I was five years old when I told my parents that I'd be Barbie as my career. She was my complete icon. Imagine a tall, intelligent, and beautiful girl who had absolutely every career accomplished under her very own fashion statement belt. Likewise to the range of professions accomplished by Barbie, I too would face a conundrum of the never-ending list of pathways to choose. Yet I acknowledge my privilege of a solid support group, as I have never envisioned my future without college. My parents were first-generation college students, yet only my mother finished as she had my eldest sister and settled quickly with my father. Finishing a higher degree had been drilled into me at a young age. I ignored the empty pantries and stacks of overdue credit bills and thought college was completely tangible. I mean, we could obviously afford so many Bratz, Polly Pockets, Barbies, and Lalaloopsie dolls. I was rich and loaded with hand-me-downs and second-handed toy. My seven-year-old mind couldn't have fathomed the costs of random textbooks people lugged around. Eventually, I did come around to realizing it, though. I became aware that my family struggled financially when I noticed how differently I had been dressed compared to my classmates. I was clueless about brands, malls, and stores that everyone seemed familiar with. A shopping trip to me meant heading to a grocery store and choosing my favorite chips. Still, there was food on the table and a roof over our heads. Yet the particular moment that shook me to the core had been when I briefly began to settle for a future without college. My second-oldest sister had been enrolled in a private four-year university in Arizona, and I thought she was the coolest sister ever. My parents were flipping a house and thought the profit generated from the final flip and sale would pay directly for her tuition. Yet after a business partnership ended with a legal battle, my sister dropped out of university due to facing financial constraints. Her success was ours, and her losses and heartbreaks will and always are to be shared. There is a deep connection shared between my family members. This proved trues the night my second eldest sister returned to community college after 2 years away from school. I cried tears of happiness that day. I love being in school. The stories, lessons, connections, and environment of it all is an absolute privilege. I am a rising junior attending a four-year university and am currently a double major in Economics and Politics & Ethics. I'm horrible at writing but have fought tooth and nail to build my skillset through effort and vulnerability. I'm far from finished, as there are many possible routes to be taken. I aim to get closer either to law school or an MBA program. This scholarship means a step closer to the routes to be taken and shared, not just by me, but by those who stand beside me-my relationships and community.

I was five years old when I told my parents that I wanted to be Barbie. She was my complete icon. Imagine a tall, tanned, rich, and beautiful girl that has absolutely every career accomplished under her fashion statement belt. I may have foreshadowed my own indecisiveness of dream careers on par to the range of Barbie's accomplished careers. Yet I will acknowledge my privilege of a solid support group, by stating that I have never envisioned my future without college. My parents were first-gen college students, yet only my mother finished as she had my eldest sister and settled quickly with my father. Finishing a higher degree had been drilled into me at a young age. I ignored the empty pantries and stacks of overdue credit bills and thought college was completely tangible. I mean we could obviously afford so many Bratz, Polly Pockets, Barbies, and Lalaloopsie dolls. I was rich and loaded with hand-me-down and second bought toys, so in my seven-year-old mind, I couldn't have fathomed the costs of random textbooks people lugged around. Eventually I did come around to realizing it though. I became aware that my family struggled financially when I'd noticed how differently I had been dressed compared to classmates. I was clueless of brands, malls, stores that everyone seemed familiar with. A shopping trip to me would mean heading to a grocery store and choosing my choice of chips. Still there was food on the table and a roof over our heads. Yet the particular moment that shook me to the core had been when I began to envision a potential future without college. My second eldest sister had been enrolled into a private four year university in Arizona and I thought she was the coolest sister ever. My parents were flipping a house and the profit generated from the final flip and sale would pay directly for her tuition. Yet when the sale failed due to a spoiled partnership, my sister dropped out of university due to FAFSA not working in our favor. Not solely "her" favor, but "our". Her success is ours and her losses and heartbreaks will and always are to be shared. There is a deep connection shared between my family members, and the night my second eldest sister returned to community college after 2 years away from school I cried tears of happiness. I love being in school. The stories, lessons, connections, and environment of it all is an absolute privilege. I am a rising junior attending a four-year university and am currently a double major in Economics and Politic & Ethics. I'm horrible at writing but have fought tooth and nail to build my own skillset through effort and vulnerability. I'm far from finished as there are many possible routes to be taken. I aim to get closer either to law school or an MBA program and this scholarship means a step closer to the routes to be taken and shared, not just by me but those who stand besides me.

At what age should an individual become aware of the identities that divide and stratify people into groups that clash with each other? At what age does the average person actually become aware of this in comparison to what we believe should be the appropriate age? In my early years of primary school, I developed a vague sense of identity that excluded myself from many of fellow peers. In the second grade, I'd been asked repeatedly if I belonged in different ethnic groups proposed by those asking, yet not one group assumed had been correct. In time after the many incorrect assumptions, I would then reveal the identity I took pride in. Revealing that identity led to many strange responses. Is it normal to retort back with, "Are you sure?" or "You don't seem like one." Though these responses lack tact, these had been the responses of elementary kids (though its sadly still possible to hear these responses come out of the mouth a fully grown adult). I must include the context needed to fully understand the endless cycle I had gone through in my childhood. I was born and raised in Maui, Hawaii, but not the Waikiki or Honolulu Paradise often first thought of. I was raised on the quaint island of Maui, where home had been a singular family townhouse with extended relatives sharing the space. There would be three-bedroom homes with bedrooms belonging to my grandparents, my aunt and her family, and lastly my own family in the last room. A core memory of mine had been sleeping with parents and siblings on two bunk beds conjoined together. This housing situation was not uncommon. Our Micronesian culture emphasizes the value of family through the network of support we build with relatives. Family solidarity had been our net of support in a state where prices had exceeded the nuclear family income. But as one of the last ethnic groups to resettle into Hawaii, being a Micronesian in Hawaii came with an associated stigma of how others had perceived you. To be Chuukese was even worse. Suddenly each Micronesian or Chuukese violence crime reported, had been one more eyebrow raised to the response I took pride in. A social issue that is important to me stemming from this experience, are the racial inequalities and structural injustice that contribute to these inequalities. There is a rage brimming within me at the fact that the behavior to deny others based on attributes is a norm accepted. I grew up in an environment exposed to this but I wish to reiterate that the formulated sense of this concept was vague. Currently, I can say I have a stronger grasp on this through progressive pursuit of education and awareness. I am working to be the best ally to combat this problem, but I hope to discuss, debate, and learn on how to be an accomplice to dismantle such a problem. As that second grader, I would have wished for a mutual sense of respect to the pride I had in my answer. Now I wish for a respect to that answer. By educating oneself and possibly others we can develop that respect needed to combat inequalities and deliberate well on the solutions we need going forward.

Episode - A Magical Runway A crossover episode between a wizard and a psychic would perhaps be the most comical yet mind-blowing plot for Disney. Growing up with Disney, I learned to love Alex Russo's rebellious yet witty sense of humor, as well as the animated expression of Raven Baxter. The two would perhaps bond over fashion dos-and-don'ts while also capturing the silliness and heart of Disney that I grew attached to. I'd like to think that being a fashion junkie herself, Raven would soon travel to New York to pursue her career. There, she'll find herself stumbling upon the Russo family magical secret with the help of her psychic abilities. As her visions come true, she'll cross paths with an infamous wizard of the Russo family, Alex. I'd like to think that there'd definitely be a commotion with Raven discovering the secret as it's specifically stated that no human should know about the wizards' existence. Due to the fact that no spell could erase the abilities of Raven to simply forget about the secret, the wizards would have to keep her away from the human world. Yet acting in line with her mischievous personality, Alex would let Raven's discovery pass, of course under a condition. A VIP ticket, to Raven's internship fashion show. In the moment Raven would agree, as she'd rather give a ticket than disappear for potentially forever, right? Raven comes to a crossroad as she then has a second premonition of the fashion show in ruins. Thus, believing Alex to be the main cause. Fearful of this result, Raven tries to her best ability to stop Alex from entering the fashion event. Raven confides in Alex of her vision. This does lead to Alex being wary as she promises not to go, yet with her character she believes that Raven is simply lying to her to stop her from seeing the show. It's obvious how the plot would unfold. We have a female lead known for her hard-learned lessons after self-indulges shows her to be wrong and another who acts on her emotions in the moment before then regretting. Though the characteristics of the two could be any more different, both characters in this episode will learn a main lesson of friendship and self-lessness. The climax of this episode would be Alex entering into the venue of the catwalk to only be confronted by Raven. The two would then go on to push and pull the other out of the venue while a "true Disney-like" fiasco. The tussle ruins the catwalk stage, knocks a model over, and tears the pieces created by Raven. As the audience looks at the two in shock and astonishment, the scene is exactly as Raven had predicted. Embarrassed, she runs off the stage. Alex, feeling guilty for ruining a friend's fashion show goes off to find her. The two apologize for their assumptions, selfish acts, and hurtful words in a heartfelt dialogue. Feeling hopeless Raven can only sigh in disappointment, yet with a bit of help from Alex the two friends had another shot at the event. With a flick of her wand, they were back in time before the event turned out to be a mess. In the end Raven Baxter had a successful show to gift to her very own VIP guest Alex Russo. Thus, concluding the episode of "The Magical Runway."

I’d seem to have forgotten the sensation of hopelessness. In exchange for being oblivious to the feelings of my cheeks turning a heated red or the roof of my mouth buzzing with numbness, I’ve become ignorant and dense. In the second year of intermediate school I’d been suspended. My actions, thoughts, and reason were completely thrown out the window as I poured milk over a classmate who harassed a close friend of mine. Immediately after, I’d been sat down by a faculty staff member and I found myself questioning my own judgment. I’d only been able to raise my head and see this classmate of mine drenched in milk, his eyes piercing daggers at me. I can vividly remember forcing my eyes back down, twiddling my thumbs. In the third year of intermediate school, I was terrified. I walked with my head down everywhere. I refused to walk out in daylight with either of my parents, scared they’d see me with any of my loved ones. The color in me would be drained completely, and I would turn white with fear as I saw a similar 2015 cool blue pickup truck pass by. Hopelessly, I’m again a seventh grader standing in my tiny driveway, the heat scorching the nape of my neck as a middle-aged woman yells and curses at me. She screams at a 12-year-old with no guardians around her, “Try it one more time, and see what’ll happen next.” She screams haughtily, with her overbearing presence invading the 12-year old’s safety confinement of home. She screams until the sense of hopelessness is thrashed upon the cheeks, ears, necks, and fingers of this 12-year-old. In the second year of high school, I lived in anger. I’d been angry that I was weak. I was too weak to retain the clarity of my grandmother’s mind as she grew older and smiled as if I were a stranger. I was too weak to prevent the falling through of a partnership between a business partner and my parents. A failed business deal that left my parents with a hot mess of taxes reflecting the sale of a home which they pocketed little to no money from. I’d been angry at the people who were trusted whole-heartedly, the state of time, and every thought I had. For so long, I’ve felt a flicker of anger light once more as I think back. I questioned my anger. I paused as I wondered if I had the right to sit and feel the way I had. I pondered on my own reactions, the potential what ifs, the way each party reacted. I questioned if I want to pursue my path for the sole purpose of giving respect to that hopeless and weak self of me. Yet, the more I thought, the clearer it’d been that I was dissatisfied with this purpose. I’ve made peace with my past mistakes. I’d written my sincerest apologies and I have no effect to a party who believes they did nothing wrong. I can only move on, but what next? If I move away from the negatives that triggered my perseverance to march along, what else could I depend on to keep me going? In my first year as an undergraduate student, I found my drive. The value of law when used and acted upon right, gives hope and strength. I wish to practice law not to rewrite over my regrets but to diminish the effect of hopelessness or weakness others feel.

Perhaps I had indeed inherited the trait of excessive empathy from my mother herself. The drive to create a change and bring forth some solution to a problem-ridden world. Though at times I have to be truthful, as I’d wish for the ability to turn a blind eye as my mother never could. A younger version of me could never quite rationalize with my mother who had been endlessly giving when in fact it seemed as if we had nothing to give. My mother majored in criminal justice in her college years. Yet she never did go beyond attaining her B.A., settling down and building a life with my dad with her first child. The two had a rocky start yet we were always supported by family–and coming from an Islander background there were many who we referred to as family. Growing up I’ve always referred to my mom as an office worker, and though she was, it only took me a spontaneous moment in fourth grade to realize there were many offices in the island of Maui. I came to learn that she had, in fact, been a social worker, working with troubled and low-income families. The irony of it all was that I thought we had been a low-income family the whole time. Well, we were, or are currently I mean. As far back as I could remember we’d offer our financial solutions to be resolved in prayers before the blessing of the food. Through analyzing my parent's behavior it seemed as if they’d never show it. My dad would always give back to family members and friends and my mom would have done it before him. We’d still thank God for everything that we had though. Mom would always engrave it into our consciousness that we are blessed with what we have. Though it was sort of hard to be grateful when sitting next to classmates who had brand-new models of everything, while I’d been stuck with hand-me-downs as the youngest sibling. I found it even more infuriating that not only would my mom give her own money and focus on family and clients, but her time as well. Accompanied by my dad, grandma, and two other sisters it seemed like she’d be busy typing away from home and even when she was present at home. I thought of it all to be pointless as she only suffered from her efforts. Muscle aches, migraines, and high blood pressure. Her health seemed to only be deteriorating, so why go through all the effort, if it only placed her at risk? She soon found a new job around my second year of Intermediate High School. I thought nothing of it till later one night. I had taken notice of the childish quick crafts surrounded by cards, pictures, and a beautiful bouquet addressed to my mom. I’ll admit curiosity had gotten the best of me as I read through the cards and toyed with the crafts. My heart felt ticklish with the notes of gratitude, though what had gotten me were the images of my mom. She was pictured with clients who'd been hugging her and smiling such bright, big smiles. I don’t know much about being a social worker but I have seen the reaped success due to continuous effort. With my degree, I plan to uplift those in my community who are in need with a persevering drive, patience, and an inherited abundance of empathy.