I used to think success meant getting out. Out of poverty. Out of South Sacramento. Out of the cramped two-bedroom apartment where six of us shared space, and where I spent high school nights working 40-to-50-hour weeks in a forest-green Popeyes manager shirt just to help pay our family’s bills during the pandemic. Sitting on the cold bathroom floor at seventeen, overwhelmed by the weight of supporting my family through my mom’s Multiple Sclerosis diagnosis while studying on a mattress on the floor alongside my siblings, I intuitively knew education was my only way out. But back then, I could not picture how. Through extensive mentorship and extraordinary opportunities, I was able to build a life I could have never imagined. Organizations like Alexander Hamilton Scholars and the Buck Scholars Program, along with mentors, who took me on my first plane ride to visit colleges, and who guided my applications—gave me resources, encouragement, and access at the moments I needed them most. They did not know exactly who I would become; they simply believed I was worth investing in. Because of their investment, I went on to become a first-generation college graduate from Washington University in St. Louis, where I had a transformative four years filled with growth, leadership and challenge. Today, I am pursuing my master’s degree in Education Policy and Analysis at the Harvard Graduate School of Education. I am deeply proud of how far I have come, but my journey has also made one glaring truth undeniable: I am the exception, not the rule. In my home ZIP code of 95823 in South Sacramento, only about 14% of residents earn a bachelor’s degree—a stark reality that my siblings, my classmates, and my community live every day amidst systemic inequities, underfunded schools, and institutional barriers. Education gave me opportunities my family had never known. But the further I have gone, the more I have realized that my story cannot simply be about escape. It must be a story about return. Precious programs like TRIO, QuestBridge, and LEDA perform life-saving work, but as I wrote in an essay for the Washington University Political Review, these initiatives act as crucial band-aids on a deeply wounded system. They cannot fix the structural flaws alone. That is the problem I want to spend my life addressing through systemic policy reform. I am using my education to help build school systems where opportunity is not determined by a student’s ZIP code, family income, or race. Working across education policy, student access, and structural reform, I want to ensure that every student has access to the resources, dedicated teachers, financial support, and institutional pipelines that can transform the trajectory of their lives. Beyond policy, I want to give young people what was given to me: the ability to imagine a future bigger than their present constraints. I want the student sitting on a bedroom floor in South Sacramento to believe that Washington University, Harvard, or whatever dream they hold is not reserved for someone else. I want to build a world where they face fewer barriers than I did—and where my presence in these halls is no longer an anomaly, but an expectation. My education has given me far more than a degree. It has given me a responsibility. I have been blessed to experience the transformative power of someone believing in me, and I intend to spend my life extending that belief to the next generation.