validated, is something few have experienced. I particularly remember the war veteran who had been missing Social Security payments over the pandemic and was in dire need of paying for his wife’s medical bills from COVID-19 hospitalization. Even over the phone, his voice wavered with emotion, yet was weary with distress. Growing tired of repeating the same story, he was apprehensive in seeking congressional help. However, in listening to his struggles, I wrote up a detailed ticket to expedite his case. There was also the kindergarten teacher from San Leandro who would call every Tuesday to vent about politics in our country. When kids asked her about why people on the news were so mean to each other, she would describe to me in painstaking detail the feeling of having no answer for them. As a congressional staff, I was told to refrain from offering any advice or revealing any of my political viewpointss. But in simply listening to constituents and their experiences, I offered them something greater–––the feeling of being heard and valued. As the first point of contact for constituents, I experienced the importance of empathy in case management and when all efforts were exhausted, I witnessed the power of simply listening. Staying on calls with constituents as I opened up their case or logged their concerns allowed them to experience a sense of transparency in government that long eluded them. I recognize that while my time as an intern did not significantly remedy the shortcomings of our politically polarized democracy, the humanity I incorporated into my interactions with constituents altered the way in which they perceive it. No longer would seeking government assistance entail a crippling sense of powerlessness, but rather a source of agency and support. Though office jobs continue to be regarded as menial and monotonous, it was through every phone call where I found this generalization contradicted. Within the confines of my cubicle, my hour-long conversations with constituents encompassed more than just the handling of casework and secretarial duties, but also the alleviation of peoples’ real struggles. It is through providing others with the empowerment of being heard that I hope to positively impact the world.

I am a person that finds solace in grocery stores. Where bonding over fresh produce can foster simple yet meaningful interactions. Where shopping for groceries as a fixture in life reveals a rare but pure commonality in humanity. My love for grocery stores reveals my characterizing ability to find beauty and intrigue in the most uncommon of places. From the deterioration of my parent’s marriage, I found my love for politics. From investing ten years of my life attending an after-school Chinese program, I discovered how language can foster intercultural bonds and a sense of community. I embrace the constants in life, like that of grocery stores.

I recently discovered that I love thoughtful conversation. Whether it be about humanity in the biotechnology industry or the morality of the death penalty, I love partaking in the exchanges of ideas and perspectives with people around me as it continuously shapes my inquisitive lens of the world. It was the conversations with my dad about illegal immigration where I realized that my love of conversations lay not in the prospect of reaching a definite conclusion, but rather in the process of doing so. When my dad correlated the influx of illegal aliens into the country with the entry of strangers into our home, I realized how much his identity as a parent structured his political view of the world. Initiating sometimes difficult, but insightful conversations became a constant way to which I sought to satisfy and celebrate my curiosity of the world. When the events that started to transpire in our country prompted my pursuit of an internship at my local congressional office, I brought my love of conversation into a professional work environment. I embraced interactions with staffers in my office regarding current events and their political ramifications. Our conversations about the significance of the two-party system and the innate desire within humans to have agency in their representative body were where I felt most connected to the issues in society. This self-education and philosophical exploration became the guiding elements in all the conversations I sought out with people and is what I want to apply in my time at college. In pursuing higher education, I hope to immerse myself in more thought-provoking settings where I feel curious, but can also strike up more conversations.

My teacher once called me quad-lingual––fluent in English, Cantonese, Mandarin, and Spanish. While I still feel undeserving of this label, I would say it is my greatest skill. The opportunity to further practice and improve on this skill came through my involvement in Program 3C in high school. As a mentor to English Learner students, my multilingual upbringing enabled me to reach across language barriers and engage in lunchtime conversations with foreign-born peers. Starting with questions about what the best part about living in El Salvador was or what the weather was like in Guangzhou Province, our interactions soon developed into fuller conversations about adjusting to life in America. These bi-weekly encounters provided me with deeper insight into the perspectives of foreign-born students and the harsh realities of moving to America from abroad. It was my involvement in this program where I witnessed my love for language extend beyond simple communication into the community bonds it was able to foster. Language gave me the opportunity to contribute to my school community. Often being the first point of contact for new Mandarin and Cantonese speaking students, I conducted tours around campus, familiarized them with their new schedule, and served as a reliable source of assistance and emotional support throughout their first year at an American high school. This sense of companionship and value of inclusivity through language is what I hope to bring as a prospective student to promote a more interconnected and culturally diverse atmosphere in all the communities I am to be a part of in the future and is what I hope to bring to higher education.

Last summer was my first time assuming an active role in government. On Tuesdays and Thursdays from nine to five, I interned for Congressman Swalwell’s District Office. Situated in the heart of the East Bay, we represented California's fifteenth congressional district and helped correspond with federal agencies on behalf of constituents. I remember the war veteran who missed Social Security payments over the pandemic and was in dire need of paying for his wife’s medical bills from COVID-19 hospitalization. Even over the phone, his voice wavered with emotion, yet was weary with distress. Growing tired of repeating the same story, he was apprehensive in seeking congressional help. However, in listening to his struggles, I wrote up a detailed ticket to expedite his case. There was also the kindergarten teacher who would call every Tuesday to vent about politics. When kids asked her about why people on the news were so mean, she would describe to me in painstaking detail the feeling of having no answer for them. As the first point of contact for constituents, I experienced the importance of empathy in case management and when all efforts were exhausted, I witnessed the power of simply listening. While my time as an intern did not significantly remedy the shortcomings of our politically polarized democracy, the humanity I incorporated into my interactions with constituents altered the way in which they perceive it. No longer would seeking government assistance entail a crippling sense of powerlessness, but rather a source of agency and support. My sometimes hour-long conversations with constituents encompassed more than just the handling of casework and secretarial duties, but also the alleviation of peoples’ real struggles. In providing others with the empathy of listening, I helped them feel valued and heard––a practice that lies at the heart of democracy itself.

I invested ten years of my life attending Chinese school every day after school with other Chinese American children. As immigrants, my parents were adamant that their children be raised under the same Chinese cultural belief system that characterized their early childhood. Thus, every day after school from kindergarten to ninth grade, I attended school again, but in Chinese. As the program grew difficult to balance with normal school, my initial class of thirty-three narrowed down to twenty-nine, then down to eight, and finally, down to five. It was the witnessing of a dramatically shrinking class around us that prompted us to foster a sense of belonging within each other. We were bound together by the isolating sense that nobody else understood our plight as first-generation Chinese American children, but each other. As the program limited my chances of speaking English and immersed me into an environment of traditional Chinese cultural values and perspectives, I formed my own definition of cultural identity in the community and inclusivity that I was welcomed into through this program and often looked forward to attending on daily basis. Through its ranked placements, oral speech contests, and demanding coursework, dedicating myself to this experience posed significant challenges to my academic and personal life, but ultimately contributed to unparalleled feelings of ensuing growth and fulfillment. It was originally under the will of my parents that I attended Chinese School. But it was through the choice to return every day that followed where I witnessed firsthand the ability of language and culture in instilling a sense of purpose and achievement in my life. This simple experience ended up shaping the lens through which I continue to see the world––as a series of communal interactions and cultural exchanges, similar to those I first experienced back in Chinese school.

My teacher once called me quad-lingual––fluent in English, Cantonese, Mandarin, and Spanish. While I still feel undeserving of this label, I would say it is my greatest talent. From a very young age, I became engulfed in the Chinese language. Raised by parents who are fluent in Cantonese, Mandarin, Vietnamese, and its other Asian dialects, adopting these languages came fairly naturally to me. The more I spoke, language grew to be more than just a form of communication, but also a means to connect. Whether it was fluidly transitioning between languages in the midst of a sentence or substituting Chinese idioms and phrases into my vocabulary, my multilingual ability became an important part of my identity. The opportunity to share this characterizing aspect of my identity with peers came through my involvement in Program 3C in high school. As a mentor to English Learner students, my multilingual upbringing enabled me to reach across language barriers and engage in lunchtime conversations with foreign-born peers. Starting with questions about what the best part about living in El Salvador was or what the weather was like in Guangzhou Province, our interactions soon developed into fuller conversations about adjusting to life in America. These bi-weekly encounters provided me with deeper insight into the perspectives of foreign-born students and the harsh realities of moving to America from abroad. It was my involvement in this program where I witnessed my love for language extend beyond simple communication into the community bonds it was able to foster. This sense of companionship and value of inclusivity is what I bring to all the environments I am a part of but is also what I hope to bring as a prospective student to promote a more interconnected and culturally diverse atmosphere in higher education.