Throughout my years at Newport Harbor High School, I have been a part of an on-campus club called “Homeless Not Hopeless.” My goal as the club leader is to raise awareness about the issues of homelessness that not only our society faces but our peers too. We have weekly meetings and hold monthly events. Our club volunteers at a food distribution event at Vanguard University where we provide every family with a cart, groceries, and clothing. I split the club members into groups to be in charge of placing items like bread, canned goods, and meat in the cart, some carry the food out to the recipient’s cars, and the rest set up and clean the area once finished. Although I am very blessed to partake in such a humbling experience, I am prompted to do more, especially in the midst of a global pandemic. So, over the summer, a friend and I decided to start a special project. We created a non-profit organization by the name “Mercy to Humanity.” For a few months now, we have put together sealed care packages for families, shelters, and even police departments. In these packages, we include a pair of gloves, hand sanitizer, a face mask, and a little handwritten note. Because many viruses, like COVID-19, are more dangerous in crowded, unsanitized, and substandard environments, it is vital to support the less fortunate now more than ever. Seeing a smile on my community's face is what gives me hope that kindness can be taught. Whether it be handing a care package to a street vendor, police department, or families living in low-income neighborhoods, there is nothing more universal than a smile from a helping hand.

Throughout my years at Newport Harbor High School, I have been a part of an on-campus club called “Homeless Not Hopeless.” My goal as the club leader is to raise awareness about the issues of homelessness that not only our society faces but our peers too. We have weekly meetings and hold monthly events. Our club volunteers at a food distribution event at Vanguard University where we provide every family with a cart, groceries, and clothing. I split the club members into groups to be in charge of placing items like bread, canned goods, and meat in the cart, some carry the food out to the recipient’s cars, and the rest set up and clean the area once finished. Although I am very blessed to partake in such a humbling experience, I am prompted to do more, especially in the midst of a global pandemic. So, over the summer, a friend and I decided to start a special project. We created a non-profit organization by the name “Mercy to Humanity.” For a few months now, we have put together sealed care packages for families, shelters, and even police departments. In these packages, we include a pair of gloves, hand sanitizer, a face mask, and a little handwritten note. Because many viruses, like COVID-19, are more dangerous in crowded, unsanitized, and substandard environments, it is vital to support the less fortunate now more than ever. Seeing a smile on my community's face is what gives me hope that kindness can be taught. Whether it be handing a care package to a street vendor, police department, or families living in low-income neighborhoods, there is nothing more universal than a smile from a helping hand.

I am a first-generation Palestinian American. My grandparents and their fourteen children fled their homes in Jordan, Palestine, Lebanon, and Libya to come to the United States, the land of opportunity. They escaped from countries of war, poverty, and famine in hopes of a brighter future for the next generation. My mother got married at my age. Over the years, she grew farther and farther apart from my father, a man she hardly identified with other than him being the father of their six children. My childhood was composed of empty promises, divorce papers, the unfortunate passing of my baby brother, and a different school every year. The cultural expectation for women in my culture was that they were expected to agree to an arranged marriage, give birth, and listen to a man all their life. This came with no surprise when my parents got divorced and the arranged marriage that took place in our third-world country, Jordan, had failed. But I want my journey as a 17-year-old Palestinian American woman to be different. My father raised me and my five younger siblings on his own. He is a workaholic and reminded me constantly about the importance of self-reliance and education. Our scarce conversations lasted no longer than a minute and ended with a list of chores and responsibilities a six-year-old could not possibly comprehend. This came with being the oldest out of six. I was just as lost in this parenting world as he was, and was in need of assurance myself. Instead of birthday parties and sleepovers, I was changing diapers and raising five children while being a child myself. I handled field trip forms, tutoring, cleaning, and cooking, while still managing to get a 4.0 or higher GPA my entire academic career. In the midst of this global pandemic, I have been responsible for purchasing groceries multiple times a week, disinfecting them alongside bedsheets, clothes, and the house that four boys recklessly ruin seconds after. My days consist of loads of laundry, dishes, arguing, and constant grocery runs. The to-do lists never end. My father is stuck in the towing business, a business that cannot simply close. His goal to provide for us never stopped, even when the world is being tried by a fast-spreading virus. Some nights he is too afraid to come home to his six children, worrying he might put our lives at risk. The absence of my mother inspired me to turn the bitterness of being abandoned into hope. I took that pain and turned it into an honor because it taught me lessons a child could not learn elsewhere, especially so early on. I needed to develop a strong personality for my younger siblings because I knew I was the only figure they had left to look up to. I learned to never question the difficulties I face but instead ask, “What has this taught me and how can I grow from it?” I am thankful for the obstacles I overcame because without them I would not be the compassionate, hard-working, and independent young woman I am today. Every day is a new opportunity to grow, personally, and academically. My identity is my hope. Education is my escape, and the freedom to discover myself is at the finish line. I aspire to be the person that my parents never had the opportunity to be: an independent student. I will be the first person in my family to attend college and pursue a path I will carve myself. I will create my land of opportunity.

I am a first-generation Palestinian American. My grandparents and their fourteen children fled their homes in Jordan, Palestine, Lebanon, and Libya to come to the United States, the land of opportunity. They escaped from countries of war, poverty, and famine in hopes of a brighter future for the next generation. My mother got married at my age. Over the years, she grew farther and farther apart from my father, a man she hardly identified with other than him being the father of their six children. My childhood was composed of empty promises, divorce papers, the unfortunate passing of my baby brother, and a different school every year. The cultural expectation for women in my culture was that they were expected to agree to an arranged marriage, give birth, and listen to a man all their life. This came with no surprise when my parents got divorced and the arranged marriage that took place in our third-world country, Jordan, had failed. But I want my journey as a 17-year-old Palestinian American woman to be different. My father raised me and my five younger siblings on his own. He is a workaholic and reminded me constantly about the importance of self-reliance and education. Our scarce conversations lasted no longer than a minute and ended with a list of chores and responsibilities a six-year-old could not possibly comprehend. This came with being the oldest out of six. I was just as lost in this parenting world as he was, and was in need of assurance myself. Instead of birthday parties and sleepovers, I was changing diapers and raising five children while being a child myself. I handled field trip forms, tutoring, cleaning, and cooking, while still managing to get a 4.0 or higher GPA my entire academic career. In the midst of this global pandemic, I have been responsible for purchasing groceries multiple times a week, disinfecting them alongside bedsheets, clothes, and the house that four boys recklessly ruin seconds after. My days consist of loads of laundry, dishes, arguing, and constant grocery runs. The to-do lists never end. My father is stuck in the towing business, a business that cannot simply close. His goal to provide for us never stopped, even when the world is being tried by a fast-spreading virus. Some nights he is too afraid to come home to his six children, worrying he might put our lives at risk. The absence of my mother inspired me to turn the bitterness of being abandoned into hope. I took that pain and turned it into an honor because it taught me lessons a child could not learn elsewhere, especially so early on. I needed to develop a strong personality for my younger siblings because I knew I was the only figure they had left to look up to. I learned to never question the difficulties I face but instead ask, “What has this taught me and how can I grow from it?” I am thankful for the obstacles I overcame because without them I would not be the compassionate, hard-working, and independent young woman I am today. Every day is a new opportunity to grow, personally, and academically. My identity is my hope. Education is my escape, and the freedom to discover myself is at the finish line. I aspire to be the person that my parents never had the opportunity to be: an independent student. I will be the first person in my family to attend college and pursue a path I will carve myself. I will create my land of opportunity and make my father proud.

Land of Opportunity By Dina Akram Hassan I am a first-generation Palestinian American. My grandparents and their fourteen children fled their homes in Jordan, Palestine, Lebanon, and Libya to come to the United States, the land of opportunity. They escaped from countries of war, poverty, and famine in hopes of a brighter future for the next generation. My mother got married at my age. Over the years, she grew farther and farther apart from my father, a man she hardly identified with other than him being the father of their six children. My childhood was composed of empty promises, divorce papers, the unfortunate passing of my baby brother, and a different school every year. The cultural expectation for women in my culture was that they were expected to agree to an arranged marriage, give birth, and listen to a man all their life. This came with no surprise when my parents got divorced and the arranged marriage that took place in our third-world country, Jordan, had failed. But I want my journey as a 17-year-old Palestinian American woman to be different. My father raised me and my five younger siblings on his own. He is a workaholic and reminded me constantly about the importance of self-reliance and education. Our scarce conversations lasted no longer than a minute and ended with a list of chores and responsibilities a six-year-old could not possibly comprehend. This came with being the oldest out of six. I was just as lost in this parenting world as he was, and was in need of assurance myself. Instead of birthday parties and sleepovers, I was changing diapers and raising five children while being a child myself. I handled field trip forms, tutoring, cleaning, and cooking, while still managing to get a 4.0 or higher GPA my entire academic career. In the midst of this global pandemic, I have been responsible for purchasing groceries multiple times a week, disinfecting them alongside bedsheets, clothes, and the house that four boys recklessly ruin seconds after. My days consist of loads of laundry, dishes, arguing, and constant grocery runs. The to-do lists never end. My father is stuck in the towing business, a business that cannot simply close. His goal to provide for us never stopped, even when the world is being tried by a fast-spreading virus. Some nights he is too afraid to come home to his six children, worrying he might put our lives at risk. The absence of my mother inspired me to turn the bitterness of being abandoned into hope. I took that pain and turned it into an honor because it taught me lessons a child could not learn elsewhere, especially so early on. I needed to develop a strong personality for my younger siblings because I knew I was the only figure they had left to look up to. I learned to never question the difficulties I face but instead ask, “What has this taught me and how can I grow from it?” I am thankful for the obstacles I overcame because without them I would not be the compassionate, hard-working, and independent young woman I am today. Every day is a new opportunity to grow, personally, and academically. My identity is my hope. Education is my escape, and the freedom to discover myself is at the finish line. I aspire to be the person that my parents never had the opportunity to be: an independent student. I will be the first person in my family to attend college and pursue a path I will carve myself. I will create my land of opportunity.

I am a first-generation Palestinian American. My grandparents and their fourteen children fled their homes in Jordan, Palestine, Lebanon, and Libya to come to the United States, the land of opportunity. They escaped from countries of war, poverty, and famine in hopes of a brighter future for the next generation. My mother got married at my age. Over the years, she grew farther and farther apart from my father, a man she hardly knew other than as the father of their six children. My childhood was composed of empty promises, divorce papers, the unfortunate passing of my baby brother, and a different school every year. It was no surprise when my parents got divorced. I want my journey as a Palestinian American woman to be different. My father raised me and my five younger siblings on his own. He is a workaholic and reminded me constantly about the importance of self-reliance and education. Our scarce conversations lasted no longer than a minute and ended with a list of chores and responsibilities my six-year-old self could not possibly comprehend. This came with being the oldest out of six. I was just as lost in this parenting world as he was, and was in need of assurance myself. Instead of attending birthday parties and sleepovers, I changed diapers and raised five children while being a child myself. I handled field trip forms, tutoring, cleaning, and cooking, while still managing to get a 4.0 or higher GPA my entire academic career. Throughout my years at Newport Harbor High School, I have been a part of an on-campus club called “Homeless Not Hopeless.” My goal as the club leader is to raise awareness about the issues of homelessness that not only our society faces but our peers too. We have weekly meetings and hold monthly events. Our club volunteers at a food distribution event at Vanguard University where we provide every family with a cart, groceries, and clothing. I split the club members into groups to be in charge of placing items like bread, canned goods, and meat in the cart, some carry the food out to the recipient’s cars, and the rest set up and clean the area once finished. Although I am very blessed to partake in such a humbling experience, I am prompted to do more, especially in the midst of a global pandemic. So, over the summer, a friend and I decided to start a special project. We created a non-profit organization by the name “Mercy to Humanity.” For a few months now, we have put together sealed care packages for families, shelters, and even police departments. In these packages, we include a pair of gloves, hand sanitizer, a face mask, and a little handwritten note. Because many viruses, like COVID-19, are more dangerous in crowded, unsanitized, and substandard environments, it is vital to support the less fortunate now more than ever. This inspired me to pursue a career in understanding and helping people. I plan on majoring in Psychology (Developmental or Neuro Psychology) and Business. The absence of my mother inspired me to turn the bitterness of being abandoned into hope. I took that pain and turned it into an honor because it taught me lessons a child could not learn elsewhere. I learned to never question the difficulties I face but instead ask, “What has this taught me and how can I grow from it?” I am thankful for the obstacles I overcame because without them I would not be the compassionate, hard-working, and independent young woman I am today. I will create my land of opportunity.

I am a first-generation Palestinian American. My grandparents and their fourteen children fled their homes in Jordan, Palestine, Lebanon, and Libya to come to the United States, the land of opportunity. They escaped from countries of war, poverty, and famine in hopes of a brighter future for the next generation. My mother got married at my age. Over the years, she grew farther and farther apart from my father, a man she hardly identified with other than him being the father of their six children. My childhood was composed of empty promises, divorce papers, the unfortunate passing of my baby brother, and a different school every year. The cultural expectation for women in my culture was that they were expected to agree to an arranged marriage, give birth, and listen to a man all their life. This came with no surprise when my parents got divorced and the arranged marriage that took place in our third-world country, Jordan, had failed. But I want my journey as a 17-year-old Palestinian American woman to be different. My father raised me and my five younger siblings on his own. He is a workaholic and reminded me constantly about the importance of self-reliance and education. Our scarce conversations lasted no longer than a minute and ended with a list of chores and responsibilities a six-year-old could not possibly comprehend. This came with being the oldest out of six. I was just as lost in this parenting world as he was, and was in need of assurance myself. Instead of birthday parties and sleepovers, I was changing diapers and raising five children while being a child myself. I handled field trip forms, tutoring, cleaning, and cooking, while still managing to get a 4.0 or higher GPA my entire academic career. In the midst of this global pandemic, I have been responsible for purchasing groceries multiple times a week, disinfecting them alongside bedsheets, clothes, and the house that four boys recklessly ruin seconds after. My days consist of loads of laundry, dishes, arguing, and constant grocery runs. The to-do lists never end. My father is stuck in the towing business, a business that cannot simply close. His goal to provide for us never stopped, even when the world is being tried by a fast-spreading virus. Some nights he is too afraid to come home to his six children, worrying he might put our lives at risk. The absence of my mother inspired me to turn the bitterness of being abandoned into hope. I took that pain and turned it into an honor because it taught me lessons a child could not learn elsewhere, especially so early on. I needed to develop a strong personality for my younger siblings because I knew I was the only figure they had left to look up to. I learned to never question the difficulties I face but instead ask, “What has this taught me and how can I grow from it?” I am thankful for the obstacles I overcame because without them I would not be the compassionate, hard-working, and independent young woman I am today. Every day is a new opportunity to grow, personally, and academically. My identity is my hope. Education is my escape, and the freedom to discover myself is at the finish line. I aspire to be the person that my parents never had the opportunity to be: an independent student. I will be the first person in my family to attend college and pursue a path I will carve myself. I will create my land of opportunity.