@dkuboata

Calculus is an *integral* part of STEM because it encourages us to think critically and look at things with a broader lens. Solving series problems is like fixing a broken door: oftentimes, you'll have all the tools you need to solve the problem; you just need to know what to use and when. You have all of the tests to prove convergence or divergence with series; you just need to know what test(s) would be best to use and have an inherent knowledge of other math concepts like the graphs of trigonometric functions. The concept of critical thinking is not just important to solving math problems; it also lends itself to finding scientific solutions to real-world issues like the climate crisis. Oftentimes, we'll need to think outside the box, combining existing knowledge with leaps of faith, to create potential answers to our real-world problems. Likewise, calculus, as one of the highest branches of mathematics, builds on previous math courses, with problems incorporating concepts from algebra and geometry alike. Solving calculus problems requires an understanding of new concepts like differentiation and integration as well as "old", previously learned concepts like systems of equations and trigonometry. In addition, calculus also teaches patience; oftentimes, solving these problems is not easy. The concepts are hard to grasp, and memorizing formulas and solutions to problems just won't cut it; knowing the concepts behind everything and then understanding how to apply them is the way to success. Likewise, in many STEM careers and independent research projects, the answer to one's questions won't just magically appear after a short period; one has to go through several rounds of trial and error, tweaking little things in the setup, for there to be some sort of success eventually. Calculus simultaneously represents the ideas that life is constant and life is variable with the concept of finite limits as well the idea that integration and differentiation separately can radically change an equation but doing both will bring the equation back to what it was before. Change is a constant in the real world, and STEM has evolved to find solutions to our world's problems given the aforementioned fact. For instance, wind turbines were developed to harness wind, the change in the position of an air mass since hot air moves towards cold air. Another instance of STEM changing because nothing can stay the same forever is the constant influx of new technologies on the market; it seems there is a new iPhone every other year. All in all, calculus fosters critical thinking, guides us towards patience and continued learning, and embodies the impermanence of conditions at a given point in time. Thank you for considering me for this scholarship.

The four people pictured in order of appearance are me (who's been nicknamed Dani by my family), my youngest cousin Alli, my sister Teaghie, and my younger cousin Cali. The first four pictures are individual shots of each person taken within the last few months; as you can probably tell, we're not smiling like we would in a school yearbook photo. My smile is quite large and my eyes are nearly closed (the accidental Panorama captured me mid-laugh; not my most flattering moment but I thought it's nice to share); Alli is attempting to eat an ice cream cone chair which when combined with her shocked facial expression makes for a very silly image; Teaghie insisted on taking this not-so-flattering BeReal as she consumed a mango Outshine bar and I finished up my makeup in preparation for Bye Bye Birdie later that evening, and Cali is glaring at the camera while holding the $3 Target unicorn we've affectionately named "Bob". Even though we don't look "picture-perfect", I think these pictures accurately capture part of what it's like to be a teenage girl today in that we laugh a lot, we know how to lighten up and be silly, we are comfortable looking unconventional, and we can glare at people (just kidding!). In other words, these pictures capture the different emotions we felt because hey, we're human after all! The last picture is of the four of us taking a selfie; while we're not exactly picture perfect in this one either (hair is all over the place and we're figuring out where to look at the camera as we smile awkwardly), it's one of my favorite pictures to date. We're adjusting to fit around one another as we do on a daily like coordinating schedules to carpool to and from school. Our smiles aren't orchestrated and picture-perfect; this photo captures not only the chaos at the moment as we tried to pose but also our lightheartedness as we're quite comfortable around one another and aren't afraid to be silly. When creating this portfolio, I wanted to find pictures that represented what I most value, my younger relatives because they've been there to celebrate my wins, console me for my losses, and provide invaluable support and a new perspective; and what I'm working towards, my self-confidence. These are the photos that met those criteria. Thank you for considering me for this scholarship.

To me, feminism means pushing for the equal protection of rights for people of all genders. While feminism was never really defined for me, growing up I understood it to be a fight for equality between men and women. However, as I entered high school and met people of different gender identities that didn’t necessarily fit into the traditional gender binary, I began to question this definition I had so readily accepted as well as the concept of gender itself. If feminism was originally about uplifting voices that were not often heard in mainstream society and protecting their rights to go about their day and have autonomy over their lives, in other words women’s voices, could the same definition be extended to all gender minorities? Ngoại, my maternal grandmother, exemplifies what it means to be a feminist because she broke gender stereotypes for the time, and to some extent, for today’s world so that she could provide for her family. She left behind practically her whole life–a successful teaching career, a nice home, family and friends–in Viet Nam and emigrated to America so that her kids would have the freedom to choose their own paths instead of having the Communist government decide their futures. When her husband was captured and sent into prison, Ngoại persisted, attempting escapes with two of her children despite the risks of punishment, torture, and death. In the United States, she worked odd jobs to provide for her family so they could have a roof over their heads and food on the table; she’d also help pay for a small part of her kids’ college education. As a grandmother, Ngoại was very caring towards her grandchildren, teaching us activities that she learned since they were expected of young women when she was growing up but also encouraging us to pursue our passions and do whatever makes us happy. She’s pushed me to do things I never dared to do in my wildest dreams, surpassing both my expectations for myself and what a male-dominated society thinks I am capable of doing. In terms of my contributions to the feminist movement, I’ve worked with the Asian Women’s Shelter in San Francisco to draw attention to domestic violence rates increasing during the pandemic especially among Asian women, raising over $4300, more than double the amount of money I had hoped to bring in, and donating hundreds of masks to residents. Additionally, I take on leadership roles on and off campus to show to my peers that a person’s gender doesn't determine how capable of a leader they are; I was chosen by merit alone, not because of pity. After executing many successful projects in the clubs I run such as Presentation’s first-ever Lunar New Year’s celebration and an all-school assembly on our summer reading novel during which I was able to share my family’s story, I feel equipped to take on an event of my own and put the leadership skills I’ve learned through countless classes, seminars, and videos to use. I am currently planning out a Capstone Project on making Presentation a more environmentally friendly school by creating the plans for a school garden and hosting a workshop on natural disaster preparation, taking matters into my own hands and acting to stop the climate crisis in any way that I can. Today’s teens, as the future generation of an ever-changing, disaster-prone world, are the ones who will tackle the climate crisis predicament. We have no choice but to take charge and lead by taking urgent action.

To me, math mirrors perspective. There is only one right answer in math, but there are seemingly endless ways to solve a problem and represent a solution. Similarly, we as individuals can have different perspectives on the same issue, and they are each valid and help us learn more about the world. Just like we can share the different ways we got to the same answer, we can share our different stories to show what has shaped us into the people we have become today. Oftentimes in doing this, we realize we have more in common with others than we originally thought. Case in point: my own story beyond what I put down on paper. I am Danica Kubota, a proud Vietnamese-Japanese American and also a banana. No, it’s not because I love the Despicable Me franchise or this potassium-rich fruit; it’s because of the disconnect I’ve felt from my identity for much of my life. Yellow on the outside and white on the inside, bananas encapsulated this internal conflict; I felt as though I looked Asian on the outside (as if my last name isn’t a dead giveaway, my dark brown hair and almond-shaped eyes are) but acted “white” – disconnected from my culture. Heck, I wasn't even good at math, a part of the model minority myth I had grown up believing I had to follow. Growing up Asian American, I always felt like I was the bridge between two worlds, the Asian culture I grew up with in my mom’s family and the whitewashed Asian culture I grew up with in my dad’s family and at school. I was jealous of my classmates who grew up immersed in their family culture; I was only aware of my mom’s Vietnamese roots and knew little about Japanese culture. I felt as though I couldn’t claim to be American because I didn’t look like the people I saw on TV. I regretfully admit sometimes I wished I wasn’t Asian; I wondered why I couldn’t be more appreciative of growing up in America, something that my family had fought so hard for. They’d tried to flee Communist Viet Nam after the fall of Saigon, and after two trips to jail and losing all of their money, they were finally sponsored. That all changed after becoming an officer of Presentation’s Asian Pacific Islander affinity group. I was surrounded by people who looked different from and like myself and took pride in their heritage. Hearing my peers' stories helped me better understand the gravity of the sacrifices my family made for me and appreciate what was done to get me to where I am today. Experiences such as these empowered me to learn more about my family’s cultures and share my pride in who I am with other students who are in the shoes I was once in. I became an APISU officer, speaking to the entire school community about my family’s story from a second-generation immigrant’s perspective and planning Presentation’s first-ever Lunar New Year celebration. I learned about the different "steps" that people had taken to find the "answer" to who they were, but more importantly realized that this process to find yourself is ongoing. Because of my family’s background, I can understand those who have grown up with the culture of their family’s homeland and also those whose families immigrated and assimilated here generations ago. I've solved part of the problem of my identity crisis, but I've got the solutions to previous questions to guide me along the way. Huh. I guess being a banana isn’t so "problematic" after all.

To me, math mirrors perspective. There is only one right answer in math, but there are seemingly endless ways to solve a problem and represent a solution. Similarly, we as individuals can have different valid perspectives on the same issue that helps us learn more about the world. Just like we can share the different ways we got to the same answer, we can share our stories to show what has shaped us into who we are today. Oftentimes in doing this, we realize we have more in common with others than we originally thought. Case in point: my story. I am Danica Kubota, a proud Vietnamese-Japanese American and a banana. No, it’s not because I love the Despicable Me franchise; it’s because bananas encapsulated my internal conflict. Yellow on the outside and white on the inside, bananas mirrored how I felt: Iooking Asian on the outside with my dark brown hair, almond-shaped eyes, and last name, but acting “white” – disconnected from my culture. Heck, I wasn't even good at math, part of the model minority myth I believed I must follow. Growing up Asian American, I always felt like I was the bridge between two worlds: the Asian culture I grew up with in my mom’s family and the whitewashed culture I grew up with in my dad’s family and at school. At times, I regretfully admit I wished I wasn’t Asian. That all changed after becoming an officer of Presentation’s Asian Pacific Islander affinity group. I was surrounded by people different from and like me who took pride in their heritage, and I was empowered to do the same. I became an APISU officer, speaking to the entire school about my family from a second-generation immigrant’s perspective and planning Presentation’s first-ever Lunar New Year celebration. I learned about the different "steps" people had taken to find the "answer" to who they were, but more importantly, realized that the process to find yourself is ongoing. Because of my family’s background, I can understand those who have grown up with the culture of their family’s homeland and those whose families immigrated and assimilated generations ago. I've solved part of the problem of my identity crisis, but I've got the solutions to previous questions to guide me along the way. Huh. I guess being a banana isn’t so "problematic" after all.

I look forward to the independence I will gain in college, specifically the freedom that comes with no longer having your decisions tied to those of others. I grew up in what I affectionately call a "big small family", meaning I lived in your "traditional" nuclear family structure (two parents and a sister) but was also raised by extended family, specifically my grandmothers, aunts, and uncles in particular on my mom's side. I was the oldest of four girls on one side of my family and the second oldest on the other; consequently, I am used to keeping my relatives in line and watching everything that I do because it could negatively influence them. While I do love being the role model for my younger relatives, it can be exhausting because I constantly feel that I have to be perfect for my family to accept me though they've reiterated time after time that that is not the case; I long for the freedom from my own mind so that I can feel comfortable to fail and get back up again. In college, I could do the things I never dared without fear of what might happen to my other relatives. What also excites me about college is the people that I shall meet; I long to go somewhere far from my hometown so I will not only be exposed to a different way of life than what I grew up with but will also have the opportunity to meet people from all around the world. I can't wait to hear about their life experiences and be able to compare their stories to what I experienced growing up; we can all learn from one another because of our varying perspectives on similar issues. Not only would I improve my social skills by talking to people who are different from myself in terms of background and stances on issues, but together we could also come up with solutions to the world's biggest questions like how to solve climate change, something I've been passionate about personally. To keep my head afloat while balancing school, extracurriculars, and a social life (time with family and friends as well as self-care), I engage in a variety of activities, one being yoga. I started practicing yoga with my mom and sister during the pandemic for a sort of normalcy and exercise; over time, yoga became a way for me to get more in tune with my feelings and calm my racing mind so that I was ready to deal with the stresses of my day. These days, yoga still has that same calming effect it did when I first started; in addition to diffusing stress, doing yoga helps me relax my muscles and stretch out some more. I also keep up a journal to let go of any pent-up emotions so that I can relax and not take out my frustrations on anyone; plus, it's always fun to look back on them and see how far I've gone! Doing other activities that maintain my good mental state like exercise, especially running; self-care; and listening to music helps me deal with the challenges I face from school. While life can be tough, there is a multitude of ways I've learned to cope with the stress like exercise and journaling; these coping mechanisms have helped me become a more resilient person who is ready to take on the challenges college is sure to throw at me!

Having healthy eating habits can help prevent health issues down the line. For instance, not binge eating or "grazing" throughout the day can prevent you from gaining additional weight when using food to cope with feeling negative emotions. Both these practices are things that I've done in the past and am actively working to change now; I don't want to live my life dependent on food to feel happy or deal with stress and anxiety and so I am trying to implement healthier eating habits. It makes sense that healthy eating habits equate healthier relationships with food; if one doesn't need to rely on food for happiness or use it as a form of discipline, one won't fear food as much. I also don't want to have a negative relationship with food in that I don't want it to be associated with punishment (restricting eating to lose weight, binge eating to push away negative emotions) or reward (snacking excessively because I did some task); I want food to be a source of nutrition and joy but not something that I am addicted to and need to be happy and feel comforted. When I have healthier eating habits, namely staying away from refined and added sugars, choosing "whole" and natural foods over processed foods, and eating everything in moderation, I feel more alert. Since my body is fueled properly, I feel like I have the energy to do anything and everything, which lends itself well to difficult schoolwork and long practices. I am also in a better mood overall; I feel more positive and that I'm just radiating sunshine and rainbows so nothing can get me down! Usually, on days when I eat healthy, I find that I get a lot more work done, partially because I am in such a good mood and partially because I have the right energy to carry me through my day. In contrast, when I have way too much sugar, I feel like I'm on a low; I'm sweaty, tired, and just want to sit around and do nothing. Similarly, if I have too much processed food, I just feel like a couch potato and don't want to get up and move. In addition to feeling physically stronger when I eat healthy, I also feel mentally better. My physical feelings often influence how I feel mentally, and the latter in turn influences the former in what is known as a positive feedback loop. When I don't binge eat, I feel happier because I didn't give into temptation and continue to fuel a cycle that I've been trapped in for years. To conclude, healthy eating habits promote better relationships with food and your own sense of self as well as improve your mental state.

"Your uncle has leukemia." Those four words coming out of my mom's mouth didn't seem real. I felt exactly how I'd felt when I'd heard about my grandfather's passing--watching the events of my life unfold as if I were a spectator on the sidelines or reading one of my favorite books, immersed in the storyline but not a character in the story. I was stunned. Cancer always seemed like something so far off that happened to other people's families; I'd read about book characters, particularly children getting leukemia, but never heard of adults or people in real life getting it. How could my uncle, a man who had been mountain biking for years and grew up playing a multitude of sports which led him to a career in baseball scouting for the Oakland A's, get cancer? I tried to say something but was left speechless. My uncle's diagnosis made me realize how unpredictable life is--just when you think you have things figured out, you don't. You can think you have everything figured out, but then life changes in just an instant. As much as you can try to control your situation, some things are just left up to chance. I've stopped obsessing over what I cannot control and started focusing on what I can control to change my life and the lives of those around me for the better. His diagnosis also caused him to change his eating habits; he's now a vegan and exercises regularly, using online workout videos and picking up running. I'm also considering doing the same since I have a family history of diabetes, heart issues, and cancer; I only learned this information after his diagnosis. Seeing my uncle only change his habits until after his diagnosis made me think more about prioritizing my health before facing a health scare; it's a lot harder to quit cold turkey than it is to gradually change your habits over time. I've started doing strength training and yoga in addition to cross country/track and field practice and I also eat fewer things with refined or added sugars. I now think about what I'm putting into my body before I eat something. For years, I used food as a way to cope with stress and would eat my feelings away to feel better about a situation; I'd like to change that before it gets even more difficult. I've also casually brought up the topic of taking better care of yourself with my friends who are workaholics and oftentimes neglect their health in the pursuit of better grades because prevention is key; oftentimes once you get sick it's harder to get back on the wagon again. All in all, my uncle's diagnosis has helped me realize that I should live more in the moment, stop worrying about what I cannot control and work to change what I can, make changes to my life before it becomes more difficult to do so, and prioritize my health above all else so I can continue to do the things I love.

Mulan. A thrilling tale of a young woman who takes her father's place in the army to fight back the Huns invading China. The first time I watched the movie, I was hooked. How could this young woman who looked similar to me conquer evil and defeat the bad guys without so much as batting an eye? I myself covered my eyes each time the "bad guys" came on screen. Though I didn't know it, this movie was the beginning of my journey to accepting who I am. Let me introduce myself more formally. I am Danica Kubota, a proud banana. No, it’s not because I love the Despicable Me franchise or this potassium-rich fruit; it’s because I've accepted the fact that I can look Asian and have a connection to my family's culture while also being assimilated into American society. Yellow on the outside and white on the inside, bananas remind me of myself. Growing up Asian American, I always felt like I was the bridge between two worlds, the Asian culture I grew up with in my mom’s family and the whitewashed Asian culture I grew up with in my dad’s family and at school. I was jealous of my classmates who grew up immersed in their family culture; I was only aware of my mom’s Vietnamese roots and knew little about Japanese culture. I felt as though I couldn’t claim to be American because I didn’t look like the blue-eyed, blonde-haired families who starred in a majority of my childhood favorites. That all changed in high school; after joining APISU, Presentation’s Asian Pacific Islander affinity group, I was surrounded by people of all backgrounds who took pride in their heritage. Hearing their stories helped me better understand the gravity of the sacrifices my family made for me and appreciate what was done to get me to where I am today. I remembered Mulan's journey to accepting herself publicly, even if who she really was wasn't what others in society expected her to be: a picture-perfect young maiden ready to become a bride. If she could accept herself in a time where gender roles were much stricter, couldn't I embrace my identity as an AAPI person and start to accept the fact that I might not be the cis, straight person I was raised to be? Mulan has been queer coded after all; many trans men relate to her song "Reflection" and Li Shang has been speculated to be bi because he was attracted to Mulan before she presented as a woman. Experiences such as these empowered me to learn more about my family’s cultures and share my pride in who I am with other students who are in the shoes I was once in. I became an APISU officer, speaking to the entire school community about my family’s story from a second-generation immigrant’s perspective and successfully planning for Presentation’s first-ever Lunar New Year celebration. Because of my family’s background, I can understand those who have grown up with the culture of their family’s homeland and also those whose families immigrated and assimilated here generations ago; I guess being a banana isn’t so bad after all.

If I could describe Ms. Catherine Aquino in a word, it would be "sun". Her positive, upbeat attitude that she brings to every class is like having sunshine in California; both are normal and are something that many of us look forward to each day. Despite having a jam-packed schedule outside of school what with being the primary caregiver of her aging parents; parenting her kids, one of whom is still at home and the other being at college; continuing to volunteer her time at Martha's Kitchen' and lesson planning, she always brings a sunny attitude to class which helps us feel welcomed and ready to learn. Ms. Aquino gives it her all in everything that she does, whether that's teaching or coaching. In the classroom, she encourages us to get to know the people we are sitting with by sparking conversations every class period and facilitates discussions by walking around and making eye contact with everyone to engage them in the conversation; she'll even share her own stories with the class to encourage us to be vulnerable with each other. Outside of the classroom as a coach, she is no different as she suggests to us to talk to people we aren't necessarily comfortable with or don't know; this practice helped build a community on the team that I enjoyed being a part of. She created a nonjudgemental environment where even I as a shy person felt comfortable sharing my thoughts and making my voice heard. Ms. Aquino taught me what it means to give 110% to everything you do and accept yourself as you are, which sparked my journey to embracing my identity as a Vietnamese-Japanese American. I am Danica Kubota, a proud banana. No, it’s not because I love the Despicable Me franchise or this potassium-rich fruit; it’s because I've accepted the fact that I can look Asian and have a connection to my family's culture while also being assimilated into American society. Yellow on the outside and white on the inside, bananas remind me of myself. Growing up Asian American, I always felt like I was the bridge between two worlds, the Asian culture I grew up with in my mom’s family and the whitewashed Asian culture I grew up with in my dad’s family and at school. I was jealous of my classmates who grew up immersed in their family culture; I was only aware of my mom’s Vietnamese roots and knew little about Japanese culture. I felt as though I couldn’t claim to be American because I didn’t look like the people I saw on TV. That all changed in high school; after joining APISU, Presentation’s Asian Pacific Islander affinity group, I was surrounded by people of all backgrounds who took pride in their heritage. Hearing their stories helped me better understand the gravity of the sacrifices my family made for me and appreciate what was done to get me to where I am today. Experiences such as these empowered me to learn more about my family’s cultures and share my pride in who I am with other students who are in the shoes I was once in. I became an APISU officer, speaking to the entire school community about my family’s story from a second-generation immigrant’s perspective and successfully planning for Presentation’s first Lunar New Year celebration. Because of my family’s background, I can understand those who have grown up with the culture of their family’s homeland and also those whose families immigrated and assimilated here generations ago; I guess being a banana isn’t so bad after all.

If I could describe Ms. Catherine Aquino in a word, it would be "sun". Her positive, upbeat attitude that she brings to every class is like having sunshine in California; both are normal and are something that many of us look forward to each day. Despite having a jam-packed schedule outside of school what with being the primary caregiver of her aging parents; parenting her kids, one of whom is still at home and the other being at college; continuing to volunteer her time at Martha's Kitchen' and lesson planning, she always brings a sunny attitude to class which helps us feel welcomed and ready to learn. Ms. Aquino gives it her all in everything that she does, whether that's teaching or coaching. In the classroom, she encourages us to get to know the people we are sitting with by sparking conversations every class period and facilitates discussions by walking around and making eye contact with everyone to engage them in the conversation; she'll even share her own stories with the class to encourage us to be vulnerable with each other. Outside of the classroom as a coach, she is no different as she suggests to us to talk to people we aren't necessarily comfortable with or don't know; this practice helped build a community on the team that I enjoyed being a part of. She created a nonjudgemental environment where even I as a shy person felt comfortable sharing my thoughts and making my voice heard. Ms. Aquino taught me what it means to give 110% to everything you do and accept yourself as you are, which sparked my journey to embracing my identity as a Vietnamese-Japanese American. I am Danica Kubota, a proud banana. No, it’s not because I love the Despicable Me franchise or this potassium-rich fruit; it’s because I've accepted the fact that I can look Asian and have a connection to my family's culture while also being assimilated into American society. Yellow on the outside and white on the inside, bananas remind me of myself. Growing up Asian American, I always felt like I was the bridge between two worlds, the Asian culture I grew up with in my mom’s family and the whitewashed Asian culture I grew up with in my dad’s family and at school. I was jealous of my classmates who grew up immersed in their family culture; I was only aware of my mom’s Vietnamese roots and knew little about Japanese culture. I felt as though I couldn’t claim to be American because I didn’t look like the people I saw on TV. That all changed in high school; after joining APISU, Presentation’s Asian Pacific Islander affinity group, I was surrounded by people of all backgrounds who took pride in their heritage. Hearing their stories helped me better understand the gravity of the sacrifices my family made for me and appreciate what was done to get me to where I am today. Experiences such as these empowered me to learn more about my family’s cultures and share my pride in who I am with other students who are in the shoes I was once in. I became an APISU officer, speaking to the entire school community about my family’s story from a second-generation immigrant’s perspective and successfully planning for Presentation’s first Lunar New Year celebration. Because of my family’s background, I can understand those who have grown up with the culture of their family’s homeland and also those whose families immigrated and assimilated here generations ago; I guess being a banana isn’t so bad after all.

I am Danica Kubota, a proud Vietnamese-Japanese American and also a banana. No, it’s not because I love the Despicable Me franchise or this potassium-rich fruit; it’s because of the disconnect I’ve felt from my identity for much of my life. Yellow on the outside and white on the inside, bananas encapsulated this internal conflict; I felt as though I looked Asian on the outside (as if my last name isn’t a dead giveaway, my dark brown hair and almond-shaped eyes are) but acted “white” – disconnected from my culture. Growing up Asian American, I always felt like I was the bridge between two worlds, the Asian culture I grew up with in my mom’s family and the whitewashed Asian culture I grew up with in my dad’s family and at school. I was jealous of my classmates who grew up immersed in their family’s culture; I was only aware of my mom’s Vietnamese roots and knew little about Japanese culture. I felt as though I couldn’t claim to be American because I didn’t look like the people I saw on TV. When there was Asian representation, it was negative – just look at Ravi from Jessie and Baljeet from Phineas and Ferb. I regretfully admit sometimes I wished I wasn’t Asian; I wondered why I couldn’t be more appreciative of growing up in America, something that my family had fought so hard for. They’d tried to flee Communist Viet Nam after the fall of Saigon, and after two trips to jail and losing all of their money, they were finally sponsored. That all changed when I got to high school and met people from a variety of backgrounds; after joining APISU, Presentation’s Asian Pacific Islander affinity group, I was surrounded by people who looked different from and like myself and took pride in their heritage. Reading The Best We Could Do emphasized what I was starting to feel: seeing someone who looked like and had similar experiences to my family was incredible, and her realistic portrayal of what it means to be AAPI resonated with me. I had never felt so seen and connected to stories I felt were buried within my family history. Hearing her story helped me better understand the gravity of the sacrifices my family made for me and appreciate what was done to get me to where I am today. Experiences such as these empowered me to learn more about my family’s cultures and share my pride in who I am with other students who are in the shoes I was once in. I became an APISU officer, speaking to the entire school community about my family’s story from a second-generation immigrant’s perspective. Currently, I’m finishing planning for Presentation’s first Lunar New Year celebration. Because of my family’s background, I can understand those who have grown up with the culture of their family’s homeland and also those whose families immigrated and assimilated here generations ago; I guess being a banana isn’t so bad after all.

Going beyond the textbook definition of what it means to lead, simply “one who commands a group”, A good leader is one who listens to those they are working with and supports them; they are the voice that represents their community, and as such, they need to understand their community’s needs. I was effective in that I took decisive action to give others a sense of direction and received input from a variety of sources. A good leader also knows how to accept criticism and self-reflect to improve themselves, and I have realized that I need to accept help from others more often so I don’t overburden myself with work. Two years ago, nearly 11,000 lightning bolts struck near my hometown in a siege. Wildfires relentlessly battered surrounding communities, and hundreds of thousands of acres burned before firefighters could contain the blaze. Even though we weren’t directly in the wildfires’ path, the constant fear and anxiety of impending doom overwhelmed me and my community. Growing up here in California, I always acknowledged the occurrence of natural disasters like earthquakes and wildfires but never fathomed that a large-scale catastrophe could happen at my doorstep. Recognizing this unspoken apathy, I joined Teen CERT (Community Emergency Response Team), a national organization of volunteers trained on disaster preparedness and emergency response. As I learned fire safety drills and building damage assessment procedures, I realized that if disaster were to strike, my community is not adequately prepared. As part of Teen CERT, my goal is to increase the confidence of as many families and community members as possible. As a Teen CERT, I will assist frontline disaster relief in the aftermath of an emergency, by providing information about the damage, assisting in evacuations, providing housing, and triaging survivors by degree of injury when activated. To further educate my community, I’m bringing the Teen CERT program to my school. I’m planning a workshop to teach my peers skills that they’d need in any disaster situation. I’m also working on collecting materials to make emergency kits to ensure that everyone in our school is a bit closer to being disaster-ready. Not only will I lead by example, by staying level-headed during emergencies, but I teach my peers to do the same and become future leaders during times of crisis. No one should have to feel the fear and anxiety that I and so many other teens felt during the fall of 2020 on top of the stress that comes with living through a pandemic, and my peers have thanked me for starting these efforts. Today’s teens, as the future generation of an ever-changing, disaster-prone world, are the ones who will tackle the climate crisis predicament. We have no choice but to take charge and lead by taking urgent action.

Going beyond the textbook definition of what it means to lead, simply “one who commands a group”, A good leader is one who listens to those they are working with and supports them; they are the voice that represents their community, and as such, they need to understand their community’s needs. I was effective in that I took decisive action to give others a sense of direction and received input from a variety of sources. A good leader also knows how to accept criticism and self-reflect to improve themselves, and I have realized that I need to accept help from others more often so I don’t overburden myself with work. Two years ago, nearly 11,000 lightning bolts struck near my hometown in a siege. Wildfires relentlessly battered surrounding communities, and hundreds of thousands of acres burned before firefighters could contain the blaze. Even though we weren’t directly in the wildfires’ path, the constant fear and anxiety of impending doom overwhelmed me and my community. Growing up here in California, I always acknowledged the occurrence of natural disasters like earthquakes and wildfires but never fathomed that a large-scale catastrophe could happen at my doorstep. Recognizing this unspoken apathy, I joined Teen CERT (Community Emergency Response Team), a national organization of volunteers trained on disaster preparedness and emergency response. As I learned fire safety drills and building damage assessment procedures, I realized that if disaster were to strike, my community is not adequately prepared. As part of Teen CERT, my goal is to increase the confidence of as many families and community members as possible. As a Teen CERT, I will assist frontline disaster relief in the aftermath of an emergency, by providing information about the damage, assisting in evacuations, providing housing, and triaging survivors by degree of injury when activated. To further educate my community, I’m bringing the Teen CERT program to my school. I’m planning a workshop to teach my peers skills that they’d need in any disaster situation. I’m also working on collecting materials to make emergency kits to ensure that everyone in our school is a bit closer to being disaster-ready. Not only will I lead by example, by staying level-headed during emergencies, but I teach my peers to do the same and become future leaders during times of crisis. No one should have to feel the fear and anxiety that I and so many other teens felt during the fall of 2020 on top of the stress that comes with living through a pandemic, and my peers have thanked me for starting these efforts. Today’s teens, as the future generation of an ever-changing, disaster-prone world, are the ones who will tackle the climate crisis predicament. We have no choice but to take charge and lead by taking urgent action.

My name is Danica Kubota, and I am an iPhone wrapped inside an Eggo box. As you read the first part of that sentence, you could have thought something along the lines of this: "Her last name's Asian for sure; it sounds Japanese to me. She's probably another one of those kids who's only good at academics and has no social life." I wouldn't blame you for assuming that; this stereotype of the model minority is ingrained into us all, myself included, from an early age because of AAPI depictions in movies and general media. The second part probably threw you for a loop. Let me explain. When one sees an Eggo box, one assumes there will be waffles inside; while waffles are not as valuable monetarily as an iPhone, they are still quite nice to have nonetheless. The iPhone is a welcome surprise and opens up a new world of possibilities one couldn't consider if one had waffles instead. Similarly, I as a person defy the model minority stereotype of just being focused on grades; not only do I push myself academically, but also physically with activities like cross-country, track and field, dance, and musical theater; and mentally by trying things outside of my comfort zone to do something for who or what I love. I may look Asian, but I was raised with a blend of Asian and American cultures to honor my family's customs but also accept the culture of the land I grew up in and call home. This fusion of cultures gives me a unique perspective on things. As part of the "unconventional" way my family raised me (I had the traditional "white picket fence" family structure, two parents and a sister; but I also had extended family like my grandmothers on both sides and aunts/uncles close by to care for me when my parents were away; in short, I had a network of people to care for me), they emphasized getting a good education (learning new things and learning how to learn more than memorizing to get a good grade) equally with spending time outdoors. My core memories all revolve around family time outdoors, whether it was jumping over the Pacific Ocean's waves or racing down the slopes on skis or mountain bikes, and I want to ensure that future generations can enjoy the same opportunities I was afforded. In other words, my desire to pass down to future generations my love of nature and the opportunities to make happy memories in the great outdoors is what sparks my desire to protect our oceans, home to so many wonderful creatures and our planet's history, past and present. I'd use my degree in environmental studies to learn what scientists could do to stop climate change, specifically what factors in each region of the world are driving the climate crisis and what action needs to be taken on an individual and regional level. I'd also learn how governments could step up and regulate businesses with the help of laypeople to call these issues to light. Not only would I learn more about the climate crisis as a whole, but I'd put it to use as an advocate, using evidence to back up my claims when I lobby congresspeople and write to corporations. I'd also share what I'd learned with the general public via social media and physical flyers in a variety of languages to reach people across all backgrounds. I hope you enjoyed reading this collection of my thoughts. Please consider me for this scholarship, and thank you for your time.

The first time I showed up to cross country practice nervous about what to expect, I felt at home – nowhere else had I found such a welcoming group of people so willing to help one another out. As I moved my way up the ranks & became team captain despite not being the fastest, I sought to make the team a safe, inclusive space for everyone regardless of their ability where my teammates, especially underclassmen, could feel as supported as I did freshman year, having individual conversations with each member to get to know them better, writing the whole team personalized motivational notes before meets, & showing up to be there for them. I was awarded the Flanagan Leadership Award as a junior and the Quigley Inspirational Award as a senior for fostering a community in which every person felt comfortable to be themselves and share their opinions and leading by example, bringing a positive attitude to practice and reaching out to each and every team member so they felt heard and seen. While everyone in my team felt seen these past two seasons, not everyone in the running community can be seen. Though running may be a more equitable sport (it’s often called the “poor man’s sport”) as it doesn’t require too much fancy gear, a designated playing field, or a team – all you really need are a pair of running shoes and workout gear, it doesn’t always cater to differently-abled people. In response to this realization of mine, I then became an Achilles International volunteer guide, running with visually impaired athletes who may not have the same opportunities to get outside that I do, to share my passion with an often underrepresented community and make them feel as welcomed by the running community as I did that fateful day of tryouts. As we looped through San Francisco, to pass the time, I’d channel my “team captain confidence” and ask my running partners, all of whom were all significantly older & further ahead in life, to share stories of their families, careers, & hobbies. Inevitably the conversation would turn to them asking me my plans for the future & giving me a new perspective that they could “see” that I couldn’t from their additional years of life. In conclusion, a community is a group of people united by a common interest. To me, it doesn’t have to be something “concrete” like loving a certain sport or sharing interests but can be something “abstract” wanting to grow and learn alongside one another, regardless of differences in background. The running community is made of anyone and everyone who enjoys running and supports it, and I hope I’ve been able to make it more inclusive over the past few years, something that I will continue to do for the rest of my life. I was able to find myself within the running community’s support network, and I want to return the favor so that others feel the same way. Today’s teens, as the future generation of an ever-changing, disaster-prone world, are the ones who will tackle the climate crisis predicament. We have no choice but to take charge and lead by taking urgent action.

I am Danica Kubota, a proud Vietnamese-Japanese American and also a banana. No, it’s not because I love the Despicable Me franchise or this potassium-rich fruit; it’s because of the disconnect I’ve felt from my identity for much of my life. Yellow on the outside and white on the inside, bananas encapsulated this internal conflict; I felt as though I looked Asian on the outside (as if my last name isn’t a dead giveaway, my dark brown hair and almond-shaped eyes are) but acted “white” – disconnected from my culture. Growing up Asian American, I always felt like I was the bridge between two worlds, the Asian culture I grew up with in my mom’s family and the whitewashed Asian culture I grew up with in my dad’s family and at school. I was jealous of my classmates who grew up immersed in their family culture; I was only aware of my mom’s Vietnamese roots and knew little about Japanese culture. I felt as though I couldn’t claim to be American because I didn’t look like the people I saw on TV. When there was Asian representation, it was negative – just look at Ravi from Jessie. I regretfully admit sometimes I wished I wasn’t Asian; I wondered why I couldn’t be more appreciative of growing up in America, something that my family had fought so hard for. They’d tried to flee Communist Viet Nam after the fall of Saigon, and after two trips to jail and losing all of their money, they were finally sponsored. Because of this uneasiness and disconnect from my culture that I felt for so long, I can empathize with my uncle Cậu Kho, my mom's youngest brother who immigrated to the United States as an elementary schooler about to enter middle school. I've heard stories about how he would get into fights because he was mocked for looking different and speaking English with an accent. In a word, he was "fobby" or "fresh off the boat". I also heard from my mom that his fiancee committed suicide days before their wedding, which could be why he's never entered a romantic relationship since then. Perhaps these tragedies throughout his life, combined with the fact that my grandfather who he loved dearly was a heavy smoker, caused him to become one as well, turning to nicotine to numb the sorrow. In comparison to my other relatives, I have few memories of Cậu Kho because he wasn't around as much, leaving family gatherings early to go smoke. For every hug he'd give us, there was a cloud of cigarette smoke left behind. I suspect Cậu Kho has struggled with mental health issues for years, but my family has swept it under the rug, brushing him off as the "black sheep" of the family. His struggles affected the way I viewed him when I was younger; the rose-colored lens with which I viewed all of my older members changed to a clearer view of a person who was struggling. Knowing this, I've continually included him in my life but struggle to find the words to intervene and get him the help he needs. It is because of Cậu Kho that I can better understand those who have family members struggling with substance abuse. In college, I plan to make infographics to spread the word and translate them into different languages so that language is not a barrier to knowing this information. Lastly, I will continue to advocate for prevention in the hopes no one will have to experience what so many have gone through.

"Don't make the same mistakes I did when I was your age. Remember to pay your credit card debt on time, and when you do, pay more than the minimum," my mom remarked as she added mushrooms to the tofu stir fry she was making. These tidbits of financial information would come whenever and wherever, no matter the situation, and were introduced in conversation like the most natural thing in the world. My mom's nonchalance in talking about finances as something that should be second nature has gotten me started on the path to managing my finances. To educate myself, I've started with the basics: following influencers and reading newsletters for daily money management tips, keeping a log of my transactions to monitor my spending habits, and reading more articles online. I've also been involved with my school's business club to learn from my peers and taken AP Macroeconomics to further my understanding of the economy and our world. I'd also like to take a business class at community college this summer before starting undergrad where I'd also take more finance classes and join groups about money management. Beyond taking classes, I'd also like to pursue some sort of internship revolving around finance, a field I am sorely uneducated in, so that I can get more hands-on experience with money management. I don't expect to succeed all of the time; oftentimes, it's quite the opposite. I've "failed" at the activities I've devoted the most time to, running sub-par times at cross-country meets and developing one failed prototype after another in preparation for my regional science fair. Why are there quotation marks around the word "failed", you might ask? A complete failure to me means giving up on a matter entirely; a "failure" is just a temporary setback, another bump in the road before smooth sailing, that helps us refocus our attention and plow forward undaunted. I've continued to participate in the above extracurriculars despite all of the setbacks I've faced. I'd love to participate in a finance internship because I'd learn a lot from it whether or not there were too many successes. Finance would teach me how to fail: I'd face a setback and take the lessons learned from it to improve and (hopefully) not make that same mistake in the future; I've been able to do this with a variety of extracurriculars, especially with independent research. Two years ago, nearly 11,000 lightning bolts struck near my hometown in a siege. Wildfires relentlessly battered surrounding communities, and hundreds of thousands of acres burned before firefighters could contain the blaze. Even though we weren’t directly in the wildfires’ path, the constant fear and anxiety of impending doom overwhelmed me and my community. Growing up here, I always acknowledged the occurrence of natural disasters like earthquakes and wildfires but never fathomed that a large-scale catastrophe could happen at my doorstep. Recognizing this unspoken apathy, I joined Teen CERT (Community Emergency Response Team), a national organization of volunteers trained in disaster preparedness and emergency response, to increase the confidence of as many families and community members as possible. As a Teen CERT, I will assist frontline disaster relief in the aftermath of an emergency, by providing information about the damage, assisting in evacuations, providing housing, and triaging survivors by the degree of injury when activated. To further educate my community, I’m planning a workshop to teach my peers skills that they’d need in any disaster situation. Not only will I lead by example, by staying level-headed during emergencies, but I teach my peers to do the same and become future leaders during times of crisis. I took the knowledge I’d gained from textbooks and lectures and applied it to the real world to stop the worsening of climate change. That’s why I’d be excited to join researchers to expand upon my past research at a top-tier university. Today’s teens, the future generation of an ever-changing, disaster-prone world, are the ones who will tackle the predicament that is the climate crisis. We have no choice but to take charge and lead by taking urgent action. To educate others about finance, I'd encourage my family and friends to take the classes that I planned on taking and share with them what I'd learned. I'm also planning to make a blog that others can view as I go along my journey to becoming financially literate so they can learn from my experiences. Thank you for your time and consideration.

"Don't make the same mistakes I did when I was your age. Remember to pay your credit card debt on time, and when you do, pay more than the minimum," my mom remarked as she added mushrooms to the tofu stir fry she was making. These tidbits of financial information would come whenever and wherever, no matter the situation, and were introduced in conversation like the most natural thing in the world. My mom's nonchalance in talking about finances as something that should be second nature has gotten me started on the path to managing my finances. To educate myself, I've started with the basics: following influencers and reading newsletters for daily money management tips, keeping a log of my transactions to monitor my spending habits, and reading more articles online. I've also been involved with my school's business club to learn from my peers and taken AP Macroeconomics to further my understanding of the economy and our world. I'd also like to take a business class at community college this summer before starting undergrad where I'd also take more finance classes and join groups about money management. Beyond taking classes, I'd also like to pursue some sort of internship revolving around finance, a field I am sorely uneducated in, so that I can get more hands-on experience with money management. I don't expect to succeed all of the time; oftentimes, it's quite the opposite. I've "failed" at the activities I've devoted the most time to, running sub-par times at cross-country meets and developing one failed prototype after another in preparation for my regional science fair. Why are there quotation marks around the word "failed", you might ask? A complete failure to me means giving up on a matter entirely; a "failure" is just a temporary setback, another bump in the road before smooth sailing, that helps us refocus our attention and plow forward undaunted. I've continued to participate in the above extracurriculars despite all of the setbacks I've faced. I'd love to participate in a finance internship because I'd learn a lot from it whether or not there were too many successes. To educate others about finance, I'd encourage my family and friends to take the classes that I planned on taking and share with them what I'd learned. I'm also planning to make a blog that others can view as I go along my journey to becoming financially literate so they can learn from my experiences. Thank you for your time and consideration.

My name is Danica Kubota, and I am an iPhone wrapped inside an Eggo box. As you read the first part of that sentence, you could have thought something along the lines of this: "Her last name's Asian for sure; it sounds Japanese to me. She's probably another one of those kids who's only good at academics and has no social life." I wouldn't blame you for assuming that; this stereotype of the model minority is ingrained into us all, myself included, from an early age because of AAPI depictions in movies and general media. The second part probably threw you for a loop. Let me explain. When one sees an Eggo box, one assumes there will be waffles inside; while waffles are not as valuable monetarily as an iPhone, they are still quite nice to have nonetheless. The iPhone is a welcome surprise and opens up a new world of possibilities one couldn't consider if one had waffles instead. Similarly, I as a person defy the model minority stereotype of just being focused on grades; not only do I push myself academically, but also physically with activities like cross-country, track and field, dance, and musical theater; and mentally by trying things outside of my comfort zone to do something for who or what I love. I may look Asian, but I was raised with a blend of Asian and American cultures to honor my family's customs but also accept the culture of the land I grew up in and call home. This fusion of cultures gives me a unique perspective on things. As part of the "unconventional" way my family raised me (I had the traditional "white picket fence" family structure, two parents and a sister; but I also had extended family like my grandmothers on both sides and aunts/uncles close by to care for me when my parents were away; in short, I had a network of people to care for me), they emphasized getting a good education (learning new things and learning how to learn more than memorizing to get a good grade) equally with spending time outdoors. My core memories all revolve around family time outdoors, whether it was jumping over the Pacific Ocean's waves or racing down the slopes on skis or mountain bikes, and I want to ensure that future generations can enjoy the same opportunities I was afforded. In other words, my desire to pass down to future generations my love of nature and the opportunities to make happy memories in the great outdoors is what sparks my desire to protect our oceans, home to so many wonderful creatures and our planet's history, past and present. I'd use my degree in environmental studies to learn what scientists could do to stop climate change, specifically what factors in each region of the world are driving the climate crisis and what action needs to be taken on an individual and regional level. I'd also learn how governments could step up and regulate businesses with the help of laypeople to call these issues to light. Not only would I learn more about the climate crisis as a whole, but I'd put it to use as an advocate, using evidence to back up my claims when I lobby congresspeople and write to corporations. I'd also share what I'd learned with the general public via social media and physical flyers in a variety of languages to reach people across all backgrounds. I hope you enjoyed reading this collection of my thoughts, and thank you for your consideration.

To me, having integrity means not compromising your morals in the face of stressful situations where everyone else is doing something immoral and you'd be going against the grain. Living with honor is a result of living with integrity; it is that feeling of pride you get for doing the right thing and the easing of your conscience that all is well so you can sleep at night and rest easy knowing you've done the right thing. The most significant way I've been able to live with integrity is through doing sports, specifically cross-country and track and field. Running overall has taught me to put in the hard work and to persevere when things go wrong which (spoiler alert) they often do. I'd like this to be clear: by no means am I stellar at running. I've been the last to cross the finish line, the last one finishing up the workout, and fight to stay on varsity every single race I run (our varsity team changes each meet based on everyone's performance). I've come home disappointed with my performance on several occasions while my peers break personal records. It's exhausting always being the worst on the team and feeling like you're dragging everyone down despite your best efforts. Given this information, you'd think that when my time was misrecorded at a track meet (I noticed because it was significantly faster than the time I'd recorded on my watch), I wouldn't say anything. However, the first thing I did was email my coach to let her know that the times had been misrecorded and she should let the race officials know; she thanked me for my honesty and soon my time was changed to what I had recorded. While this could have significantly improved my standings, I knew it was dishonest and I wouldn't be able to live with myself knowing I had lied. How could I tell my teammates to be upfront if I couldn't do the same? In other words, having integrity means acting in a way that you would respect if it came from someone else.

I am Danica Kubota, a proud Vietnamese-Japanese American and also a banana. No, it’s not because I love the Despicable Me franchise or this potassium-rich fruit; it’s because of the disconnect I’ve felt from my identity for much of my life. Yellow on the outside and white on the inside, bananas encapsulated this internal conflict; I felt as though I looked Asian on the outside (as if my last name isn’t a dead giveaway, my dark brown hair and almond-shaped eyes are) but acted “white” – disconnected from my culture. Growing up Asian American, I always felt like I was the bridge between two worlds, the Asian culture I grew up with in my mom’s family and the whitewashed Asian culture I grew up with in my dad’s family and at school. I was jealous of my classmates who grew up immersed in their family culture; I was only aware of my mom’s Vietnamese roots and knew little about Japanese culture. I felt as though I couldn’t claim to be American because I didn’t look like the people I saw on TV. When there was Asian representation, it was negative – just look at Ravi from Jessie and Baljeet from Phineas and Ferb. I regretfully admit sometimes I wished I wasn’t Asian; I wondered why I couldn’t be more appreciative of growing up in America, something that my family had fought so hard for. They’d tried to flee Communist Viet Nam after the fall of Saigon, and after two trips to jail and losing all of their money, they were finally sponsored. My journey to accepting my identity extends beyond race to encapsulate gender and sexuality. As of writing this, I present as a cis, straight young woman; in reality, I am deeply in the closet. Sometimes I feel great frustration about presenting as a woman and wish to hide my curves and long hair; on other occasions, I embrace my femininity and take pride in presenting as a woman. I'm not quite sure whether these emotions are tied to gender dysphoria or general discomfort with my changing body as I finish puberty. Similarly, I am torn on my sexuality, swinging back and forth between defining myself as bi (the label I've felt connected to for the longest time because I'm attracted to those who identify as the same and differently from myself on different occasions), ace, and straight, which leaves me wondering if I can claim to be a part of the queer community. Since this internal debate has been going on for years, it makes sense that these thoughts I have would start to spill out; what better place than cross country practice, where I, tired and sweaty, dare to say whatever is on my mind without fear of judgment? While the teammates I've told have been nothing but kind and supportive, I can't imagine everyone on the team will feel the same even with my best efforts to create a welcoming, safe space. Despite my fears of being ostracized (I've heard stories on the news of people turning against their teammates after the latter group comes out and harassing them or even getting the latter group kicked off the team), I plan to come out during this coming season to show my teammates that it is okay to be "different" and that they should accept themselves just as they are. I also want to push for inclusivity in sports beyond the introduction of a nonbinary category for races; I'd like to start a running group for queer athletes to bond over their identity and love of running.

– disconnected from my culture. Growing up Asian American, I always felt like I was the bridge between two worlds, the Asian culture I grew up with in my mom’s family and the whitewashed Asian culture I grew up with in my dad’s family and at school. I was jealous of my classmates who grew up immersed in their family culture; I was only aware of my mom’s Vietnamese roots and knew little about Japanese culture. I felt as though I couldn’t claim to be American because I didn’t look like the people I saw on TV. When there was Asian representation, it was negative – just look at Ravi from Jessie. I regretfully admit sometimes I wished I wasn’t Asian; I wondered why I couldn’t be more appreciative of growing up in America, something that my family had fought so hard for. They’d tried to flee Communist Viet Nam after the fall of Saigon, and after two trips to jail and losing all of their money, they were finally sponsored. Because of this uneasiness and disconnect from my culture that I felt for so long, I can empathize with my uncle Cậu Kho, my mom's youngest brother who immigrated to the United States as an elementary schooler about to enter middle school. I've heard stories about how he would get into fights because he was mocked for looking different and speaking English with an accent. In a word, he was "fobby" or "fresh off the boat". I also heard from my mom that his fiancee committed suicide days before their wedding, which could be why he's never entered a romantic relationship since then. Perhaps these tragedies throughout his life, combined with the fact that my grandfather who he loved dearly was a heavy smoker, caused him to become one as well, turning to nicotine to numb the sorrow. In comparison to my other relatives, I have few memories of Cậu Kho because he wasn't around as much, leaving family gatherings early to go smoke. For every hug he'd give us, there was a cloud of cigarette smoke left behind. I suspect Cậu Kho has struggled with mental health issues for years, but my family has swept it under the rug, brushing him off as the "black sheep" of the family. His struggles affected the way I viewed him when I was younger; the rose-colored lens with which I viewed all of my older members changed to a clearer view of a person who was struggling. Knowing this, I've continually included him in my life but struggle to find the words to intervene and get him the help he needs. It is because of Cậu Kho that I can better understand those who have family members struggling with substance abuse. In college, I plan to make infographics to spread the word and translate them into different languages so that language is not a barrier to knowing this information. Lastly, I will continue to advocate for prevention in the hopes no one will have to experience what so many have gone through.

At 15:15 sharp every weekday for fourteen weeks, cross-country practice began. The schedule on paper would be to start with warmups, do our workout and leave. However, I wanted the cross country to be more than just another extracurricular full of formality; I wanted it to be a family: a safe space where people felt comfortable being their real selves. While many people say that they'd keep going at something despite failing at it, few can follow through on these words. I've exemplified this as I've continued to run through changes in my school environment and the pandemic. I'd like this to be clear: by no means am I stellar at running. I've been the last to cross the finish line, the last one finishing up the workout, and fight to stay on varsity every single race I run (our varsity team changes each meet based on everyone's performance). I've come home disappointed with my performance on several occasions while my peers break personal records. Despite this, I continue to show up at practice, bringing my A-game. Why? Because this team is where I first felt that I could do things I never dared with supportive teammates at my side. This "fire" is what drives me to lead. How so? I've created an inclusive, welcoming environment for the cross-country team by having frequent one-on-ones with every teammate throughout the season to get to know them personally and check on their well-being. I emphasized a balanced lifestyle: getting enough sleep, making sure to hydrate and fuel correctly, stretching, and completing schoolwork. I pushed my teammates to do well and cheered them on the whole way, delivering motivational pep talks before and after challenging practices and meets, and sharing my learning and experiences. These very actions did not go unnoticed; I was awarded the Flanagan Leadership Award at the end of my junior year season. My coach named this award after a prominent long-distance runner and leader in the running community, Shalane Flanagan. Once she stepped out of her professional career, she became a coach, wanting to lift others up and meet their potential; likewise, I exhibited a lot of leadership skills through encouragement, inclusivity, and leading by example during the cross-country season. For similar reasons, I was awarded the Quigley Inspirational award for my work as a two-time team captain in unifying the team on and off the course and creating a welcoming environment. For my younger teammates, many of whom joined the team without deliberate intention, this effort to cultivate a community has gone a long way. I believe that this isn’t only seen in our achievements, like qualifying for Central Coast Sectionals for the first time in years, but it is felt in the smiles and attitudes of my teammates throughout our practices. In sharing my passion for running, I began guiding visually impaired athletes through San Francisco. For them, placing one foot in front of the other at speed is like stepping into a void: They must learn to trust the ground beneath their feet. I guide runners like Lord Frederick, who’s in his 60s and despite his lack of vision, has a killer sense of style/humor. And then there is Yujia, whose seizure disorder limits certain activities she can do but continues to extract meaning from every part of her life. It is difficult to find useful metrics to determine I’ve made my community better, but I am proud of having an attitude that focuses on celebrating people for what they can achieve, rather than what they have yet to.

I am Danica Kubota, a proud Vietnamese-Japanese American and also a banana. No, it’s not because I love the Despicable Me franchise or this potassium-rich fruit; it’s because of the disconnect I’ve felt from my identity for much of my life. Yellow on the outside and white on the inside, bananas encapsulated this internal conflict; I felt as though I looked Asian on the outside (as if my last name isn’t a dead giveaway, my dark brown hair and almond-shaped eyes are) but acted “white” – disconnected from my culture. Growing up Asian American, I always felt like I was the bridge between two worlds, the Asian culture I grew up with in my mom’s family and the whitewashed Asian culture I grew up with in my dad’s family and at school. I was jealous of my classmates who grew up immersed in their family culture; I was only aware of my mom’s Vietnamese roots and knew little about Japanese culture. I felt as though I couldn’t claim to be American because I didn’t look like the people I saw on TV. When there was Asian representation, it was negative – just look at Ravi from Jessie. I regretfully admit sometimes I wished I wasn’t Asian; I wondered why I couldn’t be more appreciative of growing up in America, something that my family had fought so hard for. They’d tried to flee Communist Viet Nam after the fall of Saigon, and after two trips to jail and losing all of their money, they were finally sponsored. Because of this uneasiness and disconnect from my culture that I felt for so long, I can empathize with my uncle Cậu Kho, my mom's youngest brother who immigrated to the United States as an elementary schooler about to enter middle school. I've heard stories about how he would get into fights because he was mocked for looking different and speaking English with an accent. In a word, he was "fobby" or "fresh off the boat". I also heard from my mom that his fiancee committed suicide days before their wedding, which could be why he's never entered a romantic relationship since then. Perhaps these tragedies throughout his life, combined with the fact that my grandfather who he loved dearly was a heavy smoker, caused him to become one as well, turning to nicotine to numb the sorrow. In comparison to my other relatives, I have few memories of Cậu Kho because he wasn't around as much, leaving family gatherings early to go smoke. For every hug he'd give us, there was a cloud of cigarette smoke left behind. I suspect Cậu Kho has struggled with mental health issues for years, but my family has swept it under the rug, brushing him off as the "black sheep" of the family. His struggles affected the way I viewed him when I was younger; the rose-colored lens with which I viewed all of my older members changed to a clearer view of a person who was struggling. Knowing this, I've continually included him in my life but struggle to find the words to intervene and get him the help he needs. It is because of Cậu Kho that I can better understand those who have family members struggling with substance abuse. In college, I plan to make infographics to spread the word and translate them into different languages so that language is not a barrier to knowing this information. Lastly, I will continue to advocate for prevention in the hopes no one will have to experience what so many have gone through.

Two years ago, nearly 11,000 lightning bolts struck near my hometown in a siege. Wildfires relentlessly battered surrounding communities, and hundreds of thousands of acres burned before firefighters could contain the blaze. Even though we weren’t directly in the wildfires’ path, the constant fear and anxiety of impending doom overwhelmed me and my community. Growing up here, I always acknowledged the occurrence of natural disasters like earthquakes and wildfires but never fathomed that a large-scale catastrophe could happen at my doorstep. Recognizing this unspoken apathy, I joined Teen CERT (Community Emergency Response Team), a national organization of volunteers trained in disaster preparedness and emergency response, to increase the confidence of as many families and community members as possible. As a Teen CERT, I will assist frontline disaster relief in the aftermath of an emergency, by providing information about the damage, assisting in evacuations, providing housing, and triaging survivors by the degree of injury when activated. To further educate my community, I’m planning a workshop to teach my peers skills that they’d need in any disaster situation. Not only will I lead by example, by staying level-headed during emergencies, but I teach my peers to do the same and become future leaders during times of crisis. Through my science classes and my daily dose of the news, I became aware that piles of discarded plastic bottles, bags, buckets and single-use plastics had become mosquitoes’ lair; I brainstormed alternatives to plastic. Many jars and pots filled with varying ratios of plant starches and polymers later, I created a novel bioplastic material that was water-resistant, durable, lightweight and antimicrobial. Although plastics get a bad rap, my journey into processing plastics led to my discovery that the first plastic was made from plant cellulose and that plants’ long polymer chains give plastic “plasticity.” Zika’s vector is mosquitoes that love breeding in small containers filled with water. Our plastic ends up in developing countries where monsoons allow mosquitos carrying disease to breed easily and spread quickly. At UC, I’d study the intersection of poverty, environment and demographics and brainstorm ways we can disarm this perfect storm. To further my interest in the intersection of our environment and society, I learned about the impact of our energy choices on our society and our world in a college course. I gave presentations at the library focused on distilling complex environmental issues into accessible content for elementary and middle schoolers. My efforts did not go unnoticed; I was recognized by state Senator Dave Cortese for my climate leadership and my environmental action group was awarded San Jose’s 2022 Youth Climate Champion of the Year for our leadership in fighting climate change and spreading awareness on this matter to move people, especially our peers, to take action. I took the knowledge I’d gained from textbooks and lectures and applied it to the real world to stop the worsening of climate change. That’s why I’d be excited to join researchers to expand upon my past research at a top-tier university. Today’s teens, the future generation of an ever-changing, disaster-prone world, are the ones who will tackle the predicament that is the climate crisis. We have no choice but to take charge and lead by taking urgent action.

I am Danica Kubota, a proud Vietnamese-Japanese American and also a banana. No, it’s not because I love the Despicable Me franchise or this potassium-rich fruit; it’s because of the disconnect I’ve felt from my identity for much of my life. Yellow on the outside and white on the inside, bananas encapsulated this internal conflict; I felt as though I looked Asian on the outside (as if my last name isn’t a dead giveaway, my dark brown hair and almond-shaped eyes are) but acted “white” – disconnected from my culture. Growing up Asian American, I always felt like I was the bridge between two worlds, the Asian culture I grew up with in my mom’s family and the whitewashed Asian culture I grew up with in my dad’s family and at school. I was jealous of my classmates who grew up immersed in their family culture; I was only aware of my mom’s Vietnamese roots and knew little about Japanese culture. I felt as though I couldn’t claim to be American because I didn’t look like the people I saw on TV. When there was Asian representation, it was negative – just look at Ravi from Jessie. I regretfully admit sometimes I wished I wasn’t Asian; I wondered why I couldn’t be more appreciative of growing up in America, something that my family had fought so hard for. They’d tried to flee Communist Viet Nam after the fall of Saigon, and after two trips to jail and losing all of their money, they were finally sponsored. Because of this uneasiness and disconnect from my culture that I felt for so long, I can empathize with my uncle Cậu Kho, my mom's youngest brother who immigrated to the United States as an elementary schooler about to enter middle school. I've heard stories about how he would get into fights because he was mocked for looking different and speaking English with an accent. In a word, he was "fobby" or "fresh off the boat". I also heard from my mom that his fiancee committed suicide days before their wedding, which could be why he's never entered a romantic relationship since then. Perhaps these tragedies throughout his life, combined with the fact that my grandfather who he loved dearly was a heavy smoker, caused him to become one as well, turning to nicotine to numb the sorrow. In comparison to my other relatives, I have few memories of Cậu Kho because he wasn't around as much, leaving family gatherings early to go smoke. For every hug he'd give us, there was a cloud of cigarette smoke left behind. I suspect Cậu Kho has struggled with mental health issues for years, but my family has swept it under the rug, brushing him off as the "black sheep" of the family. His struggles affected the way I viewed him when I was younger; the rose-colored lens with which I viewed all of my older members changed to a clearer view of a person who was struggling. Knowing this, I've continually included him in my life but struggle to find the words to intervene and get him the help he needs. It is because of Cậu Kho that I can better understand those who have family members struggling with substance abuse. In college, I plan to make infographics to spread the word and translate them into different languages so that language is not a barrier to knowing this information. Lastly, I will continue to advocate for prevention in the hopes no one will have to experience what so many have gone through.

I am Danica Kubota, a proud Vietnamese-Japanese American, and a banana. No, it’s not because I love the Despicable Me franchise or this potassium-rich fruit; it’s because of the disconnect I’ve felt from my identity for much of my life. Yellow on the outside and white on the inside, bananas encapsulated this internal conflict; I felt as though I looked Asian on the outside (as if my last name isn’t a dead giveaway, my dark brown hair and almond-shaped eyes are) but acted “white” – disconnected from my culture and perfectly assimilated like my dad. Growing up Asian American, I always felt like I was the bridge between two worlds, the Asian culture I grew up with in my mom’s family and the whitewashed Asian culture I grew up with in my dad’s family and at school. I was jealous of my classmates who grew up immersed in their family culture; I was only aware of my mom’s Vietnamese roots and knew little about Japanese culture. I regretfully admit sometimes I wished I wasn’t Asian; I wondered why I couldn’t be more appreciative of growing up in America, something that my family had fought so hard for. They’d tried to flee Communist Viet Nam after the fall of Saigon, and after two trips to jail and losing all of their money, they were finally sponsored. They'd dealt with the aftermath of Executive Order 9066 which forced Japanese Americans into internment camps during World War II, selling their businesses and valuables and dealing with racism for years. Since then, I've grown to embrace the potassium lifestyle; it is my unique background that enables me to understand those who have grown up with the culture of their family’s homeland and also those whose families immigrated and assimilated here generations ago. My dad, having grown up in Santa Cruz, instilled in me a love of biking and being outdoors from a young age; he'd take our family on Sunday biking trips and was the one who taught me how to ride a bike. I distinctly remember the day he taught me how to ride a bike with gears for the first time; I was crying in frustration because I couldn't figure out how to shift gears and was ready to give up. However, he didn't give up on me and kept trying, and now biking is second nature to me. When I'm riding in the mountains is when I feel the most at peace; it is there I can reflect on who I am and my relationships with others and take in the beauty of nature. Not only does biking provide me peace of mind, but it also is much better for the environment than driving cars. However, as a form of commute, it can be quite dangerous without the proper measures in place. While my dad is a huge fan of biking, he will not let me bike to school although we live close enough to bike because there is no bike lane for much of the way and there are simply too many bad drivers on the road; several accidents have happened on my route to school. I even saw a car crash once on my way home! To make biking a safer recreational activity and form of transportation, I propose protected bike lanes with reflective bollards and designated turn signals for bikers. Additionally, drivers' ed should focus more on biker and pedestrian safety so drivers know what signs to look for in bikers that the latter group uses to indicate changes in direction. Thank you for reading my submission!

To me, math mirrors perspective. There is only one right answer in math, but there are seemingly endless ways to solve a problem and represent a solution. Similarly, we as individuals can have different perspectives on the same issue, and they are each valid and help us learn more about the world. Just like we can share the different ways we got to the same answer, we can share our different stories to show what has shaped us into the people we have become today. Oftentimes in doing this, we realize we have more in common with others than we originally thought. Case in point: my own story beyond what I put down on paper. I am Danica Kubota, a proud Vietnamese-Japanese American and also a banana. No, it’s not because I love the Despicable Me franchise or this potassium-rich fruit; it’s because of the disconnect I’ve felt from my identity for much of my life. Yellow on the outside and white on the inside, bananas encapsulated this internal conflict; I felt as though I looked Asian on the outside (as if my last name isn’t a dead giveaway, my dark brown hair and almond-shaped eyes are) but acted “white” – disconnected from my culture. Heck, I wasn't even good at math, a part of the model minority myth I had grown up believing I had to follow. Growing up Asian American, I always felt like I was the bridge between two worlds, the Asian culture I grew up with in my mom’s family and the whitewashed Asian culture I grew up with in my dad’s family and at school. I was jealous of my classmates who grew up immersed in their family culture; I was only aware of my mom’s Vietnamese roots and knew little about Japanese culture. I felt as though I couldn’t claim to be American because I didn’t look like the people I saw on TV. I regretfully admit sometimes I wished I wasn’t Asian; I wondered why I couldn’t be more appreciative of growing up in America, something that my family had fought so hard for. They’d tried to flee Communist Viet Nam after the fall of Saigon, and after two trips to jail and losing all of their money, they were finally sponsored. That all changed after becoming an officer of Presentation’s Asian Pacific Islander affinity group. I was surrounded by people who looked different from and like myself and took pride in their heritage. Hearing my peers' stories helped me better understand the gravity of the sacrifices my family made for me and appreciate what was done to get me to where I am today. Experiences such as these empowered me to learn more about my family’s cultures and share my pride in who I am with other students who are in the shoes I was once in. I became an APISU officer, speaking to the entire school community about my family’s story from a second-generation immigrant’s perspective and planning Presentation’s first-ever Lunar New Year celebration. I learned about the different "steps" that people had taken to find the "answer" to who they were, but more improtantly realized that this process to find yourself is ongoing. Because of my family’s background, I can understand those who have grown up with the culture of their family’s homeland and also those whose families immigrated and assimilated here generations ago. I've solved part of the problem of my identity crisis, but I've got the solutions to previous questions to guide me along the way. Huh. I guess being a banana isn’t so "problematic" after all.

I am Danica Kubota, a proud Vietnamese-Japanese American and also a banana. No, it’s not because I love the Despicable Me franchise or this potassium-rich fruit; it’s because of the disconnect I’ve felt from my identity for much of my life. Yellow on the outside and white on the inside, bananas encapsulated this internal conflict; I felt as though I looked Asian on the outside (as if my last name isn’t a dead giveaway, my dark brown hair and almond-shaped eyes are) but acted “white” – disconnected from my culture. Growing up Asian American, I always felt like I was the bridge between two worlds, the Asian culture I grew up with in my mom’s family and the whitewashed Asian culture I grew up with in my dad’s family and at school. I was jealous of my classmates who grew up immersed in their family culture; I was only aware of my mom’s Vietnamese roots and knew little about Japanese culture. I felt as though I couldn’t claim to be American because I didn’t look like the people I saw on TV. When there was Asian representation, it was negative – just look at Ravi from Jessie and Baljeet from Phineas and Ferb. I regretfully admit sometimes I wished I wasn’t Asian; I wondered why I couldn’t be more appreciative of growing up in America, something that my family had fought so hard for. They’d tried to flee Communist Viet Nam after the fall of Saigon, and after two trips to jail and losing all of their money, they were finally sponsored. Because of this uneasiness and disconnect from my culture that I felt for so long, I can empathize with my uncle Cậu Kho, my mom's youngest brother who immigrated to the United States as an elementary schooler about to enter middle school. I've heard stories about how he would get into fights because he was mocked for looking different and speaking English with an accent. In a word, he was "fobby" or "fresh off the boat". Perhaps this bullying, combined with the fact that my grandfather was a heavy smoker, caused him to become one as well. In comparison to my other aunts and uncles, I have few memories of Cậu Kho because he wasn't around as much, leaving family gatherings early to go smoke outside. For every hug he'd give us, there was a cloud of cigarette smoke left behind. It is because of Cậu Kho that I am able to better understand those who have family members struggling with substance abuse. In college, I plan to make infographics to spread the word and translate them into different languages so that language is not a barrier to knowing this information. Lastly, I will continue to advocate for prevention on a personal and community level in the hopes no one will have to experience what so many have already gone through. While mental health is not something often discussed by the AAPI community, my family has been very open about mental health discussions. They've been there for me through thick and thin as I've struggled with feeling useless and apathetic during the pandemic and then with my feelings of inadequacy during junior year. They've been my rock, and I can only hope I will do the same for others one day, which has motivated me to be an office for Bring Change 2 Mind to encourage others to be open about their mental health struggles,

To me, generational wealth means having money to pass down to younger family members and just enough to not only get by with the necessities of day-to-day life, but also to afford luxuries like spontaneous hangouts with friends or vacations to the beach or mountains. Having this money would help me give back to my family who is the reason I am WHO I am WHERE I am today writing this essay for you, the judging panel. Let me tell you a little bit more about my family and who I am in relation to them. I am Danica Kubota, a proud Vietnamese-Japanese American and also a banana. No, it’s not because I love the Despicable Me franchise or this potassium-rich fruit; it’s because of the disconnect I’ve felt from my identity for much of my life. Yellow on the outside and white on the inside, bananas encapsulated this internal conflict; I felt as though I looked Asian on the outside (as if my last name isn’t a dead giveaway, my dark brown hair and almond-shaped eyes are) but acted “white” – disconnected from my culture. Growing up Asian American, I always felt like I was the bridge between two worlds, the Asian culture I grew up with in my mom’s family and the whitewashed Asian culture I grew up with in my dad’s family and at school. I was jealous of my classmates who grew up immersed in their family’s culture; I was only aware of my mom’s Vietnamese roots and knew little about Japanese culture. I felt as though I couldn’t claim to be American because I didn’t look like the people I saw on TV. When there was Asian representation, it was negative – just look at Ravi from Jessie and Baljeet from Phineas and Ferb. I regretfully admit sometimes I wished I wasn’t Asian; I wondered why I couldn’t be more appreciative of growing up in America, something that my family had fought so hard for. They’d tried to flee Communist Viet Nam after the fall of Saigon, and after two trips to jail and losing all of their money, they were finally sponsored. That all changed when senior year arrived; after becoming an officer of APISU, Presentation’s Asian Pacific Islander affinity group, I was surrounded by people who looked different from and like myself and took pride in their heritage. Hearing other students' stories helped me better understand the gravity of the sacrifices my family made for me and appreciate what was done to get me to where I am today. Experiences such as these empowered me to learn more about my family’s cultures and share my pride in who I am with other students who are in the shoes I was once in. I became an APISU officer, speaking to the entire school community about my family’s story from a second-generation immigrant’s perspective. Currently, I’m finishing planning for Presentation’s first Lunar New Year celebration. Because of my family’s background, I can understand those who have grown up with the culture of their family’s homeland and also those whose families immigrated and assimilated here generations ago. I guess being a banana isn’t so bad after all. I plan to achieve these goals by staying in school and studying to become an environmental scientist to solve the climate crisis while continuing to advocate for policy changes to protect our planet.

I am Danica Kubota, a proud Vietnamese-Japanese American and also a banana. No, it’s not because I love the Despicable Me franchise or this potassium-rich fruit; it’s because of the disconnect I’ve felt from my identity for much of my life. Yellow on the outside and white on the inside, bananas encapsulated this internal conflict; I felt as though I looked Asian on the outside (as if my last name isn’t a dead giveaway, my dark brown hair and almond-shaped eyes are) but acted “white” – disconnected from my culture. Growing up Asian American, I always felt like I was the bridge between two worlds, the Asian culture I grew up with in my mom’s family and the whitewashed Asian culture I grew up with in my dad’s family and at school. I was jealous of my classmates who grew up immersed in their family’s culture; I was only aware of my mom’s Vietnamese roots and knew little about Japanese culture. I felt as though I couldn’t claim to be American because I didn’t look like the people I saw on TV. When there was Asian representation, it was negative – just look at Ravi from Jessie and Baljeet from Phineas and Ferb. I regretfully admit sometimes I wished I wasn’t Asian; I wondered why I couldn’t be more appreciative of growing up in America, something that my family had fought so hard for. They’d tried to flee Communist Viet Nam after the fall of Saigon, and after two trips to jail and losing all of their money, they were finally sponsored. That all changed when I got to high school and met people from a variety of backgrounds; after joining APISU, Presentation’s Asian Pacific Islander affinity group, I was surrounded by people who looked different from and like myself and took pride in their heritage. Reading The Best We Could Do emphasized what I was starting to feel: seeing someone who looked like and had similar experiences to my family was incredible, and her realistic portrayal of what it means to be AAPI resonated with me. I had never felt so seen and connected to stories I felt were buried within my family history. Hearing her story helped me better understand the gravity of the sacrifices my family made for me and appreciate what was done to get me to where I am today. Experiences such as these empowered me to learn more about my family’s cultures and share my pride in who I am with other students who are in the shoes I was once in. I became an APISU officer, speaking to the entire school community about my family’s story from a second-generation immigrant’s perspective and planning and executing Presentation's first ever Lunar New Year celebration. Currently, I’m finishing planning AAPI Heritage Month in May and the different cultures on showcase during Multicultural Week.. Because of my family’s background, I can understand those who have grown up with the culture of their family’s homeland and also those whose families immigrated and assimilated here generations ago; I guess being a banana isn’t so bad after all.

Little Women. Family. A six-letter word that Google primarily defines as “a group of one or more parents and their children living together as a unit.” To me, family is a four-letter word: home. It encapsulates the network of relatives who have raised me as I grew up, teaching me about the world, helping me back up when I fell, and documenting (almost) every minute of the journey. Having so many eyes on me as the oldest in a “big small family” with not just parents, but aunts, uncles, and grandparents giving me guidance and feedback with each new milestone may have intimidated others, but all of their perspectives and being put in the spotlight from so young has taught me so much more than I would have learned in the “traditional nuclear family”. This book has also helped me find my own identity as I straddle being American and Asian. I am Danica Kubota, a proud Vietnamese-Japanese American and also a banana. No, it’s not because I love the Despicable Me franchise or this potassium-rich fruit; it’s because of the disconnect I’ve felt from my identity for much of my life. Yellow on the outside and white on the inside, bananas encapsulated this internal conflict; I felt as though I looked Asian on the outside (as if my last name isn’t a dead giveaway, my dark brown hair and almond-shaped eyes are) but acted “white” – disconnected from my culture. Growing up Asian American, I always felt like I was the bridge between two worlds, the Asian culture I grew up with in my mom’s family and the whitewashed Asian culture I grew up with in my dad’s family and at school. That changed when I got to high school and met people from a variety of backgrounds; after joining APISU, Presentation’s Asian Pacific Islander affinity group, I was surrounded by people who looked different from and like myself and took pride in their heritage. I soon became an APISU officer, speaking to the entire school community about my family’s story from a second-generation immigrant’s perspective. Currently, I’m finishing planning for Presentation’s first Lunar New Year celebration. Because of my family’s background, I can understand those who have grown up with the culture of their family’s homeland and also those whose families immigrated and assimilated here generations ago; I guess being a banana isn’t so bad after all.

I am Danica Kubota, a proud Vietnamese-Japanese American and also a banana. No, it’s not because I love the Despicable Me franchise or this potassium-rich fruit; it’s because of the disconnect I’ve felt from my identity for much of my life. Yellow on the outside and white on the inside, bananas encapsulated this internal conflict; I felt as though I looked Asian on the outside (as if my last name isn’t a dead giveaway, my dark brown hair and almond-shaped eyes are) but acted “white” – disconnected from my culture. Growing up Asian American, I always felt like I was the bridge between two worlds, the Asian culture I grew up with in my mom’s family and the whitewashed Asian culture I grew up with in my dad’s family and at school. I was jealous of my classmates who grew up immersed in their family’s culture; I was only aware of my mom’s Vietnamese roots and knew little about Japanese culture. I felt as though I couldn’t claim to be American because I didn’t look like the people I saw on TV. When there was Asian representation, it was negative – just look at Ravi from Jessie and Baljeet from Phineas and Ferb. I regretfully admit sometimes I wished I wasn’t Asian; I wondered why I couldn’t be more appreciative of growing up in America, something that my family had fought so hard for. They’d tried to flee Communist Viet Nam after the fall of Saigon, and after two trips to jail and losing all of their money, they were finally sponsored. That all changed when I got to high school and met people from a variety of backgrounds; after joining APISU, Presentation’s Asian Pacific Islander affinity group, I was surrounded by people who looked different from and like myself and took pride in their heritage. Reading The Best We Could Do emphasized what I was starting to feel: seeing someone who looked like and had similar experiences to my family was incredible, and her realistic portrayal of what it means to be AAPI resonated with me. I had never felt so seen and connected to stories I felt were buried within my family history. Hearing her story helped me better understand the gravity of the sacrifices my family made for me and appreciate what was done to get me to where I am today. Experiences such as these empowered me to learn more about my family’s cultures and share my pride in who I am with other students who are in the shoes I was once in. I became an APISU officer, speaking to the entire school community about my family’s story from a second-generation immigrant’s perspective. Currently, I’m finishing planning for Presentation’s first Lunar New Year celebration. Because of my family’s background, I can understand those who have grown up with the culture of their family’s homeland and also those whose families immigrated and assimilated here generations ago; I guess being a banana isn’t so bad after all.

I am Danica Kubota, a proud Vietnamese-Japanese American and also a banana. No, it’s not because I love the Despicable Me franchise or this potassium-rich fruit; it’s because of the disconnect I’ve felt from my identity for much of my life. Yellow on the outside and white on the inside, bananas encapsulated this internal conflict; I felt as though I looked Asian on the outside (as if my last name isn’t a dead giveaway, my dark brown hair and almond-shaped eyes are) but acted “white” – disconnected from my culture. Growing up Asian American, I always felt like I was the bridge between two worlds, the Asian culture I grew up with in my mom’s family and the whitewashed Asian culture I grew up with in my dad’s family and at school. I was jealous of my classmates who grew up immersed in their family’s culture; I was only aware of my mom’s Vietnamese roots and knew little about Japanese culture. I felt as though I couldn’t claim to be American because I didn’t look like the people I saw on TV. When there was Asian representation, it was negative – just look at Ravi from Jessie and Baljeet from Phineas and Ferb. I regretfully admit sometimes I wished I wasn’t Asian; I wondered why I couldn’t be more appreciative of growing up in America, something that my family had fought so hard for. They’d tried to flee Communist Viet Nam after the fall of Saigon, and after two trips to jail and losing all of their money, they were finally sponsored. That all changed when I got to high school and met people from a variety of backgrounds; after joining APISU, Presentation’s Asian Pacific Islander affinity group, I was surrounded by people who looked different from and like myself and took pride in their heritage. Reading The Best We Could Do emphasized what I was starting to feel: seeing someone who looked like and had similar experiences to my family was incredible, and her realistic portrayal of what it means to be AAPI resonated with me. I had never felt so seen and connected to stories I felt were buried within my family history. Hearing her story helped me better understand the gravity of the sacrifices my family made for me and appreciate what was done to get me to where I am today. Experiences such as these empowered me to learn more about my family’s cultures and share my pride in who I am with other students who are in the shoes I was once in. I became an APISU officer, speaking to the entire school community about my family’s story from a second-generation immigrant’s perspective. Currently, I’m finishing planning for Presentation’s first Lunar New Year celebration. Because of my family’s background, I can understand those who have grown up with the culture of their family’s homeland and also those whose families immigrated and assimilated here generations ago; I guess being a banana isn’t so bad after all.

Growing up, I thought it was perfectly normal that your dentist was your mom. Every six months like everyone else, my sister and I would go to her office for our regularly scheduled cleaning, reading the fashion magazines in the waiting room and looking around corners with the handheld mirrors while we eagerly awaited our turn. Her dental office was our playground; we’d doodle on the table in the back room, fold fortune tellers out of post-its, and create make-believe lands in the back office while we waited for her to be done with work. To me, my mom is a real life superhero. For one, she jointly owns the family dentistry business along with my uncle. Not only does she fix people’s teeth, performing everything from routine six month checkups to root canals as a dentist, but she also manages finances like paying rent on the building and ordering supplies, schedules appointments around patients’ schedules, and works with other professionals to meet her patients’ needs, just to name a few. Even with all of the things she had going on as a small business owner, my mom still made time for her kids with every cross country meet and water polo game she’d be at cheering us on, every meal she cooked so that we could eat together as a family, and every time she’d take us out to go spend time with one another. As the family matriarch, she keeps us all running. To me, her taking the time out of her busy schedule to spend time with my sister and me meant more than any gift she could have given us. Going off of the idea that there are a lot of dentists in my family, let me tell you, dear reader, about my dad. He too owns his own dentistry business that my grandma occasionally helped out with, and he basically runs the whole show: doing procedures, scheduling appointments, and setting up and cleaning up the office. However, because he doesn’t have an assistant and is doing everything all on his own, he spends more and more time at the office, leaving home earlier and returning later each day. Of course, things didn’t always used to be like this: my dad once had employees, but he became wary about rehiring even at the expense of his own health in terms of stress because one of his former employees took advantage of his position as a small business owner. Sharing our story puts faces and names to the phrase “small business owner” and humanizes us; we’re people with feelings too! I think that sometimes people forget that, especially around Black Friday. I’ve seen videos of people pushing and shoving one another, even knocking others down and trampling them, in pursuit of the latest flat screen TV. As real people, small business owners have people to support, whether it be their family, friends, other community members, or themselves. While all the words of encouragement may be nice, they are not what pays the bills and keeps the lights on. When we as the general public and consumers of goods support small businesses by purchasing their products, we speak with our dollars and show what it is that we support and stand for: corporations that more often than not, care for their workers by paying them fair wages, granting them safe working conditions, and giving them ample time to rest; employ good business practices that don’t harm the environment; and give back to the community by supporting local sports teams for instance.

Growing up, I thought it was perfectly normal that your dentist was your mom. Every six months like everyone else, my sister and I would go to her office for our regularly scheduled cleaning, reading the fashion magazines in the waiting room and looking around corners with the handheld mirrors while we eagerly awaited our turn. Her dental office was our playground; we’d doodle on the table in the back room, fold fortune tellers out of post-its, and create make-believe lands in the back office while we waited for her to be done with work. To me, my mom is a real life superhero. For one, she jointly owns the family dentistry business along with my uncle. Not only does she fix people’s teeth, performing everything from routine six month checkups to root canals as a dentist, but she also manages finances like paying rent on the building and ordering supplies, schedules appointments around patients’ schedules, and works with other professionals to meet her patients’ needs, just to name a few. Even with all of the things she had going on as a small business owner, my mom still made time for her kids with every cross country meet and water polo game she’d be at cheering us on, every meal she cooked so that we could eat together as a family, and every time she’d take us out to go spend time with one another. As the family matriarch, she keeps us all running. To me, her taking the time out of her busy schedule to spend time with my sister and me meant more than any gift she could have given us. Going off of the idea that there are a lot of dentists in my family, let me tell you, dear reader, about my dad. He too owns his own dentistry business that my grandma occasionally helped out with, and he basically runs the whole show: doing procedures, scheduling appointments, and setting up and cleaning up the office. However, because he doesn’t have an assistant and is doing everything all on his own, he spends more and more time at the office, leaving home earlier and returning later each day. Of course, things didn’t always used to be like this: my dad once had employees, but he became wary about rehiring even at the expense of his own health in terms of stress because one of his former employees took advantage of his position as a small business owner. Sharing our story puts faces and names to the phrase “small business owner” and humanizes us; we’re people with feelings too! I think that sometimes people forget that, especially around Black Friday. I’ve seen videos of people pushing and shoving one another, even knocking others down and trampling them, in pursuit of the latest flat screen TV. As real people, small business owners have people to support, whether it be their family, friends, other community members, or themselves. While all the words of encouragement may be nice, they are not what pays the bills and keeps the lights on. When we as the general public and consumers of goods support small businesses by purchasing their products, we speak with our dollars and show what it is that we support and stand for: corporations that more often than not, care for their workers by paying them fair wages, granting them safe working conditions, and giving them ample time to rest; employ good business practices that don’t harm the environment; and give back to the community by supporting local sports teams for instance.

At 15:15 sharp every weekday for fourteen weeks, cross-country practice began. The schedule on paper would be to start with warmups, do our workout and leave. However, I wanted the cross country to be more than just another extracurricular full of formality; I wanted it to be a family: a safe space where people felt comfortable being their real selves. I created an inclusive, welcoming environment for the cross-country team by having frequent one-on-ones with every teammate throughout the season to get to know them personally and check on their well-being. I emphasized a balanced lifestyle: getting enough sleep, making sure to hydrate and fuel correctly, stretching, and completing schoolwork. I pushed my teammates to do well and cheered them on the whole way, delivering motivational pep talks before and after challenging practices and meets, and sharing my learning and experiences. These very actions did not go unnoticed; I was awarded the Flanagan Leadership Award at the end of my junior year season. My coach named this award after a prominent long-distance runner, Shalane Flanagan. She not only puts the work in but is also a leader in her community. Once she stepped out of her professional career, she became a coach, wanting to lift others up and meet their potential; likewise, I exhibited a lot of leadership skills through encouragement, inclusivity, and leading by example during the cross-country season. For similar reasons, I was awarded the Quigley Inspirational award for my work as a two-time team captain in unifying the team on and off the course and creating a welcoming environment. For my younger teammates, many of whom joined the team without deliberate intention, this effort to cultivate a community has gone a long way. I believe that this isn’t only seen in our achievements, like qualifying for Central Coast Sectionals for the first time in years, but it is felt in the smiles and attitudes of my teammates throughout our practices. In sharing my passion for running, I began guiding visually impaired athletes through San Francisco. For them, placing one foot in front of the other at speed is like stepping into a void: They must learn to trust the ground beneath their feet. I guide runners like Lord Frederick, who’s in his 60s and despite his lack of vision, has a killer sense of style/humor. And then there is Yujia, whose seizure disorder limits certain activities she can do but continues to extract meaning from every part of her life. It is difficult to find useful metrics to determine I’ve made my community better, but I am proud of having an attitude that focuses on celebrating people for what they can achieve, rather than what they have yet to.

I am Danica Kubota, a proud Vietnamese-Japanese American and also a banana. No, it’s not because I love the Despicable Me franchise or this potassium-rich fruit; it’s because of the disconnect I’ve felt from my identity for much of my life. Yellow on the outside and white on the inside, bananas encapsulated this internal conflict; I felt as though I looked Asian on the outside (as if my last name isn’t a dead giveaway, my dark brown hair and almond-shaped eyes are) but acted “white” – disconnected from my culture. Growing up Asian American, I always felt like I was the bridge between two worlds, the Asian culture I grew up with in my mom’s family and the whitewashed Asian culture I grew up with in my dad’s family and at school. I was jealous of my classmates who grew up immersed in their family’s culture; I was only aware of my mom’s Vietnamese roots and knew little about Japanese culture. I felt as though I couldn’t claim to be American because I didn’t look like the people I saw on TV. When there was Asian representation, it was negative – just look at Ravi from Jessie. I regretfully admit sometimes I wished I wasn’t Asian and failed to appreciate my heritage; I wondered why I couldn’t be more appreciative of growing up in America, something that my family had fought so hard for. They’d tried to flee Communist Viet Nam after the fall of Saigon, and after two trips to jail and losing all of their money, they were finally sponsored. That all changed when I got to high school and met people from a variety of backgrounds; after joining APISU, Presentation’s Asian Pacific Islander affinity group, I was surrounded by people who looked different from and like myself and took pride in their heritage. Reading The Best We Could Do emphasized what I was starting to feel: seeing someone who looked like and had similar experiences to my family was incredible, and her realistic portrayal of what it means to be AAPI resonated with me. I had never felt so seen and connected to stories I felt were buried within my family history. Hearing her story helped me better understand the gravity of the sacrifices my family made for me and appreciate what was done to get me to where I am today. Experiences such as these empowered me to learn more about my family’s cultures and share my pride in who I am with other students who are in the shoes I was once in. I became an APISU officer, speaking to the entire school community about my family’s story from a second-generation immigrant’s perspective and successfully planning and then running Presentation’s first Lunar New Year celebration. It is because I was finally able to take pride in the cultures of my family that I have been able to do what I deemed impossible: reconnect with my family's cultures by learning the more intricate parts of the language and partaking in custom and sharing my love for my cultures with those who share it and those who do not at school. I'm also planning on double majoring in Asian American Studies and Environmental Science in college to further pursue knowledge on this topic while joining other student groups to embrace my heritage. Because of my family’s background, I can understand those who have grown up with the culture of their family’s homeland and also those whose families immigrated and assimilated here generations ago; I guess being a banana isn’t so bad after all.

I am Danica Kubota, a proud Vietnamese-Japanese American and also a banana. No, it’s not because I love the Despicable Me franchise or this potassium-rich fruit; it’s because of the disconnect I’ve felt from my identity for much of my life. Yellow on the outside and white on the inside, bananas encapsulated this internal conflict; I felt as though I looked Asian on the outside (as if my last name isn’t a dead giveaway, my dark brown hair and almond-shaped eyes are) but acted “white” – disconnected from my culture. Growing up Asian American, I always felt like I was the bridge between two worlds, the Asian culture I grew up with in my mom’s family and the whitewashed Asian culture I grew up with in my dad’s family and at school. I was jealous of my classmates who grew up immersed in their family’s culture; I was only aware of my mom’s Vietnamese roots and knew little about Japanese culture. I felt as though I couldn’t claim to be American because I didn’t look like the people I saw on TV. When there was Asian representation, it was negative – just look at Ravi from Jessie and Baljeet from Phineas and Ferb. I regretfully admit sometimes I wished I wasn’t Asian; I wondered why I couldn’t be more appreciative of growing up in America, something that my family had fought so hard for. They’d tried to flee Communist Viet Nam after the fall of Saigon, and after two trips to jail and losing all of their money, they were finally sponsored. That all changed when I got to high school and met people from a variety of backgrounds; after joining APISU, Presentation’s Asian Pacific Islander affinity group, I was surrounded by people who looked different from and like myself and took pride in their heritage. Reading The Best We Could Do emphasized what I was starting to feel: seeing someone who looked like and had similar experiences to my family was incredible, and her realistic portrayal of what it means to be AAPI resonated with me. I had never felt so seen and connected to stories I felt were buried within my family history. Hearing her story helped me better understand the gravity of the sacrifices my family made for me and appreciate what was done to get me to where I am today. Experiences such as these empowered me to learn more about my family’s cultures and share my pride in who I am with other students who are in the shoes I was once in. I became an APISU officer, speaking to the entire school community about my family’s story from a second-generation immigrant’s perspective and successfully planning and then running Presentation’s first ever Lunar New Year celebration. It is because I was finally able to take pride in the cultures of my family that I have been able to do what I deemed impossible: reconnect with my family's cultures by learning the more intricate parts of the language and partaking in custom and sharing my love for my cultures with those who share it and those who do not at school. I'm also planning on double majoring in Asian American Studies and Environmental Science in college to further pursue knowledge on this topic while joining other student groups to embrace my heritage. Because of my family’s background, I can understand those who have grown up with the culture of their family’s homeland and also those whose families immigrated and assimilated here generations ago; I guess being a banana isn’t so bad after all.

At 15:15 sharp every weekday for fourteen weeks, cross-country practice began. The schedule on paper would be to start with warmups, do our workout and leave. However, I wanted the cross country to be more than just another extracurricular full of formality; I wanted it to be a family. I created an inclusive, welcoming environment by having frequent one-on-ones with every teammate throughout the season to get to know them personally and check on their well-being. I emphasized a balanced lifestyle: getting enough sleep, making sure to hydrate and fuel correctly, stretching, and completing schoolwork. I pushed my teammates to do well and cheered them on the whole way, delivering motivational pep talks before and after challenging practices and meets, and sharing my learning and experiences. I thought I had everything about being a good teammate figured out. On Wednesday, October 20, 2021, I sprained my ankle for the first time and was in enough pain to keep me off the trails for almost a week. I was crushed—how could I continue to be a positive force on the team if I couldn’t run alongside them? For those six days, I cheered them on from the sidelines, pushing them to keep going when I felt at my lowest. Through this experience, I realized that being a good teammate and team captain meant being the kind of person you’d look up to and that there would be times I’d set the standard. Despite repeatedly spraining that very same ankle this past season, I haven’t let it stop me from showing up for my team. I will always set aside my personal feelings and bring a positive attitude to practice to uplift and encourage everyone else around me so that they are in an environment where they are pushed to grow. I was awarded the Flanagan Leadership Award during 11th grade and the Quigley Inspirational Award in 12th grade for my work as a two-time team captain in unifying the team on and off the course and creating a welcoming environment. For my younger teammates, many of whom joined the team without deliberate intention, this effort to cultivate a community has gone a long way with achievements like qualifying for Central Coast Sectionals for the first time in years and teammates' smiles throughout practices. In sharing my passion for running with a community often forgotten by mainstream media, I began guiding visually impaired athletes through San Francisco. For them, placing one foot in front of the other at speed is like stepping into a void: They must learn to trust the ground beneath their feet. I guide runners like Lord Frederick, who’s in his 60s and despite his lack of vision, has a killer sense of style/humor. And then there is Yujia, whose seizure disorder limits certain activities she can do but continues to extract meaning from every part of her life. It is difficult to find useful metrics to determine I’ve made my community better, but I am proud of having an attitude that focuses on celebrating people for what they can achieve, rather than what they have yet to. What I've demonstrated throughout this reflection is my knack for inclusivity; I reach out to the overlooked and welcome them into the spotlight so they can grow and develop on their own. I am there to support my teammates when they fall and pick them back up, and I cheer for them as they rise to the top. My name is Danica Kubota, and I hope you consider me for this scholarship. Thank you for your time in reading!

I am Danica Kubota, a proud Vietnamese-Japanese American and also a banana. No, it’s not because I love the Despicable Me franchise or this potassium-rich fruit; it’s because of the disconnect I’ve felt from my identity for much of my life. Yellow on the outside and white on the inside, bananas encapsulated this internal conflict; I felt as though I looked Asian on the outside (as if my last name isn’t a dead giveaway, my dark brown hair and almond-shaped eyes are) but acted “white” – disconnected from my culture. Growing up Asian American, I always felt like I was the bridge between two worlds, the Asian culture I grew up with in my mom’s family and the whitewashed Asian culture I grew up with in my dad’s family and at school. I was jealous of my classmates who grew up immersed in their family’s culture; I was only aware of my mom’s Vietnamese roots and knew little about Japanese culture. I felt as though I couldn’t claim to be American because I didn’t look like the people I saw on TV. When there was Asian representation, it was negative – just look at Ravi from Jessie and Baljeet from Phineas and Ferb. I regretfully admit sometimes I wished I wasn’t Asian; I wondered why I couldn’t be more appreciative of growing up in America, something that my grandma had fought so hard for. They’d tried to flee Communist Viet Nam after the fall of Saigon, and after two trips to jail and losing all of their money, they were finally sponsored. That all changed when I got to high school and met people from a variety of backgrounds; after joining APISU, Presentation’s Asian Pacific Islander affinity group, I was surrounded by people who looked different from and like myself and took pride in their heritage. Hearing my grandma share our family history was incredible: her realistic portrayal of what it means to be AAPI and how hard work will get you far resonated with me and helped me see her in a new light. My grandma's story helped me better understand the gravity of the sacrifices my family made for me and appreciate what was done to get me to where I am today. Experiences such as these empowered me to learn more about my family’s cultures and share my pride in who I am with other students who are in the shoes I was once in. I became an APISU officer, speaking to the entire school community about my family’s story from a second-generation immigrant’s perspective and successfully planning and then running Presentation’s first-ever Lunar New Year celebration. It is because I was finally able to take pride in the cultures of my family that I have been able to do what I deemed impossible: reconnect with my family's cultures by learning the more intricate parts of the language and partaking in custom and sharing my love for my cultures with those who share it and those who do not at school. I'm also planning on double majoring in Asian American Studies and Environmental Science in college to further pursue knowledge on this topic while joining other student groups to embrace my heritage. Because of my family’s background, I can understand those who have grown up with the culture of their family’s homeland and also those whose families immigrated and assimilated here generations ago; I guess being a banana isn’t so bad after all.

I am Danica Kubota, a proud Vietnamese-Japanese American and also a banana. No, it’s not because I love the Despicable Me franchise or this potassium-rich fruit; it’s because of the disconnect I’ve felt from my identity for much of my life. Yellow on the outside and white on the inside, bananas encapsulated this internal conflict; I felt as though I looked Asian on the outside (as if my last name isn’t a dead giveaway, my dark brown hair and almond-shaped eyes are) but acted “white” – disconnected from my culture. Growing up Asian American, I always felt like I was the bridge between two worlds, the Asian culture I grew up with in my mom’s family and the whitewashed Asian culture I grew up with in my dad’s family and at school. I was jealous of my classmates who grew up immersed in their family’s culture; I was only aware of my mom’s Vietnamese roots and knew little about Japanese culture. I felt as though I couldn’t claim to be American because I didn’t look like the people I saw on TV. When there was Asian representation, it was negative – just look at Ravi from Jessie and Baljeet from Phineas and Ferb. I regretfully admit sometimes I wished I wasn’t Asian; I wondered why I couldn’t be more appreciative of growing up in America, something that my family had fought so hard for. They’d tried to flee Communist Viet Nam after the fall of Saigon, and after two trips to jail and losing all of their money, they were finally sponsored. That all changed when I got to high school and met people from a variety of backgrounds; after joining APISU, Presentation’s Asian Pacific Islander affinity group, I was surrounded by people who looked different from and like myself and took pride in their heritage. Reading The Best We Could Do emphasized what I was starting to feel: seeing someone who looked like and had similar experiences to my family was incredible, and her realistic portrayal of what it means to be AAPI resonated with me. I had never felt so seen and connected to stories I felt were buried within my family history. Hearing her story helped me better understand the gravity of the sacrifices my family made for me and appreciate what was done to get me to where I am today. Experiences such as these empowered me to learn more about my family’s cultures and share my pride in who I am with other students who are in the shoes I was once in. I became an APISU officer, speaking to the entire school community about my family’s story from a second-generation immigrant’s perspective and successfully planning and then running Presentation’s first ever Lunar New Year celebration. It is because I was finally able to take pride in the cultures of my family that I have been able to do what I deemed impossible: reconnect with my family's cultures by learning the more intricate parts of the language and partaking in custom and sharing my love for my cultures with those who share it and those who do not at school. I'm also planning on double majoring in Asian American Studies and Environmental Science in college to further pursue knowledge on this topic while joining other student groups to embrace my heritage. Because of my family’s background, I can understand those who have grown up with the culture of their family’s homeland and also those whose families immigrated and assimilated here generations ago; I guess being a banana isn’t so bad after all.

At 15:15 sharp every weekday for fourteen weeks in the fall, cross-country practice began. The schedule on paper would be to start with warmups, do our workout and leave. However, I wanted the cross country to be more than just another extracurricular full of formality; I wanted it to be a family: a safe space where people felt comfortable being their real selves. I created an inclusive, welcoming environment for the cross-country team by having frequent one-on-ones with every teammate throughout the season to get to know them personally and check on their well-being. I emphasized a balanced lifestyle: getting enough sleep, making sure to hydrate and fuel correctly, stretching, and completing schoolwork. I pushed my teammates to do well and cheered them on the whole way, delivering motivational pep talks and sharing my experiences. I thought I had everything about being a good teammate figured out. On Wednesday, October 20, 2021, I sprained my ankle for the first time. After years of testing the waters when I’d say “I’ve never sprained my ankle before, imagine what that’s like!”, it finally happened. I was crushed. I wasn’t in enough pain that I couldn’t walk (although walking was more difficult than normal with the brace limiting my range of motion), but it was enough to keep me off the trails for almost a week. I felt hopeless—how could I continue to be a positive force on the team if I couldn’t run alongside them? For those six days, I cheered them on from the sidelines, pushing them to keep going when I felt at my lowest. Through this experience, I realized that being a good teammate and team captain meant being the kind of person you’d look up to and that there would be times I’d have to set the standard and give more of myself. Despite repeatedly spraining that very same ankle this past season, I haven’t let it stop me from showing up for my team. Many can say that they won't let failure knock them down; few have done it and I am one of them. I will always set aside my personal feelings and bring a positive attitude to practice to uplift and encourage everyone else around me so that they are in an environment where they are pushed to grow. These very actions did not go unnoticed; I was awarded the Flanagan Leadership Award named for a prominent long distance runner in 11th grade and then Quigley Inspirational Award in 12th grade. In sharing my passion for running with an underrepresented community often forgotten by mainstream media, I began guiding visually impaired athletes through San Francisco with Achilles International. For them, placing one foot in front of the other at speed is like stepping into a void: they must learn to trust the ground beneath their feet. I guide runners like Lord Frederick, who’s in his 60s and despite his lack of vision, has a killer sense of style/humor. And then there is Yujia, whose seizure disorder limits certain activities she can do but continues to extract meaning from every part of her life. Through working with runners like Yujia and Lord Frederick, I’ve understood more about how one’s physical characteristics are not necessarily limitations for what one can achieve; as someone who may lose her vision one day, they give me hope for my future. It is difficult to find useful metrics to determine I’ve made my community better, but I am proud of having an attitude that focuses on celebrating people for what they can achieve, rather than what they have yet to.

I’m staring down the nose of the deadliest animal in the world with sweat pouring profusely down my neck. The air is moist as I swat at the creature responsible for a host of debilitating and deadly illnesses ranging from dengue to Zika. But I’m not here to kill mosquitoes; I’m eradicating their breeding grounds: plastic containers. Through my science classes and my daily dose of the news, I became aware that piles of discarded plastic bottles, bags, buckets and single-use plastics had become mosquitoes’ lair; I brainstormed alternatives to plastic. Many jars and pots filled with varying ratios of plant starches and polymers later, I created a novel bioplastic material that was water-resistant, durable, lightweight and antimicrobial. Although plastics get a bad rap, my journey into processing plastics led to my discovery that the first plastic was made from plant cellulose and that plants’ long polymer chains give plastic “plasticity.” Zika’s vector is mosquitoes that love breeding in small containers filled with water. Our plastic ends up in developing countries where monsoons allow mosquitos carrying disease to breed easily and spread quickly. At UC, I’d study the intersection of poverty, environment and demographics and brainstorm ways we can disarm this perfect storm. To further my interest in the intersection of our environment and society, I learned about the impact of our energy choices on our society and our world in a college course. I gave presentations at the library focused on distilling complex environmental issues into accessible content for elementary and middle schoolers. My efforts did not go unnoticed; I was recognized by state Senator Dave Cortese for my climate leadership and my environmental action group was awarded San Jose’s 2022 Youth Climate Champion of the Year for our leadership in fighting climate change and spreading awareness on this matter to move people, especially our peers, to take action. Two years ago, nearly 11,000 lightning bolts struck near my hometown in a siege. Wildfires relentlessly battered surrounding communities, and hundreds of thousands of acres burned before firefighters could contain the blaze. Even though we weren’t directly in the wildfires’ path, the constant fear and anxiety of impending doom overwhelmed me and my community. Growing up here, I always acknowledged the occurrence of natural disasters like earthquakes and wildfires but never fathomed that a large-scale catastrophe could happen at my doorstep. Recognizing this unspoken apathy, I joined Teen CERT (Community Emergency Response Team), a national organization of volunteers trained in disaster preparedness and emergency response, to increase the confidence of as many families and community members as possible. As a Teen CERT, I will assist frontline disaster relief in the aftermath of an emergency, by providing information about the damage, assisting in evacuations, providing housing, and triaging survivors by the degree of injury when activated. To further educate my community, I’m planning a workshop to teach my peers skills that they’d need in any disaster situation. Not only will I lead by example, by staying level-headed during emergencies, but I teach my peers to do the same and become future leaders during times of crisis. I took the knowledge I’d gained from textbooks and lectures and applied it to the real world to stop the worsening of climate change. That’s why I’d be excited to join researchers to expand upon my past research in college. Today’s teens, the future generation of an ever-changing, disaster-prone world, are the ones who will tackle the predicament that is the climate crisis. We have no choice but to take charge and lead by taking urgent action.

At 15:15 sharp every weekday for fourteen weeks, cross-country practice began. The schedule on paper would be to start with warmups, do our workout and leave. However, I wanted the cross country to be more than just another extracurricular full of formality; I wanted it to be a family: a safe space where people felt comfortable being their real selves. I created an inclusive, welcoming environment for the cross-country team by having frequent one-on-ones with every teammate throughout the season to get to know them personally and check on their well-being. I emphasized a balanced lifestyle: getting enough sleep, making sure to hydrate and fuel correctly, stretching, and completing schoolwork. I pushed my teammates to do well and cheered them on the whole way, delivering motivational pep talks before and after challenging practices and meets, and sharing my learning and experiences. These very actions did not go unnoticed; I was awarded the Flanagan Leadership Award at the end of my junior year season. My coach named this award after a prominent long-distance runner, Shalane Flanagan. She not only puts the work in but is also a leader in her community. Once she stepped out of her professional career, she became a coach, wanting to lift others up and meet their potential; likewise, I exhibited a lot of leadership skills through encouragement, inclusivity, and leading by example during the cross-country season. For similar reasons, I was awarded the Quigley Inspirational award for my work as a two-time team captain in unifying the team on and off the course and creating a welcoming environment. For my younger teammates, many of whom joined the team without deliberate intention, this effort to cultivate a community has gone a long way. I believe that this isn’t only seen in our achievements, like qualifying for Central Coast Sectionals for the first time in years, but it is felt in the smiles and attitudes of my teammates throughout our practices. In sharing my passion for running, I began guiding visually impaired athletes through San Francisco. For them, placing one foot in front of the other at speed is like stepping into a void: They must learn to trust the ground beneath their feet. I guide runners like Lord Frederick, who’s in his 60s and despite his lack of vision, has a killer sense of style/humor. And then there is Yujia, whose seizure disorder limits certain activities she can do but continues to extract meaning from every part of her life. It is difficult to find useful metrics to determine I’ve made my community better, but I am proud of having an attitude that focuses on celebrating people for what they can achieve, rather than what they have yet to. Here on this Earth, I've been able to see the good in others; not only are my teammates incredibly kind people, but they also are academically gifted. An intelligent planet to me fosters connection; this connection is what drives growth. To make my vision a reality, I'd continue putting my all into whatever activity I'm doing; true passion is what drives us to seek intelligence and growth in our respective fields.

At 15:15 sharp every weekday for fourteen weeks, cross-country practice began. The schedule on paper would be to start with warmups, do our workout and leave. However, I wanted the cross country to be more than just another extracurricular full of formality; I wanted it to be a family: a safe space where people felt comfortable being their real selves. I created an inclusive, welcoming environment for the cross-country team by having frequent one-on-ones with every teammate throughout the season to get to know them personally and check on their well-being. I emphasized a balanced lifestyle: getting enough sleep, making sure to hydrate and fuel correctly, stretching, and completing schoolwork. I pushed my teammates to do well and cheered them on the whole way, delivering motivational pep talks before and after challenging practices and meets, and sharing my learning and experiences. These very actions did not go unnoticed; I was awarded the Flanagan Leadership Award at the end of my junior year season. My coach named this award after a prominent long-distance runner, Shalane Flanagan. She not only puts the work in but is also a leader in her community. Once she stepped out of her professional career, she became a coach, wanting to lift others up and meet their potential; likewise, I exhibited a lot of leadership skills through encouragement, inclusivity, and leading by example during the cross-country season. For similar reasons, I was awarded the Quigley Inspirational award for my work as a two-time team captain in unifying the team on and off the course and creating a welcoming environment. For my younger teammates, many of whom joined the team without deliberate intention, this effort to cultivate a community has gone a long way. I believe that this isn’t only seen in our achievements, like qualifying for Central Coast Sectionals for the first time in years, but it is felt in the smiles and attitudes of my teammates throughout our practices. In sharing my passion for running, I began guiding visually impaired athletes through San Francisco. For them, placing one foot in front of the other at speed is like stepping into a void: They must learn to trust the ground beneath their feet. I guide runners like Lord Frederick, who’s in his 60s and despite his lack of vision, has a killer sense of style/humor. And then there is Yujia, whose seizure disorder limits certain activities she can do but continues to extract meaning from every part of her life. It is difficult to find useful metrics to determine I’ve made my community better, but I am proud of having an attitude that focuses on celebrating people for what they can achieve, rather than what they have yet to.

I am Danica Kubota, a proud Vietnamese-Japanese American and also a banana. No, it’s not because I love the Despicable Me franchise or this potassium-rich fruit; it’s because of the disconnect I’ve felt from my identity for much of my life. Yellow on the outside and white on the inside, bananas encapsulated this internal conflict; I felt as though I looked Asian on the outside (as if my last name isn’t a dead giveaway, my dark brown hair and almond-shaped eyes are) but acted “white” – disconnected from my culture. Growing up Asian American, I always felt like I was the bridge between two worlds, the Asian culture I grew up with in my mom’s family and the whitewashed culture I grew up with in my dad’s family and at school. I was jealous of my classmates who grew up immersed in their family culture; I was only aware of my mom’s Vietnamese roots and knew little about Japanese culture. I felt as though I couldn’t claim to be American because I didn’t look like the people I saw on TV. When there was Asian representation, it was negative – just look at Ravi from Jessie and Baljeet from Phineas and Ferb. I regretfully admit sometimes I wished I wasn’t Asian; I wondered why I couldn’t be more appreciative of growing up in America, something that my family had fought so hard for. They’d tried to flee Communist Viet Nam after the fall of Saigon, and after two trips to jail and losing all of their money, they were finally sponsored. That all changed when I got to high school; after joining APISU, Presentation’s Asian Pacific Islander affinity group, I was surrounded by people who looked different from and like myself, all of whom took pride in their heritage. Reading The Best We Could Do emphasized what I was starting to feel: seeing someone who looked like and had similar experiences to my family was incredible. Her realistic portrayal of what it means to be AAPI resonated with me. I had never felt so seen and connected to stories I felt were buried within my family history. Experiences such as these empowered me to learn more about my family’s cultures and share my pride in who I am with other students who are in the shoes I was once in. I became an APISU officer, speaking to the entire school community about my family’s story from a second-generation immigrant’s perspective and being one of the driving forces of Presentation’s first Lunar New Year celebration from planning to execution. Because of my family’s background, I can understand those who have grown up with the culture of their family’s homeland and those whose families immigrated and assimilated here generations ago. In other words, I can understand a variety of perspectives which is especially helpful in environmental science which combines hard and soft science. To do my part in tackling the climate crisis as a young person, I've conducted scientific research, volunteered to restore natural habitats, advocated for climate-friendly legislation, and shared my findings with the community. This understanding has also helped me create welcoming environments like with my cross-country team by having frequent one-on-ones with every teammate to get to know them and check on their well-being. I emphasized a balanced lifestyle: getting enough sleep, hydrating and fueling correctly, stretching, and completing schoolwork. I pushed my teammates to do well and cheered them on the whole way, delivering motivational pep talks before and after challenging practices and meets, and sharing my experiences. I guess being a banana isn’t so bad after all.

At 15:15 sharp every weekday for fourteen weeks, cross-country practice began. The schedule on paper would be to start with warmups, do our workout and leave. However, I wanted the cross country to be more than just another extracurricular full of formality; I wanted it to be a family: a safe space where people felt comfortable being their real selves. I created an inclusive, welcoming environment for the cross-country team by having frequent one-on-ones with every teammate throughout the season to get to know them personally and check on their well-being. I emphasized a balanced lifestyle: getting enough sleep, making sure to hydrate and fuel correctly, stretching, and completing schoolwork. I pushed my teammates to do well and cheered them on the whole way, delivering motivational pep talks before and after challenging practices and meets, and sharing my learning and experiences. These very actions did not go unnoticed; I was awarded the Flanagan Leadership Award at the end of my junior year season. My coach named this award after a prominent long-distance runner, Shalane Flanagan. She not only puts the work in but is also a leader in her community. Once she stepped out of her professional career, she became a coach, wanting to lift others up and meet their potential; likewise, I exhibited a lot of leadership skills through encouragement, inclusivity, and leading by example during the cross-country season. For similar reasons, I was awarded the Quigley Inspirational award for my work as a two-time team captain in unifying the team on and off the course and creating a welcoming environment. For my younger teammates, many of whom joined the team without deliberate intention, this effort to cultivate a community has gone a long way. I believe that this isn’t only seen in our achievements, like qualifying for Central Coast Sectionals for the first time in years, but it is felt in the smiles and attitudes of my teammates throughout our practices. In sharing my passion for running, I began guiding visually impaired athletes through San Francisco. For them, placing one foot in front of the other at speed is like stepping into a void: They must learn to trust the ground beneath their feet. I guide runners like Lord Frederick, who’s in his 60s and despite his lack of vision, has a killer sense of style/humor. And then there is Yujia, whose seizure disorder limits certain activities she can do but continues to extract meaning from every part of her life. It is difficult to find useful metrics to determine I’ve made my community better, but I am proud of having an attitude that focuses on celebrating people for what they can achieve, rather than what they have yet to.

I’m staring down the nose of the deadliest animal in the world with sweat pouring profusely down my neck. The air is moist as I swat at the creature responsible for a host of debilitating and deadly illnesses ranging from dengue to Zika. But I’m not here to kill mosquitoes; I’m eradicating their breeding grounds: plastic containers. Through my science classes and my daily dose of the news, I became aware that piles of discarded plastic bottles, bags, buckets and single-use plastics had become mosquitoes’ lair; I brainstormed alternatives to plastic. Many jars and pots filled with varying ratios of plant starches and polymers later, I created a novel bioplastic material that was water-resistant, durable, lightweight and antimicrobial. Although plastics get a bad rap, my journey into processing plastics led to my discovery that the first plastic was made from plant cellulose and that plants’ long polymer chains give plastic “plasticity.” Zika’s vector is mosquitoes that love breeding in small containers filled with water. Our plastic ends up in developing countries where monsoons allow mosquitos carrying disease to breed easily and spread quickly. At UC, I’d study the intersection of poverty, environment and demographics and brainstorm ways we can disarm this perfect storm. To further my interest in the intersection of our environment and society, I learned about the impact of our energy choices on our society and our world in a college course. I gave presentations at the library focused on distilling complex environmental issues into accessible content for elementary and middle schoolers. My efforts did not go unnoticed; I was recognized by state Senator Dave Cortese for my climate leadership and my environmental action group was awarded San Jose’s 2022 Youth Climate Champion of the Year for our leadership in fighting climate change and spreading awareness on this matter to move people, especially our peers, to take action. Two years ago, nearly 11,000 lightning bolts struck near my hometown in a siege. Wildfires relentlessly battered surrounding communities, and hundreds of thousands of acres burned before firefighters could contain the blaze. Even though we weren’t directly in the wildfires’ path, the constant fear and anxiety of impending doom overwhelmed me and my community. Growing up here, I always acknowledged the occurrence of natural disasters like earthquakes and wildfires but never fathomed that a large-scale catastrophe could happen at my doorstep. Recognizing this unspoken apathy, I joined Teen CERT (Community Emergency Response Team), a national organization of volunteers trained in disaster preparedness and emergency response, to increase the confidence of as many families and community members as possible. As a Teen CERT, I will assist frontline disaster relief in the aftermath of an emergency, by providing information about the damage, assisting in evacuations, providing housing, and triaging survivors by the degree of injury when activated. To further educate my community, I’m planning a workshop to teach my peers skills that they’d need in any disaster situation. Not only will I lead by example, by staying level-headed during emergencies, but I teach my peers to do the same and become future leaders during times of crisis. I took the knowledge I’d gained from textbooks and lectures and applied it to the real world to stop the worsening of climate change. That’s why I’d be excited to join researchers to expand upon my past research at a top-tier university. Today’s teens, the future generation of an ever-changing, disaster-prone world, are the ones who will tackle the predicament that is the climate crisis. We have no choice but to take charge and lead by taking urgent action.

Two years ago, nearly 11,000 lightning bolts struck near my hometown in a siege. Wildfires relentlessly battered surrounding communities, and hundreds of thousands of acres burned before firefighters could contain the blaze. Even though we weren’t directly in the wildfires’ path, the constant fear and anxiety of impending doom overwhelmed me and my community. Growing up here, I always acknowledged the occurrence of natural disasters like earthquakes and wildfires but never fathomed that a large-scale catastrophe could happen at my doorstep. Recognizing this unspoken apathy, I joined Teen CERT (Community Emergency Response Team), a national organization of volunteers trained in disaster preparedness and emergency response, to increase the confidence of as many families and community members as possible. As a Teen CERT, I will assist frontline disaster relief in the aftermath of an emergency, by providing information about the damage, assisting in evacuations, providing housing, and triaging survivors by the degree of injury when activated. To further educate my community, I’m planning a workshop to teach my peers skills that they’d need in any disaster situation. Not only will I lead by example, by staying level-headed during emergencies, but I teach my peers to do the same and become future leaders during times of crisis. Through my science classes and my daily dose of the news, I became aware that piles of discarded plastic bottles, bags, buckets and single-use plastics had become mosquitoes’ lair; I brainstormed alternatives to plastic. Many jars and pots filled with varying ratios of plant starches and polymers later, I created a novel bioplastic material that was water-resistant, durable, lightweight and antimicrobial. Although plastics get a bad rap, my journey into processing plastics led to my discovery that the first plastic was made from plant cellulose and that plants’ long polymer chains give plastic “plasticity.” Zika’s vector is mosquitoes that love breeding in small containers filled with water. Our plastic ends up in developing countries where monsoons allow mosquitos carrying disease to breed easily and spread quickly. At UC, I’d study the intersection of poverty, environment and demographics and brainstorm ways we can disarm this perfect storm. To further my interest in the intersection of our environment and society, I learned about the impact of our energy choices on our society and our world in a college course. I gave presentations at the library focused on distilling complex environmental issues into accessible content for elementary and middle schoolers. My efforts did not go unnoticed; I was recognized by state Senator Dave Cortese for my climate leadership and my environmental action group was awarded San Jose’s 2022 Youth Climate Champion of the Year for our leadership in fighting climate change and spreading awareness on this matter to move people, especially our peers, to take action. I took the knowledge I’d gained from textbooks and lectures and applied it to the real world to stop the worsening of climate change. That’s why I’d be excited to join researchers to expand upon my past research at a top-tier university. Today’s teens, the future generation of an ever-changing, disaster-prone world, are the ones who will tackle the predicament that is the climate crisis. We have no choice but to take charge and lead by taking urgent action.

I’m staring down the nose of the deadliest animal in the world with sweat pouring profusely down my neck. The air is moist as I swat at the creature responsible for a host of debilitating and deadly illnesses ranging from dengue to Zika. But I’m not here to kill mosquitoes; I’m eradicating their breeding grounds: plastic containers. Through my science classes and my daily dose of the news, I became aware that piles of discarded plastic bottles, bags, buckets and single-use plastics had become mosquitoes’ lair; I brainstormed alternatives to plastic. Many jars and pots filled with varying ratios of plant starches and polymers later, I created a novel bioplastic material that was water-resistant, durable, lightweight and antimicrobial. Although plastics get a bad rap, my journey into processing plastics led to my discovery that the first plastic was made from plant cellulose and that plants’ long polymer chains give plastic “plasticity.” Zika’s vector is mosquitoes that love breeding in small containers filled with water. Our plastic ends up in developing countries where monsoons allow mosquitos carrying disease to breed easily and spread quickly. At UC, I’d study the intersection of poverty, environment and demographics and brainstorm ways we can disarm this perfect storm. To further my interest in the intersection of our environment and society, I learned about the impact of our energy choices on our society and our world in a college course. I gave presentations at the library focused on distilling complex environmental issues into accessible content for elementary and middle schoolers. My efforts did not go unnoticed; I was recognized by state Senator Dave Cortese for my climate leadership and my environmental action group was awarded San Jose’s 2022 Youth Climate Champion of the Year for our leadership in fighting climate change and spreading awareness on this matter to move people, especially our peers, to take action. Two years ago, nearly 11,000 lightning bolts struck near my hometown in a siege. Wildfires relentlessly battered surrounding communities, and hundreds of thousands of acres burned before firefighters could contain the blaze. Even though we weren’t directly in the wildfires’ path, the constant fear and anxiety of impending doom overwhelmed me and my community. Growing up here, I always acknowledged the occurrence of natural disasters like earthquakes and wildfires but never fathomed that a large-scale catastrophe could happen at my doorstep. Recognizing this unspoken apathy, I joined Teen CERT (Community Emergency Response Team), a national organization of volunteers trained in disaster preparedness and emergency response, to increase the confidence of as many families and community members as possible. As a Teen CERT, I will assist frontline disaster relief in the aftermath of an emergency, by providing information about the damage, assisting in evacuations, providing housing, and triaging survivors by the degree of injury when activated. To further educate my community, I’m planning a workshop to teach my peers skills that they’d need in any disaster situation. Not only will I lead by example, by staying level-headed during emergencies, but I teach my peers to do the same and become future leaders during times of crisis. I took the knowledge I’d gained from textbooks and lectures and applied it to the real world to stop the worsening of climate change. That’s why I’d be excited to join researchers to expand upon my past research at a top-tier university. Today’s teens, the future generation of an ever-changing, disaster-prone world, are the ones who will tackle the predicament that is the climate crisis. We have no choice but to take charge and lead by taking urgent action.

I am Danica Kubota, a proud Vietnamese-Japanese American and also a banana. No, it’s not because I love the Despicable Me franchise or this potassium-rich fruit; it’s because of the disconnect I’ve felt from my identity for much of my life. Yellow on the outside and white on the inside, bananas encapsulated this internal conflict; I felt as though I looked Asian on the outside (as if my last name isn’t a dead giveaway, my dark brown hair and almond-shaped eyes are) but acted “white” – disconnected from my culture. Growing up Asian American, I always felt like I was the bridge between two worlds, the Asian culture I grew up with in my mom’s family and the whitewashed Asian culture I grew up with in my dad’s family and at school. I was jealous of my classmates who grew up immersed in their family’s culture; I was only aware of my mom’s Vietnamese roots and knew little about Japanese culture. I felt as though I couldn’t claim to be American because I didn’t look like the people I saw on TV. When there was Asian representation, it was negative – just look at Ravi from Jessie and Baljeet from Phineas and Ferb. I regretfully admit sometimes I wished I wasn’t Asian; I wondered why I couldn’t be more appreciative of growing up in America, something that my family had fought so hard for. They’d tried to flee Communist Viet Nam after the fall of Saigon, and after two trips to jail and losing all of their money, they were finally sponsored. That all changed when senior year arrived; after becoming an officer of APISU, Presentation’s Asian Pacific Islander affinity group, I was surrounded by people who looked different from and like myself and took pride in their heritage. Reading The Best We Could Do emphasized what I was starting to feel: seeing someone who looked like and had similar experiences to my family was incredible, and her realistic portrayal of what it means to be AAPI resonated with me. I had never felt so seen and connected to stories I felt were buried within my family history. Hearing her story helped me better understand the gravity of the sacrifices my family made for me and appreciate what was done to get me to where I am today. Experiences such as these empowered me to learn more about my family’s cultures and share my pride in who I am with other students who are in the shoes I was once in. I became an APISU officer, speaking to the entire school community about my family’s story from a second-generation immigrant’s perspective. Currently, I’m finishing planning for Presentation’s first Lunar New Year celebration. Because of my family’s background, I can understand those who have grown up with the culture of their family’s homeland and also those whose families immigrated and assimilated here generations ago. I guess being a banana isn’t so bad after all.

Two years ago, nearly 11,000 lightning bolts struck near my hometown in a siege. Wildfires relentlessly battered surrounding communities, and hundreds of thousands of acres burned before firefighters could contain the blaze. Even though we weren’t directly in the wildfires’ path, the constant fear and anxiety of impending doom overwhelmed me and my community. Growing up here, I always acknowledged the occurrence of natural disasters like earthquakes and wildfires but never fathomed that a large-scale catastrophe could happen at my doorstep. Recognizing this unspoken apathy, I joined Teen CERT (Community Emergency Response Team), a national organization of volunteers trained in disaster preparedness and emergency response. As I learned fire safety drills and building damage assessment procedures, I realized that if a disaster were to strike, my community is not adequately prepared. As part of Teen CERT, my goal is to increase the confidence of as many families and community members as possible. As a Teen CERT, I will assist frontline disaster relief in the aftermath of an emergency, by providing information about the damage, assisting in evacuations, providing housing, and triaging survivors by the degree of injury when activated. To further educate my community, I’m bringing the Teen CERT program to my school. I’m planning a workshop to teach my peers skills that they’d need in any disaster situation. I’m also working on collecting materials to make emergency kits to ensure that everyone in our school is a bit closer to being disaster-ready. Not only will I lead by example, by staying level-headed during emergencies, but I teach my peers to do the same and become future leaders during times of crisis. As a part of my school’s STEM Independent Research program last year, I coded a program that used reinforcement learning to place firebreaks, which are areas of land stripped of vegetation, to minimize the spread of a computer-generated fire over time. I chose this method of “teaching” the program how to find desired results as it was less time-consuming than supervised learning which involves more human intervention. During the research process, I learned that clearing land to reduce fires’ damage is not new; Indigenous people around the world have been implementing this practice for hundreds of years. I included these Indigenous practices when presenting my findings at science fairs and showed how the intersection of new and old practices could create something with a greater impact. To further my interest in mitigating the climate crisis, I explored a novel solution to another natural disaster phenomenon. I reached out to Global Navigations Systems Researcher Leila Taleghani to create a model focused on determining the severity of the next earthquake’s damage measured in damage monetary costs using past data. Additionally, I aimed to determine the appropriate government response to prepare for the disaster. I focused on earthquakes because they are, unfortunately, phenomena that Californians are all too familiar with. If the destruction from fires is becoming more severe, wouldn’t the same be true of earthquakes? These opportunities allow me to ideate projects that tie together the humanities and sciences, linking two seemingly disparate but, in fact, intimately connected fields to find solutions to climate change. In college, I’ll continue to take advantage of the numerous research opportunities available to me and push myself to be a part of discovering answers to our world’s problems. Today’s teens, as the future generation of an ever-changing, disaster-prone world, are the ones who will tackle the climate crisis predicament. We have no choice but to take charge and lead by taking urgent action.

I am Danica Kubota, a proud Vietnamese-Japanese American and also a banana. No, it’s not because I love the Despicable Me franchise or this potassium-rich fruit; it’s because of the disconnect I’ve felt from my identity for much of my life. Yellow on the outside and white on the inside, bananas encapsulated this internal conflict; I felt as though I looked Asian on the outside (as if my last name isn’t a dead giveaway, my dark brown hair and almond-shaped eyes are) but acted “white” – disconnected from my culture. Growing up Asian American, I always felt like I was the bridge between two worlds, the Asian culture I grew up with in my mom’s family and the whitewashed Asian culture I grew up with in my dad’s family and at school. I was jealous of my classmates who grew up immersed in their family culture; I was only aware of my mom’s Vietnamese roots and knew little about Japanese culture. I felt as though I couldn’t claim to be American because I didn’t look like the people I saw on TV. When there was Asian representation, it was negative – just look at Ravi from Jessie and Baljeet from Phineas and Ferb. I regretfully admit sometimes I wished I wasn’t Asian; I wondered why I couldn’t be more appreciative of growing up in America, something that my family had fought so hard for. They’d tried to flee Communist Viet Nam after the fall of Saigon, and after two trips to jail and losing all of their money, they were finally sponsored. Because of this uneasiness and disconnect from my culture that I felt for so long, I can empathize with my uncle Cậu Kho, my mom's youngest brother who immigrated to the United States as an elementary schooler about to enter middle school. I've heard stories about how he would get into fights because he was mocked for looking different and speaking English with an accent. In a word, he was "fobby" or "fresh off the boat". Perhaps this bullying, combined with the fact that my grandfather was a heavy smoker, caused him to become one as well. In comparison to my other aunts and uncles, I have few memories of Cậu Kho because he wasn't around as much, leaving family gatherings early to go smoke outside. For every hug he'd give us, there was a cloud of cigarette smoke left behind. It is because of Cậu Kho that I am able to better understand those who have family members struggling with substance abuse. In college, I plan to make infographics to spread the word and translate them into different languages so that language is not a barrier to knowing this information. Lastly, I will continue to advocate for prevention on a personal and community level in the hopes no one will have to experience what so many have already gone through.

Two years ago, nearly 11,000 lightning bolts struck near my hometown in a siege. Wildfires relentlessly battered surrounding communities, and hundreds of thousands of acres burned before firefighters could contain the blaze. Even though we weren’t directly in the wildfires’ path, the constant fear and anxiety of impending doom overwhelmed me and my community. Growing up here, I always acknowledged the occurrence of natural disasters like earthquakes and wildfires but never fathomed that a large-scale catastrophe could happen at my doorstep. Recognizing this unspoken apathy, I joined Teen CERT (Community Emergency Response Team), a national organization of volunteers trained on disaster preparedness and emergency response. As I learned fire safety drills and building damage assessment procedures, I realized that if disaster were to strike, my community is not adequately prepared. As part of Teen CERT, my goal is to increase the confidence of as many families and community members as possible. As a Teen CERT, I will assist frontline disaster relief in the aftermath of an emergency, by providing information about the damage, assisting in evacuations, providing housing, and triaging survivors by degree of injury when activated. To further educate my community, I’m bringing the Teen CERT program to my school. I’m planning a workshop to teach my peers skills that they’d need in any disaster situation. I’m also working on collecting materials to make emergency kits to ensure that everyone in our school is a bit closer to being disaster-ready. Not only will I lead by example, by staying level-headed during emergencies, but I teach my peers to do the same and become future leaders during times of crisis. As a part of my school’s STEM Independent Research program last year, I coded a program that used reinforcement learning to place firebreaks, which are areas of land stripped of vegetation, to minimize the spread of a computer-generated fire over time. I chose this method of “teaching” the program how to find desired results as it was less time-consuming than supervised learning which involves more human intervention. During the research process, I learned that clearing land to reduce fires’ damage is not new; Indigenous people around the world have been implementing this practice for hundreds of years. I included these Indigenous practices when presenting my findings at science fairs and showed how the intersection of new and old practices could create something with a greater impact. To further my interest in mitigating the climate crisis, I explored a novel solution to another natural disaster phenomenon. I reached out to Global Navigations Systems Researcher Leila Taleghani to create a model focused on determining the severity of the next earthquake’s damage measured in damage monetary costs using past data. Additionally, I aimed to determine the appropriate government response to prepare for the disaster. I focused on earthquakes because they are, unfortunately, phenomena that Californians are all too familiar with. If the destruction from fires is becoming more severe, wouldn’t the same be true of earthquakes? From using reinforcement learning to show a program how to reduce the spread of fire to ideating government responses to and preparation for earthquakes, I’ve innovated solutions that approach a problem from different angles. These educational opportunities allow me to ideate projects that tie together the humanities and sciences, linking two seemingly disparate but, in fact, intimately connected fields to find solutions to climate change. In college, I’ll continue to take advantage of the numerous research opportunities available to me and push myself to be a part of discovering answers to our world’s problems. To further my interest in the intersection of our environment and society, I learned about the impact of our energy choices on our society and our world in a college course. I gave presentations at the library focused on distilling complex environmental issues into accessible content for elementary and middle schoolers. My efforts did not go unnoticed; I was recognized by state Senator Dave Cortese for my climate leadership and Silicon Valley Youth Climate Action of which I have been a student leader was awarded San Jose’s 2022 Youth Climate Champion of the Year for our leadership in fighting climate change and spreading awareness on this matter to move people, especially our peers, to take action. Today’s teens, as the future generation of an ever-changing, disaster-prone world, are the ones who will tackle the climate crisis predicament. We have no choice but to take charge and lead by taking urgent action that encompasses a variety of fields, namely hands-on volunteering, scientific research, and advocacy.