I could see my Grandpa’s veins bulge on his temples and spit gather at the edges of his lips. My head is on a swivel, looking back and forth between the battle, barely understanding a word. After a meal full of cabbage kimchi, seasoned tofu, and bony fish requiring meticulous picking, the atmosphere in my grandparents’ crowded apartment dining room had become tense. My Mom and my Grandpa’s conversation turned into an argument about the fact that my sister and I could barely speak Korean. I could hear my Mom’s voice choke up as tears clouded her glasses, trying to explain the difficulty of raising kids while switching between two languages. Although my Mom’s Konglish (Korean-English) helped me understand the basis of the argument, my confusion and inability to understand Korean only emphasized my Grandpa’s point. Diluted by American culture, I was not the ideal Korean grandson he had envisioned. After this conversation, I began to ask myself, what makes me Korean? Did my rough Korean pronunciation and inability to understand my Grandma’s questions diminish my Korean identity? Does my involvement as the National Chinese Honors Society President work against my own heritage? I do not think so. My Korean heritage embodies and represents the values on which I choose to model my life. In 1978, my grandparents left their homes, reputation, and family for a country seven thousand miles away and a language just as foreign. They possessed the courage to jump into unfamiliarity for the future of their children and grandchildren. The same values led my parents to the inner city of Washington, D.C., an area with almost no Asians, let alone Koreans, starting a non-profit ministry for underprivileged, majority African-American students living in public housing. As a Korean-American, there is an expectation to be timid or unnoticeable, but the actions of my grandparents and parents showed me it is possible to dream big and create a community with people regardless of background or physical appearance. Standing out as the sole Korean-American in the room became a symbol of courage and connection, not a point of insecurity. This spirit gave me the voice to advocate for education equity, speaking in front of over 3,000 people at the National Public Charter Schools Conference in D.C. I felt comfortable shouting “NO Justice, NO Peace!” marching down Capitol Hill, engulfed by a culturally rich stream of impassioned BLM protesters. My Korean identity - no longer a limitation but a reflection of determination and ambition. I am not only the classmate who helps others with calculus homework but also the classmate who plays the gay pool boy in my school’s production of Legally Blonde. Despite my smaller stature, I have the confidence to compete against grown men, playing point guard at my local gym every Saturday morning. I found the inspiration to create a tennis class for students in my parent’s ministry over the summer, believing I could engage and instruct excited, energetic kids in the stifling D.C. humidity. Learning Korean remains a bucket list item of mine. I recognize the power of language, and, one day, I will take the time to learn it. But, while I may know less Korean than your average white female BTS fan, I realized my Korean identity is not rooted in the language. It is rooted in a sense of tenacious individuality that seeps into diverse communities, birthed from the audacity to dream big. This personal identity crisis shaped me and solidified my belief in myself. I encourage everyone to look within themself to find who they are. You are defined by your character.

Being an asian male in DC I have always felt drawn to alternative music. "Apple," the new release by Charli XCX, has quickly ascended to the top of my playlist, becoming my favorite song. Charli XCX, known for her innovative approach to pop music, has once again delivered a track that is both sonically captivating and lyrically profound. There are several reasons why "Apple" stands out as a masterpiece in her discography, and why it has resonated so deeply with me. First and foremost, the production on "Apple" is nothing short of exceptional. Charli XCX has always been at the forefront of experimental pop, and this song is no exception. The track features a blend of futuristic synths, driving beats, and unexpected sonic twists that keep the listener engaged from start to finish. The production is crisp and polished, yet it retains a raw, almost visceral energy that is characteristic of Charli’s best work. The way the different elements of the song are layered creates a rich, immersive soundscape that draws you in and doesn't let go. Lyrically, "Apple" is a powerful exploration of themes such as desire, temptation, and self-discovery. The song uses the metaphor of an apple, a symbol historically associated with knowledge and temptation, to delve into the complexities of human emotions. Charli XCX’s lyrics are introspective and thought-provoking, encouraging the listener to reflect on their own experiences with temptation and the pursuit of forbidden desires. The way she juxtaposes vulnerability with empowerment is particularly striking, as it captures the duality of human nature in a way that feels both authentic and relatable. Another reason why "Apple" stands out as my favorite song is Charli XCX’s vocal performance. Her voice is both powerful and emotive, conveying the intensity of the song’s themes with precision and passion. She effortlessly shifts between soft, almost whisper-like tones and bold, soaring melodies, showcasing her versatility as a vocalist. The emotional depth she brings to the track is palpable, making the song not just a listening experience, but an emotional journey. Furthermore, "Apple" represents a culmination of Charli XCX’s growth as an artist. Over the years, she has continuously pushed the boundaries of pop music, and "Apple" feels like the result of years of experimentation and evolution. The song is a testament to her ability to blend mainstream appeal with avant-garde sensibilities, creating music that is both accessible and groundbreaking. For long-time fans, "Apple" is a reminder of why Charli XCX has remained a force to be reckoned with in the pop landscape. Lastly, "Apple" has a personal resonance for me. The themes of temptation and self-discovery are ones that I, like many others, have grappled with in my own life. The song’s exploration of these themes has provided me with a sense of comfort and understanding, reminding me that I am not alone in my experiences. Music has the power to connect us on a deep, emotional level, and "Apple" has done just that for me. In conclusion, Charli XCX’s "Apple" is my favorite song because of its exceptional production, thought-provoking lyrics, powerful vocal performance, and the personal connection I feel to its themes. It is a track that showcases Charli XCX at her best, and it is a song that I will continue to revisit for years to come.

I could see my Grandpa’s veins bulge on his temples and spit gather at the edges of his lips. My head is on a swivel, looking back and forth between the battle, barely understanding a word. After a meal full of cabbage kimchi, seasoned tofu, and bony fish requiring meticulous picking, the atmosphere in my grandparents’ crowded apartment dining room had become tense. My Mom and my Grandpa’s conversation turned into an argument about the fact that my sister and I could barely speak Korean. I could hear my Mom’s voice choke up as tears clouded her glasses, trying to explain the difficulty of raising kids while switching between two languages. Although my Mom’s Konglish (Korean-English) helped me understand the basis of the argument, my confusion and inability to understand Korean only emphasized my Grandpa’s point. Diluted by American culture, I was not the ideal Korean grandson he had envisioned. Regret and guilt consumed my head and heart. I knew I should have kept my Duolingo streak. I began to ask myself, what makes me Korean? Did my rough Korean pronunciation and inability to understand my Grandma’s questions diminish my Korean identity? Does my involvement as the National Chinese Honors Society President work against my own heritage? I do not think so. My Korean heritage embodies and represents the values on which I choose to model my life. In 1978, my grandparents left their homes, reputation, and family for a country seven thousand miles away and a language just as foreign. They possessed the courage to jump into unfamiliarity for the future of their children and grandchildren (my parents and me). The same values led my parents to the inner city of Washington, D.C., an area with almost no Asians, let alone Koreans, starting a non-profit ministry for underprivileged, majority African-American students living in public housing. As a Korean-American, there is an expectation to be timid or unnoticeable, but the actions of my grandparents and parents showed me it is possible to dream big and create a community with people regardless of background or physical appearance. Standing out as the sole Korean-American in the room became a symbol of courage and connection, not a point of insecurity. This spirit gave me the voice to advocate for education equity, speaking in front of over 3,000 people at the National Public Charter Schools Conference in D.C. I felt comfortable shouting “NO Justice, NO Peace!” marching down Capitol Hill, engulfed by a culturally rich stream of impassioned BLM protesters. My Korean identity - no longer a limitation but a reflection of determination and ambition. I am not only the classmate who helps others with calculus homework but also the classmate who plays the gay pool boy in my school’s production of Legally Blonde. Despite my smaller stature, I have the confidence to compete against grown men, playing point guard at my local gym every Saturday morning. I found the inspiration to create a tennis class for students in my parent’s ministry over the summer, believing I could engage and instruct excited, energetic kids in the stifling D.C. humidity. Although I feel proud of my accomplishments in high school, I know college will only expand my opportunities to become a trailblazer for meaningful change while joining and embracing vibrant communities. Being gay and Korean is not a setback and it does not solely define me. I realize I am much more than two labels and can break the mold of how I'm supposed to act. In the future I plan to use this money to help those struggling with mental health issues.

I've always wanted to join the military youth program in DC. If accepted to the program, I would take deep dive into America’s influence and connection to the world while meeting a diverse group of students and experiencing a college environment. Growing up in DC, I repeatedly find myself fascinated that I live in the nation's capital. Washington D.C represents America's leadership and influence globally. Everyday, government workers and diplomats are making decisions around foreign policy, and how to deal with arising conflicts with other countries. As seen in the ongoing war between Russia and Ukraine, the world waited to see what America would do, showing our massive influence on politics. Washington D.C is a hub for international affairs, diplomatic communities, and a perfect place to study global relations. I am intrigued by the topic of international affairs and the process behind it. This program would allow me to explore the diplomacy that happens in my country, and potentially spark a career in that field. In today's political climate, international affairs could not be more relevant. The war between Ukraine and Russia has tested international relations and sparked international tensions. It has shown negotiation and communication in real-time. I am interested to learn more about the implications and effects that D.C and America has played in the war. Attending this program will introduce me to professors who are experts in this field, and allow me to ask questions ranging from America’s future as the leader of the free world, the status of America’s relationship with other powerhouses such as Russia or China, and what a future in global relations looks like. While attending this program, I also want to understand around America’s relationship with China, how we communicate with them, and how we maintain a tumultuous relationship. I lead the National Chinese Honors Society at my school and I have taken Chinese for 4 years. This will deepen my understanding and hopefully lead to a future involving diplomacy and Chinese relations. As a Korean-American, I know the impact that foreign policy and global affairs have on people across the world. My parents immigrated to the United States from Korea as children due to the Korean War and the relationship that developed between the two nations. Not only are foreign policy and global history interesting to me, but their impact is very personal as well. After my diplomacy I would love to fight for my country on the battle lines. Living and learning on a college campus would be an irreplaceable experience. I would love to live in a community of people passionate about education and international relations. I'd love to meet a diverse group of students who share a common interest in global relations. In addition to making new friends, it would be an exciting opportunity to hear different perspectives on international affairs while learning from world-class instructors at a world-class university. A series of new ideas presented from the people around me will challenge my old beliefs and encourage new ones. Hopefully, we can learn together and develop as future leaders who will be able to affect global change for the better.

Words: Green Gatsby Mockingbird Moby Mars Neptune Titan Ganymede Crane Heron Hawk Robin Clover Frog Emerald Leaf Solution: Group 1: Things Associated with the Color Green Clover Frog Emerald Leaf Reasoning: These are all things that are commonly green in color. Group 2: Literary Characters Gatsby Mockingbird (referring to Atticus Finch from To Kill a Mockingbird) Moby (referring to Moby Dick) Crane (referring to Ichabod Crane from The Legend of Sleepy Hollow) Reasoning: These are all names of characters from classic literature. Group 3: Moons in the Solar System Titan Ganymede Neptune Mars Reasoning: Titan and Ganymede are moons, while Neptune and Mars are the names of planets but can also refer to mythological figures associated with moons in certain contexts. Group 4: Birds Crane Heron Hawk Robin Reasoning: These are all types of birds. Categories: Things Associated with the Color Green - Clover, Frog, Emerald, Leaf Literary Characters - Gatsby, Mockingbird, Moby, Crane Moons in the Solar System - Titan, Ganymede, Neptune, Mars Birds - Crane, Heron, Hawk, Robin This scholarship would mean a lot to me as an avid Connections fan. It would let me pursue my interests in journalism and newsletter editing. I hope one day I can create the real connections word puzzles.

If accepted to the program, I would take deep dive into America’s influence and connection to the world while meeting a diverse group of students and experiencing a college environment. Growing up in DC, I repeatedly find myself fascinated that I live in the nation's capital. Washington D.C represents America's leadership and influence globally. Everyday, government workers and diplomats are making decisions around foreign policy, and how to deal with arising conflicts with other countries. As seen in the ongoing war between Russia and Ukraine, the world waited to see what America would do, showing our massive influence on politics. Washington D.C is a hub for international affairs, diplomatic communities, and a perfect place to study global relations. I am intrigued by the topic of international affairs and the process behind it. This program would allow me to explore the diplomacy that happens in my country, and potentially spark a career in that field. In today's political climate, international affairs could not be more relevant. The war between Ukraine and Russia has tested international relations and sparked international tensions. It has shown negotiation and communication in real-time. I am interested to learn more about the implications and effects that D.C and America has played in the war. Attending this program will introduce me to professors who are experts in this field, and allow me to ask questions ranging from America’s future as the leader of the free world, the status of America’s relationship with other powerhouses such as Russia or China, and what a future in global relations looks like. While attending this program, I also want to understand around America’s relationship with China, how we communicate with them, and how we maintain a tumultuous relationship. I lead the National Chinese Honors Society at my school and I have taken Chinese for 4 years. This will deepen my understanding and hopefully lead to a future involving diplomacy and Chinese relations. As a Korean-American, I know the impact that foreign policy and global affairs have on people across the world. My parents immigrated to the United States from Korea as children due to the Korean War and the relationship that developed between the two nations. Not only are foreign policy and global history interesting to me, but their impact is very personal as well. Living and learning on a college campus would be an irreplaceable experience. I would love to live in a community of people passionate about education and international relations. I'd love to meet a diverse group of students who share a common interest in global relations. In addition to making new friends, it would be an exciting opportunity to hear different perspectives on international affairs while learning from world-class instructors at a world-class university. A series of new ideas presented from the people around me will challenge my old beliefs and encourage new ones. Hopefully, we can learn together and develop as future leaders who will be able to affect global change for the better. I left Jehovahs witness for a better future.

I stare at hundreds of seemingly unrelated strokes on my Chinese exam study guide. How could I possibly memorize hundreds of words in two weeks? It inspires me to do something I never needed to do - learn how to learn. I spent hours watching videos on study tactics. I learned about the powers of active recall, encoding, and chunking to supercharge my memory retention. Random dashes and lines became memorable pictograms. This discovery showed me the brain’s incredible power and sent me down a research rabbit hole. Why do our minds release chemicals giving us joy and serenity but also triggering anxiety and depression? Are my tennis match performances affected by stress regulation? How do mental health issues increasingly pervade our society and children? How does institutional oppression internalize among generations of people, and what are the symptoms? I smile to myself when I think about the improvement I made in my ability to write characters for my Chinese exam. My research and application of the strategies worked! I am still using them and finding success in other classes. Learning how to learn has not only improved my grades, but set me on an intellectual journey of self-improvement. I corrected my sleep habits, improved my tennis game, and finally learned some Korean, all centered around my interest in the vastly intricate brain. While I am proud of my progress, I know there is still much to learn. At Pomona, I will blend the study of Psychology, PoliSci, and Chinese. Having a sister already in college, this scholarship will ease the burden on my parents of two kids attending four-year universities. It will also increase the possibility of post-graduate school for me, and further pursue my dream of becoming a mental health counselor . This scholarship will make it easier to purchase textbooks and the necessary materials required for college classes. This scholarship will mean a lot, and it will help me stay focused on my studies while in college. From a young age, growing up in D.C. has shown me the complexities of the United States. Diverse on the surface, but upon a closer look, deep racial segregation persists. As an Asian-American kid, curiosity filled my mind. How could political institutions have failed other minority groups so significantly? As a young adult, I now wonder how to make a difference. In college, I plan to deeply explore political science, bridging the gap between American inequality and racial identity. I someday want to become involved in public law and become a public defense attorney. I can also imagine myself studying psychology and serve as a counselor for high-school students, as there is a growing need for mental health awareness globally. In the next four years I want to create a Washingotn D.C. based organization that connects ocal high schoolers with mental health professionals for free. I want to help remove the stigma of reaching out for mental health as a highschool student, and help those who need help get help. It is not an easy task but with help from this scholarship I can begin to turn my dreams into reality. I myself have struggled with anxiety throughout highschool so I know how it feels to silently reach out for help. I don’t want anyone else to feel like this and so I am committed to making a difference.

I stare at hundreds of seemingly unrelated strokes on my Chinese exam study guide. How could I possibly memorize hundreds of words in two weeks? It inspires me to do something I never needed to do - learn how to learn. I spent hours watching videos on study tactics. I learned about the powers of active recall, encoding, and chunking to supercharge my memory retention. Random dashes and lines became memorable pictograms. This discovery showed me the brain’s incredible power and sent me down a research rabbit hole. Why do our minds release chemicals giving us joy and serenity but also triggering anxiety and depression? Are my tennis match performances affected by stress regulation? How do mental health issues increasingly pervade our society and children? How does institutional oppression internalize among generations of people, and what are the symptoms? I smile to myself when I think about the improvement I made in my ability to write characters for my Chinese exam. My research and application of the strategies worked! I am still using them and finding success in other classes. Learning how to learn has not only improved my grades, but set me on an intellectual journey of self-improvement. I corrected my sleep habits, improved my tennis game, and finally learned some Korean, all centered around my interest in the vastly intricate brain. While I am proud of my progress, I know there is still much to learn. At Pomona, I will blend the study of Psychology, PoliSci, and Chinese. Having a sister already in college, this scholarship will ease the burden on my parents of two kids attending four-year universities. It will also increase the possibility of post-graduate school for me, and further pursue my dream of becoming a mental health counselor . This scholarship will make it easier to purchase textbooks and the necessary materials required for college classes. This scholarship will mean a lot, and it will help me stay focused on my studies while in college. From a young age, growing up in D.C. has shown me the complexities of the United States. Diverse on the surface, but upon a closer look, deep racial segregation persists. As an Asian-American kid, curiosity filled my mind. How could political institutions have failed other minority groups so significantly? As a young adult, I now wonder how to make a difference. In college, I plan to deeply explore political science, bridging the gap between American inequality and racial identity. I someday want to become involved in public law and become a public defense attorney. I can also imagine myself studying psychology and serve as a counselor for high-school students, as there is a growing need for mental health awareness globally. In the next four years I want to create a Washingotn D.C. based organization that connects ocal high schoolers with mental health professionals for free. I want to help remove the stigma of reaching out for mental health as a highschool student, and help those who need help get help. It is not an easy task but with help from this scholarship I can begin to turn my dreams into reality. I myself have struggled with anxiety throughout highschool so I know how it feels to silently reach out for help. I have also dealt with the loss of a friend to suicide. I don’t want anyone else to feel like this and so I am committed to making a difference.

I stare at hundreds of seemingly unrelated strokes on my Chinese exam study guide. How could I possibly memorize hundreds of words in two weeks? It inspires me to do something I never needed to do - learn how to learn. I spent hours watching videos on study tactics. I learned about the powers of active recall, encoding, and chunking to supercharge my memory retention. Random dashes and lines became memorable pictograms. This discovery showed me the brain’s incredible power and sent me down a research rabbit hole. Why do our minds release chemicals giving us joy and serenity but also triggering anxiety and depression? Are my tennis match performances affected by stress regulation? How do mental health issues increasingly pervade our society and children? How does institutional oppression internalize among generations of people, and what are the symptoms? I smile to myself when I think about the improvement I made in my ability to write characters for my Chinese exam. My research and application of the strategies worked! I am still using them and finding success in other classes. Learning how to learn has not only improved my grades, but set me on an intellectual journey of self-improvement. I corrected my sleep habits, improved my tennis game, and finally learned some Korean, all centered around my interest in the vastly intricate brain. While I am proud of my progress, I know there is still much to learn. At Pomona, I will blend the study of Psychology, PoliSci, and Chinese. Having a sister already in college, this scholarship will ease the burden on my parents of two kids attending four-year universities. It will also increase the possibility of post-graduate school for me, and further pursue my dream of becoming a mental health counselor . This scholarship will make it easier to purchase textbooks and the necessary materials required for college classes. This scholarship will mean a lot, and it will help me stay focused on my studies while in college. From a young age, growing up in D.C. has shown me the complexities of the United States. Diverse on the surface, but upon a closer look, deep racial segregation persists. As an Asian-American kid, curiosity filled my mind. How could political institutions have failed other minority groups so significantly? As a young adult, I now wonder how to make a difference. In college, I plan to deeply explore political science, bridging the gap between American inequality and racial identity. I someday want to become involved in public law and become a public defense attorney. I can also imagine myself studying psychology and serve as a counselor for high-school students, as there is a growing need for mental health awareness globally. In the next four years I want to create a Washingotn D.C. based organization that connects ocal high schoolers with mental health professionals for free. I want to help remove the stigma of reaching out for mental health as a highschool student, and help those who need help get help. It is not an easy task but with help from this scholarship I can begin to turn my dreams into reality. I myself have struggled with anxiety throughout highschool so I know how it feels to silently reach out for help. I don’t want anyone else to feel like this and so I am committed to making a difference.

I stare at hundreds of seemingly unrelated strokes on my Chinese exam study guide. How could I possibly memorize hundreds of words in two weeks? It inspires me to do something I never needed to do - learn how to learn. I spent hours watching videos on study tactics. I learned about the powers of active recall, encoding, and chunking to supercharge my memory retention. Random dashes and lines became memorable pictograms. This discovery showed me the brain’s incredible power and sent me down a research rabbit hole. Why do our minds release chemicals giving us joy and serenity but also triggering anxiety and depression? Are my tennis match performances affected by stress regulation? How do mental health issues increasingly pervade our society and children? How does institutional oppression internalize among generations of people, and what are the symptoms? I smile to myself when I think about the improvement I made in my ability to write characters for my Chinese exam. My research and application of the strategies worked! I am still using them and finding success in other classes. Learning how to learn has not only improved my grades, but set me on an intellectual journey of self-improvement. I corrected my sleep habits, improved my tennis game, and finally learned some Korean, all centered around my interest in the vastly intricate brain. While I am proud of my progress, I know there is still much to learn. At Pomona, I will blend the study of Psychology, PoliSci, and Chinese. Having a sister already in college, this scholarship will ease the burden on my parents of two kids attending four-year universities. It will also increase the possibility of post-graduate school for me, and further pursue my dream of becoming a mental health counselor . This scholarship will make it easier to purchase textbooks and the necessary materials required for college classes. This scholarship will mean a lot, and it will help me stay focused on my studies while in college. From a young age, growing up in D.C. has shown me the complexities of the United States. Diverse on the surface, but upon a closer look, deep racial segregation persists. As an Asian-American kid, curiosity filled my mind. How could political institutions have failed other minority groups so significantly? As a young adult, I now wonder how to make a difference. In college, I plan to deeply explore political science, bridging the gap between American inequality and racial identity. I someday want to become involved in public law and become a public defense attorney. I can also imagine myself studying psychology and serve as a counselor for high-school students, as there is a growing need for mental health awareness globally. In the next four years I want to create a Washington D.C. based organization that connects ocal high schoolers with mental health professionals for free. I want to help remove the stigma of reaching out for mental health as a highschool student, and help those who need help get help. It is not an easy task but with help from this scholarship I can begin to turn my dreams into reality. I myself have struggled with anxiety throughout highschool so I know how it feels to silently reach out for help. I don’t want anyone else to feel like this and so I am committed to making a difference.

Am I even Korean? I could see my Grandpa’s veins bulge on his temples and spit gather at the edges of his lips. My head is on a swivel, looking back and forth between the battle, barely understanding a word. After a meal full of cabbage kimchi, seasoned tofu, and bony fish requiring meticulous picking, the atmosphere in my grandparents’ crowded apartment dining room had become tense. My Mom and my Grandpa’s conversation turned into an argument about the fact that my sister and I could barely speak Korean. I could hear my Mom’s voice choke up as tears clouded her glasses, trying to explain the difficulty of raising kids while switching between two languages. Although my Mom’s Konglish (Korean-English) helped me understand the basis of the argument, my confusion and inability to understand Korean only emphasized my Grandpa’s point. Diluted by American culture, I was not the ideal Korean grandson he had envisioned. Regret and guilt consumed my head and heart. I knew I should have kept my Duolingo streak. After this conversation, I began to ask myself, what makes me Korean? Did my rough Korean pronunciation and inability to understand my Grandma’s questions diminish my Korean identity? Does my involvement as the National Chinese Honors Society President work against my own heritage? I do not think so. My Korean heritage embodies and represents the values on which I choose to model my life. In 1978, my grandparents left their homes, reputation, and family for a country seven thousand miles away and a language just as foreign. They possessed the courage to jump into unfamiliarity for the future of their children and grandchildren (my parents and me). The same values led my parents to the inner city of Washington, D.C., an area with almost no Asians, let alone Koreans, starting a non-profit ministry for underprivileged, majority African-American students living in public housing. As a Korean-American, there is an expectation to be timid or unnoticeable, but the actions of my grandparents and parents showed me it is possible to dream big and create a community with people regardless of background or physical appearance. Standing out as the sole Korean-American in the room became a symbol of courage and connection, not a point of insecurity. This spirit gave me the voice to advocate for education equity, speaking in front of over 3,000 people at the National Public Charter Schools Conference in D.C. I felt comfortable shouting “NO Justice, NO Peace!” marching down Capitol Hill, engulfed by a culturally rich stream of impassioned BLM protesters. My Korean identity - no longer a limitation but a reflection of determination and ambition. I am not only the classmate who helps others with calculus homework but also the classmate who plays the gay pool boy in my school’s production of Legally Blonde. Despite my smaller stature, I have the confidence to compete against grown men, playing point guard at my local gym every Saturday morning. I found the inspiration to create a tennis class for students in my parent’s ministry over the summer, believing I could engage and instruct excited, energetic kids in the stifling D.C. humidity. Although I feel proud of my accomplishments in high school, I know college will only expand my opportunities to become a trailblazer for meaningful change while joining and embracing vibrant communities. Learning Korean remains a bucket list item of mine, always a summer project that never gets done. I recognize the power of language, and, one day, I will take the time to learn it. But, while I may know less Korean than your average white female BTS fan, I realized my Korean identity is not rooted in the language. It is rooted in a sense of tenacious individuality that seeps into diverse communities, birthed from the audacity to dream big. Having a sister already in college, this scholarship will ease the burden on my parents of two kids attending four-year universities. It will also increase the possibility of post-graduate school for me, and further pursue my dream of becoming a mental health counselor . This scholarship will make it easier to purchase textbooks and the necessary materials required for college classes. This scholarship will mean a lot, and it will help me stay focused on my studies while in college. From a young age, growing up in D.C. has shown me the complexities of the United States. Diverse on the surface, but upon a closer look, deep racial segregation persists. As an Asian-American kid, curiosity filled my mind. How could political institutions have failed other minority groups so significantly? As a young adult, I now wonder how to make a difference. In college, I plan to deeply explore political science, bridging the gap between American inequality and racial identity. I someday want to become involved in public law and become a public defense attorney. I can also imagine myself studying psychology and serve as a counselor for high-school students, as there is a growing need for mental health awareness globally. In the next four years I want to create a Washingotn D.C. based organization that connects ocal high schoolers with mental health professionals for free. I want to help remove the stigma of reaching out for mental health as a highschool student, and help those who need help get help. It is not an easy task but with help from this scholarship I can begin to turn my dreams into reality. I myself have struggled with identity anxiety throughout highschool so I know how it feels to silently reach out for help. I don’t want anyone else to feel like this and so I am committed to making a difference.

I stare at hundreds of seemingly unrelated strokes on my Chinese exam study guide. How could I possibly memorize hundreds of words in two weeks? It inspires me to do something I never needed to do - learn how to learn. I spent hours watching videos on study tactics. I learned about the powers of active recall, encoding, and chunking to supercharge my memory retention. Random dashes and lines became memorable pictograms. This discovery showed me the brain’s incredible power and sent me down a research rabbit hole. Why do our minds release chemicals giving us joy and serenity but also triggering anxiety and depression? Are my tennis match performances affected by stress regulation? How do mental health issues increasingly pervade our society and children? How does institutional oppression internalize among generations of people, and what are the symptoms? I smile to myself when I think about the improvement I made in my ability to write characters for my Chinese exam. My research and application of the strategies worked! I am still using them and finding success in other classes. Learning how to learn has not only improved my grades, but set me on an intellectual journey of self-improvement. I corrected my sleep habits, improved my tennis game, and finally learned some Korean, all centered around my interest in the vastly intricate brain. While I am proud of my progress, I know there is still much to learn. At Pomona, I will blend the study of Psychology, PoliSci, and Chinese. Having a sister already in college, this scholarship will ease the burden on my parents of two kids attending four-year universities. It will also increase the possibility of post-graduate school for me, and further pursue my dream of becoming a mental health counselor . This scholarship will make it easier to purchase textbooks and the necessary materials required for college classes. This scholarship will mean a lot, and it will help me stay focused on my studies while in college. From a young age, growing up in D.C. has shown me the complexities of the United States. Diverse on the surface, but upon a closer look, deep racial segregation persists. As an Asian-American kid, curiosity filled my mind. How could political institutions have failed other minority groups so significantly? As a young adult, I now wonder how to make a difference. In college, I plan to deeply explore political science, bridging the gap between American inequality and racial identity. I can also imagine myself studying psychology and serve as a counselor for high-school students, as there is a growing need for mental health awareness globally. In the next four years I want to create a Washingotn D.C. based organization that connects ocal high schoolers with mental health professionals for free. I want to help remove the stigma of reaching out for mental health as a highschool student, and help those who need help get help. It is not an easy task but with help from this scholarship I can begin to turn my dreams into reality. I myself have struggled with anxiety throughout highschool so I know how it feels to silently reach out for help. I don’t want anyone else to feel like this and so I am committed to making a difference.

Having a sister already in college, this scholarship will ease the burden on my parents of two kids attending four-year universities. It will also increase the possibility of post-graduate school for me, and further pursue my dream of becoming a public defense attorney. This scholarship will make it easier to purchase textbooks and the necessary materials required for college classes. This scholarship will mean a lot, and it will help me stay focused on my studies while in college. From a young age, growing up in D.C. has shown me the complexities of the United States. Diverse on the surface, but upon a closer look, deep racial segregation persists. As an Asian-American kid, curiosity filled my mind. How could political institutions have failed other minority groups so significantly? As a young adult, I now wonder how to make a difference. In college, I plan to deeply explore political science, bridging the gap between American inequality and racial identity. I someday want to become involved in public law and become a public defense attorney. I can also imagine myself studying psychology and serve as a counselor for high-school students, as there is a growing need for mental health awareness globally. Right now I am planning on attending Colorado College, but I have not officially committed. Over the fall last year I got deferred from my first choice Pomona College. At the time I felt really disappointed, as Pomona was my sister’s college and my own “dream school.” I felt like all the community service, good grades, and extracurricular involvement had been for nothing. But strangely enough, instead of this event discouraging me from trying at school, it motivated me to work even harder. I realized that the best thing I can do is give 110% effort towards my goals, and accept the results that are out of my control. Going forward I realized this was ultimately not a rejection but a redirection, and that it’s ultimately up to me to make the best of my situation regardless of what college I attend. Using this knowledge will help me help other Asian-American students find their identity. In college, I plan to study Psychology and become a therapist for Asian-American kids. Growing up Asian-American in D.C. has taught me how to navigate this windy road, and by becoming a licensed mental health professional I can help others as well. Hopefully, my career will allow other Asian-Americans to find their voice and find the confidence to perform well in the world. I promise myself to not strive for perfection, but to strive for constant improvement. Whether I succeed or fail, I want to promise myself the courage to try. Finally, I want to make decisions that align with values I take pride in. Commitment, honesty, empathy, and courage. This scholarship will give me the opportunity to get experience with internships and exploration while removing the mental burden of paying off student loans. I will use the extra time spent working a part-time job to focus on my studies in becoming a defense attorney for those who need it.

I stare at hundreds of seemingly unrelated strokes on my Chinese exam study guide. How could I possibly memorize hundreds of words in two weeks? It inspires me to do something I never needed to do - learn how to learn. I spent hours watching videos on study tactics. I learned about the powers of active recall, encoding, and chunking to supercharge my memory retention. Random dashes and lines became memorable pictograms. This discovery showed me the brain’s incredible power and sent me down a research rabbit hole. Why do our minds release chemicals giving us joy and serenity but also triggering anxiety and depression? Are my tennis match performances affected by stress regulation? How do mental health issues increasingly pervade our society and children? How does institutional oppression internalize among generations of people, and what are the symptoms? I smile to myself when I think about the improvement I made in my ability to write characters for my Chinese exam. My research and application of the strategies worked! I am still using them and finding success in other classes. Learning how to learn has not only improved my grades, but set me on an intellectual journey of self-improvement. I corrected my sleep habits, improved my tennis game, and finally learned some Korean, all centered around my interest in the vastly intricate brain. While I am proud of my progress, I know there is still much to learn. At Pomona, I will blend the study of Psychology, PoliSci, and Chinese. Having a sister already in college, this scholarship will ease the burden on my parents of two kids attending four-year universities. It will also increase the possibility of post-graduate school for me, and further pursue my dream of becoming a public defense attorney. This scholarship will make it easier to purchase textbooks and the necessary materials required for college classes. This scholarship will mean a lot, and it will help me stay focused on my studies while in college. From a young age, growing up in D.C. has shown me the complexities of the United States. Diverse on the surface, but upon a closer look, deep racial segregation persists. As an Asian-American kid, curiosity filled my mind. How could political institutions have failed other minority groups so significantly? As a young adult, I now wonder how to make a difference. In college, I plan to deeply explore political science, bridging the gap between American inequality and racial identity. I someday want to become involved in public law and become a public defense attorney. I can also imagine myself studying psychology and serve as a counselor for high-school students, as there is a growing need for mental health awareness globally. Over the fall last year I got deferred from my first choice Pomona College. At the time I felt really disappointed, as Pomona was my sister’s college and my own “dream school.” I felt like all the community service, good grades, and extracurricular involvement had been for nothing. But strangely enough, instead of this event discouraging me from trying at school, it motivated me to work even harder. I realized that the best thing I can do is give 110% effort towards my goals, and accept the results that are out of my control. Going forward I realized this was ultimately not a rejection but a redirection, and that it’s ultimately up to me to make the best of my situation regardless of what college I attend.

I stare at hundreds of seemingly unrelated strokes on my Chinese exam study guide. How could I possibly memorize hundreds of words in two weeks? It inspires me to do something I never needed to do - learn how to learn. I spent hours watching videos on study tactics. I learned about the powers of active recall, encoding, and chunking to supercharge my memory retention. Random dashes and lines became memorable pictograms. This discovery showed me the brain’s incredible power and sent me down a research rabbit hole. Why do our minds release chemicals giving us joy and serenity but also triggering anxiety and depression? Are my tennis match performances affected by stress regulation? How do mental health issues increasingly pervade our society and children? How does institutional oppression internalize among generations of people, and what are the symptoms? I smile to myself when I think about the improvement I made in my ability to write characters for my Chinese exam. My research and application of the strategies worked! I am still using them and finding success in other classes. Learning how to learn has not only improved my grades, but set me on an intellectual journey of self-improvement. I corrected my sleep habits, improved my tennis game, and finally learned some Korean, all centered around my interest in the vastly intricate brain. While I am proud of my progress, I know there is still much to learn. At Pomona, I will blend the study of Psychology, PoliSci, and Chinese. Having a sister already in college, this scholarship will ease the burden on my parents of two kids attending four-year universities. It will also increase the possibility of post-graduate school for me, and further pursue my dream of becoming a public defense attorney. This scholarship will make it easier to purchase textbooks and the necessary materials required for college classes. This scholarship will mean a lot, and it will help me stay focused on my studies while in college. From a young age, growing up in D.C. has shown me the complexities of the United States. Diverse on the surface, but upon a closer look, deep racial segregation persists. As an Asian-American kid, curiosity filled my mind. How could political institutions have failed other minority groups so significantly? As a young adult, I now wonder how to make a difference. In college, I plan to deeply explore political science, bridging the gap between American inequality and racial identity. I someday want to become involved in public law and become a public defense attorney. I can also imagine myself studying psychology and serve as a counselor for high-school students, as there is a growing need for mental health awareness globally. Right now I am planning on attending Colorado College, but I have not officially committed. Over the fall last year I got deferred from my first choice Pomona College. At the time I felt really disappointed, as Pomona was my sister’s college and my own “dream school.” I felt like all the community service, good grades, and extracurricular involvement had been for nothing. But strangely enough, instead of this event discouraging me from trying at school, it motivated me to work even harder. I realized that the best thing I can do is give 110% effort towards my goals, and accept the results that are out of my control. Going forward I realized this was ultimately not a rejection but a redirection, and that it’s ultimately up to me to make the best of my situation regardless of what college I attend.

If accepted to the scholarship, I would take deep dive into America’s influence and connection to the world while meeting a diverse group of students and experiencing a college environment. Growing up in DC, I repeatedly find myself fascinated that I live in the nation's capital. Washington D.C represents America's leadership and influence globally. Everyday, government workers and diplomats are making decisions around foreign policy, and how to deal with arising conflicts with other countries. As seen in the ongoing war between Russia and Ukraine, the world waited to see what America would do, showing our massive influence on politics. Washington D.C is a hub for international affairs, diplomatic communities, and a perfect place to study global relations. I am intrigued by the topic of international affairs and the process behind it. Pomona college will allow me to explore the diplomacy that happens in my country, and potentially spark a career in that field. In today's political climate, international affairs could not be more relevant. The war between Ukraine and Russia has tested international relations and sparked international tensions. It has shown negotiation and communication in real-time. I am interested to learn more about the implications and effects that D.C and America has played in the war. Attending college will introduce me to professors who are experts in this field, and allow me to ask questions ranging from America’s future as the leader of the free world, the status of America’s relationship with other powerhouses such as Russia or China, and what a future in global relations looks like. While attending this program, I also want to understand around America’s relationship with China, how we communicate with them, and how we maintain a tumultuous relationship. I lead the National Chinese Honors Society at my school and I have taken Chinese for 4 years. This will deepen my understanding and hopefully lead to a future involving diplomacy and Chinese relations. As a Korean-American, I know the impact that foreign policy and global affairs have on people across the world. My parents immigrated to the United States from Korea as children due to the Korean War and the relationship that developed between the two nations. Not only are foreign policy and global history interesting to me, but their impact is very personal as well. Living and learning on a college campus would be an irreplaceable experience. I would love to live in a community of people passionate about education and international relations. I'd love to meet a diverse group of students who share a common interest in global relations. In addition to making new friends, it would be an exciting opportunity to hear different perspectives on international affairs while learning from world-class instructors at a world-class university. A series of new ideas presented from the people around me will challenge my old beliefs and encourage new ones. Hopefully, we can learn together and develop as future leaders who will be able to affect global change for the better.

I could see my Grandpa’s veins bulge on his temples and spit gather at the edges of his lips. My head is on a swivel, looking back and forth between the battle, barely understanding a word. After a meal full of cabbage kimchi, seasoned tofu, and bony fish requiring meticulous picking, the atmosphere in my grandparents’ crowded apartment dining room had become tense. My Mom and my Grandpa’s conversation turned into an argument about the fact that my sister and I could barely speak Korean. I could hear my Mom’s voice choke up as tears clouded her glasses, trying to explain the difficulty of raising kids while switching between two languages. Although my Mom’s Konglish (Korean-English) helped me understand the basis of the argument, my confusion and inability to understand Korean only emphasized my Grandpa’s point. Diluted by American culture, I was not the ideal Korean grandson he had envisioned. Regret and guilt consumed my head and heart. I knew I should have kept my Duolingo streak. After this conversation, I began to ask myself, what makes me Korean? Did my rough Korean pronunciation and inability to understand my Grandma’s questions diminish my Korean identity? Does my involvement as the National Chinese Honors Society President work against my own heritage? I do not think so. My Korean heritage embodies and represents the values on which I choose to model my life. In 1978, my grandparents left their homes, reputation, and family for a country seven thousand miles away and a language just as foreign. They possessed the courage to jump into unfamiliarity for the future of their children and grandchildren (my parents and me). The same values led my parents to the inner city of Washington, D.C., an area with almost no Asians, let alone Koreans, starting a non-profit ministry for underprivileged, majority African-American students living in public housing. As a Korean-American, there is an expectation to be timid or unnoticeable, but the actions of my grandparents and parents showed me it is possible to dream big and create a community with people regardless of background or physical appearance. Standing out as the sole Korean-American in the room became a symbol of courage and connection, not a point of insecurity. This spirit gave me the voice to advocate for education equity, speaking in front of over 3,000 people at the National Public Charter Schools Conference in D.C. I felt comfortable shouting “NO Justice, NO Peace!” marching down Capitol Hill, engulfed by a culturally rich stream of impassioned BLM protesters. My Korean identity - no longer a limitation but a reflection of determination and ambition. I am not only the classmate who helps others with calculus homework but also the classmate who plays the gay pool boy in my school’s production of Legally Blonde. Despite my smaller stature, I have the confidence to compete against grown men, playing point guard at my local gym every Saturday morning. I found the inspiration to create a tennis class for students in my parent’s ministry over the summer, believing I could engage and instruct excited, energetic kids in the stifling D.C. humidity. Although I feel proud of my accomplishments in high school, I know college will only expand my opportunities to become a trailblazer for meaningful change while joining and embracing vibrant communities. I have joined the IT club at my school, participated in summer coding classes, and even designed websites for local businesses. Technology is crucial for the future of our society especially with the rise of AI. I plan to code for AI safety in the future.

I could see my Grandpa’s veins bulge on his temples and spit gather at the edges of his lips. My head is on a swivel, looking back and forth between the battle, barely understanding a word. After a meal full of cabbage kimchi, seasoned tofu, and bony fish requiring meticulous picking, the atmosphere in my grandparents’ crowded apartment dining room had become tense. My Mom and my Grandpa’s conversation turned into an argument about the fact that my sister and I could barely speak Korean. I could hear my Mom’s voice choke up as tears clouded her glasses, trying to explain the difficulty of raising kids while switching between two languages.Diluted by American culture, I was not the ideal Korean grandson he had envisioned. Regret and guilt consumed my head and heart. I knew I should have kept my Duolingo streak. I began to ask myself, what makes me Korean? Did my rough Korean pronunciation and inability to understand my Grandma’s questions diminish my Korean identity? Does my involvement as the National Chinese Honors Society President work against my own heritage? I do not think so. My Korean heritage embodies and represents the values on which I choose to model my life. In 1978, my grandparents left their homes, reputation, and family for a country seven thousand miles away and a language just as foreign. They possessed the courage to jump into unfamiliarity for the future of their children and grandchildren (my parents and me). The same values led my parents to the inner city of Washington, D.C., an area with almost no Asians, let alone Koreans, starting a non-profit ministry for underprivileged, majority African-American students living in public housing. As a Korean-American, there is an expectation to be timid or unnoticeable, but the actions of my grandparents and parents showed me it is possible to dream big and create a community with people regardless of background or physical appearance. Standing out as the sole Korean-American in the room became a symbol of courage and connection, not a point of insecurity. This spirit gave me the voice to advocate for education equity, speaking in front of over 3,000 people at the National Public Charter Schools Conference in D.C. I felt comfortable shouting “NO Justice, NO Peace!” marching down Capitol Hill, engulfed by a culturally rich stream of impassioned BLM protesters. My Korean identity - no longer a limitation but a reflection of determination and ambition. I am not only the classmate who helps others with calculus homework but also the classmate who plays the gay pool boy in my school’s production of Legally Blonde. Despite my smaller stature, I have the confidence to compete against grown men, playing point guard at my local gym every Saturday morning. I found the inspiration to create a tennis class for students in my parent’s ministry over the summer, believing I could engage and instruct excited, energetic kids in the stifling D.C. humidity. Although I feel proud of my accomplishments in high school, I know college will only expand my opportunities to become a trailblazer for meaningful change while joining and embracing vibrant communities. Learning Korean remains a bucket list item of mine, always a summer project that never gets done. I recognize the power of language, and, one day, I will take the time to learn it. But, while I may know less Korean than your average white female BTS fan, I realized my Korean identity is not rooted in the language. It is rooted in a sense of tenacious individuality that seeps into diverse communities, birthed from the audacity to dream big.

I could see my Grandpa’s veins bulge on his temples and spit gather at the edges of his lips. My head is on a swivel, looking back and forth between the battle, barely understanding a word. After a meal full of cabbage kimchi, seasoned tofu, and bony fish requiring meticulous picking, the atmosphere in my grandparents’ crowded apartment dining room had become tense. My Mom and my Grandpa’s conversation turned into an argument about the fact that my sister and I could barely speak Korean. I could hear my Mom’s voice choke up as tears clouded her glasses, trying to explain the difficulty of raising kids while switching between two languages. Although my Mom’s Konglish (Korean-English) helped me understand the basis of the argument, my confusion and inability to understand Korean only emphasized my Grandpa’s point. Diluted by American culture, I was not the ideal Korean grandson he had envisioned. Regret and guilt consumed my head and heart. I knew I should have kept my Duolingo streak. After this conversation, I began to ask myself, what makes me Korean? Did my rough Korean pronunciation and inability to understand my Grandma’s questions diminish my Korean identity? Does my involvement as the National Chinese Honors Society President work against my own heritage? I do not think so. My Korean heritage embodies and represents the values on which I choose to model my life. In 1978, my grandparents left their homes, reputation, and family for a country seven thousand miles away and a language just as foreign. They possessed the courage to jump into unfamiliarity for the future of their children and grandchildren (my parents and me). The same values led my parents to the inner city of Washington, D.C., an area with almost no Asians, let alone Koreans, starting a non-profit ministry for underprivileged, majority African-American students living in public housing. As a Korean-American, there is an expectation to be timid or unnoticeable, but the actions of my grandparents and parents showed me it is possible to dream big and create a community with people regardless of background or physical appearance. Standing out as the sole Korean-American in the room became a symbol of courage and connection, not a point of insecurity. This spirit gave me the voice to advocate for education equity, speaking in front of over 3,000 people at the National Public Charter Schools Conference in D.C. I felt comfortable shouting “NO Justice, NO Peace!” marching down Capitol Hill, engulfed by a culturally rich stream of impassioned BLM protesters. My Korean identity - no longer a limitation but a reflection of determination and ambition. I am not only the classmate who helps others with calculus homework but also the classmate who plays the gay pool boy in my school’s production of Legally Blonde. Despite my smaller stature, I have the confidence to compete against grown men, playing point guard at my local gym every Saturday morning. I found the inspiration to create a tennis class for students in my parent’s ministry over the summer, believing I could engage and instruct excited, energetic kids in the stifling D.C. humidity. Although I feel proud of my accomplishments in high school, I know college will only expand my opportunities to become a trailblazer for meaningful change while joining and embracing vibrant communities. Anxiety surrounding my identity has followed me throughout my life. While it may never go away, I have learned to succeed and grow despite it. A college degree will crystalize my future goals while giving me a clear sense of purpose and direction.

I could see my Grandpa’s veins bulge on his temples and spit gather at the edges of his lips. My head is on a swivel, looking back and forth between the battle, barely understanding a word. After a meal full of cabbage kimchi, seasoned tofu, and bony fish requiring meticulous picking, the atmosphere in my grandparents’ crowded apartment dining room had become tense. My Mom and my Grandpa’s conversation turned into an argument about the fact that my sister and I could barely speak Korean. I could hear my Mom’s voice choke up as tears clouded her glasses, trying to explain the difficulty of raising kids while switching between two languages. Although my Mom’s Konglish (Korean-English) helped me understand the basis of the argument, my confusion and inability to understand Korean only emphasized my Grandpa’s point. Diluted by American culture, I was not the ideal Korean grandson he had envisioned. Regret and guilt consumed my head and heart. I knew I should have kept my Duolingo streak. After this conversation, I began to ask myself, what makes me Korean? Did my rough Korean pronunciation and inability to understand my Grandma’s questions diminish my Korean identity? Does my involvement as the National Chinese Honors Society President work against my own heritage? I do not think so. My Korean heritage embodies and represents the values on which I choose to model my life. In 1978, my grandparents left their homes, reputation, and family for a country seven thousand miles away and a language just as foreign. They possessed the courage to jump into unfamiliarity for the future of their children and grandchildren (my parents and me). The same values led my parents to the inner city of Washington, D.C., an area with almost no Asians, let alone Koreans, starting a non-profit ministry for underprivileged, majority African-American students living in public housing. As a Korean-American, there is an expectation to be timid or unnoticeable, but the actions of my grandparents and parents showed me it is possible to dream big and create a community with people regardless of background or physical appearance. Standing out as the sole Korean-American in the room became a symbol of courage and connection, not a point of insecurity. This spirit gave me the voice to advocate for education equity, speaking in front of over 3,000 people at the National Public Charter Schools Conference in D.C. I felt comfortable shouting “NO Justice, NO Peace!” marching down Capitol Hill, engulfed by a culturally rich stream of impassioned BLM protesters. My Korean identity - no longer a limitation but a reflection of determination and ambition. I am not only the classmate who helps others with calculus homework but also the classmate who plays the gay pool boy in my school’s production of Legally Blonde. Despite my smaller stature, I have the confidence to compete against grown men, playing point guard at my local gym every Saturday morning. I found the inspiration to create a tennis class for students in my parent’s ministry over the summer, believing I could engage and instruct excited, energetic kids in the stifling D.C. humidity. Although I feel proud of my accomplishments in high school, I know college will only expand my opportunities to become a trailblazer for meaningful change while joining and embracing vibrant communities. I plan to invest in Washington D.C. by raising awareness on low-income housing and lack of equal access to education. I plan to outreach to many non-profit businesses and continue to grow my own organization centered around one-to-one tutoring, Washingtutors. This scholarship will give me the freedom to puruse these ambitions.

To me this quote means that when you are given opportunity or responsibility, you should take it upon yourself to perform to the best of your ability. This holds true throughout my life because in many areas I find myself being blessed and having opportunities. The fact that I get to go to a great high school is a blessing, and it is on me to take my classes seriously and get involved where I can. Soon I will get the opportunity to attend a Pomona university and dedicate my life to learning. While this is a great blessing it is also a great responsibility to prioritize academics and not get too wrapped up in the social life. I also have the privilege of being able to advocate for change and take leadership roles where I can. As a leader, I will organize events such as food drives or tutoring for lower-income communities. This quote pushes me to be the best version of myself I can. Since then, I have tutored and volunteered for Little Lights, a non-profit ministry for lower-income students living in public housing. I have cleaned up local parks and given out food as a part of my church's small group initiative. I even started a summer school afterschool program for middle school students interested in learning Mandarin. I plan to continue actively investing time and energy toward communities of shared identity by joining Asian Student Associations and multicultural organizations. With this scholarship, I will have more money to invest in those who need it. This has showed me the power of helping those in need and everyone's capacity to do what they can with what they have. CommonApp. FAFSA. Supplementals. Nowadays, these words dart across my household and college counseling office like bees. The college application process is the pinnacle of my primary education. A group of unknown admissions officers carefully scrutinize years of tests, homework assignments, and final grades. No pressure. While my application reflects hard work, I have been equally fortunate to grow up in a nurturing environment. Throughout my life, I have benefited from high-quality schools and a support system that is just as strong. I have counselors who help me navigate the complex application process and parents who are willing to take on the daunting financial burden of college. I realize not everyone is as lucky as me. Among the many problems in today's society, education inequality is often neglected and overlooked. Education is not only a fundamental human right but a powerful tool in providing opportunities for lower-income communities to climb the economic ladder. As a country, we need to rethink our educational infrastructure, investing in more support systems for lower-income communities and finding ways to ensure secondary education for those who struggle to access it. If we are the meritocracy we claim to be, we will find systematic solutions to the educational disparities throughout generations of students. As an individual, you can volunteer to tutor kids struggling in school, simultaneously serving as role model for academic success. You can donate to scholarship funds for first-generation students. Use your educational privilege to help the disadvantaged because I know I will.

To me this question means that when you are given opportunity or responsibility, you should take it upon yourself to perform to the best of your ability. This holds true throughout my life because in many areas I find myself being blessed and having opportunities. The fact that I get to go to a great high school is a blessing, and it is on me to take my classes seriously and get involved where I can. Soon I will get the opportunity to attend a four-year university and dedicate my life to learning. While this is a great blessing it is also a great responsibility to prioritize academics and not get too wrapped up in the social life. I also have the privilege of being able to advocate for change and take leadership roles where I can. As a leader, I will organize events such as food drives or tutoring for lower-income communities. This quote pushes me to be the best version of myself I can. Since then, I have tutored and volunteered for Little Lights, a non-profit ministry for lower-income students living in public housing. I have cleaned up local parks and given out food as a part of my church's small group initiative. I even started a summer school afterschool program for middle school students interested in learning Mandarin. I plan to continue actively investing time and energy toward communities of shared identity by joining Asian Student Associations and multicultural organizations. With this scholarship, I will have more money to invest in those who need it. This has showed me the power of helping those in need and everyone's capacity to do what they can with what they have. Using this knowledge will help me help other Asian-American students find their identity. In college, I plan to study Psychology and become a therapist for Asian-American kids. Growing up Asian-American in D.C. has taught me how to navigate this windy road, and by becoming a licensed mental health professional I can help others as well. Hopefully, my career will allow other Asian-Americans to find their voice and find the confidence to perform well in the world. At times balancing school, college applications, and having a social life can get hectic but I believe its always important to spend time with family. Almost every day for dinner my family gathers to eat. My mom cooks the best vegetarian food and we share stories about our day. Moments like these are memorable and the ones that I will cherish for the rest of my life. Everyday we share some moments where we acted in faith, and this only inspires us more to keep acting in God's name.

Am I even Korean? Mental health is crucial, especially knowing your identity. I could see my Grandpa’s veins bulge on his temples and spit gather at the edges of his lips. My Mom and my Grandpa’s conversation turned into an argument about the fact that my sister and I could barely speak Korean. I could hear my Mom’s voice choke up as tears clouded her glasses, trying to explain the difficulty of raising kids while switching between two languages. Although my Mom’s Konglish (Korean-English) helped me understand the basis of the argument, my confusion and inability to understand Korean only emphasized my Grandpa’s point. Diluted by American culture, I was not the ideal Korean grandson he had envisioned. Regret and guilt consumed my head and heart. I knew I should have kept my Duolingo streak. After this conversation, I began to ask myself, what makes me Korean? Did my rough Korean pronunciation and inability to understand my Grandma’s questions diminish my Korean identity? Does my involvement as the National Chinese Honors Society President work against my own heritage? I do not think so. My Korean heritage embodies and represents the values on which I choose to model my life. In 1978, my grandparents left their homes, reputation, and family for a country seven thousand miles away and a language just as foreign. They possessed the courage to jump into unfamiliarity for the future of their children and grandchildren (my parents and me). The same values led my parents to the inner city of Washington, D.C., an area with almost no Asians, let alone Koreans, starting a non-profit ministry for underprivileged, majority African-American students living in public housing. As a Korean-American, there is an expectation to be timid or unnoticeable, but the actions of my grandparents and parents showed me it is possible to dream big and create a community with people regardless of background or physical appearance. Standing out as the sole Korean-American in the room became a symbol of courage and connection, not a point of insecurity. This spirit gave me the voice to advocate for education equity, speaking in front of over 3,000 people at the National Public Charter Schools Conference in D.C. I felt comfortable shouting “NO Justice, NO Peace!” marching down Capitol Hill, engulfed by a culturally rich stream of impassioned BLM protesters. My Korean identity - no longer a limitation but a reflection of determination and ambition. I am not only the classmate who helps others with calculus homework but also the classmate who plays the gay pool boy in my school’s production of Legally Blonde. Despite my smaller stature, I have the confidence to compete against grown men, playing point guard at my local gym every Saturday morning. I found the inspiration to create a tennis class for students in my parent’s ministry over the summer, believing I could engage and instruct excited, energetic kids in the stifling D.C. humidity. Although I feel proud of my accomplishments in high school, I know college will only expand my opportunities to become a trailblazer for meaningful change while joining and embracing vibrant communities. Learning Korean remains a bucket list item of mine, always a summer project that never gets done. I recognize the power of language, and, one day, I will take the time to learn it. But, while I may know less Korean than your average white female BTS fan, I realized my Korean identity is not rooted in the language. It is rooted in a sense of tenacious individuality that seeps into diverse communities, birthed from the audacity to dream big.

To me this question means that when you are given opportunity or responsibility, you should take it upon yourself to perform to the best of your ability. This holds true throughout my life because in many areas I find myself being blessed and having opportunities. The fact that I get to go to a great high school is a blessing, and it is on me to take my classes seriously and get involved where I can. Soon I will get the opportunity to attend a four-year university and dedicate my life to learning. While this is a great blessing it is also a great responsibility to prioritize academics and not get too wrapped up in the social life. I also have the privilege of being able to advocate for change and take leadership roles where I can. As a leader, I will organize events such as food drives or tutoring for lower-income communities. This quote pushes me to be the best version of myself I can. Since then, I have tutored and volunteered for Little Lights, a non-profit ministry for lower-income students living in public housing. I have cleaned up local parks and given out food as a part of my church's small group initiative. I even started a summer school afterschool program for middle school students interested in learning Mandarin. I plan to continue actively investing time and energy toward communities of shared identity by joining Asian Student Associations and multicultural organizations. With this scholarship, I will have more money to invest in those who need it. This has shown me the power of helping those in need and everyone's capacity to do what they can with what they have. Using this knowledge will help me help other Asian-American students find their identity. In college, I plan to study Psychology and become a therapist for Asian-American kids. Growing up Asian-American in D.C. has taught me how to navigate this windy road, and by becoming a licensed mental health professional I can help others as well. Hopefully, my career will allow other Asian-American Christians to find their voice and find the confidence to perform well in the world. At times balancing school, college applications, and having a social life can get hectic but I believe it's always important to spend time with family. Almost every day for dinner my family gathers to eat. My mom cooks the best vegetarian food and we share stories about our day. Moments like these are memorable and the ones that I will cherish for the rest of my life. Every day we share some moments where we acted in faith, and this only inspires us more to keep acting in God's name.

Am I even Korean? I could see my Grandpa’s veins bulge on his temples and spit gather at the edges of his lips.My Mom and my Grandpa’s conversation turned into an argument about the fact that my sister and I could barely speak Korean. I could hear my Mom’s voice choke up as tears clouded her glasses, trying to explain the difficulty of raising kids while switching between two languages. Although my Mom’s Konglish (Korean-English) helped me understand the basis of the argument, my confusion and inability to understand Korean only emphasized my Grandpa’s point. Diluted by American culture, I was not the ideal Korean grandson he had envisioned. Regret and guilt consumed my head and heart. I knew I should have kept my Duolingo streak. After this conversation, I began to ask myself, what makes me Korean? Did my rough Korean pronunciation and inability to understand my Grandma’s questions diminish my Korean identity? Does my involvement as the National Chinese Honors Society President work against my own heritage? I do not think so. My Korean heritage embodies and represents the values on which I choose to model my life. In 1978, my grandparents left their homes, reputation, and family for a country seven thousand miles away and a language just as foreign. They possessed the courage to jump into unfamiliarity for the future of their children and grandchildren (my parents and me). The same values led my parents to the inner city of Washington, D.C., an area with almost no Asians, let alone Koreans, starting a non-profit ministry for underprivileged, majority African-American students living in public housing. As a Korean-American, there is an expectation to be timid or unnoticeable, but the actions of my grandparents and parents showed me it is possible to dream big and create a community with people regardless of background or physical appearance. Standing out as the sole Korean-American in the room became a symbol of courage and connection, not a point of insecurity. This spirit gave me the voice to advocate for education equity, speaking in front of over 3,000 people at the National Public Charter Schools Conference in D.C. I felt comfortable shouting “NO Justice, NO Peace!” marching down Capitol Hill, engulfed by a culturally rich stream of impassioned BLM protesters. My Korean identity - no longer a limitation but a reflection of determination and ambition. I am not only the classmate who helps others with calculus homework but also the classmate who plays the gay pool boy in my school’s production of Legally Blonde. Despite my smaller stature, I have the confidence to compete against grown men, playing point guard at my local gym every Saturday morning. I found the inspiration to create a tennis class for students in my parent’s ministry over the summer, believing I could engage and instruct excited, energetic kids in the stifling D.C. humidity. Although I feel proud of my accomplishments in high school, I know college will only expand my opportunities to become a trailblazer for meaningful change while joining and embracing vibrant communities. Learning Korean remains a bucket list item of mine, always a summer project that never gets done. I recognize the power of language, and, one day, I will take the time to learn it. But, while I may know less Korean than your average white female BTS fan, I realized my Korean identity is not rooted in the language. It is rooted in a sense of tenacious individuality that seeps into diverse communities, birthed from the audacity to dream big.

To me this question means that when you are given opportunity or responsibility, you should take it upon yourself to perform to the best of your ability. This holds true throughout my life because in many areas I find myself being blessed and having opportunities. The fact that I get to go to a great high school is a blessing, and it is on me to take my classes seriously and get involved where I can. Soon I will get the opportunity to attend a four-year university and dedicate my life to learning. While this is a great blessing it is also a great responsibility to prioritize academics and not get too wrapped up in the social life. I also have the privilege of being able to advocate for change and take leadership roles where I can. As a leader, I will organize events such as food drives or tutoring for lower-income communities. This quote pushes me to be the best version of myself I can. Since then, I have tutored and volunteered for Little Lights, a non-profit ministry for lower-income students living in public housing. I have cleaned up local parks and given out food as a part of my church's small group initiative. I even started a summer school afterschool program for middle school students interested in learning Mandarin. I plan to continue actively investing time and energy toward communities of shared identity by joining Asian Student Associations and multicultural organizations. With this scholarship, I will have more money to invest in those who need it. This has showed me the power of helping those in need and everyone's capacity to do what they can with what they have. Using this knowledge will help me help other Asian-American students find their identity. In college, I plan to study Psychology and become a therapist for Asian-American kids. Growing up Asian-American in D.C. has taught me how to navigate this windy road, and by becoming a licensed mental health professional I can help others as well. Hopefully, my career will allow other Asian-Americans to find their voice and find the confidence to perform well in the world. At times balancing school, college applications, and having a social life can get hectic but I believe its always important to spend time with family. Almost every day for dinner my family gathers to eat. My mom cooks the best vegetarian food and we share stories about our day. Moments like these are memorable and the ones that I will cherish for the rest of my life. Everyday we share some moments where we acted in faith, and this only inspires us more to keep acting in God's name.

Am I even Korean? I could see my Grandpa’s veins bulge on his temples and spit gather at the edges of his lips. My Mom and my Grandpa’s conversation turned into an argument about the fact that my sister and I could barely speak Korean. I could hear my Mom’s voice choke up as tears clouded her glasses, trying to explain the difficulty of raising kids while switching between two languages. Although my Mom’s Konglish (Korean-English) helped me understand the basis of the argument, my confusion and inability to understand Korean only emphasized my Grandpa’s point. Diluted by American culture, I was not the ideal Korean grandson he had envisioned. Regret and guilt consumed my head and heart. I knew I should have kept my Duolingo streak. After this conversation, I began to ask myself, what makes me Korean? Did my rough Korean pronunciation and inability to understand my Grandma’s questions diminish my Korean identity? Does my involvement as the National Chinese Honors Society President work against my own heritage? I do not think so. My Korean heritage embodies and represents the values on which I choose to model my life. In 1978, my grandparents left their homes, reputation, and family for a country seven thousand miles away and a language just as foreign. They possessed the courage to jump into unfamiliarity for the future of their children and grandchildren (my parents and me). The same values led my parents to the inner city of Washington, D.C., an area with almost no Asians, let alone Koreans, starting a non-profit ministry for underprivileged, majority African-American students living in public housing. As a Korean-American, there is an expectation to be timid or unnoticeable, but the actions of my grandparents and parents showed me it is possible to dream big and create a community with people regardless of background or physical appearance. Standing out as the sole Korean-American in the room became a symbol of courage and connection, not a point of insecurity. This spirit gave me the voice to advocate for education equity, speaking in front of over 3,000 people at the National Public Charter Schools Conference in D.C. I felt comfortable shouting “NO Justice, NO Peace!” marching down Capitol Hill, engulfed by a culturally rich stream of impassioned BLM protesters. My Korean identity - no longer a limitation but a reflection of determination and ambition. I am not only the classmate who helps others with calculus homework but also the classmate who plays the gay pool boy in my school’s production of Legally Blonde. Despite my smaller stature, I have the confidence to compete against grown men, playing point guard at my local gym every Saturday morning. I found the inspiration to create a tennis class for students in my parent’s ministry over the summer, believing I could engage and instruct excited, energetic kids in the stifling D.C. humidity. Although I feel proud of my accomplishments in high school, I know college will only expand my opportunities to become a trailblazer for meaningful change while joining and embracing vibrant communities. Learning Korean remains a bucket list item of mine, always a summer project that never gets done. I recognize the power of language, and, one day, I will take the time to learn it. But, while I may know less Korean than your average white female BTS fan, I realized my Korean identity is not rooted in the language. It is rooted in a sense of tenacious individuality that seeps into diverse communities, birthed from the audacity to dream big.

Am I even Korean? I could see my Grandpa’s veins bulge on his temples and spit gather at the edges of his lips. My head is on a swivel, looking back and forth between the battle, barely understanding a word. After a meal full of cabbage kimchi, seasoned tofu, and bony fish requiring meticulous picking, the atmosphere in my grandparents’ crowded apartment dining room had become tense. I could hear my Mom’s voice choke up while trying to explain the difficulty of raising kids while switching between two languages. Although my Mom’s Konglish helped me understand the basis of the argument, my confusion and inability to understand Korean only emphasized my Grandpa’s point. Regret and guilt consumed my head and heart. I knew I should have kept my Duolingo streak. After this conversation, I began to ask myself, what makes me Korean? Did my rough Korean pronunciation and inability to understand my Grandma’s questions diminish my Korean identity? Does my involvement as the National Chinese Honors Society President work against my own heritage? I do not think so. My Korean heritage embodies and represents the values on which I choose to model my life. In 1978, my grandparents left their homes, reputation, and family for a country seven thousand miles away and a language just as foreign. They possessed the courage to jump into unfamiliarity for the future of their children and grandchildren (my parents and me). The same values led my parents to the inner city of Washington, D.C., an area with almost no Asians, let alone Koreans, starting a non-profit ministry for underprivileged, majority African-American students living in public housing. As a Korean-American, there is an expectation to be timid or unnoticeable, but the actions of my grandparents and parents showed me it is possible to dream big and create a community with people regardless of background or physical appearance. Standing out as the sole Korean-American in the room became a symbol of courage and connection, not a point of insecurity. This spirit gave me the voice to advocate for education equity, speaking in front of over 3,000 people at the National Public Charter Schools Conference in D.C. I felt comfortable shouting “NO Justice, NO Peace!” marching down Capitol Hill, engulfed by a culturally rich stream of impassioned BLM protesters. My Korean identity - no longer a limitation but a reflection of determination and ambition. I am not only the classmate who helps others with calculus homework but also the classmate who plays the gay pool boy in my school’s production of Legally Blonde. Despite my smaller stature, I have the confidence to compete against grown men, playing point guard at my local gym every Saturday morning. I found the inspiration to create a tennis class for students in my parent’s ministry over the summer, believing I could engage and instruct excited, energetic kids in the stifling D.C. humidity. Although I feel proud of my accomplishments in high school, I know college will only expand my opportunities to become a trailblazer for meaningful change while joining and embracing vibrant communities. Learning Korean remains a bucket list item of mine, always a summer project that never gets done. I recognize the power of language, and, one day, I will take the time to learn it. But, while I may know less Korean than your average white female BTS fan, I realized my Korean identity is not rooted in the language. It is rooted in a sense of tenacious individuality that seeps into diverse communities, birthed from the audacity to dream big.

Am I even Korean? Chinese Born American is my favorite because it's similar to my story. I once struggled with my two identities. American and Korean. This is that story. I could see my Grandpa’s veins bulge on his temples and spit gather at the edges of his lips. My Mom and my Grandpa’s conversation turned into an argument about the fact that my sister and I could barely speak Korean.. Although my Mom’s Konglish (Korean-English) helped me understand the basis of the argument, my confusion and inability to understand Korean only emphasized my Grandpa’s point. Diluted by American culture, I was not the ideal Korean grandson he had envisioned. Regret and guilt consumed my head and heart. I knew I should have kept my Duolingo streak. After this conversation, I began to ask myself, what makes me Korean? Did my rough Korean pronunciation and inability to understand my Grandma’s questions diminish my Korean identity? Does my involvement as the National Chinese Honors Society President work against my own heritage? I do not think so. My Korean heritage embodies and represents the values on which I choose to model my life. In 1978, my grandparents left their homes, reputation, and family for a country seven thousand miles away and a language just as foreign. They possessed the courage to jump into unfamiliarity for the future of their children and grandchildren (my parents and me). The same values led my parents to the inner city of Washington, D.C., an area with almost no Asians, let alone Koreans, starting a non-profit ministry for underprivileged, majority African-American students living in public housing. As a Korean-American, there is an expectation to be timid or unnoticeable, but the actions of my grandparents and parents showed me it is possible to dream big and create a community with people regardless of background or physical appearance. Standing out as the sole Korean-American in the room became a symbol of courage and connection, not a point of insecurity. This spirit gave me the voice to advocate for education equity, speaking in front of over 3,000 people at the National Public Charter Schools Conference in D.C. I felt comfortable shouting “NO Justice, NO Peace!” marching down Capitol Hill, engulfed by a culturally rich stream of impassioned BLM protesters. My Korean identity - no longer a limitation but a reflection of determination and ambition. I am not only the classmate who helps others with calculus homework but also the classmate who plays the gay pool boy in my school’s production of Legally Blonde. Despite my smaller stature, I have the confidence to compete against grown men, playing point guard at my local gym every Saturday morning. I found the inspiration to create a tennis class for students in my parent’s ministry over the summer, believing I could engage and instruct excited, energetic kids in the stifling D.C. humidity. Although I feel proud of my accomplishments in high school, I know college will only expand my opportunities to become a trailblazer for meaningful change while joining and embracing vibrant communities. Learning Korean remains a bucket list item of mine, always a summer project that never gets done. I recognize the power of language, and, one day, I will take the time to learn it. But, while I may know less Korean than your average white female BTS fan, I realized my Korean identity is not rooted in the language. It is rooted in a sense of tenacious individuality that seeps into diverse communities, birthed from the audacity to dream big.

Am I even Korean? I could see my Grandpa’s veins bulge on his temples and spit gather at the edges of his lips. My Mom and my Grandpa’s conversation turned into an argument about the fact that my sister and I could barely speak Korean. I could hear my Mom’s voice choke up as tears clouded her glasses, trying to explain the difficulty of raising kids while switching between two languages. Although my Mom’s Konglish (Korean-English) helped me understand the basis of the argument, my confusion and inability to understand Korean only emphasized my Grandpa’s point. Diluted by American culture, I was not the ideal Korean grandson he had envisioned. Regret and guilt consumed my head and heart. I knew I should have kept my Duolingo streak. After this conversation insecurity about my identity set in. I began to ask myself, what makes me Korean? Did my rough Korean pronunciation and inability to understand my Grandma’s questions diminish my Korean identity? Does my involvement as the National Chinese Honors Society President work against my own heritage? I do not think so. My Korean heritage embodies and represents the values on which I choose to model my life. In 1978, my grandparents left their homes, reputation, and family for a country seven thousand miles away and a language just as foreign. They possessed the courage to jump into unfamiliarity for the future of their children and grandchildren (my parents and me). The same values led my parents to the inner city of Washington, D.C., an area with almost no Asians, let alone Koreans, starting a non-profit ministry for underprivileged, majority African-American students living in public housing. As a Korean-American, there is an expectation to be timid or unnoticeable, but the actions of my grandparents and parents showed me it is possible to dream big and create a community with people regardless of background or physical appearance. Standing out as the sole Korean-American in the room became a symbol of courage and connection, not a point of insecurity. This spirit gave me the voice to advocate for education equity, speaking in front of over 3,000 people at the National Public Charter Schools Conference in D.C. I felt comfortable shouting “NO Justice, NO Peace!” marching down Capitol Hill, engulfed by a culturally rich stream of impassioned BLM protesters. My Korean identity - no longer a limitation but a reflection of determination and ambition. I am not only the classmate who helps others with calculus homework but also the classmate who plays the gay pool boy in my school’s production of Legally Blonde. Despite my smaller stature, I have the confidence to compete against grown men, playing point guard at my local gym every Saturday morning. I found the inspiration to create a tennis class for students in my parent’s ministry over the summer, believing I could engage and instruct excited, energetic kids in the stifling D.C. humidity. Although I feel proud of my accomplishments in high school, I know college will only expand my opportunities to become a trailblazer for meaningful change while joining and embracing vibrant communities. Learning Korean remains a bucket list item of mine, always a summer project that never gets done. I recognize the power of language, and, one day, I will take the time to learn it. But, while I may know less Korean than your average white female BTS fan, I realized my Korean identity is not rooted in the language. It is rooted in a sense of tenacious individuality that seeps into diverse communities, birthed from the audacity to dream big.

Am I even Korean? I could see my Grandpa’s veins bulge on his temples and spit gather at the edges of his lips. My Mom and my Grandpa’s conversation turned into an argument about the fact that my sister and I could barely speak Korean. I could hear my Mom’s voice choke up as tears clouded her glasses, trying to explain the difficulty of raising kids while switching between two languages. Although my Mom’s Konglish (Korean-English) helped me understand the basis of the argument, my confusion and inability to understand Korean only emphasized my Grandpa’s point. Diluted by American culture, I was not the ideal Korean grandson he had envisioned. Regret and guilt consumed my head and heart. I knew I should have kept my Duolingo streak. After this conversation, I felt insecure about my identity. I began to ask myself, what makes me Korean? Did my rough Korean pronunciation and inability to understand my Grandma’s questions diminish my Korean identity? Does my involvement as the National Chinese Honors Society President work against my own heritage? I do not think so. My Korean heritage embodies and represents the values on which I choose to model my life. In 1978, my grandparents left their homes, reputation, and family for a country seven thousand miles away and a language just as foreign. They possessed the courage to jump into unfamiliarity for the future of their children and grandchildren (my parents and me). The same values led my parents to the inner city of Washington, D.C., an area with almost no Asians, let alone Koreans, starting a non-profit ministry for underprivileged, majority African-American students living in public housing. As a Korean-American, there is an expectation to be timid or unnoticeable, but the actions of my grandparents and parents showed me it is possible to dream big and create a community with people regardless of background or physical appearance. Standing out as the sole Korean-American in the room became a symbol of courage and connection, not a point of insecurity. This spirit gave me the voice to advocate for education equity, speaking in front of over 3,000 people at the National Public Charter Schools Conference in D.C. I felt comfortable shouting “NO Justice, NO Peace!” marching down Capitol Hill, engulfed by a culturally rich stream of impassioned BLM protesters. My Korean identity - no longer a limitation but a reflection of determination and ambition. I am not only the classmate who helps others with calculus homework but also the classmate who plays the gay pool boy in my school’s production of Legally Blonde. Despite my smaller stature, I have the confidence to compete against grown men, playing point guard at my local gym every Saturday morning. I found the inspiration to create a tennis class for students in my parent’s ministry over the summer, believing I could engage and instruct excited, energetic kids in the stifling D.C. humidity. Although I feel proud of my accomplishments in high school, I know college will only expand my opportunities to become a trailblazer for meaningful change while joining and embracing vibrant communities. Learning Korean remains a bucket list item of mine, always a summer project that never gets done. I recognize the power of language, and, one day, I will take the time to learn it. But, while I may know less Korean than your average white female BTS fan, I realized my Korean identity is not rooted in the language. It is rooted in a sense of tenacious individuality that seeps into diverse communities, birthed from the audacity to dream big.

Am I even Korean? I could see my Grandpa’s veins bulge on his temples and spit gather at the edges of his lips. My Mom and my Grandpa’s conversation turned into an argument about the fact that my sister and I could barely speak Korean. I could hear my Mom’s voice choke up as tears clouded her glasses, trying to explain the difficulty of raising kids while switching between two languages. Although my Mom’s Konglish (Korean-English) helped me understand the basis of the argument, my confusion and inability to understand Korean only emphasized my Grandpa’s point. Diluted by American culture, I was not the ideal Korean grandson he had envisioned. Regret and guilt consumed my head and heart. I knew I should have kept my Duolingo streak. After this conversation anxiety and questioning set in. I began to ask myself, what makes me Korean? Did my rough Korean pronunciation and inability to understand my Grandma’s questions diminish my Korean identity? Does my involvement as the National Chinese Honors Society President work against my own heritage? I do not think so. My Korean heritage embodies and represents the values on which I choose to model my life. In 1978, my grandparents left their homes, reputation, and family for a country seven thousand miles away and a language just as foreign. They possessed the courage to jump into unfamiliarity for the future of their children and grandchildren (my parents and me). The same values led my parents to the inner city of Washington, D.C., an area with almost no Asians, let alone Koreans, starting a non-profit ministry for underprivileged, majority African-American students living in public housing. As a Korean-American, there is an expectation to be timid or unnoticeable, but the actions of my grandparents and parents showed me it is possible to dream big and create a community with people regardless of background or physical appearance. Standing out as the sole Korean-American in the room became a symbol of courage and connection, not a point of insecurity. This spirit gave me the voice to advocate for education equity, speaking in front of over 3,000 people at the National Public Charter Schools Conference in D.C. I felt comfortable shouting “NO Justice, NO Peace!” marching down Capitol Hill, engulfed by a culturally rich stream of impassioned BLM protesters. My Korean identity - no longer a limitation but a reflection of determination and ambition. I am not only the classmate who helps others with calculus homework but also the classmate who plays the gay pool boy in my school’s production of Legally Blonde. Despite my smaller stature, I have the confidence to compete against grown men, playing point guard at my local gym every Saturday morning. I found the inspiration to create a tennis class for students in my parent’s ministry over the summer, believing I could engage and instruct excited, energetic kids in the stifling D.C. humidity. Although I feel proud of my accomplishments in high school, I know college will only expand my opportunities to become a trailblazer for meaningful change while joining and embracing vibrant communities. Learning Korean remains a bucket list item of mine, always a summer project that never gets done. I recognize the power of language, and, one day, I will take the time to learn it. But, while I may know less Korean than your average white female BTS fan, I realized my Korean identity is not rooted in the language. It is rooted in a sense of tenacious individuality that seeps into diverse communities, birthed from the audacity to dream big.

The Perfect Day? I could see my Grandpa’s veins bulge on his temples and spit gather at the edges of his lips. My Mom and my Grandpa’s conversation turned into an argument about the fact that my sister and I could barely speak Korean. I could hear my Mom’s voice choke up as tears clouded her glasses, trying to explain the difficulty of raising kids while switching between two languages. Although my Mom’s Konglish (Korean-English) helped me understand the basis of the argument, my confusion and inability to understand Korean only emphasized my Grandpa’s point. Diluted by American culture, I was not the ideal Korean grandson he had envisioned. Regret and guilt consumed my head and heart. I knew I should have kept my Duolingo streak. After this conversation, I began to ask myself, what makes me Korean? Did my rough Korean pronunciation and inability to understand my Grandma’s questions diminish my Korean identity? Does my involvement as the National Chinese Honors Society President work against my own heritage? I do not think so. My Korean heritage embodies and represents the values on which I choose to model my life. In 1978, my grandparents left their homes, reputation, and family for a country seven thousand miles away and a language just as foreign. They possessed the courage to jump into unfamiliarity for the future of their children and grandchildren (my parents and me). The same values led my parents to the inner city of Washington, D.C., an area with almost no Asians, let alone Koreans, starting a non-profit ministry for underprivileged, majority African-American students living in public housing. As a Korean-American, there is an expectation to be timid or unnoticeable, but the actions of my grandparents and parents showed me it is possible to dream big and create a community with people regardless of background or physical appearance. Standing out as the sole Korean-American in the room became a symbol of courage and connection, not a point of insecurity. This spirit gave me the voice to advocate for education equity, speaking in front of over 3,000 people at the National Public Charter Schools Conference in D.C. I felt comfortable shouting “NO Justice, NO Peace!” marching down Capitol Hill, engulfed by a culturally rich stream of impassioned BLM protesters. My Korean identity - no longer a limitation but a reflection of determination and ambition. I am not only the classmate who helps others with calculus homework but also the classmate who plays the gay pool boy in my school’s production of Legally Blonde. Despite my smaller stature, I have the confidence to compete against grown men, playing point guard at my local gym every Saturday morning. I found the inspiration to create a tennis class for students in my parent’s ministry over the summer, believing I could engage and instruct excited, energetic kids in the stifling D.C. humidity. Although I feel proud of my accomplishments in high school, I know college will only expand my opportunities to become a trailblazer for meaningful change while joining and embracing vibrant communities. This day was far from perfect but it helped me realize myself. Learning Korean remains a bucket list item of mine, always a summer project that never gets done. I recognize the power of language, and, one day, I will take the time to learn it. But, while I may know less Korean than your average white female BTS fan, I realized my Korean identity is not rooted in the language. It is rooted in a sense of tenacious individuality that seeps into diverse communities, birthed from the audacity to dream big.

CommonApp. FAFSA. Supplementals. Nowadays, these words dart across my household and college counseling office like bees. The college application process is the pinnacle of my primary education. A group of unknown admissions officers carefully scrutinize years of tests, homework assignments, and final grades. No pressure. While my application reflects hard work, I have been equally fortunate to grow up in a nurturing environment. Throughout my life, I have benefited from high-quality schools and a support system that is just as strong. I have counselors who help me navigate the complex application process and parents who are willing to take on the daunting financial burden of college. I realize not everyone is as lucky as me. Among the many problems in today's society, education inequality is often neglected and overlooked. Education is not only a fundamental human right but a powerful tool in providing opportunities for lower-income communities to climb the economic ladder. As a country, we need to rethink our educational infrastructure, investing in more support systems for lower-income communities and finding ways to ensure secondary education for those who struggle to access it. If we are the meritocracy we claim to be, we will find systematic solutions to the educational disparities throughout generations of students. As an individual, you can volunteer to tutor kids struggling in school, simultaneously serving as role model for academic success. You can donate to scholarship funds for first-generation students. Use your educational privilege to help the disadvantaged because I know I will. This holds true throughout my life because in many areas I find myself being blessed and having opportunities. The fact that I get to go to a great high school is a blessing, and it is on me to take my classes seriously and get involved where I can. Soon I will get the opportunity to attend a four-year university and dedicate my life to learning. While this is a great blessing it is also a great responsibility to prioritize academics and not get too wrapped up in the social life. I also have the privilege of being able to advocate for change and take leadership roles where I can. As a leader, I will organize events such as food drives or tutoring for lower-income communities. This quote pushes me to be the best version of myself I can. Since then, I have tutored and volunteered for Little Lights, a non-profit ministry for lower-income students living in public housing. I have cleaned up local parks and given out food as a part of my church's small group initiative. I even started a summer school afterschool program for middle school students interested in learning Mandarin. I plan to continue actively investing time and energy toward communities of shared identity by joining Asian Student Associations and multicultural organizations. With this scholarship, I will have more money to invest in those who need it. This has showed me the power of helping those in need and everyone's capacity to do what they can with what they have. Using this knowledge will help me help other Asian-American students find their identity. In college, I plan to study Psychology and become a therapist for Asian-American kids. Growing up Asian-American in D.C. has taught me how to navigate this windy road, and by becoming a licensed mental health professional I can help others as well. Hopefully, my career will allow other Asian-Americans to find their voice and find the confidence to perform well in the world.

Am I even Korean? I could see my Grandpa’s veins bulge on his temples and spit gather at the edges of his lips. My Mom and my Grandpa’s conversation turned into an argument about the fact that my sister and I could barely speak Korean. I could hear my Mom’s voice choke up as tears clouded her glasses, trying to explain the difficulty of raising kids while switching between two languages. Although my Mom’s Konglish (Korean-English) helped me understand the basis of the argument, my confusion and inability to understand Korean only emphasized my Grandpa’s point. Diluted by American culture, I was not the ideal Korean grandson he had envisioned. Regret and guilt consumed my head and heart. I knew I should have kept my Duolingo streak. After this conversation, anxiety creeps in. I began to ask myself, what makes me Korean? Did my rough Korean pronunciation and inability to understand my Grandma’s questions diminish my Korean identity? Does my involvement as the National Chinese Honors Society President work against my own heritage? I do not think so. My Korean heritage embodies and represents the values on which I choose to model my life. In 1978, my grandparents left their homes, reputation, and family for a country seven thousand miles away and a language just as foreign. They possessed the courage to jump into unfamiliarity for the future of their children and grandchildren (my parents and me). The same values led my parents to the inner city of Washington, D.C., an area with almost no Asians, let alone Koreans, starting a non-profit ministry for underprivileged, majority African-American students living in public housing. As a Korean-American, there is an expectation to be timid or unnoticeable, but the actions of my grandparents and parents showed me it is possible to dream big and create a community with people regardless of background or physical appearance. Standing out as the sole Korean-American in the room became a symbol of courage and connection, not a point of insecurity. This spirit gave me the voice to advocate for education equity, speaking in front of over 3,000 people at the National Public Charter Schools Conference in D.C. I felt comfortable shouting “NO Justice, NO Peace!” marching down Capitol Hill, engulfed by a culturally rich stream of impassioned BLM protesters. My Korean identity - no longer a limitation but a reflection of determination and ambition. I am not only the classmate who helps others with calculus homework but also the classmate who plays the gay pool boy in my school’s production of Legally Blonde. Despite my smaller stature, I have the confidence to compete against grown men, playing point guard at my local gym every Saturday morning. I found the inspiration to create a tennis class for students in my parent’s ministry over the summer, believing I could engage and instruct excited, energetic kids in the stifling D.C. humidity. Although I feel proud of my accomplishments in high school, I know college will only expand my opportunities to become a trailblazer for meaningful change while joining and embracing vibrant communities. Learning Korean remains a bucket list item of mine, always a summer project that never gets done. I recognize the power of language, and, one day, I will take the time to learn it. But, while I may know less Korean than your average white female BTS fan, I realized my Korean identity is not rooted in the language. It is rooted in a sense of tenacious individuality that seeps into diverse communities, birthed from the audacity to dream big. In college, I can fully realize my potential.

Am I even Korean? I could see my Grandpa’s veins bulge on his temples and spit gather at the edges of his lips. My Mom and my Grandpa’s conversation turned into an argument about the fact that my sister and I could barely speak Korean. Although my Mom’s Konglish (Korean-English) helped me understand the basis of the argument, my confusion and inability to understand Korean only emphasized my Grandpa’s point. Diluted by American culture, I was not the ideal Korean grandson he had envisioned. Regret and guilt consumed my head and heart. I knew I should have kept my Duolingo streak. After this conversation, I began to ask myself, what makes me Korean? Did my rough Korean pronunciation and inability to understand my Grandma’s questions diminish my Korean identity? Does my involvement as the National Chinese Honors Society President work against my own heritage? I do not think so. My Korean heritage embodies and represents the values on which I choose to model my life. In 1978, my grandparents left their homes, reputation, and family for a country seven thousand miles away and a language just as foreign. They possessed the courage to jump into unfamiliarity for the future of their children and grandchildren (my parents and me). The same values led my parents to the inner city of Washington, D.C., an area with almost no Asians, let alone Koreans, starting a non-profit ministry for underprivileged, majority African-American students living in public housing. As a Korean-American, there is an expectation to be timid or unnoticeable, but the actions of my grandparents and parents showed me it is possible to dream big and create a community with people regardless of background or physical appearance. Standing out as the sole Korean-American in the room became a symbol of courage and connection, not a point of insecurity. This spirit gave me the voice to advocate for education equity, speaking in front of over 3,000 people at the National Public Charter Schools Conference in D.C. I felt comfortable shouting “NO Justice, NO Peace!” marching down Capitol Hill, engulfed by a culturally rich stream of impassioned BLM protesters. My Korean identity - no longer a limitation but a reflection of determination and ambition. I am not only the classmate who helps others with calculus homework but also the classmate who plays the gay pool boy in my school’s production of Legally Blonde. Despite my smaller stature, I have the confidence to compete against grown men, playing point guard at my local gym every Saturday morning. I found the inspiration to create a tennis class for students in my parent’s ministry over the summer, believing I could engage and instruct excited, energetic kids in the stifling D.C. humidity. Although I feel proud of my accomplishments in high school, I know college will only expand my opportunities to become a trailblazer for meaningful change while joining and embracing vibrant communities. When I debate, I feel liberated and free. Thoughts flow from my mind to my tongue effortlessly. I am able to communicate ideas and change points of view. Learning Korean remains a bucket list item of mine, always a summer project that never gets done. I recognize the power of language, and, one day, I will take the time to learn it. But, while I may know less Korean than your average white female BTS fan, I realized my Korean identity is not rooted in the language. It is rooted in a sense of tenacious individuality that seeps into diverse communities, birthed from the audacity to dream big.

I am planning to go into musical theater. I feel like this form of self-expression is not common among Asian-Americans, and I want to be a trailblazer in that department. Since 6th grade, I have performed in my school musical and this year I am playing Shrek in Shrek the Musical. It is a huge responsibility, but once opening night comes it'll be all worth it. Musical theater allows me to be seen and heard in a way that no other platform does. I ultimately want to create a program that allows underprivileged students living in low-income communities the opportunity to perform in musicals. It will be a non-profit that funds annual performances to introduce students to musical theater who may not have gotten the chance. In 1978, my grandparents left their homes, reputation, and family for a country seven thousand miles away and a language just as foreign. They possessed the courage to jump into unfamiliarity for the future of their children and grandchildren (my parents and me). The same values led my parents to the inner city of Washington, D.C., an area with almost no Asians, let alone Koreans, starting a non-profit ministry for underprivileged, majority African-American students living in public housing. As a Korean-American, there is an expectation to be timid or unnoticeable, but the actions of my grandparents and parents showed me it is possible to dream big and create a community with people regardless of background or physical appearance. Standing out as the sole Korean-American in the room became a symbol of courage and connection, not a point of insecurity. This spirit gave me the voice to advocate for education equity, speaking in front of over 3,000 people at the National Public Charter Schools Conference in D.C. I felt comfortable shouting “NO Justice, NO Peace!” marching down Capitol Hill, engulfed by a culturally rich stream of impassioned BLM protesters. My Korean identity - no longer a limitation but a reflection of determination and ambition. I am not only the classmate who helps others with calculus homework but also the classmate who plays the gay pool boy in my school’s production of Legally Blonde. Despite my smaller stature, I have the confidence to compete against grown men, playing point guard at my local gym every Saturday morning. I found the inspiration to create a tennis class for students in my parent’s ministry over the summer, believing I could engage and instruct excited, energetic kids in the stifling D.C. humidity. Although I feel proud of my accomplishments in high school, I know college will only expand my opportunities to become a trailblazer for meaningful change while joining and embracing vibrant communities.

I am planning to go into musical theater. I feel like this form of self-expression is not common among Asian-Americans, and I want to be a trailblazer in that department. Since 6th grade, I have performed in my school musical and this year I am playing Shrek in Shrek the Musical. It is a huge responsibility, but once opening night comes it'll be all worth it. Musical theater allows me to be seen and heard in a way that no other platform does. I ultimately want to create a program that allows underprivileged students living in low-income communities the opportunity to perform in musicals. It will be a non-profit that funds annual performances to introduce students to musical theater who may not have gotten the chance. In 1978, my grandparents left their homes, reputation, and family for a country seven thousand miles away and a language just as foreign. They possessed the courage to jump into unfamiliarity for the future of their children and grandchildren (my parents and me). The same values led my parents to the inner city of Washington, D.C., an area with almost no Asians, let alone Koreans, starting a non-profit ministry for underprivileged, majority African-American students living in public housing. As a Korean-American, there is an expectation to be timid or unnoticeable, but the actions of my grandparents and parents showed me it is possible to dream big and create a community with people regardless of background or physical appearance. Standing out as the sole Korean-American in the room became a symbol of courage and connection, not a point of insecurity. This spirit gave me the voice to advocate for education equity, speaking in front of over 3,000 people at the National Public Charter Schools Conference in D.C. I felt comfortable shouting “NO Justice, NO Peace!” marching down Capitol Hill, engulfed by a culturally rich stream of impassioned BLM protesters. My Korean identity - no longer a limitation but a reflection of determination and ambition. I am not only the classmate who helps others with calculus homework but also the classmate who plays the gay pool boy in my school’s production of Legally Blonde. Despite my smaller stature, I have the confidence to compete against grown men, playing point guard at my local gym every Saturday morning. I found the inspiration to create a tennis class for students in my parent’s ministry over the summer, believing I could engage and instruct excited, energetic kids in the stifling D.C. humidity. Although I feel proud of my accomplishments in high school, I know college will only expand my opportunities to become a trailblazer for meaningful change while joining and embracing vibrant communities.

Am I even Korean? I could see my Grandpa’s veins bulge on his temples and spit gather at the edges of his lips. My Mom and my Grandpa’s conversation turned into an argument about the fact that my sister and I could barely speak Korean. I could hear my Mom’s voice choke up as tears clouded her glasses, trying to explain the difficulty of raising kids while switching between two languages. Although my Mom’s Konglish (Korean-English) helped me understand the basis of the argument, my confusion and inability to understand Korean only emphasized my Grandpa’s point. Diluted by American culture, I was not the ideal Korean grandson he had envisioned. Regret and guilt consumed my head and heart. I knew I should have kept my Duolingo streak. After this conversation, I began to ask myself, what makes me Korean? Did my rough Korean pronunciation and inability to understand my Grandma’s questions diminish my Korean identity? Does my involvement as the National Chinese Honors Society President work against my own heritage? I do not think so. My Korean heritage embodies and represents the values on which I choose to model my life. In 1978, my grandparents left their homes, reputation, and family for a country seven thousand miles away and a language just as foreign. They possessed the courage to jump into unfamiliarity for the future of their children and grandchildren (my parents and me). The same values led my parents to the inner city of Washington, D.C., an area with almost no Asians, let alone Koreans, starting a non-profit ministry for underprivileged, majority African-American students living in public housing. As a Korean-American, there is an expectation to be timid or unnoticeable, but the actions of my grandparents and parents showed me it is possible to dream big and create a community with people regardless of background or physical appearance. Standing out as the sole Korean-American in the room became a symbol of courage and connection, not a point of insecurity. This spirit gave me the voice to advocate for education equity, speaking in front of over 3,000 people at the National Public Charter Schools Conference in D.C. I felt comfortable shouting “NO Justice, NO Peace!” marching down Capitol Hill, engulfed by a culturally rich stream of impassioned BLM protesters. My Korean identity - no longer a limitation but a reflection of determination and ambition. I am not only the classmate who helps others with calculus homework but also the classmate who plays the gay pool boy in my school’s production of Legally Blonde. Despite my smaller stature, I have the confidence to compete against grown men, playing point guard at my local gym every Saturday morning. I found the inspiration to create a tennis class for students in my parent’s ministry over the summer, believing I could engage and instruct excited, energetic kids in the stifling D.C. humidity. Although I feel proud of my accomplishments in high school, I know college will only expand my opportunities to become a trailblazer for meaningful change while joining and embracing vibrant communities. Learning Korean remains a bucket list item of mine, always a summer project that never gets done. I recognize the power of language, and, one day, I will take the time to learn it. But, while I may know less Korean than your average white female BTS fan, I realized my Korean identity is not rooted in the language. It is rooted in a sense of tenacious individuality that seeps into diverse communities, birthed from the audacity to dream big. For everyone struggling to find their identity, find your purpose.

Am I even Korean? I could see my Grandpa’s veins bulge on his temples and spit gather at the edges of his lips. My Mom and my Grandpa’s conversation turned into an argument about the fact that my sister and I could barely speak Korean. I could hear my Mom’s voice choke up as tears clouded her glasses, trying to explain the difficulty of raising kids while switching between two languages. Although my Mom’s Konglish (Korean-English) helped me understand the basis of the argument, my confusion and inability to understand Korean only emphasized my Grandpa’s point. Diluted by American culture, I was not the ideal Korean grandson he had envisioned. Regret and guilt consumed my head and heart. I knew I should have kept my Duolingo streak. After this conversation, I began to ask myself, what makes me Korean? Did my rough Korean pronunciation and inability to understand my Grandma’s questions diminish my Korean identity? Does my involvement as the National Chinese Honors Society President work against my own heritage? I do not think so. My Korean heritage embodies and represents the values on which I choose to model my life. In 1978, my grandparents left their homes, reputation, and family for a country seven thousand miles away and a language just as foreign. They possessed the courage to jump into unfamiliarity for the future of their children and grandchildren (my parents and me). The same values led my parents to the inner city of Washington, D.C., an area with almost no Asians, let alone Koreans, starting a non-profit ministry for underprivileged, majority African-American students living in public housing. As a Korean-American, there is an expectation to be timid or unnoticeable, but the actions of my grandparents and parents showed me it is possible to dream big and create a community with people regardless of background or physical appearance. Standing out as the sole Korean-American in the room became a symbol of courage and connection, not a point of insecurity. This spirit gave me the voice to advocate for education equity, speaking in front of over 3,000 people at the National Public Charter Schools Conference in D.C. I felt comfortable shouting “NO Justice, NO Peace!” marching down Capitol Hill, engulfed by a culturally rich stream of impassioned BLM protesters. My Korean identity - no longer a limitation but a reflection of determination and ambition. I am not only the classmate who helps others with calculus homework but also the classmate who plays the gay pool boy in my school’s production of Legally Blonde. Despite my smaller stature, I have the confidence to compete against grown men, playing point guard at my local gym every Saturday morning. I found the inspiration to create a tennis class for students in my parent’s ministry over the summer, believing I could engage and instruct excited, energetic kids in the stifling D.C. humidity. Although I feel proud of my accomplishments in high school, I know college will only expand my opportunities to become a trailblazer for meaningful change while joining and embracing vibrant communities. Learning Korean remains a bucket list item of mine, always a summer project that never gets done. I recognize the power of language, and, one day, I will take the time to learn it. But, while I may know less Korean than your average white female BTS fan, I realized my Korean identity is not rooted in the language. It is rooted in a sense of tenacious individuality that seeps into diverse communities, birthed from the audacity to dream big.

I am planning to go into musical theater. I feel like this form of self-expression is not common among Asian-Americans, and I want to be a trailblazer in that department. Since 6th grade, I have performed in my school musical and this year I am playing Shrek in Shrek the Musical. It is a huge responsibility, but once opening night comes it'll be all worth it. Musical theater allows me to be seen and heard in a way that no other platform does. I ultimately want to create a program that allows underprivileged students living in low-income communities the opportunity to perform in musicals. It will be a non-profit that funds annual performances to introduce students to musical theater who may not have gotten the chance. In 1978, my grandparents left their homes, reputation, and family for a country seven thousand miles away and a language just as foreign. They possessed the courage to jump into unfamiliarity for the future of their children and grandchildren (my parents and me). The same values led my parents to the inner city of Washington, D.C., an area with almost no Asians, let alone Koreans, starting a non-profit ministry for underprivileged, majority African-American students living in public housing. As a Korean-American, there is an expectation to be timid or unnoticeable, but the actions of my grandparents and parents showed me it is possible to dream big and create a community with people regardless of background or physical appearance. Standing out as the sole Korean-American in the room became a symbol of courage and connection, not a point of insecurity. This spirit gave me the voice to advocate for education equity, speaking in front of over 3,000 people at the National Public Charter Schools Conference in D.C. I felt comfortable shouting “NO Justice, NO Peace!” marching down Capitol Hill, engulfed by a culturally rich stream of impassioned BLM protesters. My Korean identity - no longer a limitation but a reflection of determination and ambition. I am not only the classmate who helps others with calculus homework but also the classmate who plays the gay pool boy in my school’s production of Legally Blonde. Despite my smaller stature, I have the confidence to compete against grown men, playing point guard at my local gym every Saturday morning. I found the inspiration to create a tennis class for students in my parent’s ministry over the summer, believing I could engage and instruct excited, energetic kids in the stifling D.C. humidity. Although I feel proud of my accomplishments in high school, I know college will only expand my opportunities to become a trailblazer for meaningful change while joining and embracing vibrant communities.

Am I even Korean? I could see my Grandpa’s veins bulge on his temples and spit gather at the edges of his lips. My Mom and my Grandpa’s conversation turned into an argument about the fact that my sister and I could barely speak Korean. I could hear my Mom’s voice choke up as tears clouded her glasses, trying to explain the difficulty of raising kids while switching between two languages. Although my Mom’s Konglish (Korean-English) helped me understand the basis of the argument, my confusion and inability to understand Korean only emphasized my Grandpa’s point. Diluted by American culture, I was not the ideal Korean grandson he had envisioned. Regret and guilt consumed my head and heart. I knew I should have kept my Duolingo streak. After this conversation, I began to ask myself, what makes me Korean? Did my rough Korean pronunciation and inability to understand my Grandma’s questions diminish my Korean identity? Does my involvement as the National Chinese Honors Society President work against my own heritage? I do not think so. My Korean heritage embodies and represents the values on which I choose to model my life. In 1978, my grandparents left their homes, reputation, and family for a country seven thousand miles away and a language just as foreign. They possessed the courage to jump into unfamiliarity for the future of their children and grandchildren (my parents and me). The same values led my parents to the inner city of Washington, D.C., an area with almost no Asians, let alone Koreans, starting a non-profit ministry for underprivileged, majority African-American students living in public housing. As a Korean-American, there is an expectation to be timid or unnoticeable, but the actions of my grandparents and parents showed me it is possible to dream big and create a community with people regardless of background or physical appearance. Standing out as the sole Korean-American in the room became a symbol of courage and connection, not a point of insecurity. This spirit gave me the voice to advocate for education equity, speaking in front of over 3,000 people at the National Public Charter Schools Conference in D.C. I felt comfortable shouting “NO Justice, NO Peace!” marching down Capitol Hill, engulfed by a culturally rich stream of impassioned BLM protesters. My Korean identity - no longer a limitation but a reflection of determination and ambition. I am not only the classmate who helps others with calculus homework but also the classmate who plays the gay pool boy in my school’s production of Legally Blonde. Despite my smaller stature, I have the confidence to compete against grown men, playing point guard at my local gym every Saturday morning. I found the inspiration to create a tennis class for students in my parent’s ministry over the summer, believing I could engage and instruct excited, energetic kids in the stifling D.C. humidity. Although I feel proud of my accomplishments in high school, I know college will only expand my opportunities to become a trailblazer for meaningful change while joining and embracing vibrant communities. Learning Korean remains a bucket list item of mine, always a summer project that never gets done. I recognize the power of language, and, one day, I will take the time to learn it. But, while I may know less Korean than your average white female BTS fan, I realized my Korean identity is not rooted in the language. It is rooted in a sense of tenacious individuality that seeps into diverse communities, birthed from the audacity to dream big.

Am I even Korean? I could see my Grandpa’s veins bulge on his temples and spit gather at the edges of his lips. M My Mom and my Grandpa’s conversation turned into an argument about the fact that my sister and I could barely speak Korean. I could hear my Mom’s voice choke up as tears clouded her glasses, trying to explain the difficulty of raising kids while switching between two languages. Although my Mom’s Konglish (Korean-English) helped me understand the basis of the argument, my confusion and inability to understand Korean only emphasized my Grandpa’s point. Diluted by American culture, I was not the ideal Korean grandson he had envisioned. Regret and guilt consumed my head and heart. I knew I should have kept my Duolingo streak. After this conversation, I began to ask myself, what makes me Korean? Did my rough Korean pronunciation and inability to understand my Grandma’s questions diminish my Korean identity? Does my involvement as the National Chinese Honors Society President work against my own heritage? I do not think so. My Korean heritage embodies and represents the values on which I choose to model my life. In 1978, my grandparents left their homes, reputation, and family for a country seven thousand miles away and a language just as foreign. They possessed the courage to jump into unfamiliarity for the future of their children and grandchildren (my parents and me). The same values led my parents to the inner city of Washington, D.C., an area with almost no Asians, let alone Koreans, starting a non-profit ministry for underprivileged, majority African-American students living in public housing. As a Korean-American, there is an expectation to be timid or unnoticeable, but the actions of my grandparents and parents showed me it is possible to dream big and create a community with people regardless of background or physical appearance. Standing out as the sole Korean-American in the room became a symbol of courage and connection, not a point of insecurity. This spirit gave me the voice to advocate for education equity, speaking in front of over 3,000 people at the National Public Charter Schools Conference in D.C. I felt comfortable shouting “NO Justice, NO Peace!” marching down Capitol Hill, engulfed by a culturally rich stream of impassioned BLM protesters. My Korean identity - no longer a limitation but a reflection of determination and ambition. I am not only the classmate who helps others with calculus homework but also the classmate who plays the gay pool boy in my school’s production of Legally Blonde. Despite my smaller stature, I have the confidence to compete against grown men, playing point guard at my local gym every Saturday morning. I found the inspiration to create a tennis class for students in my parent’s ministry over the summer, believing I could engage and instruct excited, energetic kids in the stifling D.C. humidity. Although I feel proud of my accomplishments in high school, I know college will only expand my opportunities to become a trailblazer for meaningful change while joining and embracing vibrant communities. Learning Korean remains a bucket list item of mine, always a summer project that never gets done. I recognize the power of language, and, one day, I will take the time to learn it. But, while I may know less Korean than your average white female BTS fan, I realized my Korean identity is not rooted in the language. It is rooted in a sense of tenacious individuality that seeps into diverse communities, birthed from the audacity to dream big.

Am I even Korean? I could see my Grandpa’s veins bulge on his temples and spit gather at the edges of his lips. My head is on a swivel, looking back and forth between the battle, barely understanding a word. After a meal full of cabbage kimchi, seasoned tofu, and bony fish requiring meticulous picking, the atmosphere in my grandparents’ crowded apartment dining room had become tense. My Mom and my Grandpa’s conversation turned into an argument about the fact that my sister and I could barely speak Korean. I could hear my Mom’s voice choke up as tears clouded her glasses, trying to explain the difficulty of raising kids while switching between two languages. Although my Mom’s Konglish (Korean-English) helped me understand the basis of the argument, my confusion and inability to understand Korean only emphasized my Grandpa’s point. Diluted by American culture, I was not the ideal Korean grandson he had envisioned. Regret and guilt consumed my head and heart. I knew I should have kept my Duolingo streak. After this conversation, I began to ask myself, what makes me Korean? Did my rough Korean pronunciation and inability to understand my Grandma’s questions diminish my Korean identity? Does my involvement as the National Chinese Honors Society President work against my own heritage? I do not think so. My Korean heritage embodies and represents the values on which I choose to model my life. In 1978, my grandparents left their homes, reputation, and family for a country seven thousand miles away and a language just as foreign. They possessed the courage to jump into unfamiliarity for the future of their children and grandchildren (my parents and me). The same values led my parents to the inner city of Washington, D.C., an area with almost no Asians, let alone Koreans, starting a non-profit ministry for underprivileged, majority African-American students living in public housing. As a Korean-American, there is an expectation to be timid or unnoticeable, but the actions of my grandparents and parents showed me it is possible to dream big and create a community with people regardless of background or physical appearance. Standing out as the sole Korean-American in the room became a symbol of courage and connection, not a point of insecurity. This spirit gave me the voice to advocate for education equity, speaking in front of over 3,000 people at the National Public Charter Schools Conference in D.C. I felt comfortable shouting “NO Justice, NO Peace!” marching down Capitol Hill, engulfed by a culturally rich stream of impassioned BLM protesters. My Korean identity - no longer a limitation but a reflection of determination and ambition. I am not only the classmate who helps others with calculus homework but also the classmate who plays the gay pool boy in my school’s production of Legally Blonde. Despite my smaller stature, I have the confidence to compete against grown men, playing point guard at my local gym every Saturday morning. I found the inspiration to create a tennis class for students in my parent’s ministry over the summer, believing I could engage and instruct excited, energetic kids in the stifling D.C. humidity. Although I feel proud of my accomplishments in high school, I know college will only expand my opportunities to become a trailblazer for meaningful change while joining and embracing vibrant communities. Learning Korean remains a bucket list item of mine, always a summer project that never gets done. I recognize the power of language, and, one day, I will take the time to learn it. But, while I may know less Korean than your average white female BTS fan, I realized my Korean identity is not rooted in the language. It is rooted in a sense of tenacious individuality that seeps into diverse communities, birthed from the audacity to dream big.

My Mom and my Grandpa’s conversation turned into an argument about the fact that my sister and I could barely speak Korean. I could hear my Mom’s voice choke up as tears clouded her glasses, trying to explain the difficulty of raising kids while switching between two languages. Although my Mom’s Konglish (Korean-English) helped me understand the basis of the argument, my confusion and inability to understand Korean only emphasized my Grandpa’s point. Diluted by American culture, I was not the ideal Korean grandson he had envisioned. Regret and guilt consumed my head and heart. I knew I should have kept my Duolingo streak. After this conversation, I began to ask myself, what makes me Korean? Did my rough Korean pronunciation and inability to understand my Grandma’s questions diminish my Korean identity? Does my involvement as the National Chinese Honors Society President work against my own heritage? I do not think so. My Korean heritage embodies and represents the values on which I choose to model my life. In 1978, my grandparents left their homes, reputation, and family for a country seven thousand miles away and a language just as foreign. They possessed the courage to jump into unfamiliarity for the future of their children and grandchildren (my parents and me). The same values led my parents to the inner city of Washington, D.C., an area with almost no Asians, let alone Koreans, starting a non-profit ministry for underprivileged, majority African-American students living in public housing. As a Korean-American, there is an expectation to be timid or unnoticeable, but the actions of my grandparents and parents showed me it is possible to dream big and create a community with people regardless of background or physical appearance. Standing out as the sole Korean-American in the room became a symbol of courage and connection, not a point of insecurity. This spirit gave me the voice to advocate for education equity, speaking in front of over 3,000 people at the National Public Charter Schools Conference in D.C. I felt comfortable shouting “NO Justice, NO Peace!” marching down Capitol Hill, engulfed by a culturally rich stream of impassioned BLM protesters. My Korean identity - no longer a limitation but a reflection of determination and ambition. I am not only the classmate who helps others with calculus homework but also the classmate who plays the gay pool boy in my school’s production of Legally Blonde. Despite my smaller stature, I have the confidence to compete against grown men, playing point guard at my local gym every Saturday morning. I found the inspiration to create a tennis class for students in my parent’s ministry over the summer, believing I could engage and instruct excited, energetic kids in the stifling D.C. humidity. Although I feel proud of my accomplishments in high school, I know college will only expand my opportunities to become a trailblazer for meaningful change while joining and embracing vibrant communities. Learning Korean remains a bucket list item of mine, always a summer project that never gets done. I recognize the power of language, and, one day, I will take the time to learn it. But, while I may know less Korean than your average white female BTS fan, I realized my Korean identity is not rooted in the language. It is rooted in a sense of tenacious individuality that seeps into diverse communities, birthed from the audacity to dream big.

Pop. Pow. Pop. Pow. My dad and I engage in a heated rally, slapping a fuzzy Penn 3 ball relentlessly across the court. Thwack! The ball stiffly repels off the frame as I groan. Retrieving the tattered ball, I hear a shout from the adjacent court. “No, bruthaman, you’ve got to brush up on the ball!” A short, 75-year-old African-American man hurries over, waving his hands. He guides my racket, showing me proper swing trajectory, the first of many lessons from Jerome and an informal introduction to the Fort Lincoln tennis community. Almost every Sunday, my dad and I head to the courts are usually filled with the usual cast of characters. The atmosphere on the courts is vibrant from a diverse community of players, a range of backgrounds and skill levels, all united under a love for playing tennis at Fort Lincoln. A relentless cast of characters who have enveloped me into a community deeply rooted in tennis at Fort Lincoln. As I come to the courts I am often greeted by a friendly wave and a warm shout, “The Future, whats up!” all committed to the community and a simple racket game. Being a regular member has allowed me to foster deep connections and ground myself in the community. Their unparalleled dedication to a blue, asphalt court in NE DC has unlocked fufilling relationships. This has shown me the power of going deep, investing time and commitment into pockets of joy and community, rather than going wide, dipping my toes in 100 different activities. Since my dad and I discovered these courts during quarantine, we have spent almost every Sunday within their fences. Whether learning proper volley technique from Jerome or competing in the annual men’s singles tournament, the atmosphere remains warm and familiar. Through Jerome’s dedication, I see the power of going deep, investing time and commitment into communities. Jerome showed me the value of shared identity with communication and genuine care for one another. Fort Lincoln taught me that selflessness and dedication can form opportunities to help others and build bridges between communities. These values are an integral part of my character. In small ways, I pay Jerome’s kindness forward. I mentor younger players on my school’s tennis team. I ran a summer program for underprivileged youth learning to play tennis. I even organized a tennis tournament for my beginner friends. Within these diverse communities, I exhibit Jerome’s generosity and proactivity through a vessel of racket swinging enthusiasm. Fort Lincoln has taught me how selflessness and dedication can create meaningful relationships and opportunities to help others. In my future I plan to follow a similar blueprint, joining passionate communities of ambitious givers.

Whether it be Minecraft or Nintendo, video games have given me some of my most full, joyful moments. It has allowed me to connect with my family and give us lifelong memories to cherish. Minecraft is an amazing, stunningly simple, and emotionally nostalgic sandbox computer game. I first started playing Minecraft in 2014, when my cousin paid the 20$ as a birthday gift. Little did I know it would define my childhood as I know it. I played countless hours of Hypixel (an online server), restarted hundreds of survival games, and even made a YouTube channel surrounding on my adventures. But besides all of this, the part that resonates with me the most was the hours spent playing with my sister. We were a dynamic duo. On Sundays after church we would race home and get on our separate computers, mine being in the basement and hers being upstairs in my parent's room. We would join a Google Hangouts call and play for hours until lunch or dinner was ready. Our game mode of choice would vary depending on the day. Some days we would play SkyWars, constantly yelling, "Go Middle!" at the start of every round. Other times we would play survival mode and frantically search for six wool. However, my favorite aspect of the game was when we would go far in a survival world, past the nether, past the enchantment table, and past the dragon. The moment when you beat the game and are free to build whatever you want. We built water elevators, animal farms, and dazzling trading centers. Minecraft allowed my sister and I to connect and use our imagination, working together to create our own pixel masterpieces. Out of all the Nintendo co-op games I love, Splatoon, Super Smash, and of course Mario Kart, my favorite game to play co-op was definitely Super Mario Bros for Wii. I distinctly remember grinding the game for months with my sister and dad, passing each level with flying colors and respawn bubbles. I would always be Mario, my sister would be Luigi, and my dad would be Toad. There was something uniquely satisfying about reaching the end of each level and working as a team to get to the flag. It was also fun moving through different worlds like the snow world, the underwater world, and of course Bowser’s castle. I distinctly remember the last level being so difficult to accomplish. There were multiple platforms that slowly descended into lava, and we had to memorize a specific pattern to survive all while dodging Bullet Bills and fireballs. So after countless failed attempts and floating bubbles, we decided to draw out the pattern of the falling platforms on a sheet of paper. The plan was set and we were prepared. We swiftly and stressfully evaded the lava and defeated Bowser! We did it! We cheer and high-five each other as we see Princess Peach being released from her cage. Then, all of a sudden “Peach” transforms into Kamek, the magic Koopa. Our mouths fall open and we silently look around as we’re thrown into ANOTHER final boss fight. We lock into the game and after minutes of laser-focused button mashing, we finally defeat Bowser for the second time. After we win we make sure we rescue the real Princess and then breathe a sigh of relief. This moment let my family come together amidst ups and downs to overcome a difficult challenge. This is why Super Mario Bros for Wii will not only be my favorite Nintendo game, but honestly my favorite co-op game of all time.

As I read the book, "Hungry, Hungry, Bibimbap," I realized I couldn't only understand it in the context of the pictures. I couldn't read the Korean translation. Reading the book with my grandpa, I felt a sense of disappointment from him. Diluted by American culture, I was not the ideal Korean grandson he had envisioned. Regret and guilt consumed my head and heart. I knew I should have kept my Duolingo streak. After this book, I began to ask myself, what makes me Korean? Did my rough Korean pronunciation and inability to understand my Grandma’s questions diminish my Korean identity? Does my involvement as the National Chinese Honors Society President work against my own heritage? I do not think so. My Korean heritage embodies and represents the values on which I choose to model my life. In 1978, my grandparents left their homes, reputation, and family for a country seven thousand miles away and a language just as foreign. They possessed the courage to jump into unfamiliarity for the future of their children and grandchildren (my parents and me). The same values led my parents to the inner city of Washington, D.C., an area with almost no Asians, let alone Koreans, starting a non-profit ministry for underprivileged, majority African-American students living in public housing. As a Korean-American, there is an expectation to be timid or unnoticeable, but the actions of my grandparents and parents showed me it is possible to dream big and create a community with people regardless of background or physical appearance. Standing out as the sole Korean-American in the room became a symbol of courage and connection, not a point of insecurity. This spirit gave me the voice to advocate for education equity, speaking in front of over 3,000 people at the National Public Charter Schools Conference in D.C. I felt comfortable shouting “NO Justice, NO Peace!” marching down Capitol Hill, engulfed by a culturally rich stream of impassioned BLM protesters. My Korean identity - no longer a limitation but a reflection of determination and ambition. I am not only the classmate who helps others with calculus homework but also the classmate who plays the gay pool boy in my school’s production of Legally Blonde. Despite my smaller stature, I have the confidence to compete against grown men, playing point guard at my local gym every Saturday morning. I found the inspiration to create a tennis class for students in my parent’s ministry over the summer, believing I could engage and instruct excited, energetic kids in the stifling D.C. humidity. Although I feel proud of my accomplishments in high school, I know college will only expand my opportunities to become a trailblazer for meaningful change while joining and embracing vibrant communities. Learning Korean remains a bucket list item of mine, always a summer project that never gets done. I recognize the power of language, and, one day, I will take the time to learn it. But, while I may know less Korean than your average white female BTS fan, I realized my Korean identity is not rooted in the language. It is rooted in a sense of tenacious individuality that seeps into diverse communities, birthed from the audacity to dream big.

Am I even Korean? I could see my Grandpa’s veins bulge on his temples and spit gather at the edges of his lips. My Mom and my Grandpa’s conversation turned into an argument about the fact that my sister and I could barely speak Korean. Diluted by American culture, I was not the ideal Korean grandson he had envisioned. Regret and guilt consumed my head and heart. I knew I should have kept my Duolingo streak. After this conversation, I began to ask myself, what makes me Korean? Did my rough Korean pronunciation and inability to understand my Grandma’s questions diminish my Korean identity? Does my involvement as the National Chinese Honors Society President work against my own heritage? I do not think so. My Korean heritage embodies and represents the values on which I choose to model my life. In 1978, my grandparents left their homes, reputation, and family for a country seven thousand miles away and a language just as foreign. They possessed the courage to jump into unfamiliarity for the future of their children and grandchildren (my parents and me). The same values led my parents to the inner city of Washington, D.C., an area with almost no Asians, let alone Koreans, starting a non-profit ministry for underprivileged, majority African-American students living in public housing. As a Korean-American, there is an expectation to be timid or unnoticeable, but the actions of my grandparents and parents showed me it is possible to dream big and create a community with people regardless of background or physical appearance. Standing out as the sole Korean-American in the room became a symbol of courage and connection, not a point of insecurity. This spirit gave me the voice to advocate for education equity, speaking in front of over 3,000 people at the National Public Charter Schools Conference in D.C. I felt comfortable shouting “NO Justice, NO Peace!” marching down Capitol Hill, engulfed by a culturally rich stream of impassioned BLM protesters. My Korean identity - no longer a limitation but a reflection of determination and ambition. I am not only the classmate who helps others with calculus homework but also the classmate who plays the gay pool boy in my school’s production of Legally Blonde. Despite my smaller stature, I have the confidence to compete against grown men, playing point guard at my local gym every Saturday morning. I found the inspiration to create a tennis class for students in my parent’s ministry over the summer, believing I could engage and instruct excited, energetic kids in the stifling D.C. humidity. Although I feel proud of my accomplishments in high school, I know college will only expand my opportunities to become a trailblazer for meaningful change while joining and embracing vibrant communities. Learning Korean remains a bucket list item of mine, always a summer project that never gets done. I recognize the power of language, and, one day, I will take the time to learn it. But, while I may know less Korean than your average white female BTS fan, I realized my Korean identity is not rooted in the language. It is rooted in a sense of tenacious individuality that seeps into diverse communities, birthed from the audacity to dream big. Also, with a degree in public law I can become a public defense attorney for lower income communities. Growing up in a lower-income community has shown me the injustices that have occurred and how some people are powerless against the legal system. I would like to help and become a pillar of support and defense for these people.

Am I even Korean? I could see my Grandpa’s veins bulge on his temples and spit gather at the edges of his lips. My Mom and my Grandpa’s conversation turned into an argument about the fact that my sister and I could barely speak Korean. Although my Mom’s Konglish (Korean-English) helped me understand the basis of the argument, my confusion and inability to understand Korean only emphasized my Grandpa’s point. Diluted by American culture, I was not the ideal Korean grandson he had envisioned. Regret and guilt consumed my head and heart. I knew I should have kept my Duolingo streak. After this conversation, I began to ask myself, what makes me Korean? Did my rough Korean pronunciation and inability to understand my Grandma’s questions diminish my Korean identity? Does my involvement as the National Chinese Honors Society President work against my own heritage? I do not think so. My Korean heritage embodies and represents the values on which I choose to model my life. In 1978, my grandparents left their homes, reputation, and family for a country seven thousand miles away and a language just as foreign. They possessed the courage to jump into unfamiliarity for the future of their children and grandchildren (my parents and me). The same values led my parents to the inner city of Washington, D.C., an area with almost no Asians, let alone Koreans, starting a non-profit ministry for underprivileged, majority African-American students living in public housing. As a Korean-American, there is an expectation to be timid or unnoticeable, but the actions of my grandparents and parents showed me it is possible to dream big and create a community with people regardless of background or physical appearance. Standing out as the sole Korean-American in the room became a symbol of courage and connection, not a point of insecurity. This spirit gave me the voice to advocate for education equity, speaking in front of over 3,000 people at the National Public Charter Schools Conference in D.C. I felt comfortable shouting “NO Justice, NO Peace!” marching down Capitol Hill, engulfed by a culturally rich stream of impassioned BLM protesters. My Korean identity - no longer a limitation but a reflection of determination and ambition. I am not only the classmate who helps others with calculus homework but also the classmate who plays the gay pool boy in my school’s production of Legally Blonde. Despite my smaller stature, I have the confidence to compete against grown men, playing point guard at my local gym every Saturday morning. I found the inspiration to create a tennis class for students in my parent’s ministry over the summer, believing I could engage and instruct excited, energetic kids in the stifling D.C. humidity. Although I feel proud of my accomplishments in high school, I know college will only expand my opportunities to become a trailblazer for meaningful change while joining and embracing vibrant communities. Learning Korean remains a bucket list item of mine, always a summer project that never gets done. I recognize the power of language, and, one day, I will take the time to learn it. But, while I may know less Korean than your average white female BTS fan, I realized my Korean identity is not rooted in the language. It is rooted in a sense of tenacious individuality that seeps into diverse communities, birthed from the audacity to dream big. In the future, I plan to create a non-profit that focuses on education and mental health support for underprivileged youth in D.C.

We can use wind turbines and water generated electricity to ensure sustainability and a healthy environment. With a healthy environment, I can continue to play tennis at my local courts and keep them clean. Pop. Pow. Pop. Pow. My dad and I engage in a heated rally, slapping a fuzzy Penn 3 ball relentlessly across the court. Thwack! The ball stiffly repels off the frame as I groan. Retrieving the tattered ball, I hear a shout from the adjacent court. “No, bruthaman, you’ve got to brush up on the ball!” A short, 75-year-old African-American man hurries over, waving his hands. He guides my racket, showing me proper swing trajectory, the first of many lessons from Jerome and an informal introduction to the Fort Lincoln tennis community. Almost every Sunday, my dad and I head to the courts are usually filled with the usual cast of characters. The atmosphere on the courts is vibrant from a diverse community of players, a range of backgrounds and skill levels, all united under a love for playing tennis at Fort Lincoln. A relentless cast of characters who have enveloped me into a community deeply rooted in tennis at Fort Lincoln. As I come to the courts I am often greeted by a friendly wave and a warm shout, “The Future, whats up!” all committed to the community and a simple racket game. Being a regular member has allowed me to foster deep connections and ground myself in the community. Their unparalleled dedication to a blue, asphalt court in NE DC has unlocked fufilling relationships. This has shown me the power of going deep, investing time and commitment into pockets of joy and community, rather than going wide, dipping my toes in 100 different activities. Since my dad and I discovered these courts during quarantine, we have spent almost every Sunday within their fences. Whether learning proper volley technique from Jerome or competing in the annual men’s singles tournament, the atmosphere remains warm and familiar. Through Jerome’s dedication, I see the power of going deep, investing time and commitment into communities. Jerome showed me the value of shared identity with communication and genuine care for one another. Fort Lincoln taught me that selflessness and dedication can form opportunities to help others and build bridges between communities. These values are an integral part of my character. In small ways, I pay Jerome’s kindness forward. I mentor younger players on my school’s tennis team. I ran a summer program for underprivileged youth learning to play tennis. I even organized a tennis tournament for my beginner friends. Within these diverse communities, I exhibit Jerome’s generosity and proactivity through a vessel of racket swinging enthusiasm. Fort Lincoln has taught me how selflessness and dedication can create meaningful relationships and opportunities to help others. In my future I plan to follow a similar blueprint, joining passionate communities of ambitious givers.

Math gives me the opportunity to problem solve and allows me to explore my love for learning. When studying for a math exam I needed to figure out the best way to study, which led me on a learning rabbit hole. I learned about the powers of active recall, encoding, and chunking to supercharge my memory retention. Random dashes and lines became memorable pictograms. This discovery showed me the brain’s incredible power and sent me down a research rabbit hole. Why do our minds release chemicals giving us joy and serenity but also triggering anxiety and depression? Are my tennis match performances affected by stress regulation? How do mental health issues increasingly pervade our society and children? How does institutional oppression internalize among generations of people, and what are the symptoms? I smile to myself when I think about the improvement I made in my ability to write characters for my Chinese exam. My research and application of the strategies worked! I am still using them and finding success in other classes. Learning how to learn has not only improved my grades, but set me on an intellectual journey of self-improvement. I corrected my sleep habits, improved my tennis game, and finally learned some Korean, all centered around my interest in the vastly intricate brain. While I am proud of my progress, I know there is still much to learn. In college, I will blend the study of Calculus, PoliSci, and Chinese.

Calculus is so important because it teaches fundamental problem-solving and unique a mindset to solving problems in today's society. CommonApp. FAFSA. Supplementals. Nowadays, these words dart across my household and college counseling office like bees. The college application process is the pinnacle of my primary education. A group of unknown admissions officers carefully scrutinize years of tests, homework assignments, and final grades. No pressure. While my application reflects hard work, I have been equally fortunate to grow up in a nurturing environment. Throughout my life, I have benefited from high-quality schools and a support system that is just as strong. I have counselors who help me navigate the complex application process and parents who are willing to take on the daunting financial burden of college. I realize not everyone is as lucky as me. Among the many problems in today's society, education inequality is often neglected and overlooked. Education is not only a fundamental human right but a powerful tool in providing opportunities for lower-income communities to climb the economic ladder. As a country, we need to rethink our educational infrastructure, investing in more support systems for lower-income communities and finding ways to ensure secondary education for those who struggle to access it. If we are the meritocracy we claim to be, we will find systematic solutions to the educational disparities throughout generations of students. As an individual, you can volunteer to tutor kids struggling in school, simultaneously serving as role model for academic success. You can donate to scholarship funds for first-generation students. Use your educational privilege to tutor, guide, and help the disadvantaged because I know I will. Going into my first cross-cultural Zoom meeting with Zahar, another fourteen-year-old from Ukraine, I expected an hour of light conversation about Fortnite and the latest Barcelona matches. But, after the greetings, the conversation shifted toward politics, and he shared his prejudices about the Black community. He considered the BLM protests as “violent riots,” describing the movement as “reckless” and “unwarranted”. My parents run a non-profit for underserved African-American children, where I often volunteer. Thinking of these children, I felt shocked and offended. I shouted and swiftly shut down the conversation. I left that call frustrated and bitter. After I cooled off, I realized I should have approached the situation differently. I could have considered the cultural differences between our environments and the way his beliefs were a likely product of social media. I realized the most productive conversations are discussions, not arguments. The most effective way to engage would be to ask questions and promote dialogue, not yelling. During the next session, I asked questions to understand his thought process and calmly offered my beliefs to present him with a new way of thinking. He listened to my explanation of the BLM protests and the continual discrimination towards Black Americans. He quietly took in the new information and even retracted some of his statements. As a society, we will inevitably face unfamiliar opinions or practices. By having an open mindset and asking earnest questions, we can easily approach uncomfortable situations with the objective of understanding and finding common ground.

CommonApp. FAFSA. Supplementals. Nowadays, these words dart across my household and college counseling office like bees. The college application process is the pinnacle of my primary education. A group of unknown admissions officers carefully scrutinize years of tests, homework assignments, and final grades. No pressure. While my application reflects hard work, I have been equally fortunate to grow up in a nurturing environment. Throughout my life, I have benefited from high-quality schools and a support system that is just as strong. I have counselors who help me navigate the complex application process and parents who are willing to take on the daunting financial burden of college. I realize not everyone is as lucky as me. Among the many problems in today's society, education inequality is often neglected and overlooked. Education is not only a fundamental human right but a powerful tool in providing opportunities for lower-income communities to climb the economic ladder. As a country, we need to rethink our educational infrastructure, investing in more support systems for lower-income communities and finding ways to ensure secondary education for those who struggle to access it. If we are the meritocracy we claim to be, we will find systematic solutions to the educational disparities throughout generations of students. As an individual, you can volunteer to tutor kids struggling in school, simultaneously serving as role model for academic success. You can donate to scholarship funds for first-generation students. Use your educational privilege to tutor, guide, and help the disadvantaged because I know I will. Going into my first cross-cultural Zoom meeting with Zahar, another fourteen-year-old from Ukraine, I expected an hour of light conversation about Fortnite and the latest Barcelona matches. But, after the greetings, the conversation shifted toward politics, and he shared his prejudices about the Black community. He considered the BLM protests as “violent riots,” describing the movement as “reckless” and “unwarranted”. My parents run a non-profit for underserved African-American children, where I often volunteer. Thinking of these children, I felt shocked and offended. I shouted and swiftly shut down the conversation. I left that call frustrated and bitter. After I cooled off, I realized I should have approached the situation differently. I could have considered the cultural differences between our environments and the way his beliefs were a likely product of social media. I realized the most productive conversations are discussions, not arguments. The most effective way to engage would be to ask questions and promote dialogue, not yelling. During the next session, I asked questions to understand his thought process and calmly offered my beliefs to present him with a new way of thinking. He listened to my explanation of the BLM protests and the continual discrimination towards Black Americans. He quietly took in the new information and even retracted some of his statements. As a society, we will inevitably face unfamiliar opinions or practices. By having an open mindset and asking earnest questions, we can easily approach uncomfortable situations with the objective of understanding and finding common ground.

I am defiantly team Conrad. I especially relate to Conrad because of his journey where he explores himself and his identity. I can connect to how I explored my own identity and this is that story. I could see my Grandpa’s veins bulge on his temples and spit gather at the edges of his lips. My head is on a swivel, looking back and forth between the battle, barely understanding a word. Although my Mom’s Konglish (Korean-English) helped me understand the basis of the argument, my confusion and inability to understand Korean only emphasized my Grandpa’s point. Diluted by American culture, I was not the ideal Korean grandson he had envisioned. Regret and guilt consumed my head and heart. I knew I should have kept my Duolingo streak. After this conversation, I began to ask myself, what makes me Korean? Did my rough Korean pronunciation and inability to understand my Grandma’s questions diminish my Korean identity? Does my involvement as the National Chinese Honors Society President work against my own heritage? I do not think so. My Korean heritage embodies and represents the values on which I choose to model my life. In 1978, my grandparents left their homes, reputation, and family for a country seven thousand miles away and a language just as foreign. They possessed the courage to jump into unfamiliarity for the future of their children and grandchildren (my parents and me). The same values led my parents to the inner city of Washington, D.C., an area with almost no Asians, let alone Koreans, starting a non-profit ministry for underprivileged, majority African-American students living in public housing. As a Korean-American, there is an expectation to be timid or unnoticeable, but the actions of my grandparents and parents showed me it is possible to dream big and create a community with people regardless of background or physical appearance. Standing out as the sole Korean-American in the room became a symbol of courage and connection, not a point of insecurity. This spirit gave me the voice to advocate for education equity, speaking in front of over 3,000 people at the National Public Charter Schools Conference in D.C. I felt comfortable shouting “NO Justice, NO Peace!” marching down Capitol Hill, engulfed by a culturally rich stream of impassioned BLM protesters. My Korean identity - no longer a limitation but a reflection of determination and ambition. I am not only the classmate who helps others with calculus homework but also the classmate who plays the gay pool boy in my school’s production of Legally Blonde. Despite my smaller stature, I have the confidence to compete against grown men, playing point guard at my local gym every Saturday morning. I found the inspiration to create a tennis class for students in my parent’s ministry over the summer, believing I could engage and instruct excited, energetic kids in the stifling D.C. humidity. Although I feel proud of my accomplishments in high school, I know college will only expand my opportunities to become a trailblazer for meaningful change while joining and embracing vibrant communities. Learning Korean remains a bucket list item of mine, always a summer project that never gets done. I recognize the power of language, and, one day, I will take the time to learn it. But, while I may know less Korean than your average white female BTS fan, I realized my Korean identity is not rooted in the language. It is rooted in a sense of tenacious individuality that seeps into diverse communities, birthed from the audacity to dream big.

I would definitely choose Shrek. I could go on and on about Shrek and watch his movie an endless amount because of how much he inspires me. Now most might not think that Shrek is a superhero or a supervillain but I think its definitely a superpower to be able to scare off large hoards of attackers with a simple roar. Coming from a humble, nasty swamp he was able to rescue a princess and slay a dragon, all while taking care of a pretty annoying talking donkey. And despite his ogrish breath he was still able to get Princess Fiona to fall in love with him! Just another testament to his superpower-ish stature. Although its not all sunshine for Shrek, he dealt with a lot of pain and trauma throughout his childhood such as his parents kicking him out when he was seven! Most parents don’t kick their kids out at age 27. These experiences gave Shrek tough skin and an ability to handle adversity, which would come in handy if we ever switched places. Along with his toughness, I would also be able to cook all kinds of ogre delicacies such as squirrel gizzards and mulch, or fish tartar. Now you may be wondering why I know so much about this guy Shrek, but that is just another testament to his influence on the modern day generation. If I were ever able to switch with Shrek I would be an excellent chef, emotionally tough, charming green monster. That sounds like a hero to me. If I could I would also would combine Shrek with the Lab Rats. I would create a movie or TV series that has all of these characters. The episode would begin with the Lab Rats searching to find a missing potion that could only be discovered in Shrek's swamp. This potion gives anyone super strength! They venture out to the murky abyss and run straight into Shrek and get into fighting positions. Shrek unleashes his mighty roar as the Lab Rats swarm him. He yells, "What're you doing on my swamp!!!" Chase awkwardly replies, "Uh...Don't mind us. We're just looking for the super strength potion. Do you happen to know where it is?" Shrek is confused but ultimately remembers his morning cocktail made of mud and ooze. "Oh!" He says, "I think I know what you're referring to. Follow me!" They follow him back to his hut but it looks like Lord Farquaad and his minions are already raiding the house. Shrek angrily runs up on them and roars but they start swinging their swords. The Lab Rats use their strength and laser beam eyes to ultimately drive out the Dulocians. After they successfully win, Shrek opens up the secret chest with his cocktails. "Here ya' go!" He happily says. They thank him and end the day with a round of muddy cocktails. The End.

I LOVE LOVE LOVE TAYLOR SWIFT. Sorry. Sometimes I get too excited. The song I specifically want to focus on is Now That We Don't Talk from her 1989 album. This year I had an experience involving my grandpa, my mother, and the Korean language. It helped me discover my own identity and it stemmed from an inability to communicate. This is that story. I could see my Grandpa’s veins bulge on his temples and spit gather at the edges of his lips. My head is on a swivel, looking back and forth between the battle, barely understanding a word. My Mom and my Grandpa’s conversation turned into an argument about the fact that my sister and I could barely speak Korean. I could hear my Mom’s voice choke up as tears clouded her glasses, trying to explain the difficulty of raising kids while switching between two languages. Diluted by American culture, I was not the ideal Korean grandson he had envisioned. Regret and guilt consumed my head and heart. I knew I should have kept my Duolingo streak. After this conversation, I began to ask myself, am I just pretending to be Korean? Did my rough Korean pronunciation and inability to understand my Grandma’s questions diminish my Korean identity? Does my involvement as the National Chinese Honors Society President work against my own heritage? I do not think so. My Korean heritage embodies and represents the values on which I choose to model my life. As a Korean-American, there is an expectation to be timid or unnoticeable, but the actions of my grandparents and parents showed me it is possible to dream big and create a community with people regardless of background or physical appearance. Standing out as the sole Korean-American in the room became a symbol of courage and connection, not a point of insecurity. This spirit gave me the voice to advocate for education equity, speaking in front of over 3,000 people at the National Public Charter Schools Conference in D.C. I felt comfortable shouting “NO Justice, NO Peace!” marching down Capitol Hill, engulfed by a culturally rich stream of impassioned BLM protesters. My Korean identity - no longer a limitation but a reflection of determination and ambition. I am not only the classmate who helps others with calculus homework but also the classmate who plays the gay pool boy in my school’s production of Legally Blonde. Despite my smaller stature, I have the confidence to compete against grown men, playing point guard at my local gym every Saturday morning. I found the inspiration to create a tennis class for students in my parent’s ministry over the summer, believing I could engage and instruct excited, energetic kids in the stifling D.C. humidity. Although I feel proud of my accomplishments in high school, I know college will only expand my opportunities to become a trailblazer for meaningful change while joining and embracing vibrant communities. Learning Korean remains a bucket list item of mine, always a summer project that never gets done. I recognize the power of language, and, one day, I will take the time to learn it. But, while I may know less Korean than your average white female Swifties, I realized my Korean identity is not just "pretend" and is not rooted in the language. It is rooted in a sense of tenacious individuality that seeps into diverse communities, birthed from the audacity to dream big.

I would definitely choose Eleven, Joyce Byers, and Dustin Henderson. Eleven: With her telekinetic powers and experience battling the Upside Down, Eleven would be a crucial asset in our fight against any supernatural threat. Her abilities would be invaluable in both offense and defense. She would give us the upper hand in any fight, although we would need some tissues on hand. Joyce Byers: Joyce has proven herself to be a fierce and determined protector when it comes to her family and friends. Her resourcefulness and determination would be essential in uncovering the nature of the threat and finding a way to defeat it. She has that "motherly instinct" that would prevent us from making silly mistakes. Dustin Henderson: Dustin's intelligence, creativity, and knowledge of the supernatural would make him a valuable member of the team. His expertise in all things related to the Upside Down and his ability to think outside the box would be key in devising strategies to outsmart the enemy. He would also provide comic relief and get us through tough times with his jokes. Together, this squad would bring a mix of power, determination, and ingenuity to the table, making them a formidable force against any supernatural threat.

I am planning to go into musical theater. I feel like this form of self-expression is not common among Asian-Americans, and I want to be a trailblazer in that department. Since 6th grade, I have performed in my school musical and this year I am playing Shrek in Shrek the Musical. It is a huge responsibility, but once opening night comes it'll be all worth it. Musical theater allows me to be seen and heard in a way that no other platform does. I ultimately want to create a program that allows underprivileged students living in low-income communities the opportunity to perform in musicals. It will be a non-profit that funds annual performances to introduce students to musical theater who may not have gotten the chance. In 1978, my grandparents left their homes, reputation, and family for a country seven thousand miles away and a language just as foreign. They possessed the courage to jump into unfamiliarity for the future of their children and grandchildren (my parents and me). The same values led my parents to the inner city of Washington, D.C., an area with almost no Asians, let alone Koreans, starting a non-profit ministry for underprivileged, majority African-American students living in public housing. As a Korean-American, there is an expectation to be timid or unnoticeable, but the actions of my grandparents and parents showed me it is possible to dream big and create a community with people regardless of background or physical appearance. Standing out as the sole Korean-American in the room became a symbol of courage and connection, not a point of insecurity. This spirit gave me the voice to advocate for education equity, speaking in front of over 3,000 people at the National Public Charter Schools Conference in D.C. I felt comfortable shouting “NO Justice, NO Peace!” marching down Capitol Hill, engulfed by a culturally rich stream of impassioned BLM protesters. My Korean identity - no longer a limitation but a reflection of determination and ambition. I am not only the classmate who helps others with calculus homework but also the classmate who plays the gay pool boy in my school’s production of Legally Blonde. Despite my smaller stature, I have the confidence to compete against grown men, playing point guard at my local gym every Saturday morning. I found the inspiration to create a tennis class for students in my parent’s ministry over the summer, believing I could engage and instruct excited, energetic kids in the stifling D.C. humidity. Although I feel proud of my accomplishments in high school, I know college will only expand my opportunities to become a trailblazer for meaningful change while joining and embracing vibrant communities.

I am planning to go into musical theater. I feel like this form of self-expression is not common among Asian-Americans, and I want to be a trailblazer in that department. Since 6th grade, I have performed in my school musical and this year I am playing Shrek in Shrek the Musical. It is a huge responsibility, but once opening night comes it'll be all worth it. Musical theater allows me to be seen and heard in a way that no other platform does. I can incorporate parts of my own identity into the parts I play. In 1978, my grandparents left their homes, reputation, and family for a country seven thousand miles away and a language just as foreign. They possessed the courage to jump into unfamiliarity for the future of their children and grandchildren (my parents and me). The same values led my parents to the inner city of Washington, D.C., an area with almost no Asians, let alone Koreans, starting a non-profit ministry for underprivileged, majority African-American students living in public housing. As a Korean-American, there is an expectation to be timid or unnoticeable, but the actions of my grandparents and parents showed me it is possible to dream big and create a community with people regardless of background or physical appearance. Standing out as the sole Korean-American in the room became a symbol of courage and connection, not a point of insecurity. This spirit gave me the voice to advocate for education equity, speaking in front of over 3,000 people at the National Public Charter Schools Conference in D.C. I felt comfortable shouting “NO Justice, NO Peace!” marching down Capitol Hill, engulfed by a culturally rich stream of impassioned BLM protesters. My Korean identity - no longer a limitation but a reflection of determination and ambition. I am not only the classmate who helps others with calculus homework but also the classmate who plays the gay pool boy in my school’s production of Legally Blonde. Despite my smaller stature, I have the confidence to compete against grown men, playing point guard at my local gym every Saturday morning. I found the inspiration to create a tennis class for students in my parent’s ministry over the summer, believing I could engage and instruct excited, energetic kids in the stifling D.C. humidity. Although I feel proud of my accomplishments in high school, I know college will only expand my opportunities to become a trailblazer for meaningful change while joining and embracing vibrant communities.

I am planning to go into musical theater. I feel like this form of self-expression is not common among Asian-Americans, and I want to be a trailblazer in that department. Since 6th grade, I have performed in my school musical and this year I am playing Shrek in Shrek the Musical. It is a huge responsibility, but once opening night comes it'll be all worth it. Musical theater allows me to be seen and heard in a way that no other platform does. I can incorporate parts of my own identity into the parts I play. In 1978, my grandparents left their homes, reputation, and family for a country seven thousand miles away and a language just as foreign. They possessed the courage to jump into unfamiliarity for the future of their children and grandchildren (my parents and me). The same values led my parents to the inner city of Washington, D.C., an area with almost no Asians, let alone Koreans, starting a non-profit ministry for underprivileged, majority African-American students living in public housing. As a Korean-American, there is an expectation to be timid or unnoticeable, but the actions of my grandparents and parents showed me it is possible to dream big and create a community with people regardless of background or physical appearance. Standing out as the sole Korean-American in the room became a symbol of courage and connection, not a point of insecurity. This spirit gave me the voice to advocate for education equity, speaking in front of over 3,000 people at the National Public Charter Schools Conference in D.C. I felt comfortable shouting “NO Justice, NO Peace!” marching down Capitol Hill, engulfed by a culturally rich stream of impassioned BLM protesters. My Korean identity - no longer a limitation but a reflection of determination and ambition. I am not only the classmate who helps others with calculus homework but also the classmate who plays the gay pool boy in my school’s production of Legally Blonde. Despite my smaller stature, I have the confidence to compete against grown men, playing point guard at my local gym every Saturday morning. I found the inspiration to create a tennis class for students in my parent’s ministry over the summer, believing I could engage and instruct excited, energetic kids in the stifling D.C. humidity. Although I feel proud of my accomplishments in high school, I know college will only expand my opportunities to become a trailblazer for meaningful change while joining and embracing vibrant communities.

Bounce. Swish. Bounce. Clank. My dad and I engage in a heated game of horse, shooting a worn Spalding ball relentlessly across the court. Doing! The ball stiffly repels off the rim I groan. Retrieving the tattered ball, I hear a shout from the adjacent court. “No, bruthaman, you’ve got to hold that follow through!” A short, 75-year-old African-American man hurries over, waving his hands. He guides my rarms, showing me proper shot trajectory, the first of many lessons from Jerome and an informal introduction to the Fort Lincoln basketball community. Since my dad and I discovered these courts when I was young, we have spent almost every Sunday within their fences. Whether learning proper dribbling technique from Jerome or competing in the annual men’s 3v3 tournament, the atmosphere remains warm and familiar. Through Jerome’s dedication, I see the power of going deep, investing time and commitment into communities, rather than going wide. Jerome showed me the value of shared identity with cooperation and genuine care for one another. My dad continues to support me without conditions. Fort Lincoln taught me that selflessness and dedication can create meaningful relationships and opportunities to help others. In small ways, I pay Jerome’s kindness forward. I mentor younger players on my school’s basketball team. I ran a summer program for young children learning to play basketball. I even organized a basketball tournament for my friends. With these acts, I exhibit Jerome’s generosity and proactivity through a vessel of bucket-getting enthusiasm. On my school's varsity team, I had to deal with plenty of adversity. I had to earn playing team on a team full of guards. I constantly questioned if I was good enough and even belonged on the court. Every mistake was magnified and I could quickly be sent to the bench. Playing through this has taught me that all you can do it try your best. If you take a shot you have to live with the result, miss or make. It also taught me to play smart and play my role. I shouldn't try and shoot a stepback three or dribble past the whole team if I don't have to. Sometimes it's best to swing the rock and make the extra pass. It has taught me discipline in the face of hardship. Going forward I know the importance of putting in the preparation. Shooting free throws or knowing the right play is crucial to the team's success. I will accomplish my goal of becoming a public defense attorney, knowing that I am able to prepare and execute under pressure.

Pop. Pow. Pop. Pow. My dad and I engage in a heated rally, slapping a fuzzy Penn 3 ball relentlessly across the court. Thwack! The ball stiffly repels off the frame as I groan. Retrieving the tattered ball, I hear a shout from the adjacent court. “No, bruthaman, you’ve got to brush up on the ball!” A short, 75-year-old African-American man hurries over, waving his hands. He guides my racket, showing me proper swing trajectory, the first of many lessons from Jerome and an informal introduction to the Fort Lincoln tennis community. Since my dad and I discovered these courts when I was young, we have spent almost every Sunday within their fences. Whether learning proper volley technique from Jerome or competing in the annual men’s singles tournament, the atmosphere remains warm and familiar. Through Jerome’s dedication, I see the power of going deep, investing time and commitment into communities, rather than going wide. Jerome showed me the value of shared identity with cooperation and genuine care for one another. My dad continues to support me without conditions. Fort Lincoln taught me that selflessness and dedication can create meaningful relationships and opportunities to help others. In small ways, I pay Jerome’s kindness forward. I mentor younger players on my school’s tennis team. I ran a summer program for young children learning to play tennis. I even organized a tennis tournament for my friends. With these acts, I exhibit Jerome’s generosity and proactivity through a vessel of racket swinging enthusiasm.

Having a sister already in college, this scholarship will ease the burden on my parents of two kids attending four-year universities. It will also increase the possibility of post-graduate school for me, and further pursue my dream of becoming a public defense attorney. This scholarship will make it easier to purchase textbooks and the necessary materials required for college classes. This scholarship will mean a lot, and it will help me stay focused on my studies while in college. Right now I am planning on attending Colorado College, but I have not officially committed. From a young age, growing up in D.C. has shown me the complexities of the United States. Diverse on the surface, but upon a closer look, deep racial segregation persists. As an Asian-American kid, curiosity filled my mind. How could political institutions have failed other minority groups so significantly? As a young adult, I now wonder how to make a difference. In college, I plan to deeply explore political science, bridging the gap between American inequality and racial identity. I someday want to become involved in public law and become a public defense attorney. I can also imagine myself studying psychology and serve as a counselor for high-school students, as there is a growing need for mental health awareness globally. CommonApp. FAFSA. Supplementals. Nowadays, these words dart across my household and college counseling office like bees. The college application process is the pinnacle of my primary education. A group of unknown admissions officers carefully scrutinize years of tests, homework assignments, and final grades. No pressure. While my application reflects hard work, I have been equally fortunate to grow up in a nurturing environment. Throughout my life, I have benefited from high-quality schools and a support system that is just as strong. I have counselors who help me navigate the complex application process and parents who are willing to take on the daunting financial burden of college. I realize not everyone is as lucky as me. Among the many problems in today's society, education inequality is often neglected and overlooked. Education is not only a fundamental human right but a powerful tool in providing opportunities for lower-income communities to climb the economic ladder. As a country, we need to rethink our educational infrastructure, investing in more support systems for lower-income communities and finding ways to ensure secondary education for those who struggle to access it. If we are the meritocracy we claim to be, we will find systematic solutions to the educational disparities throughout generations of students. Over the fall last year I got deferred from my first choice Pomona College. At the time I felt really disappointed, as Pomona was my sister’s college and my own “dream school.” I felt like all the community service, good grades, and extracurricular involvement had been for nothing. But strangely enough, instead of this event discouraging me from trying at school, it motivated me to work even harder. I realized that the best thing I can do is give 110% effort towards my goals, and accept the results that are out of my control. Going forward I realized this was ultimately not a rejection but a redirection, and that it’s ultimately up to me to make the best of my situation regardless of what college I attend.

Diverse voices give us an opportunity to discover our own identity and make decisions accordingly. This is what happened to me and this is that story. I could see my Grandpa’s veins bulge on his temples and spit gather at the edges of his lips. . Although my Mom’s Konglish (Korean-English) helped me understand the basis of the argument, my confusion and inability to understand Korean only emphasized my Grandpa’s point. Diluted by American culture, I was not the ideal Korean grandson he had envisioned. Regret and guilt consumed my head and heart. I knew I should have kept my Duolingo streak. After this conversation, I began to ask myself, what makes me Korean? Did my rough Korean pronunciation and inability to understand my Grandma’s questions diminish my Korean identity? Does my involvement as the National Chinese Honors Society President work against my own heritage? I do not think so. My Korean heritage embodies and represents the values on which I choose to model my life. In 1978, my grandparents left their homes, reputation, and family for a country seven thousand miles away and a language just as foreign. They possessed the courage to jump into unfamiliarity for the future of their children and grandchildren (my parents and me). The same values led my parents to the inner city of Washington, D.C., an area with almost no Asians, let alone Koreans, starting a non-profit ministry for underprivileged, majority African-American students living in public housing. As a Korean-American, there is an expectation to be timid or unnoticeable, but the actions of my grandparents and parents showed me it is possible to dream big and create a community with people regardless of background or physical appearance. Standing out as the sole Korean-American in the room became a symbol of courage and connection, not a point of insecurity. This spirit gave me the voice to advocate for education equity, speaking in front of over 3,000 people at the National Public Charter Schools Conference in D.C. I felt comfortable shouting “NO Justice, NO Peace!” marching down Capitol Hill, engulfed by a culturally rich stream of impassioned BLM protesters. My Korean identity - no longer a limitation but a reflection of determination and ambition. I am not only the classmate who helps others with calculus homework but also the classmate who plays the gay pool boy in my school’s production of Legally Blonde. Despite my smaller stature, I have the confidence to compete against grown men, playing point guard at my local gym every Saturday morning. I found the inspiration to create a tennis class for students in my parent’s ministry over the summer, believing I could engage and instruct excited, energetic kids in the stifling D.C. humidity. Although I feel proud of my accomplishments in high school, I know college will only expand my opportunities to become a trailblazer for meaningful change while joining and embracing vibrant communities. Learning Korean remains a bucket list item of mine, always a summer project that never gets done. I recognize the power of language, and, one day, I will take the time to learn it. But, while I may know less Korean than your average white female BTS fan, I realized my Korean identity is not rooted in the language. It is rooted in a sense of tenacious individuality that seeps into diverse communities, birthed from the audacity to dream big.

Minecraft is an amazing, stunningly simple, and emotionally nostalgic sandbox computer game. I first started playing Minecraft in 2014, when my cousin paid the 20$ as a birthday gift. Little did I know it would define my childhood as I know it. I played countless hours of Hypixel (an online server), restarted hundreds of survival games, and even made a YouTube channel surrounding on my adventures. But besides all of this, the part that resonates with me the most was the hours spent playing with my sister. We were a dynamic duo. On Sundays after church we would race home and get on our separate computers, mine being in the basement and hers being upstairs in my parent's room. We would join a Google Hangouts call and play for hours until lunch or dinner was ready. Our game mode of choice would vary depending on the day. Some days we would play SkyWars, constantly yelling, "Go Middle!" at the start of every round. Other times we would play survival mode and frantically search for six wool. However, my favorite aspect of the game was when we would go far in a survival world, past the nether, past the enchantment table, and past the dragon. The moment when you beat the game and are free to build whatever you want. We built water elevators, animal farms, and dazzling trading centers. Minecraft allowed my sister and I to connect and use our imagination, working together to create our own pixel masterpieces.

Pop. Pow. Pop. Pow. My dad and I engage in heated swings, slapping the golf relentlessly across the range. Thwack! The ball stiffly repels off the club as I groan. Retrieving the tattered ball, I hear a shout from the adjacent booth. “No, bruthaman, you’ve got to brush up on the ball!” A short, 75-year-old African-American man hurries over, waving his hands. He guides my club, showing me proper swing trajectory, the first of many lessons from Jerome and an informal introduction to the Fort Lincoln tennis community. Almost every Sunday, my dad and I head to the range which is usually filled with the usual cast of characters. The atmosphere on the range is vibrant from a diverse community of players, a range of backgrounds and skill levels, all united under a love for playing tennis at Fort Lincoln. A relentless cast of characters who have enveloped me into a community deeply rooted in golf at Fort Lincoln. As I come to the range I am often greeted by a friendly wave and a warm shout, “The Future, whats up!” all committed to the community and a simple club game. Being a regular member has allowed me to foster deep connections and ground myself in the community. Their unparalleled dedication to a green, driving range in SE DC has unlocked fufilling relationships. This has shown me the power of going deep, investing time and commitment into pockets of joy and community, rather than going wide, dipping my toes in 100 different activities. Whether learning proper putt technique from Jerome or competing in the annual men’s singles tournament, the atmosphere remains warm and familiar. Through Jerome’s dedication, I see the power of going deep, investing time and commitment into communities. Jerome showed me the value of shared identity with communication and genuine care for one another. Fort Lincoln taught me that selflessness and dedication can form opportunities to help others and build bridges between communities. These values are an integral part of my character. In small ways, I pay Jerome’s kindness forward. I mentor younger players on my school’s tennis team. I ran a summer program for underprivileged youth learning to play tennis. I even organized a tennis tournament for my beginner friends. Within these diverse communities, I exhibit Jerome’s generosity and proactivity through a vessel of club swinging enthusiasm. Fort Lincoln has taught me how selflessness and dedication can create meaningful relationships and opportunities to help others. In my future I plan to follow a similar blueprint, joining passionate communities of ambitious givers.

I roll out of bed straight-faced. I brush my teeth with a straight mouth. I drive to school with no smile to be seen. My spirit animal is Toby from the office. I tend to approach life with Toby's mentality. I show up to work/school with the mentality to get paid and then leave. I don't want to deal with any shenanigans or entertain any fools, especially my boss. When Micheal flips out on Toby and Toby takes it with a soulless look in his eyes, I can feel that every time my teacher gets mad at me for watching The Office during class. Some might get mad at Micheal or wonder why he's so crazy but no, not Toby and I. We take it on the chin and save our energy for other battles. What other battles? you might ask. Great question. Toby and I can never express our feelings for our crush, no matter how hard we try. When Toby nervously asked for a picture with Pam, that was the same feeling I got during my 8th-grade graduation and Jessica. I. Just. Couldn't. Ask. And she was dating the school hottie anyway. Now I use this dead-pan approach when telling jokes, hoping my witty delivery transfers over in the same way that Toby's did for me.

From a young age, growing up in D.C. has shown me the complexities of the United States. Diverse on the surface, but upon a closer look, deep racial segregation persists. As an Asian-American kid, curiosity filled my mind. How could political institutions have failed other minority groups so significantly? As a young adult, I now wonder how to make a difference. In college, I plan to deeply explore political science, bridging the gap between American inequality and racial identity. Among the many riveting classes offered, I am equally excited about the other aspects of businesses that will reinforce my academic pursuits. Being 15 minutes away from the heart of Los Angeles will allow me to get exposure to a high-profile urban environment, vastly different from D.C. Pop. Pow. Pop. Pow. My dad and I engage in a heated rally, slapping a fuzzy Penn 3 ball relentlessly across the court. Thwack! The ball stiffly repels off the frame as I let out an exasperated sigh. Retrieving the tattered tennis ball, I hear a shout from a player on the court next to me. “No, brotherman, you’ve got to brush up on the ball!” A short, 75-year-old African-American man hurries over, waving his hands. He guides my racket, showing me the proper swing trajectory, a sweeping circular motion, the first of many tennis lessons from Jerome Bettis, and an informal introduction to the Fort Lincoln Tennis community. Since my dad and I discovered these courts during quarantine, we have spent almost every Sunday within the Fort Lincoln fences. Whether learning the proper volley technique from Jerome or competing in the men's annual singles tournament, the atmosphere remains warm and familiar, unified by the love for tennis. I learned that shared identity brings people together, forging meaningful relationships. Through Jerome’s constant dedication to Fort Lincoln, I see the power of going deep, investing time and commitment into places rather than going wide, dipping toes in 100 different areas. This mindset inspires me to organize and host my own tournaments and summer tennis classes, just as Jerome does. I strive for fulfillment in growing deep roots in spirited communities. In a future business, I plan to take a similar approach, not only in finding a new tennis group but also by thoroughly investing in other areas of shared identity. I envision myself becoming a familiar face while tutoring or frequently organizing discussions for the new Asian-American student center. This investment firmly grounds me in tight-knit communities, allowing me to build friendships and become a role model for others.

"Give what you can, always." To me this quote means that when you are given opportunity or responsibility, you should take it upon yourself to perform to the best of your ability. This holds true throughout my life because in many areas I find myself being blessed and having opportunities. The fact that I get to go to a great high school is a blessing, and it is on me to take my classes seriously and get involved where I can. Soon I will get the opportunity to attend a four-year university and dedicate my life to learning. While this is a great blessing it is also a great responsibility to prioritize academics and not get too wrapped up in the social life. I also have the privilege of being able to advocate for change and take leadership roles where I can. As a leader, I will organize events such as food drives or tutoring for lower-income communities. This quote pushes me to be the best version of myself I can. Since then, I have tutored and volunteered for Little Lights, a non-profit ministry for lower-income students living in public housing. I have cleaned up local parks and given out food as a part of my church's small group initiative. I even started a summer school afterschool program for middle school students interested in learning Mandarin. I plan to continue actively investing time and energy toward communities of shared identity by joining Asian Student Associations and multicultural organizations. With this scholarship, I will have more money to invest in those who need it. This has showed me the power of helping those in need and everyone's capacity to do what they can with what they have. Using this knowledge will help me help other Asian-American students find their identity. In college, I plan to study Psychology and become a therapist for Asian-American kids. Growing up Asian-American in D.C. has taught me how to navigate this windy road, and by becoming a licensed mental health professional I can help others as well. Hopefully, my career will allow other Asian-Americans to find their voice and find the confidence to perform well in the world. Also, with a degree in public law I can become a public defense attorney for lower income communities. Growing up in a lower-income community has shown me the injustices that have occurred and how some people are powerless against the legal system. I would like to help and become a pillar of support and defense for these people.

Pop. Pow. Pop. Pow. My dad and I engage in a heated rally, slapping a fuzzy Penn 3 ball relentlessly across the court. Thwack! The ball stiffly repels off the frame as I groan. Retrieving the tattered ball, I hear a shout from the adjacent court. “No, bruthaman, you’ve got to brush up on the ball!” A short, 75-year-old African-American man hurries over, waving his hands. He guides my racket, showing me proper swing trajectory, the first of many lessons from Jerome and an informal introduction to the Fort Lincoln tennis community. Since my dad and I discovered these courts during quarantine, we have spent almost every Sunday within their fences. Whether learning proper volley technique from Jerome or competing in the annual men’s singles tournament, the atmosphere remains warm and familiar. Through Jerome’s dedication, I see the power of going deep, investing time and commitment into communities. Jerome showed me the value of shared identity with communication and genuine care for one another. Fort Lincoln taught me that selflessness and dedication can form opportunities to help others and build bridges between communities. These values are an integral part of my character. In small ways, I pay Jerome’s kindness forward. I mentor younger players on my school’s tennis team. I ran a summer program for underprivileged youth learning to play tennis. I even organized a tennis tournament for my beginner friends. Within these diverse communities, I exhibit Jerome’s generosity and proactivity through a vessel of racket swinging enthusiasm. Hello! My name is Dylan Park, and I am from the heart of America, Washington D.C. I live with my two parents, and I have a sister at Pomona College in California. I also have a small, hypoallergenic, Maltese dog named Honey. If I could pick three words, my friends and family would describe me as open-minded, ambitious, and empathetic. I love being involved in various activities including tennis, basketball (despite my smaller build), the school musical, and leading multiple clubs. I thrive diving into new communities and experiences, seeking the discomfort and the growth that comes with it. Seeking discomfort gave me the confidence to audition for the musical or take on leadership roles for the Asian American club and Varsity Tennis team. I was also the Washington D.C. Representative for the Rising Leaders Initiative and I also serve on the D.C. Youth Health Council. I am also the president of the National Chinese Honors Society, and I most recently hosted a school-wide Chinese Lunar New Year event. Finally, I also am a frequent tutor and served as the outreach officer for a virtual tutoring service called WashingTutors. I started a Writing Center for middle schoolers to get help with their writing and I also frequently volunteer with a non-profit ministry for lower-income students called Little Lights.

My favorite K-Pop artist is RM. I love all of BTS but I specifically like RM because of his ability to speak both English and Korean at a high level. He is a member that both my and my grandparents love due to his ability to unite people through language. Earlier this year I had an experience that dealt with language and helped me discover my identity. This is that story. I could see my Grandpa’s veins bulge on his temples and spit gather at the edges of his lips. My head is on a swivel, looking back and forth between the battle, barely understanding a word. My Mom and my Grandpa’s conversation turned into an argument about the fact that my sister and I could barely speak Korean. I could hear my Mom’s voice choke up as tears clouded her glasses, trying to explain the difficulty of raising kids while switching between two languages. Diluted by American culture, I was not the ideal Korean grandson he had envisioned. Regret and guilt consumed my head and heart. I knew I should have kept my Duolingo streak. After this conversation, I began to ask myself, am I just pretending to be Korean? Did my rough Korean pronunciation and inability to understand my Grandma’s questions diminish my Korean identity? Does my involvement as the National Chinese Honors Society President work against my own heritage? I do not think so. My Korean heritage embodies and represents the values on which I choose to model my life. As a Korean-American, there is an expectation to be timid or unnoticeable, but the actions of my grandparents and parents showed me it is possible to dream big and create a community with people regardless of background or physical appearance. Standing out as the sole Korean-American in the room became a symbol of courage and connection, not a point of insecurity. This spirit gave me the voice to advocate for education equity, speaking in front of over 3,000 people at the National Public Charter Schools Conference in D.C. I felt comfortable shouting “NO Justice, NO Peace!” marching down Capitol Hill, engulfed by a culturally rich stream of impassioned BLM protesters. My Korean identity - no longer a limitation but a reflection of determination and ambition. I am not only the classmate who helps others with calculus homework but also the classmate who plays the gay pool boy in my school’s production of Legally Blonde. Despite my smaller stature, I have the confidence to compete against grown men, playing point guard at my local gym every Saturday morning. I found the inspiration to create a tennis class for students in my parent’s ministry over the summer, believing I could engage and instruct excited, energetic kids in the stifling D.C. humidity. Although I feel proud of my accomplishments in high school, I know college will only expand my opportunities to become a trailblazer for meaningful change while joining and embracing vibrant communities. Learning Korean remains a bucket list item of mine, always a summer project that never gets done. I recognize the power of language, and, one day, I will take the time to learn it. But, while I may know less Korean than your average white female GUTS fan, I realized my Korean identity is not just "pretend" and is not rooted in the language. It is rooted in a sense of tenacious individuality that seeps into diverse communities, birthed from the audacity to dream big.

The song would be Now That We Don't Talk. This year I had an experience involving my grandpa, my mother, and the Korean language. It helped me discover my own identity and it stemmed from an inability to communicate. This is that story. I could see my Grandpa’s veins bulge on his temples and spit gather at the edges of his lips. My head is on a swivel, looking back and forth between the battle, barely understanding a word. My Mom and my Grandpa’s conversation turned into an argument about the fact that my sister and I could barely speak Korean. I could hear my Mom’s voice choke up as tears clouded her glasses, trying to explain the difficulty of raising kids while switching between two languages. Diluted by American culture, I was not the ideal Korean grandson he had envisioned. Regret and guilt consumed my head and heart. I knew I should have kept my Duolingo streak. After this conversation, I began to ask myself, am I just pretending to be Korean? Did my rough Korean pronunciation and inability to understand my Grandma’s questions diminish my Korean identity? Does my involvement as the National Chinese Honors Society President work against my own heritage? I do not think so. My Korean heritage embodies and represents the values on which I choose to model my life. As a Korean-American, there is an expectation to be timid or unnoticeable, but the actions of my grandparents and parents showed me it is possible to dream big and create a community with people regardless of background or physical appearance. Standing out as the sole Korean-American in the room became a symbol of courage and connection, not a point of insecurity. This spirit gave me the voice to advocate for education equity, speaking in front of over 3,000 people at the National Public Charter Schools Conference in D.C. I felt comfortable shouting “NO Justice, NO Peace!” marching down Capitol Hill, engulfed by a culturally rich stream of impassioned BLM protesters. My Korean identity - no longer a limitation but a reflection of determination and ambition. I am not only the classmate who helps others with calculus homework but also the classmate who plays the gay pool boy in my school’s production of Legally Blonde. Despite my smaller stature, I have the confidence to compete against grown men, playing point guard at my local gym every Saturday morning. I found the inspiration to create a tennis class for students in my parent’s ministry over the summer, believing I could engage and instruct excited, energetic kids in the stifling D.C. humidity. Although I feel proud of my accomplishments in high school, I know college will only expand my opportunities to become a trailblazer for meaningful change while joining and embracing vibrant communities. Learning Korean remains a bucket list item of mine, always a summer project that never gets done. I recognize the power of language, and, one day, I will take the time to learn it. But, while I may know less Korean than your average white female GUTS fan, I realized my Korean identity is not just "pretend" and is not rooted in the language. It is rooted in a sense of tenacious individuality that seeps into diverse communities, birthed from the audacity to dream big.

Hello! My name is Dylan Park, and I am from the heart of America, Washington D.C. I live with my two parents, and I have a sister at Pomona College in California. I also have a small, hypoallergenic, Maltese dog named Honey. If I could pick three words, my friends and family would describe me as open-minded, ambitious, and empathetic. I love being involved in various activities including tennis, basketball (despite my smaller build), the school musical, and leading multiple clubs. I thrive diving into new communities and experiences, seeking the discomfort and the growth that comes with it. Seeking discomfort gave me the confidence to audition for the musical or take on leadership roles for the Asian American club and Varsity Tennis team. I was also the Washington D.C. Representative for the Rising Leaders Initiative and I also serve on the D.C. Youth Health Council. I am also the president for the National Chinese Honors Society, and I most recently hosted a school wide Chinese Lunar New Year event. In my family and friend group, I’m usually the one to crack a witty joke or mediate an argument. I’m also the friend that people come to vent their issues or ask for help on a school assignment. My relationships with my family and friends are one of the most important aspects of my life. In college, I hope to create similar, deep connections with people from other parts of the world. I am passionate about education advocacy for many reasons. I have grown up watching my parents work with underserved youth in D.C, so I understand the inequalities that exist across racial lines. It's not fair that some students have access to lots of resources and opportunities while others have few. Also, I believe some schools neglect students' individual needs. Within my community, I want to shed light on mental health awareness and enrichment opportunities for students. Mental health among students often gets overlooked, which I hope I can shine light on through outreach and communication. Advocating for enrichment opportunities, such as ethnic clubs, can develop a higher sense of community for students. When I’m at school, especially during group projects or clubs, I want to make sure everyone’s opinions get heard so that we can create a product that we’re all satisfied with. Even when someone’s not as vocal, I ask if they have an idea because I know that a mix of fresh perepsctives can lead to a great product.

I would definitely choose the Shrek TV series. Now most might not think that Shrek is a great superhero or a supervillain but I think its definitely a superpower to be able to scare off large hoards of attackers with a simple roar. Coming from a humble, nasty swamp he was able to rescue a princess and slay a dragon, all while taking care of a pretty annoying talking donkey. And despite his ogrish breath he was still able to get Princess Fiona to fall in love with him! Just another testament to his superpower-ish stature. Although its not all sunshine for Shrek, he dealt with a lot of pain and trauma throughout his childhood such as his parents kicking him out when he was seven! Most parents don’t kick their kids out at age 27. These experiences gave Shrek tough skin and an ability to handle adversity, which would come in handy if we ever switched places. Along with his toughness, I would also be able to cook all kinds of ogre delicacies such as squirrel gizzards and mulch, or fish tartar. Now you may be wondering why I know so much about this guy Shrek, but that is just another testament to his influence on the modern day generation. If I were ever able to switch with Shrek I would be an excellent chef, emotionally tough, charming green monster. That sounds like a hero to me. Episode Title: Muddy Cocktail Sunday I would combine Shrek with the Lab Rats. The episode would begin with the Lab Rats searching to find a missing potion that could only be discovered in Shrek's swamp. This potion gives anyone super strength! They venture out to the murky abyss and run straight into Shrek and get into fighting positions. Shrek unleashes his mighty roar as the Lab Rats swarm him. He yells, "What're you doing on my swamp!!!" Chase awkwardly replies, "Uh...Don't mind us. We're just looking for the super strength potion. Do you happen to know where it is?" Shrek is confused but ultimately remembers his morning cocktail made of mud and ooze. "Oh!" He says, "I think I know what you're referring to. Follow me!" They follow him back to his hut but it looks like Lord Farquaad and his minions are already raiding the house. Shrek angrily runs up on them and roars but they start swinging their swords. The Lab Rats use their strength and laser beam eyes to ultimately drive out the Dulocians. After they successfully win, Shrek opens up the secret chest with his cocktails. "Here ya' go!" He happily says. They thank him and end the day with a round of muddy cocktails. The End.

From a young age, growing up in D.C. has shown me the complexities of the United States. Diverse on the surface, but upon a closer look, deep racial segregation persists. As an Asian-American kid, curiosity filled my mind. How could political institutions have failed other minority groups so significantly? As a young adult, I now wonder how to make a difference. In college, I plan to deeply explore political science, bridging the gap between American inequality and racial identity. To fully understand America’s complexities, I would also pair my political science with psychology, learning about detrimental impacts on the individual level. A university's extensive psychology department allows me to explore many aspects of psychology. I see myself taking Adult Development and Aging, Social Psychology, and Drugs, Behavior, and Society, among others. I could also conduct original research, getting hands-on experience in the field of study. CommonApp. FAFSA. Supplementals. Nowadays, these words dart across my household and college counseling office like bees. The college application process is the pinnacle of my primary education. A group of unknown admissions officers carefully scrutinize years of tests, homework assignments, and final grades. No pressure. While my application reflects hard work, I have been equally fortunate to grow up in a nurturing environment. Throughout my life, I have benefited from high-quality schools and a support system that is just as strong. I have counselors who help me navigate the complex application process and parents who are willing to take on the daunting financial burden of college. I realize not everyone is as lucky as me. Among the many problems in today's society, education inequality is often neglected and overlooked. Education is not only a fundamental human right but a powerful tool in providing opportunities for lower-income communities to climb the economic ladder. As a country, we need to rethink our educational infrastructure, investing in more support systems for lower-income communities and finding ways to ensure secondary education for those who struggle to access it. If we are the meritocracy we claim to be, we will find systematic solutions to the educational disparities throughout generations of students. By lobbying for students and teachers as a public defense attorney I can help those in need on the legal level. I can vouch for certain rights or amenities that public school systems may not have access too. By protecting the systems in place I can protect the students and people within them.

I could see my Grandpa’s veins bulge on his temples and spit gather at the edges of his lips. My head is on a swivel, looking back and forth between the battle, barely understanding a word. After a meal full of cabbage kimchi, seasoned tofu, and bony fish requiring meticulous picking, the atmosphere in my grandparents’ crowded apartment dining room had become tense. My Mom and my Grandpa’s conversation turned into an argument about the fact that my sister and I could barely speak Korean. I could hear my Mom’s voice choke up as tears clouded her glasses, trying to explain the difficulty of raising kids while switching between two languages. Although my Mom’s Konglish (Korean-English) helped me understand the basis of the argument, my confusion and inability to understand Korean only emphasized my Grandpa’s point. Diluted by American culture, I was not the ideal Korean grandson he had envisioned. Regret and guilt consumed my head and heart. I knew I should have kept my Duolingo streak. After this conversation, I began to ask myself, what makes me Korean? Did my rough Korean pronunciation and inability to understand my Grandma’s questions diminish my Korean identity? Does my involvement as the National Chinese Honors Society President work against my own heritage? I do not think so. My Korean heritage embodies and represents the values on which I choose to model my life. In 1978, my grandparents left their homes, reputation, and family for a country seven thousand miles away and a language just as foreign. They possessed the courage to jump into unfamiliarity for the future of their children and grandchildren (my parents and me). The same values led my parents to the inner city of Washington, D.C., an area with almost no Asians, let alone Koreans, starting a non-profit ministry for underprivileged, majority African-American students living in public housing. As a Korean-American, there is an expectation to be timid or unnoticeable, but the actions of my grandparents and parents showed me it is possible to dream big and create a community with people regardless of background or physical appearance. Standing out as the sole Korean-American in the room became a symbol of courage and connection, not a point of insecurity. This spirit gave me the voice to advocate for education equity, speaking in front of over 3,000 people at the National Public Charter Schools Conference in D.C. I felt comfortable shouting “NO Justice, NO Peace!” marching down Capitol Hill, engulfed by a culturally rich stream of impassioned BLM protesters. My Korean identity - no longer a limitation but a reflection of determination and ambition. I am not only the classmate who helps others with calculus homework but also the classmate who plays the gay pool boy in my school’s production of Legally Blonde. Despite my smaller stature, I have the confidence to compete against grown men, playing point guard at my local gym every Saturday morning. I found the inspiration to create a tennis class for students in my parent’s ministry over the summer, believing I could engage and instruct excited, energetic kids in the stifling D.C. humidity. Although I feel proud of my accomplishments in high school, I know college will only expand my opportunities to become a trailblazer for meaningful change while joining and embracing vibrant communities. Learning Korean remains a bucket list item of mine, always a summer project that never gets done. I recognize the power of language, and, one day, I will take the time to learn it. But, while I may know less Korean than your average white female BTS fan, I realized my Korean identity is not rooted in the language. It is rooted in a sense of tenacious individuality that seeps into diverse communities, birthed from the audacity to dream big. Success is following in my family's footprints uniting people across differences. In college, I plan to take a similar approach, investing in areas of shared identity. I anticipate getting involved with Asian-American affinities, and surrounding myself with fellow performance enthusiasts. I want to invest heavily, eventually becoming a mentor and helping to organize potlucks and retreats, while educating people outside the program about the pervasive Asian-American hate in our country. Highschool has taught me that success is predicated on the ability to nurture community, allowing for meaningful relationships and opportunities to help others.

Pop. Pow. Pop. Pow. My dad and I engage in a heated rally, slapping a fuzzy Penn 3 ball relentlessly across the court. Thwack! The ball stiffly repels off the frame as I groan. Retrieving the tattered ball, I hear a shout from the adjacent court. “No, bruthaman, you’ve got to brush up on the ball!” A short, 75-year-old African-American man hurries over, waving his hands. He guides my racket, showing me proper swing trajectory, the first of many lessons from Jerome and an informal introduction to the Fort Lincoln tennis community. Since my dad and I discovered these courts during quarantine, we have spent almost every Sunday within their fences. Whether learning proper volley technique from Jerome or competing in the annual men’s singles tournament, the atmosphere remains warm and familiar. Through Jerome’s dedication, I see the power of going deep, and investing time and commitment into communities. Jerome showed me the value of shared identity with communication and genuine care for one another. Fort Lincoln taught me that selflessness and dedication can form opportunities to help others and build bridges between communities. These values are an integral part of my character. In small ways, I pay Jerome’s kindness forward. I mentor younger players on my school’s tennis team. I ran a summer program for underprivileged youth learning to play tennis. I even organized a tennis tournament for my beginner friends. Within these diverse communities, I exhibit Jerome’s generosity and proactivity through a vessel of racket-swinging enthusiasm. The next chapter of my life will be called the second set. In the second set, you get a chance to reset and start fresh or continue your streak. In college, I will keep swinging and approach the net with intensity, purpose, and the audacity to hit big.

I could see my Grandpa’s veins bulge on his temples and spit gather at the edges of his lips. My Mom and my Grandpa’s conversation turned into an argument about the fact that my sister and I could barely speak Korean.Although my Mom’s Konglish (Korean-English) helped me understand the basis of the argument, my confusion and inability to understand Korean only emphasized my Grandpa’s point. Diluted by American culture, I was not the ideal Korean grandson he had envisioned. Regret and guilt consumed my head and heart. I knew I should have kept my Duolingo streak. After this conversation, I began to ask myself, what makes me Korean? Did my rough Korean pronunciation and inability to understand my Grandma’s questions diminish my Korean identity? Does my involvement as the National Chinese Honors Society President work against my own heritage? I do not think so. My Korean heritage embodies and represents the values on which I choose to model my life. In 1978, my grandparents left their homes, reputation, and family for a country seven thousand miles away and a language just as foreign. They possessed the courage to jump into unfamiliarity for the future of their children and grandchildren (my parents and me). The same values led my parents to the inner city of Washington, D.C., an area with almost no Asians, let alone Koreans, starting a non-profit ministry for underprivileged, majority African-American students living in public housing. As a Korean-American, there is an expectation to be timid or unnoticeable, but the actions of my grandparents and parents showed me it is possible to dream big and create a community with people regardless of background or physical appearance. Standing out as the sole Korean-American in the room became a symbol of courage and connection, not a point of insecurity. This spirit gave me the voice to advocate for education equity, speaking in front of over 3,000 people at the National Public Charter Schools Conference in D.C. I felt comfortable shouting “NO Justice, NO Peace!” marching down Capitol Hill, engulfed by a culturally rich stream of impassioned BLM protesters. My Korean identity - no longer a limitation but a reflection of determination and ambition. I am not only the classmate who helps others with calculus homework but also the classmate who plays the gay pool boy in my school’s production of Legally Blonde. Despite my smaller stature, I have the confidence to compete against grown men, playing point guard at my local gym every Saturday morning. I found the inspiration to create a tennis class for students in my parent’s ministry over the summer, believing I could engage and instruct excited, energetic kids in the stifling D.C. humidity. Although I feel proud of my accomplishments in high school, I know college will only expand my opportunities to become a trailblazer for meaningful change while joining and embracing vibrant communities. Learning Korean remains a bucket list item of mine, always a summer project that never gets done. I recognize the power of language, and, one day, I will take the time to learn it. But, while I may know less Korean than your average white female BTS fan, I realized my Korean identity is not rooted in the language. It is rooted in a sense of tenacious individuality that seeps into diverse communities, birthed from the audacity to dream big. After this experience, I applied to the NSLI-Y summer program, a fully funded trip abroad for language learning. I am currently a semi-finalist in the program and one step closer to fulfilling my grandpa's request and learning Koren.

Hello! My name is Dylan Park, and I am from the heart of America, Washington D.C. I live with my two parents, and I have a sister at Pomona College in California. I also have a small, hypoallergenic, Maltese dog named Honey. If I could pick three words, my friends and family would describe me as open-minded, ambitious, and empathetic. I love being involved in various activities including tennis, basketball (despite my smaller build), the school musical, and leading multiple clubs. I thrive diving into new communities and experiences, seeking the discomfort and the growth that comes with it. Seeking discomfort gave me the confidence to audition for the musical or take on leadership roles for the Asian American club and Varsity Tennis team. I was also the Washington D.C. Representative for the Rising Leaders Initiative and I also serve on the D.C. Youth Health Council. I am also the president for the National Chinese Honors Society, and I most recently hosted a school wide Chinese Lunar New Year event. In my family and friend group, I’m usually the one to crack a witty joke or mediate an argument. I’m also the friend that people come to vent their issues or ask for help on a school assignment. My relationships with my family and friends are one of the most important aspects of my life. In college, I hope to create similar, deep connections with people from other parts of the world. Over the years I have been involved in many musical pursuits. From an early age, I played piano and performed in countless recitals and learned plenty of pieces. In 6th grade I joined the school musical, where we performed Urinetown. In 8th grade I joined the choir. Now, in 12th grade, I am the lead in the school musical, Shrek. I am also apart of an audition only choir called the Honors Choir. Throughout my life, music has served as a way to express myself without just speaking words. I've been able to convey emotion through my scales on black and white keys, I've used vibrato to emphasis the classical nature of music, and I've embraced solos through roles such as Shrek. I've been able to connect my own life experiences to the ups and downs of music and harmony. I've learned that there are other ways to communicate emotions, and music is a powerful vessel to do so.

Zendaya is an iconic queen with so many famous roles. From the sand hills in Dune to the set of K.C. Undercover, Zendaya always slays whatever roles she plays. Not only does she act, but she only sings, dresses, and practices activism. However, I have to say I love her acting most of all. Her role in Spider Man is one of her most famous roles, playing the illustrious Mary Jane. In both of the Spider Man movies she continuously gives an amazing performance and encapsulates the many emotions that come with it. The surprise when she learns Spider Man's secret, the terror when she falls from the building, and the solemn look when she forgets who Peter Parker is. She has fully committed to the role and embraces all the emotions that come with it. She even went as far as dating her co-star, Tom Holland, which would win the Cutest Couple of the decade award. Their relationship is still going strong and her commitment to him is another testament to her unwavering dedication. Her spirit inspires me to stay committed to the relationships I have and the projects I choose to take on. I want to invest fully in whatever "role" I take, just as Zendaya does with Mary Jane.

Having a sister already in college, this scholarship will ease the burden on my parents of two kids attending four-year universities. It will also increase the possibility of post-graduate school for me, and further pursue my dream of becoming a public defense attorney. This scholarship will make it easier to purchase textbooks and the necessary materials required for college classes. This scholarship will mean a lot, and it will help me stay focused on my studies while in college. From a young age, growing up in D.C. has shown me the complexities of the United States. Diverse on the surface, but upon a closer look, deep racial segregation persists. As an Asian-American kid, curiosity filled my mind. How could political institutions have failed other minority groups so significantly? As a young adult, I now wonder how to make a difference. In college, I plan to deeply explore political science, bridging the gap between American inequality and racial identity. I someday want to become involved in public law and become a public defense attorney. I can also imagine myself studying psychology and serve as a counselor for high-school students, as there is a growing need for mental health awareness globally. We need to rethink our educational infrastructure, investing in more support systems for lower-income communities and finding ways to ensure secondary education for those who struggle to access it. As a self-proclaimed country of opportunity, we should find systematic solutions to the educational disparities throughout generations of students. I am a frequent tutor for my younger peers and I've learned the immense need for rethinking eduction. Right now I am planning on attending Colorado College, but I have not officially committed. Over the fall last year I got deferred from my first choice Pomona College. At the time I felt really disappointed, as Pomona was my sister’s college and my own “dream school.” I felt like all the community service, good grades, and extracurricular involvement had been for nothing. But strangely enough, instead of this event discouraging me from trying at school, it motivated me to work even harder. I realized that the best thing I can do is give 110% effort towards my goals, and accept the results that are out of my control. Going forward I realized this was ultimately not a rejection but a redirection, and that it’s ultimately up to me to make the best of my situation regardless of what college I attend.

What makes me Korean? Did my rough Korean pronunciation and inability to understand my Grandma’s questions diminish my Korean identity? Does my involvement as the National Chinese Honors Society President work against my own heritage? I do not think so. My Korean heritage embodies and represents the values on which I choose to model my life. In 1978, my grandparents left their homes, reputation, and family for a country seven thousand miles away and a language just as foreign. They possessed the courage to jump into unfamiliarity for the future of their children and grandchildren (my parents and me). The same values led my parents to the inner city of Washington, D.C., an area with almost no Asians, let alone Koreans, starting a non-profit ministry for underprivileged, majority African-American students living in public housing. As a Korean-American, there is an expectation to be timid or unnoticeable, but the actions of my grandparents and parents showed me it is possible to dream big and create a community with people regardless of background or physical appearance. Standing out as the sole Korean-American in the room became a symbol of courage and connection, not a point of insecurity. This spirit gave me the voice to advocate for education equity, speaking in front of over 3,000 people at the National Public Charter Schools Conference in D.C. I felt comfortable shouting “NO Justice, NO Peace!” marching down Capitol Hill, engulfed by a culturally rich stream of impassioned BLM protesters. My Korean identity - no longer a limitation but a reflection of determination and ambition. I am not only the classmate who helps others with calculus homework but also the classmate who plays the gay pool boy in my school’s production of Legally Blonde. Despite my smaller stature, I have the confidence to compete against grown men, playing point guard at my local gym every Saturday morning. I found the inspiration to create a tennis class for students in my parent’s ministry over the summer, believing I could engage and instruct excited, energetic kids in the stifling D.C. humidity. Although I feel proud of my accomplishments in high school, I know college will only expand my opportunities to become a trailblazer for meaningful change while joining and embracing vibrant communities. Learning Korean remains a bucket list item of mine, always a summer project that never gets done. I recognize the power of language, and, one day, I will take the time to learn it. But, while I may know less Korean than your average white female BTS fan, I realized my Korean identity is not rooted in the language. It is rooted in a sense of tenacious individuality that seeps into diverse communities, birthed from the audacity to dream big.

Having a sister already in college, this scholarship will ease the burden on my parents of two kids attending four-year universities. It will also increase the possibility of post-graduate school for me, and further pursue my dream of becoming a public defense attorney. This scholarship will make it easier to purchase textbooks and the necessary materials required for college classes. This scholarship will mean a lot, and it will help me stay focused on my studies while in college. From a young age, growing up in D.C. has shown me the complexities of the United States. Diverse on the surface, but upon a closer look, deep racial segregation persists. As an Asian-American kid, curiosity filled my mind. How could political institutions have failed other minority groups so significantly? As a young adult, I now wonder how to make a difference. In college, I plan to deeply explore political science, bridging the gap between American inequality and racial identity. I someday want to become involved in public law and become a public defense attorney. I can also imagine myself studying psychology and serve as a counselor for high-school students, as there is a growing need for mental health awareness globally. I also believe that we need to rethink our educational infrastructure, investing in more support systems for lower-income communities and finding ways to ensure secondary education for those who struggle to access it. As a self-proclaimed country of opportunity, we should find systematic solutions to the educational disparities throughout generations of students. In the future I will continue to advocate for equitable education for all. Right now I am planning on attending Colorado College, but I have not officially committed. Over the fall last year I got deferred from my first choice Pomona College. At the time I felt really disappointed, as Pomona was my sister’s college and my own “dream school.” I felt like all the community service, good grades, and extracurricular involvement had been for nothing. But strangely enough, instead of this event discouraging me from trying at school, it motivated me to work even harder. I realized that the best thing I can do is give 110% effort towards my goals, and accept the results that are out of my control. Going forward I realized this was ultimately not a rejection but a redirection, and that it’s ultimately up to me to make the best of my situation regardless of what college I attend.

Pop. Pow. Pop. Pow. My dad and I engage in a heated rally, slapping a fuzzy Penn 3 ball relentlessly across the court. Thwack! The ball stiffly repels off the frame as I groan. Retrieving the tattered ball, I hear a shout from the adjacent court. “No, bruthaman, you’ve got to brush up on the ball!” A short, 75-year-old African-American man hurries over, waving his hands. He guides my racket, showing me proper swing trajectory, the first of many lessons from Jerome and an informal introduction to the Fort Lincoln tennis community. Almost every Sunday, my dad and I head to the courts are usually filled with the usual cast of characters. The atmosphere on the courts is vibrant from a diverse community of players, a range of backgrounds and skill levels, all united under a love for playing tennis at Fort Lincoln. A relentless cast of characters who have enveloped me into a community deeply rooted in tennis at Fort Lincoln. As I come to the courts I am often greeted by a friendly wave and a warm shout, “The Future, whats up!” all committed to the community and a simple racket game. Being a regular member has allowed me to foster deep connections and ground myself in the community. Their unparalleled dedication to a blue, asphalt court in NE DC has unlocked fufilling relationships. This has shown me the power of going deep, investing time and commitment into pockets of joy and community, rather than going wide, dipping my toes in 100 different activities. Since my dad and I discovered these courts during quarantine, we have spent almost every Sunday within their fences. Whether learning proper volley technique from Jerome or competing in the annual men’s singles tournament, the atmosphere remains warm and familiar. Through Jerome’s dedication, I see the power of going deep, investing time and commitment into communities. Jerome showed me the value of shared identity with communication and genuine care for one another. Fort Lincoln taught me that selflessness and dedication can form opportunities to help others and build bridges between communities. These values are an integral part of my character. In small ways, I pay Jerome’s kindness forward. I mentor younger players on my school’s tennis team. I ran a summer program for underprivileged youth learning to play tennis. I even organized a tennis tournament for my beginner friends. Within these diverse communities, I exhibit Jerome’s generosity and proactivity through a vessel of racket swinging enthusiasm. Fort Lincoln has taught me how selflessness and dedication can create meaningful relationships and opportunities to help others. In my future I plan to follow a similar blueprint, joining passionate communities of ambitious givers.

In the movie Minari, I could see the Grandpa’s veins bulge on his temples and spit gather at the edges of his lips. My head is on a swivel, looking back and forth between the battle, barely understanding a word. Although my Mom’s Konglish (Korean-English) helped me understand the basis of the movie, my confusion and inability to understand Korean only emphasized the Grandpa’s point. Diluted by American culture, I was not the ideal Korean grandson. Regret and guilt consumed my head and heart. I knew I should have kept my Duolingo streak. After this movie, I began to ask myself, what makes me Korean? Did my rough Korean pronunciation and inability to understand without captions diminish my Korean identity? Does my involvement as the National Chinese Honors Society President work against my own heritage? I do not think so. My Korean heritage embodies and represents the values on which I choose to model my life. In 1978, my grandparents left their homes, reputation, and family for a country seven thousand miles away and a language just as foreign. They possessed the courage to jump into unfamiliarity for the future of their children and grandchildren (my parents and me). The same values led my parents to the inner city of Washington, D.C., an area with almost no Asians, let alone Koreans, starting a non-profit ministry for underprivileged, majority African-American students living in public housing. As a Korean-American, there is an expectation to be timid or unnoticeable, but the actions of my grandparents and parents showed me it is possible to dream big and create a community with people regardless of background or physical appearance. Standing out as the sole Korean-American in the room became a symbol of courage and connection. This spirit gave me the voice to advocate for education equity, speaking in front of over 3,000 people at the National Public Charter Schools Conference in D.C. I felt comfortable shouting “NO Justice, NO Peace!” marching down Capitol Hill, engulfed by a culturally rich stream of impassioned BLM protesters. My Korean identity - no longer a limitation but a reflection of determination and ambition. I am not only the classmate who helps others with calculus homework but also the classmate who plays the gay pool boy in my school’s production of Legally Blonde. Despite my smaller stature, I have the confidence to compete against grown men, playing point guard at my local gym every Saturday morning. I found the inspiration to create a tennis class for students in my parent’s ministry over the summer, believing I could engage and instruct excited, energetic kids in the stifling D.C. humidity. Although I feel proud of my accomplishments in high school, I know college will only expand my opportunities to become a trailblazer for meaningful change while joining and embracing vibrant communities. Learning Korean remains a bucket list item of mine, always a summer project that never gets done. I recognize the power of language, and, one day, I will take the time to learn it. But, while I may know less Korean than your average white female BTS fan, Minari helped me realize my Korean identity is not rooted in the language. It is rooted in a sense of tenacious individuality that seeps into diverse communities, birthed from the audacity to dream big. If given this scholarship I will use all the money to pay for higher education, and someday inspire and empower generations of minority students to find confidence in their identity. I want to become a public school teacher and role model for minority, underrepresented kids all throughout America.

I could see my Grandpa’s veins bulge on his temples and spit gather at the edges of his lips. My head is on a swivel, looking back and forth between the battle, barely understanding a word. After a meal full of cabbage kimchi, seasoned tofu, and bony fish requiring meticulous picking, the atmosphere in my grandparents’ crowded apartment dining room had become tense. My Mom and my Grandpa’s conversation turned into an argument about the fact that my sister and I could barely speak Korean. I could hear my Mom’s voice choke up as tears clouded her glasses, trying to explain the difficulty of raising kids while switching between two languages. Although my Mom’s Konglish (Korean-English) helped me understand the basis of the argument, my confusion and inability to understand Korean only emphasized my Grandpa’s point. Diluted by American culture, I was not the ideal Korean grandson he had envisioned. Regret and guilt consumed my head and heart. I knew I should have kept my Duolingo streak. After this conversation, I began to ask myself, what makes me Korean? Did my rough Korean pronunciation and inability to understand my Grandma’s questions diminish my Korean identity? Does my involvement as the National Chinese Honors Society President work against my own heritage? I do not think so. My Korean heritage embodies and represents the values on which I choose to model my life. In 1978, my grandparents left their homes, reputation, and family for a country seven thousand miles away and a language just as foreign. They possessed the courage to jump into unfamiliarity for the future of their children and grandchildren (my parents and me). The same values led my parents to the inner city of Washington, D.C., an area with almost no Asians, let alone Koreans, starting a non-profit ministry for underprivileged, majority African-American students living in public housing. As a Korean-American, there is an expectation to be timid or unnoticeable, but the actions of my grandparents and parents showed me it is possible to dream big and create a community with people regardless of background or physical appearance. I am not only the classmate who helps others with calculus homework but also the classmate who plays the gay pool boy in my school’s production of Legally Blonde. Despite my smaller stature, I have the confidence to compete against grown men, playing point guard at my local gym every Saturday morning. I found the inspiration to create a tennis class for students in my parent’s ministry over the summer, believing I could engage and instruct excited, energetic kids in the stifling D.C. humidity. Although I feel proud of my accomplishments in high school, I know college will only expand my opportunities to become a trailblazer for meaningful change while joining and embracing vibrant communities. Learning Korean remains a bucket list item of mine, always a summer project that never gets done. I recognize the power of language, and, one day, I will take the time to learn it. But, while I may know less Korean than your average white female BTS fan, I realized my Korean identity is not rooted in the language. It is rooted in a sense of tenacious individuality that seeps into diverse communities, birthed from the audacity to dream big and my family. If given this scholarship I will use all the money to pay for higher education, and someday inspire and empower generations of minority students to find confidence in their identity. I want to become a public school teacher and role model for minority, underrepresented kids all throughout America.

My head is on a swivel, looking back and forth between the battle, barely understanding a word. After a meal full of cabbage kimchi, seasoned tofu, and bony fish requiring meticulous picking, the atmosphere in my grandparents’ crowded apartment dining room had become tense. My Mom and my Grandpa’s conversation turned into an argument about the fact that my sister and I could barely speak Korean. I could hear my Mom’s voice choke up as tears clouded her glasses, trying to explain the difficulty of raising kids while switching between two languages. Although my Mom’s Konglish (Korean-English) helped me understand the basis of the argument, my confusion and inability to understand Korean only emphasized my Grandpa’s point. Diluted by American culture, I was not the ideal Korean grandson he had envisioned. Regret and guilt consumed my head and heart. I knew I should have kept my Duolingo streak. After this conversation, I began to ask myself, what makes me Korean? Did my rough Korean pronunciation and inability to understand my Grandma’s questions diminish my Korean identity? Does my involvement as the National Chinese Honors Society President work against my own heritage? I do not think so. My Korean heritage embodies and represents the values on which I choose to model my life. In 1978, my grandparents left their homes, reputation, and family for a country seven thousand miles away and a language just as foreign. They possessed the courage to jump into unfamiliarity for the future of their children and grandchildren (my parents and me). The same values led my parents to the inner city of Washington, D.C., an area with almost no Asians, let alone Koreans, starting a non-profit ministry for underprivileged, majority African-American students living in public housing. As a Korean-American, there is an expectation to be timid or unnoticeable, but the actions of my grandparents and parents showed me it is possible to dream big and create a community with people regardless of background or physical appearance. My Korean identity - no longer a limitation but a reflection of determination and ambition. I am not only the classmate who helps others with calculus homework but also the classmate who plays the gay pool boy in my school’s production of Legally Blonde. Despite my smaller stature, I have the confidence to compete against grown men, playing point guard at my local gym every Saturday morning. I found the inspiration to create a tennis class for students in my parent’s ministry over the summer, believing I could engage and instruct excited, energetic kids in the stifling D.C. humidity. Although I feel proud of my accomplishments in high school, I know college will only expand my opportunities to become a trailblazer for meaningful change while joining and embracing vibrant communities. Learning Korean remains a bucket list item of mine, always a summer project that never gets done. I recognize the power of language, and, one day, I will take the time to learn it. But, while I may know less Korean than your average white female BTS fan, I realized my Korean identity is not rooted in the language. It is rooted in a sense of tenacious individuality that seeps into diverse communities, birthed from the audacity to dream big. If given this scholarship I will use all the money to pay for higher education, and someday inspire and empower generations of minority students to find confidence in their identity. I want to become a public school teacher and role model for minority, underrepresented kids all throughout America.

Out of all the Nintendo co-op games I love, Splatoon, Super Smash, and of course Mario Kart, my favorite game to play co-op was Super Mario Bros for Wii. I distinctly remember grinding the game for months with my sister and dad, passing each level with flying colors and respawn bubbles. I would always be Mario, my sister would be Luigi, and my dad would be Toad. There was something uniquely satisfying about reaching the end of each level and working as a team to get to the flag. It was also fun moving through different worlds like the snow world, the underwater world, and of course Bowser’s castle. I distinctly remember the last level being so difficult to accomplish. Multiple platforms slowly descended into lava, and we had to memorize a specific pattern to survive all while dodging Bullet Bills and fireballs. So after countless failed attempts and floating bubbles, we decided to draw out the pattern of the falling platforms on a sheet of paper. The plan was set and we were prepared. We swiftly and stressfully evaded the lava and defeated Bowser! We did it! We cheer and high-five each other as we see Princess Peach being released from her cage. Then, all of a sudden “Peach” transforms into Kamek, the magic Koopa. Our mouths fall open and we silently look around as we’re thrown into ANOTHER final boss fight. We lock into the game and after minutes of laser-focused button mashing, we finally defeat Bowser for the second time. After we win we make sure we rescue the real Princess and then breathe a sigh of relief. This moment let my family come together amidst ups and downs to overcome a difficult challenge. This is why Super Mario Bros for Wii will not only be my favorite Nintendo game but honestly my favorite co-op game of all time.

Having a sister already in college, this scholarship will ease the burden on my parents of two kids attending four-year universities. It will also increase the possibility of post-graduate school for me, and further pursue my dream of becoming a public defense attorney. This scholarship will make it easier to purchase textbooks and the necessary materials required for college classes. This scholarship will mean a lot, and it will help me stay focused on my studies while in college. From a young age, growing up in D.C. has shown me the complexities of the United States. Diverse on the surface, but upon a closer look, deep racial segregation persists. As an Asian-American kid, curiosity filled my mind. How could political institutions have failed other minority groups so significantly? As a young adult, I now wonder how to make a difference. In college, I plan to deeply explore political science, bridging the gap between American inequality and racial identity. I someday want to become involved in public law and become a public defense attorney. I can also imagine myself studying psychology and serve as a counselor for high-school students, as there is a growing need for mental health awareness globally. Right now I am planning on attending Colorado College, but I have not officially committed. We also need to rethink our educational infrastructure, investing in more support systems for lower-income communities and finding ways to ensure secondary education for those who struggle to access it. As a self-proclaimed country of opportunity, we should find systematic solutions to the educational disparities throughout generations of students. This is why I also also want to create legislation that invests in public schools and public charter schools in the DMV area. Over the fall last year I got deferred from my first choice Pomona College. At the time I felt really disappointed, as Pomona was my sister’s college and my own “dream school.” I felt like all the community service, good grades, and extracurricular involvement had been for nothing. But strangely enough, instead of this event discouraging me from trying at school, it motivated me to work even harder. I realized that the best thing I can do is give 110% effort towards my goals, and accept the results that are out of my control. Going forward I realized this was ultimately not a rejection but a redirection, and that it’s ultimately up to me to make the best of my situation regardless of what college I attend.

"Another day pretendin' I'm older than I am." This lyric captures my childhood in the way that I often feel like I'm pretending to be someone I'm not. Growing up Korean-American has put me at a crossroads where I feel like I'm pretending to be Korean or American and often get lost in between. I could see my Grandpa’s veins bulge on his temples and spit gather at the edges of his lips. My head is on a swivel, looking back and forth between the battle, barely understanding a word. My Mom and my Grandpa’s conversation turned into an argument about the fact that my sister and I could barely speak Korean. I could hear my Mom’s voice choke up as tears clouded her glasses, trying to explain the difficulty of raising kids while switching between two languages. Diluted by American culture, I was not the ideal Korean grandson he had envisioned. Regret and guilt consumed my head and heart. I knew I should have kept my Duolingo streak. After this conversation, I began to ask myself, am I just pretending to be Korean? Did my rough Korean pronunciation and inability to understand my Grandma’s questions diminish my Korean identity? Does my involvement as the National Chinese Honors Society President work against my own heritage? I do not think so. My Korean heritage embodies and represents the values on which I choose to model my life. As a Korean-American, there is an expectation to be timid or unnoticeable, but the actions of my grandparents and parents showed me it is possible to dream big and create a community with people regardless of background or physical appearance. Standing out as the sole Korean-American in the room became a symbol of courage and connection, not a point of insecurity. This spirit gave me the voice to advocate for education equity, speaking in front of over 3,000 people at the National Public Charter Schools Conference in D.C. I felt comfortable shouting “NO Justice, NO Peace!” marching down Capitol Hill, engulfed by a culturally rich stream of impassioned BLM protesters. My Korean identity - no longer a limitation but a reflection of determination and ambition. I am not only the classmate who helps others with calculus homework but also the classmate who plays the gay pool boy in my school’s production of Legally Blonde. Despite my smaller stature, I have the confidence to compete against grown men, playing point guard at my local gym every Saturday morning. I found the inspiration to create a tennis class for students in my parent’s ministry over the summer, believing I could engage and instruct excited, energetic kids in the stifling D.C. humidity. Although I feel proud of my accomplishments in high school, I know college will only expand my opportunities to become a trailblazer for meaningful change while joining and embracing vibrant communities. Learning Korean remains a bucket list item of mine, always a summer project that never gets done. I recognize the power of language, and, one day, I will take the time to learn it. But, while I may know less Korean than your average white female GUTS fan, I realized my Korean identity is not just "pretend" and is not rooted in the language. It is rooted in a sense of tenacious individuality that seeps into diverse communities, birthed from the audacity to dream big.