Living with severe eczema has influenced who I am in ways that aren’t always visible, but are constant. For most of my life, it hasn’t just been a skin condition—it’s been something I manage every day. There are times when it affects my ability to sleep, focus, or feel comfortable in my own skin. Growing up, I became used to dealing with flare-ups at the worst possible moments—during school, before competitions, or late at night when I needed rest the most. Over time, I learned that I couldn’t wait for perfect conditions to show up. I had to move forward anyway. That mindset has shaped how I approach both school and life. As a student and an athlete, I’ve had to develop discipline early. Managing eczema requires consistency—staying on top of routines, paying attention to small details, and adapting when things don’t go as planned. Those same habits carry into how I prepare for exams, show up for my team, and take on new challenges. I’ve learned how to stay focused even when I’m uncomfortable, and how to follow through even when things feel difficult. Being part of water polo and swimming has made that even more real. Spending hours in the pool, exposed to chlorine and harsh conditions, often made my eczema worse. But those experiences also taught me resilience. I didn’t want to step back from the things I cared about, so I learned how to push through and take responsibility for managing both my health and my commitments. More importantly, my experience has shaped how I lead. I’ve become someone who pays attention to others, especially those who may be struggling in ways that aren’t obvious. On my teams, I try to create an environment where people feel included and supported, because I know what it’s like to deal with challenges quietly. Leadership, to me, isn’t about standing out—it’s about making sure others feel seen and respected. Outside of school, I’ve taken initiative in building my own small baking business, which taught me how to adapt, listen, and improve over time. Like managing eczema, it required patience and consistency. Those experiences have reinforced my belief that progress is built step by step. Looking ahead, I’m interested in studying environmental policy, particularly around issues like food waste and resource distribution. I’m drawn to solving problems that affect people at scale—where better systems can lead to better outcomes for entire communities. Living with a chronic condition has made me more aware of how systems function, whether it’s within my own body or in the world around me, and how small improvements can create meaningful change. In school and beyond, I hope to continue building on that perspective—staying disciplined, contributing to the communities I’m part of, and working toward solutions that are practical and impactful. Eczema has been a challenge, but it has also shaped my mindset. It has taught me how to move forward when things aren’t easy, how to support others, and how to stay committed to long-term goals. Those lessons are what I will carry with me into college and into the work I hope to do in the future. Don't let the provide image fool you, this is after having the same pediatrician, dermatology visits and many prescriptions later. I sell get flare-ups, but if I do all the right things, I can keep my issues under control, but one wrong move can be scary.

Here’s a strong, grounded essay in Elan’s voice that aligns with the tone of this scholarship—focused on character, responsibility, and contribution without sounding overly polished or artificial: --- My name is Elan Martinez, and I’m about to begin the next chapter of my life as a college student in the fall of 2026. Like most people my age, I’m still figuring out exactly where I’ll land, but I’ve started to understand what kind of person I want to become—and that matters more to me than having everything perfectly planned. I grew up in Long Beach, California, in a family that values hard work, honesty, and showing up for others. A big part of my life has been shaped by sports, especially water polo and swimming. From the outside, those sports might look like they’re about competition, winning, and performance. And while those things matter, what has stayed with me the most are the quieter moments—checking in on a teammate who’s struggling, helping younger players feel like they belong, and learning how to handle pressure without letting it define me. I’ve learned that leadership isn’t about being the loudest person or the one scoring the most points. It’s about creating an environment where people feel safe, included, and supported. Some of the teammates I’m most proud of connecting with weren’t the stars of the team—they were the ones who needed a little more encouragement or confidence. Being someone they could count on changed the way I think about success. It made me realize that impact often happens in small, unseen ways. Academically, I’ve pushed myself to stay disciplined and consistent. Maintaining a strong GPA hasn’t always been easy, especially while balancing athletics and other commitments. I’ve had moments where I’ve fallen short, where I’ve had to regroup and take responsibility. Those moments have been just as important as the successes. They’ve taught me how to stay accountable and keep moving forward instead of making excuses. One of my biggest strengths is my ability to stay steady under pressure and keep showing up. A weakness I’m still working on is overthinking—especially in high-stakes situations. I can sometimes get in my own head, whether in a game or in academics, and that can hold me back. But I’m learning to trust my preparation and stay present, which has made a real difference. Looking ahead, I’m interested in studying areas related to public policy and environmental issues. I care about how systems work and how decisions affect real people, especially when it comes to resources, sustainability, and fairness. I don’t have a fully defined career path yet, but I know I want to be involved in work that improves communities and solves practical problems. Whether that ends up being in government, policy, or another field, my goal is to contribute in a way that is thoughtful and meaningful. This scholarship would make a significant difference for me and my family. The cost of college is real, and while I’m committed to working hard and finding ways to support myself, having this kind of support would allow me to focus more fully on my education and growth. It would give me the space to take advantage of opportunities—internships, research, and community work—that I might otherwise have to pass up. More importantly, this scholarship represents something deeper. It reflects values that I try to live by—faithfulness, determination, and contributing to others. Knowing that this opportunity exists in memory of someone who never got the chance to pursue his own path adds a level of responsibility that I take seriously. I would carry that with me as motivation to make the most of the opportunities I’m given. I don’t expect the road ahead to be easy or straightforward. But I do know that I’m willing to put in the work, learn from my mistakes, and stay committed to becoming someone who contributes more than he takes. That’s the kind of life I’m aiming for, and this scholarship would help me take a meaningful step in that direction.

One lyric from Olivia Rodrigo that has stuck with me is from her song “traitor”: “I guess you didn’t cheat, but you’re still a traitor.” At first, it sounds like a line about relationships, but for me, it connects more broadly to trust—how it’s built, how it’s broken, and how complicated those moments can be. In high school, especially through sports, I’ve experienced what it means to rely on people and to be relied on. As a water polo player, trust isn’t optional—it’s essential. You have to believe your teammates will be where they’re supposed to be, that they’ll back you up, and that they’ll support you even when things aren’t going well. But like in Olivia’s music, things don’t always play out cleanly. Sometimes people let you down in ways that aren’t obvious or intentional, but still leave an impact. There were moments during games where I didn’t perform the way I expected to. I’d miss shots that I normally make in practice, and it felt like I was letting my team down. At the same time, I’ve also felt moments where the support I expected from others just wasn’t there. Nothing dramatic—just small things. A missed pass, a lack of communication, or even just a shift in energy. Those moments reminded me that trust isn’t just about big actions; it’s built in small, consistent ways, and it can be shaken just as quietly. What I connect to in Olivia Rodrigo’s lyrics is her ability to capture those in-between feelings—the ones that aren’t completely clear or easy to define. Life isn’t always about obvious right and wrong. Sometimes it’s about navigating gray areas, where emotions don’t line up perfectly with logic. That’s something I’ve had to learn, especially as I’ve taken on more of a leadership role on my team. Younger players look up to me, and I’ve realized that being a leader doesn’t mean being perfect. It means showing up, being consistent, and creating an environment where others feel supported, even when things are uncertain. Outside of sports, I’ve also started a small baking business, which has taught me a different kind of responsibility. There, trust shows up in a new way—people are relying on me to deliver something they paid for, something they’re excited about. It’s a reminder that trust is something you earn over time, through effort and follow-through. Olivia Rodrigo’s music doesn’t give easy answers, and that’s why it resonates with me. It reflects the reality that growing up involves navigating complicated emotions, learning from mistakes, and figuring out who you are in the process. For me, that journey has been about learning how to handle both success and disappointment, while continuing to show up for the people around me. In the end, the lyric from “traitor” isn’t just about betrayal—it’s about understanding that relationships, whether in friendships, teams, or life, are complex. And learning to navigate that complexity has been one of the most important parts of my growth so far

What stands out most to me about my experience on my teams isn’t a stat line or a big moment in a game—it’s what happens around us when no one is really paying attention. At team dinners, tournaments, or even just hanging out with families, there’s always a lot going on. Guys joking around, competing, trying to be heard. That’s part of it. But over time, I started noticing something else that felt more important. The teammates who make it a point to say hello to adults. The ones who help clean up without being asked. The small moments where people go out of their way to include someone else. Those things stuck with me. One of the ways I’ve tried to contribute to my team and community is by helping create an environment where people feel safe, especially the younger players. When you’re a freshman or sophomore coming into a competitive program, it can be intimidating. I remember what that felt like. It’s easy to feel like you don’t belong yet, or like you have to prove yourself before anyone takes you seriously. Because of that, I’ve tried to be more aware of the people around me. Sometimes it’s as simple as checking in with someone after practice, or encouraging them after a mistake. Sometimes it’s pulling someone into a conversation so they’re not standing off to the side. These aren’t big actions, but I’ve seen how much they can matter over time. I’ve learned that creating a “safe place” doesn’t come from having a title or being the loudest person in the room. It comes from paying attention and making small decisions that help other people feel included. A nod from a teammate, a few words of encouragement, or just being acknowledged can completely change how someone feels about being there. This is something that has shaped how I think about leadership. It’s easy to focus on goals, wins, or recognition, but I think the more meaningful work happens behind the scenes. It’s about building trust and helping create an environment where everyone feels like they belong and can contribute. That mindset has also influenced how I think about my future. I’m interested in environmental policy, especially issues like food waste and resource inequality. What draws me to that field is the idea of creating systems that work better for everyone. In a way, it’s similar to what I’ve tried to do on my team—making sure people aren’t overlooked and that there’s space for everyone. Through these experiences, I’ve realized that impact doesn’t always come from big, visible actions. It often comes from consistency, awareness, and how you treat people on a daily basis. If I can continue to build environments where people feel supported and included, whether that’s on a team or in a larger community, that’s something I’ll be proud of. That’s what I’ve tried to focus on, and it’s something I want to keep building on moving forward.

Most people think of math as something that only exists in classrooms—formulas, tests, and assignments that you just try to get through. But for me, math has started to feel a lot more practical than that. It’s something people use every day, often without even realizing it. One of the clearest ways I’ve seen math in action is through my own experiences with sports. In swimming, pacing is everything. You’re constantly thinking about time, splits, and how to manage your energy across a race. Even if you’re not writing it down, you’re calculating in your head—how fast you need to go, how much you can push, and how to finish strong. In water polo, it shows up in movement and positioning. Understanding angles, timing, and spacing in the pool can be the difference between a missed opportunity and a successful play. The more I’ve competed, the more I’ve realized that athletes are constantly making quick calculations without even thinking of them as “math.” Math also became more real to me when I started a small baking business. Suddenly, it wasn’t just numbers on a page—it was measurements, scaling recipes, managing costs, and making sure everything stayed consistent. If I doubled a recipe or adjusted ingredients, I had to get it right or the final product wouldn’t turn out the way I wanted. I also had to think about pricing—how to cover costs while still making something people would actually buy. It made me realize how math connects directly to results in a very tangible way. Outside of that, math plays a role in everyday decisions people make all the time. Budgeting money, comparing prices, planning schedules, or even figuring out the most efficient way to get somewhere all rely on basic math skills. People may not think about it as “doing math,” but they’re constantly using logic, estimation, and problem-solving to make choices. Even small decisions—like how to divide time between school, sports, and other responsibilities—require a kind of structured thinking that math helps develop. What I’ve come to appreciate most is that math isn’t just about getting the right answer—it’s about learning how to think. It teaches you how to break down problems, look at different possibilities, and work through something step by step. That kind of thinking applies to almost anything, whether it’s school, sports, or real-life situations. For me, math has shifted from being something I had to do to something I can use. It’s a tool that helps people make better decisions, solve problems, and understand the world around them a little more clearly.

I wouldn’t say I’m an advanced guitar player—yet—but I do know that the acoustic guitar is something I keep coming back to. There’s something about it that feels simple and honest. No heavy production, no distractions—just strings, rhythm, and whatever you’re feeling in the moment. For me, the passion started more from appreciation than skill. I’ve always noticed how acoustic guitar can completely change the mood of a space. One person, one instrument, and suddenly people are quieter, more present, more connected. It doesn’t feel forced—it just happens. That’s something I want to be able to do. I’ve started learning on my own, and I like that process. It reminds me of how my family approached instruments, figuring things out, staying curious, and getting better over time. There’s no shortcut. You sit with it, try again, and slowly it starts to sound like something real. That process is part of what makes it meaningful. When I think about “church,” I don’t always think of a building or a formal service. I think of a group of people who are kind, supportive, and trying to do good in the world. I’ve experienced that kind of “church” in different ways~through my team, through friendships, and through moments where people just show up for each other. That’s where I see guitar fitting in. Not necessarily as a performance, but as a way to bring people together. A way to slow things down, create a shared moment, and maybe give people space to think, reflect, or just feel a little more at peace. I haven’t led a worship group or but I have positively mentored younger underclassmen in sports, this is part of my life ’d like to continue to grow. I want to get good enough at guitar where I can use it for something beyond myself, whether that’s playing in a group setting, at a small gathering, or just for people who need a moment to breathe. What draws me to acoustic guitar isn’t just the sound, it’s what it represents. It’s patient, it’s real, and it brings people closer together without trying too hard. That’s something I want to be a part of.

One of the most influential teachers in my life wasn’t in a classroom—it was my head aquatics coach, Ish Pluton. Through water polo and swimming, he changed not just how I approached sports, but how I approach challenges in general. When I first started playing water polo, I came on as a strong swimmer and the helped immensely. I improved quickly and was recognized as “Most Improved” my first year. Even though Ish was the head coach, the entire coaching environment he created felt positive and supportive. I felt like I belonged, and it gave me confidence early on. But things didn’t stay easy. During my sophomore and junior years, I hit some strong plateaus. I struggled to score in games and wasn’t improving my swim times the way I expected. That frustration started to affect my mindset. I became more self-critical, and less consistent in how I approached both practice and competition. Ish’s response wasn’t to comfort me—it was to challenge me. His style was direct and sometimes tough. He emphasized accountability and expected more focus and effort. At the time, I didn’t respond well to it. I needed more encouragement, but what I got instead was pressure to figure things out for myself and work hard. Looking back, I can see that I wasn’t ready for that approach – yet. But it stayed with me. By my senior year, things started to change. Part of that was physical—I grew taller, got stronger, and made a major shift in my health by losing over 40 pounds in about eight months while building muscle (everyone was a little concerned because it seemed so fast, but I've come out of the transition well). But the bigger change after my transformation was mental. I developed more discipline and resilience, and I started to understand what Ish had been pushing me toward all along. His coaching style finally began to make more sense. It wasn’t about putting me down—it was about building toughness and consistency. Once I was ready to receive it, I started to improve. My ball awareness in the water increased tremendously from the first year, and I became a stronger defender in water polo (while playing as "clean" as I could in a game that gets dirty), and my swim times began to improve / drop again! Our relationship wasn’t always smooth. Ish prioritizes the team over individuals, which can be difficult when you’re trying to find your own role or identity. But that also taught me something important: being part of something bigger than yourself requires sacrifice and accountability. Through that experience, I learned how to push through frustration instead of avoiding it. I learned that growth doesn’t always feel good in the moment, and that sometimes the people who challenge you the most are the ones helping you the most. I still have areas I’m working on, especially with tough academics classes (Calculus BC is so hard!), but I’ve come a long way. I’ve been accepted into colleges I’m proud of, and I’ve developed a mindset that's stronger than before. Coach Ish didn’t just teach me how to play better—he taught me how to handle adversity. My Dad David would always joke that Water Polo and Swim at Poly was "Navy Seals Pre-Training", and there's a reason the word "Team" in their group names.

Personal Commitment to Mediation and Peacebuilding A real examples of conflict I’ve experienced didn’t happen in a formal setting, it happened on my water polo team. During the season, tension started building between a few players over playing time. Some felt they weren’t being given opportunities, others believed the team needed to stay focused on winning. It wasn’t one argument, it was a series of smaller frustrations that started to affect how people communicated in and out of the pool. I wasn’t a captain, but I could see the disconnect. Practices felt quieter, less connected, and during games, there was less trust. Instead of ignoring it, I decided to step in, not to take sides, but to help people talk to each other more directly. The first step was listening. I talked individually with a few teammates and let them explain how they felt without interrupting or trying to correct them. What I noticed quickly was that most of the frustration wasn’t just about playing time—it was about not feeling heard or respected. After that, I encouraged a few of them to talk together in a more direct but respectful way. I didn’t force a big group meeting, but I helped create smaller conversations where people could express what they were thinking without it turning into an argument. When things got tense, I tried to keep the focus on understanding instead of reacting. Over time, the dynamic started to shift. People didn’t suddenly agree on everything, but there was more communication and less built-up frustration. During games, that showed up as better coordination and more trust in each other. The outcome wasn’t perfect, but it was progress, and it made the team stronger. What I learned from that experience is that most conflicts aren’t about one issue, they’re about a breakdown in communication. When people feel like they’re not being heard, small problems grow into bigger ones. I also learned that you don’t need a formal title to help resolve conflict. Sometimes leadership is just being willing to listen, stay calm, and help others do the same. That experience has shaped how I think about leadership and my future goals. I’m interested in pursuing political science and policy because I see the same patterns on a larger scale. People with different perspectives often talk past each other instead of working toward solutions. Civil discourse isn’t just a concept, it’s a skill, and it takes effort to create space where people can actually listen to one another. If I want to work in policy one day, whether at the local or national level, I know that the ability to bring people together will matter just as much as the ideas themselves. That starts with understanding before trying to be understood. Relevant Civic / Leadership / Mediation Roles Model United Nations (MUN) Leader & Delegate Long Beach Polytechnic High School 2024–2026 Role: Participated in national conferences, including multiple trips to New York; engaged in structured debate, negotiation, and resolution-building on global policy issues; helped lead discussions and represent assigned countries in diplomatic simulations Contact: School Faculty Advisor, Long Beach Poly High School Varsity Water Polo Team Member Long Beach Polytechnic High School 2022–2026 Role: Team contributor; facilitated peer conversations and informal conflict resolution Contact: Athletic Department, Long Beach Poly High School Varsity Swim Team Member Long Beach Polytechnic High School 2022–2026 Role: Team leadership through consistency, mentorship of younger swimmers Contact: Athletic Department, Long Beach Poly High School Student Entrepreneur (Cookie Business) Independent / Local Community 2024–Present Role: Customer engagement, active listening, creating inclusive experiences through custom orders Contact: Available upon request

I didn’t start swimming and playing water polo thinking of myself as an adaptive athlete. I started because I loved being in the water, competing, and being part of a team. But over time, I realized that my experience in the sport was different from most of my teammates—because I was constantly managing something that didn’t go away when practice ended: severe eczema. As a varsity swimmer and water polo player, I spent hours in heavily chlorinated pools every day. For most people, that’s just part of the sport. For me, it meant dealing with irritated, inflamed skin that could crack, itch, and sometimes become painful enough to affect how I moved and trained. There were days when even getting through practice felt like a challenge, not because I wasn’t in shape, but because my body was reacting in ways I couldn’t fully control. Managing that became its own kind of training. Over the course of four years, I went through multiple doctor visits and tried a wide range of treatments—topical steroids that had to be used carefully, antibiotics to reduce inflammation, and different over-the-counter and prescription medications. Some helped temporarily, others didn’t work at all. It was a long process of trial and error, and there wasn’t a clear or immediate solution. Being an adaptive athlete, for me, has meant learning how to work with my body instead of against it. It meant showing up to practice even when I knew it might be uncomfortable. It meant adjusting routines, being more intentional about recovery, and finding ways to stay focused even when something physical was distracting me. Sports have shaped my mindset in a way that goes beyond performance. I’ve learned how to stay consistent, even when progress is slow or unpredictable. I’ve learned patience—not just with results, but with the process itself. And I’ve gained confidence from knowing that I can handle more than I initially think I can. That mindset carries over into other parts of my life. When something is difficult, I don’t expect it to be easy right away. I focus on staying consistent and figuring out what works, even if it takes time. As I move into college, I plan to continue competing and pushing myself, both in athletics and academically. I know that the challenges won’t disappear, but I also know how to manage them better than I did before. More importantly, I’ve learned that overcoming something doesn’t always mean eliminating it—it means learning how to move forward with it. Being an adaptive athlete isn’t something I set out to be. It’s something I became through experience. And it’s something that has shaped how I approach everything: with persistence, awareness, and the willingness to keep doing hard things, no matter what.

The movie that had the greatest impact on my life is E.T. the Extra-Terrestrial. I first watched it when I was younger, and at the time, it felt like a simple story about a kid and an alien. But as I got older, I started to understand it differently—and it stayed with me in a way I didn’t expect. What stood out most wasn’t the sci-fi part, but the relationship between Elliott and E.T. It was about connection, especially when someone feels completely out of place. E.T. is lost, alone, and trying to find his way home, and Elliott is dealing with his own sense of isolation. The way they understand each other without needing to explain everything made me realize how important empathy is. That idea has shaped how I interact with people. In my own life—whether it’s on my team, at school, or even through my small baking business—I’ve learned to pay attention to how people are feeling, not just what they say. Sometimes people don’t clearly express what they’re going through, but that doesn’t mean they don’t need support. It makes me wonder—how often do we miss what someone else is going through simply because they didn’t say it out loud? And how different would things be if we paid just a little more attention? The movie also taught me something about loyalty and showing up for others. Elliott doesn’t walk away when things get difficult—he stays committed, even when he doesn’t fully understand what’s happening. That’s something I try to carry with me, especially in team environments where trust matters. It raises another question for me: do we only show up for people when it’s easy, or are we willing to stay when it’s uncomfortable or unclear? As I’ve grown older, I’ve also started to see E.T. as a story about perspective. It asks you to look at someone—or something—that seems unfamiliar and choose curiosity over fear. That idea feels relevant beyond the movie. In real life, we’re constantly encountering people with different backgrounds, experiences, and ways of thinking. Do we push those differences away, or do we try to understand them? There’s also something powerful about the idea of “home” in the film. For E.T., it’s a physical place. But for Elliott, it seems more emotional—a sense of connection and belonging. It made me think about what “home” really means. Is it a place, or is it the people who make you feel understood? E.T. changed how I see connection. It showed me that even small acts of understanding can have a big impact, and that being there for someone—especially when they feel different or alone—matters more than anything else. It’s a reminder that we all want to feel seen, even if we don’t always know how to ask for it. And maybe the real question the movie leaves us with is this: when someone around you feels like they don’t belong, will you notice—and will you choose to reach out?

One issue I’ve noticed in my community, especially through sports, is that not everyone has equal access to basic support systems like transportation. It sounds small, but for a lot of younger athletes, not having a reliable ride to practice or games can mean missing opportunities or feeling disconnected from the team. I started noticing this with underclassmen on my water polo team. Some of them were constantly trying to figure out how to get to early practices or weekend events. It reminded me of how important those moments are—not just for improving, but for feeling like you belong. If you’re not there consistently, it’s easy to fall behind or feel left out. Instead of just recognizing it, I decided to do something about it. I began offering rides whenever I could. At first, it was occasional, but it quickly became something I built into my routine. Over time, it wasn’t just about getting from point A to point B. Those car rides became a space where teammates could talk, relax, and feel more connected. So far, what I’ve accomplished is simple but meaningful: consistency. The same group of younger players now knows they have someone they can rely on, and I’ve seen how that affects their confidence and participation. If I were to expand this effort, I’d want to organize something more structured—maybe a team-wide system where upperclassmen coordinate rides for younger players. It wouldn’t take much, just better communication and planning, but it could make a big difference. This experience has shown me that not every problem needs a big solution. Sometimes, taking initiative just means paying attention and stepping in where you can.

Mental health hasn’t been something I’ve always understood clearly—it’s something I’ve come to recognize over time through my own experiences and the people around me. For a while, I didn’t think about it in a direct way. I focused on school, sports, and staying busy. But there were periods where I felt off—low energy, less motivated, and more frustrated with myself than usual. At the time, I didn’t label it as anything specific. I just pushed through it, assuming that was the right thing to do. What I’ve learned since then is that ignoring those feelings doesn’t make them go away—it just delays dealing with them. Over time, I started to understand how important it is to be aware of your mental state, not just your physical performance or outward success. A big part of that realization came through sports. In swimming and water polo, performance is directly tied to how you feel mentally. There were times when I was physically prepared but mentally distracted, and it showed. Missed opportunities, slower reactions, and frustration during games made it clear that mindset matters just as much as training. Instead of continuing to ignore it, I started making small changes. I focused on taking better care of myself overall—improving my diet, staying consistent with exercise, and being more aware of how I was feeling day to day. Losing over 40 pounds was part of that process, but the bigger shift was mental. I felt more in control, more focused, and more stable. That experience also changed how I approach relationships. I’ve become more aware that everyone is dealing with something, even if it’s not visible. On my team, I try to be someone others can rely on—not just in games, but in smaller ways, like giving rides to underclassmen or just being someone they can talk to. I don’t always have the right words, but I’ve learned that showing up consistently matters. At home and in my personal life, I’ve also become more open to listening. Whether it’s conversations with family or just paying attention to how people are doing, I try not to assume that everything is fine just because it looks that way. That awareness has made my relationships feel more real and more supportive. My understanding of the world has shifted too. It’s easy to assume that success or stability means someone is doing well, but that’s not always true. People can be struggling even when everything looks fine from the outside. That realization has made me more patient and less quick to judge others. Looking ahead, this has influenced my goals in a practical way. I want to pursue a career in policy, where I can work on systems that affect people’s daily lives. Mental health is part of that. Whether it’s access to resources, reducing stigma, or simply creating environments where people feel supported, I think there’s a lot of work that still needs to be done. I don’t see mental health as something separate from everything else—it’s connected to how people live, learn, and interact. My own experiences have shown me that taking it seriously can lead to real improvements, not just personally but in how you relate to others. I’m still learning, but I’ve come to understand that paying attention to mental health isn’t a weakness—it’s part of being able to move forward in a stronger and more consistent way.

Selected paragraph (from Meditations by Marcus Aurelius, Book 2) “Begin each day by telling yourself: Today I shall meet with interference, ingratitude, insolence, disloyalty, ill-will, and selfishness—all of them due to the offenders’ ignorance of what is good or evil. But for my part I have long perceived the nature of good, and its nobility, the nature of evil, and its meanness, and also the nature of the culprit himself, who is my brother—not in the physical sense, but as a fellow creature similarly endowed with reason and a share of the divine; therefore none of those things can injure me, for nobody can implicate me in what is degrading. Neither can I be angry with my brother or fall foul of him; for he and I were born to work together, like a man’s two hands, feet or eyelids, or the upper and lower rows of his teeth. To obstruct each other is unnatural. To feel anger at someone, to turn your back on him: these are unnatural.” Essay: Marcus Aurelius’ central claim in this passage is that emotional control is not achieved by avoiding difficulty, but by preparing for it and redefining how we interpret it. He is not offering comfort; he is offering structure. By anticipating conflict as a natural part of human interaction, he removes its power to destabilize the individual. The deeper meaning of this passage is that resilience is not reactive—it is premeditated. The opening line is striking because of how direct it is: “Begin each day by telling yourself…” This is not a passive suggestion. It is an active mental exercise, almost like training. Aurelius is arguing that our mindset should be set intentionally before we encounter the world. What follows is a list of negative human behaviors—interference, ingratitude, disloyalty—that most people would naturally resist or take personally. But Aurelius reframes them as predictable outcomes of human ignorance rather than personal attacks. This shift is critical. If these behaviors are expected, they lose their ability to surprise or provoke. What stands out is that Aurelius does not deny that these traits exist. He accepts them fully, but he refuses to give them emotional authority. Instead, he introduces a second layer of thinking: understanding the “nature of good” and “the nature of evil.” This is where his argument becomes more philosophical. He suggests that people who act poorly do so because they lack clarity about what is good. Their behavior is not rooted in malice alone, but in misunderstanding. This perspective doesn’t excuse bad behavior, but it changes how one responds to it. If someone is acting out of ignorance, anger becomes less logical as a response. The most important line in the passage may be: “none of those things can injure me, for nobody can implicate me in what is degrading.” Here, Aurelius separates external actions from internal identity. Someone else’s behavior cannot define you unless you allow it to. This idea places full responsibility on the individual for maintaining their own integrity. It is a rejection of the instinct to let other people’s actions dictate your emotional state. This is where the passage becomes more than just advice—it becomes a framework for independence. Aurelius is arguing that true strength comes from not being controlled by external conditions. If you are constantly reacting to others, you are not in control of yourself. But if you define your response ahead of time, you retain that control. The passage then shifts into a more relational perspective, emphasizing the idea that all people are connected. Aurelius describes others as “my brother… similarly endowed with reason.” This is a deliberate attempt to humanize even those who behave poorly. By recognizing shared traits—reason, existence, a place in the same system—he reduces the distance between himself and others. This is important because it prevents dehumanization, which is often the root of anger and conflict. The metaphor of the body—hands, feet, eyelids—is especially effective. These parts do not compete; they function together, even when imperfectly. Aurelius is suggesting that human beings are meant to operate in the same way. Conflict, then, is not just unpleasant—it is unnatural. This is a strong claim. It implies that cooperation is the default state, and division is a breakdown of that system. What makes this idea powerful is that it doesn’t depend on other people behaving well. Aurelius is not saying, “Work together if others cooperate.” He is saying that your role is to maintain alignment with what is natural, regardless of what others do. This reinforces his earlier point: control is internal, not external. The final lines—“To feel anger at someone… these are unnatural”—bring the argument to a clear conclusion. Anger, in this framework, is not just unhelpful; it is a deviation from how humans are meant to function. This challenges a common belief that anger is justified when someone else behaves poorly. Aurelius is arguing the opposite: anger reflects a failure to understand the situation clearly. From a modern perspective, this passage feels especially relevant. It addresses something that people deal with constantly—frustration with others. Whether it’s in school, sports, or everyday interactions, it’s easy to take things personally and react emotionally. Aurelius is offering an alternative approach: expect difficulty, interpret it accurately, and maintain control over your response. What makes this philosophy effective is that it’s practical. It doesn’t require changing other people. It only requires changing how you think about them. That makes it something you can apply immediately, in any situation. The underlying message is simple but demanding: you are responsible for your mindset. Not in a vague or abstract way, but in a daily, intentional sense. Strength is not about avoiding conflict or winning every interaction. It’s about maintaining clarity and control in the face of whatever comes your way. Aurelius is not trying to eliminate difficulty—he is trying to make it irrelevant.

One of the first times I started thinking seriously about my future wasn’t in a classroom—it was in my kitchen, baking cookies for a small order. What began as a simple project turned into something more meaningful. I wasn’t just making food—I was learning how to listen to people, understand what they wanted, and create something that brought them together. That experience made me realize that the work I want to do in the future should have that same kind of impact: practical, thoughtful, and centered around real people. My academic goal is to study political science and environmental policy, with a focus on systems that affect how resources are distributed. I’ve become especially interested in food systems—how much is wasted in some places while others face shortages. As someone who has grown up in a diverse community in Long Beach, I’ve seen how access and opportunity aren’t always evenly distributed. Being a person of color has shaped how I see that. It’s made me more aware of the gaps that exist and more motivated to understand how they can be addressed in ways that are realistic and effective. Giving back to my community hasn’t always been through formal programs—it’s been through smaller, consistent actions. On my water polo team, I make it a point to give rides to underclassmen who don’t have reliable transportation. It started as something simple, but it became a way to help others feel included and supported. I remember what it felt like to be younger and unsure of where I fit in. Being able to make that experience easier for someone else matters to me. My cookie business has also become a way to connect with people. I take time to listen to what customers want, often creating custom orders based on their ideas or experiences. It’s shown me how much people value being heard. Something as simple as sharing food can create connection, and I’ve seen that firsthand at school events, team gatherings, and within my community. These experiences have shaped how I think about making a difference. I don’t see impact as something abstract or distant. It starts with understanding people, paying attention, and taking action where you can. Whether that’s helping a teammate, building something small that brings people together, or studying systems that affect larger populations, it all connects. In the future, I want to work in policy—possibly in Washington, D.C.—where I can contribute to solutions that improve how resources are managed and distributed. I want to focus on practical changes that make systems more efficient and fair, especially for communities that are often overlooked. What drives me is the idea that meaningful change doesn’t come from one big moment. It comes from consistent effort, clear thinking, and a willingness to stay engaged with real problems. My experiences—as a student, an athlete, a business owner, and a person of color—have all shaped that perspective. I plan to carry it forward into everything I do.

Most Significant Challenge & Academic Impact One of the most significant challenges I’ve faced wasn’t a single moment—it was a period of time where I felt stuck physically, mentally, and academically. I was carrying extra weight, my energy was low, and it started to affect everything. At first, I didn’t fully connect the dots. I thought I just needed to push harder in practice or try to “lock in” more when studying. But over time, it became clear that the issue was deeper. I wasn’t taking care of myself in a way that allowed me to perform at my best. Instead of ignoring it, I made a decision to change my habits. I focused on improving my diet, cutting out a lot of processed foods, and being more intentional about what I was putting into my body. It wasn’t a quick fix—it was a process of learning, adjusting, and staying consistent even when it wasn’t easy. Over time, those changes had a real impact. I lost over 40 pounds, but more importantly, I felt a shift in my energy and mindset. In the pool, I could move faster, recover quicker, and stay engaged throughout practices and games. That same energy carried into my academic life. I found it easier to focus, to stay organized, and to follow through on assignments. The challenge also changed how I approach setbacks. There were moments when progress felt slow or when I wanted to fall back into old habits. I stopped expecting immediate results and started focusing on consistency. I became more aware of how small decisions add up over time. That mindset has helped me stay more disciplined in school and more intentional about my goals. Looking back, the challenge wasn’t just about fitness. It was about learning how to take responsibility for my own growth. It pushed me to become more self-aware, more consistent, and more willing to do the work even when it wasn’t convenient. That’s something I carry with me now—not just as an athlete, but as a student and as someone preparing for the next stage of life. Filipino-American Identity & Purpose Some of the most meaningful lessons I’ve learned haven’t come from school or sports—they’ve come from time spent in the kitchen with my grandma. She would cook a wide range of Filipino dishes—meals that were rich, flavorful, and deeply tied to our culture. Cooking with her wasn’t just about preparing food. It was about understanding where it came from, why it was made a certain way, and what it meant to the people who shared it. While we cooked, she would tell stories. Some were about her life growing up, others about family, sacrifice, and the decisions she had to make along the way. I started to see that even simple things, like a meal, can carry history, values, and meaning across generations. Growing up Filipino-American in Long Beach has shaped how I see the world. Long Beach is diverse, with so many different cultures and perspectives. That environment made me more open-minded and curious. My culture isn’t something separate from my life—it’s something that’s always present. Cooking with my grandma taught me patience, attention to detail, and the importance of listening. She never rushed anything, and she expected me to pay attention—not just to the food, but to what she was sharing with me. Being Filipino-American, to me, means carrying values—family, resilience, and taking care of others. I want to build a life where I’m not just focused on my own success, but on contributing to something bigger.

Kindness in Action Over the past year, I’ve made it a habit to give rides to underclassmen on my team. It started pretty casually—I noticed a few guys were always figuring out last-minute rides to early practices or games. I had a car, so it felt like something I could step in and help with. At first, it didn’t seem like a big deal. Just picking someone up on the way. But it became more consistent—early mornings, late nights after games, weekends. Sometimes it meant going out of my way or adjusting my own schedule, but I kept doing it. What made it meaningful wasn’t just getting them there—it was everything around it. Those car rides became a space where they could relax, talk, ask questions, or just feel more included. I remember what it felt like being younger and not always knowing where you fit in. Having someone make things a little easier would’ve mattered to me. It also changed how I think about leadership. It’s not always about what happens during games or practices. A lot of it is just showing up for people in small, consistent ways. For me, kindness is about noticing when you can help and choosing to act on it. Boldly, Unapologetically Me There have been a lot of moments where it would’ve been easier to just go along with what everyone else was saying or doing, especially in team environments where fitting in matters. But I’ve learned that being honest, even when it’s uncomfortable, is more important than just agreeing to keep things smooth. One example is when something isn’t working—whether it’s during a game, practice, or even just how people are communicating. I’ve been in situations where I felt like everyone knew something was off, but no one wanted to say it. Speaking up in those moments isn’t always easy, especially when you’re younger or not in a leadership role. But I’ve chosen to say what I actually think, respectfully but clearly. Sometimes that means pushing back a little, or being direct when others might avoid it. It doesn’t always land perfectly, but I’ve found that people usually respect honesty when it comes from a good place. Being myself means being transparent, even when it would be easier not to be. I’d rather be known as someone who’s real and straightforward than someone who just blends in. Over time, that’s helped me build stronger trust with teammates and people around me. Creating Connection One of the ways I’ve unintentionally created connection is through something simple—making cookies. What started as a small side project turned into something more personal than I expected. When people order from me, I don’t just treat it like a transaction. I ask questions, try to understand what they’re looking for, and pay attention to the details. Sometimes people want something specific tied to a memory or an idea, and I try to build around that. That process made me realize how much people value being listened to. It’s not just about the product—it’s about feeling like someone actually heard you and cared enough to get it right. I’ve also seen how food naturally brings people together. Whether it’s for a team event, a small gathering, or just sharing with friends, it creates a moment where people connect without it feeling forced. Through that, I’ve learned that connection doesn’t always come from big efforts. It comes from being present, paying attention, and taking people seriously. That’s something I try to carry into other areas of my life too—just making sure people feel seen and included in a real way.

Fitness wasn’t always something I was fully committed to—it became a turning point for me when I realized how much my health was affecting my performance and confidence. A couple of years ago, I was carrying extra weight that made everything harder than it needed to be. In the pool, I could feel it during long swim sets and especially during water polo games. Getting up and down the pool quickly was more exhausting than it should have been, and I wasn’t performing at the level I knew I was capable of. It wasn’t just physical—it started to affect how I saw myself as an athlete. Instead of ignoring it, I decided to take control of it. The biggest change I made wasn’t in the pool—it was in my diet and daily habits. I started paying attention to what I was eating, cutting out a lot of processed food and focusing on healthier, more balanced meals. It wasn’t about doing something extreme or temporary. It was about building habits I could stick to. At the same time, I stayed consistent with training, even on days when I didn’t feel motivated. Over time, those changes added up. I ended up losing over 40 pounds, but more importantly, I felt completely different. My energy levels improved, my endurance increased, and I started to see real changes in my performance. In swimming, I was able to hold stronger pace times and recover faster between sets. In water polo, I could move up and down the pool more quickly and stay effective deeper into games. It felt like I was finally able to match my effort with my results. That process taught me a lot about discipline and patience. There wasn’t a single moment where everything changed—it was the result of small decisions made consistently over time. It also taught me how connected fitness is to every part of life. When I felt better physically, I was more focused in school, more confident in myself, and more motivated overall. There were definitely challenges along the way. Changing habits is difficult, especially when you’re balancing school, sports, and everything else that comes with being a student-athlete. There were times when progress felt slow or when it would have been easier to fall back into old routines. But those were the moments that mattered most—choosing to stay consistent even when it wasn’t easy. Now, fitness is something I take seriously, not just for performance but as a part of who I am. It’s not about reaching a finish line—it’s about continuing to improve and take care of myself so I can perform at my best in everything I do. Losing the weight was important, but what matters more is what I learned from it: that real change comes from discipline, consistency, and being willing to push through discomfort. That mindset is something I carry with me in the pool, in the classroom, and in my future goals.

I don’t think I’m the kind of swimmer the current system is built for—but I do think I’m exactly the kind of swimmer Speed League Swimming is built for. Most of my experience in the water has come from doing both swim and water polo at a competitive level. Swimming gave me discipline and technical focus. Water polo gave me awareness, instinct, and the ability to perform when something is actually on the line. Moving between the two forced me to adapt constantly. I’ve never been the athlete who just shows up, follows the same routine, and drops time automatically. I’ve had to work through inconsistency, frustration, and moments where I wasn’t sure if I was improving at all. Some of the most defining moments for me weren’t big wins—they were the times I didn’t perform the way I expected. Missing shots in games, finishing races where I knew I had more in me, or training hard and not seeing immediate results. Those moments stick with you. Early on, they would get in my head. I’d carry them into the next race or the next game. Over time, I’ve learned how to reset faster, how to focus on execution instead of outcome, and how to stay steady even when things don’t go perfectly. That’s shaped how I see myself as an athlete. I’m not perfect, but I’m durable. I keep showing up, and I keep adjusting. In terms of where I want to go, I’m not interested in just participating at the next level. I want to compete in a way that forces me to grow. Whether that’s continuing to swim at a high level in college, competing in structured leagues, or being part of something new like Speed League Swimming, my goal is to keep pushing toward higher levels of performance. I believe I can become the kind of athlete who performs best when the environment is competitive, fast, and meaningful—not just routine. Right now, the traditional swimming system offers structure, coaching, and competition, but it can also feel repetitive and narrow. A lot of the focus is on incremental time drops and standard meet formats, which are important, but they don’t always capture what makes athletes compelling. There’s not always room for personality, for creativity, or for competition formats that feel dynamic and engaging. For a lot of swimmers, especially those who don’t fit perfectly into the traditional path, it can feel like you’re just moving through the system instead of being challenged by it. I think swimmers are often overlooked in terms of what they bring beyond times on a board. There’s strategy, there’s mental resilience, and there’s the ability to perform under pressure—but those qualities don’t always get recognized or developed in the current structure. That’s where I think the future of swimming needs to change. Swimming should feel more like a competitive platform, not just a sequence of meets. There should be more opportunities for athletes to compete in formats that emphasize racing, head-to-head competition, and adaptability. There should be more visibility for athletes as individuals, not just as times or rankings. And there should be more ways for swimmers to build something sustainable out of their careers, whether that’s through leagues, sponsorships, or alternative competition structures. I think elite swimmers deserve opportunities that match the level of effort they put in. The training is intense, the commitment is real, but the system doesn’t always return that investment in meaningful ways. That gap is why something like Speed League Swimming makes sense right now. A league creates stakes. It creates identity. It creates a reason to compete that goes beyond just personal bests. For someone like me, that kind of environment would change how I approach the sport. It would push me to be sharper, more competitive, and more consistent, because the outcomes would matter in a different way. Speed League Swimming feels like it’s built for athletes who are willing to evolve—who don’t just want to follow the existing system, but want to be part of building something better. If I were part of that league, I think my role would go beyond just competing. I would bring a perspective shaped by both individual and team-based competition. I understand what it means to perform under pressure in different environments, and I’m comfortable adjusting in real time. I’d also want to contribute to how the league grows—how it presents athletes, how it structures competition, and how it creates a more engaging experience for both swimmers and audiences. I’m not the loudest person, but I pay attention. I think about how things work, and how they could work better. Financially, my path to higher education is something I’ve had to take seriously. My family has supported me in every way they can, but covering college costs fully isn’t realistic. At the same time, federal aid doesn’t fully reflect our situation. Because of that, scholarships like this one matter. They don’t just reduce cost—they create options. They allow me to pursue opportunities that I otherwise might have to pass on. I’ve received some support, but I still need additional help to make college and continued athletic development possible at the level I’m aiming for. At the end of the day, I’m not looking for an easier path. I’m looking for a better one. I think Speed League Swimming represents that. And I think I’m the kind of athlete who would not only benefit from it—but help define what it becomes.

For me, the decision to pursue higher education without relying on family or federal financial aid isn’t based on a single moment—it’s the result of understanding my circumstances and choosing to take ownership of my path forward. My family has always supported me in ways that matter—encouragement, guidance, and a strong work ethic—but financially, covering the cost of college isn’t something they can realistically take on. At the same time, federal aid options don’t fully reflect our situation. On paper, it may look like there are resources available, but in practice, those resources are limited or already committed to essential expenses. Recognizing that gap early forced me to think differently about how I approach college. Instead of seeing that as a setback, I’ve treated it as a responsibility. If I want to continue my education, I need to be part of making it happen. That mindset has shaped how I’ve approached both school and life over the past few years. One of the biggest ways this has influenced me is through independence. I’ve had to think ahead—about costs, priorities, and what kind of future I want to build. Starting a small baking business was one of the first steps I took toward that. What began as a simple idea turned into something that required planning, consistency, and follow-through. Managing orders while balancing school and athletics taught me that time and effort directly connect to results. It also showed me that I’m capable of creating opportunities for myself, even when resources are limited. This experience has also strengthened my sense of responsibility. As a student-athlete, I already understood the importance of commitment, but adding financial awareness into the equation made that commitment more personal. My performance in the classroom isn’t just about grades—it’s tied to the opportunities I can access. Every assignment, every test, and every decision matters more when you know you are working toward something you’re helping fund and build yourself. At the same time, this situation has clarified my goals. I’ve become more focused on pursuing a path that is both meaningful and practical. My interest in environmental policy comes from wanting to work on real-world problems like resource distribution and food systems—areas where thoughtful decisions can have a measurable impact. But I’m also aware that I need to approach that path with a clear understanding of stability and long-term sustainability. That balance between purpose and practicality is something I’ve had to think about earlier than most. Not having direct financial support has changed how I see challenges. Instead of expecting a clear path, I expect to build one. It’s pushed me to be resourceful, to ask better questions, and to take initiative rather than wait for opportunities to come to me. Ultimately, this experience hasn’t discouraged me—it’s prepared me. It’s taught me that independence isn’t about doing everything alone, but about taking responsibility for your direction. As I move forward, I plan to carry that mindset with me, continuing to work toward an education and a future that I’ve helped create for myself.

Most people see water polo as a physical sport, but for me, it has always been just as mental. During games, there are moments when everything slows down—the ball is coming your way, the shot matters, and you either execute or you don’t. I’ve had both outcomes. I’ve made shots that helped my team win, and I’ve missed ones I wish I could take back. Learning how to respond to both has shaped who I am as a student-athlete. Being part of the water polo and swim programs at Long Beach Poly has taught me what dedication really looks like. It’s not just showing up when things are going well—it’s showing up consistently, even when you’re tired, frustrated, or not seeing immediate results. Early morning practices, long conditioning sets, and balancing a full academic schedule forced me to develop discipline. Over time, that discipline carried into the classroom, where I’ve learned how to stay focused and keep working even when material becomes challenging. Teamwork is something I’ve come to value more each year. In water polo, no one succeeds alone. Every goal depends on positioning, passing, and trust between teammates. I’ve worked to become someone others can rely on—not just for performance, but for support. Whether it’s encouraging a teammate after a tough game or helping keep the energy up during practice, I try to contribute in ways that go beyond statistics. I’ve also seen how important communication is, especially in high-pressure moments when everyone needs to be on the same page. Resilience has probably been the most important lesson I’ve learned. There have been games where I’ve missed key shots or fallen short of my own expectations. In the past, those moments would stay with me longer than they should. Over time, I’ve learned how to move forward more quickly—focusing on the next play instead of the last mistake. That mindset has made me a better athlete, but it has also helped me academically. When I struggle with a concept or don’t perform as well as I hoped on an assignment, I’ve learned to adjust, ask for help, and keep improving rather than getting stuck. Outside of sports and school, I’ve also challenged myself in different ways, including starting a small baking business. That experience taught me responsibility and time management in a completely different context. Balancing orders, schoolwork, and training pushed me to stay organized and follow through on commitments, even when my schedule was full. Being a student-athlete has taught me that growth doesn’t come from one big moment—it comes from consistent effort over time. Dedication means showing up every day. Teamwork means putting others in a position to succeed. Resilience means continuing to move forward, even when things don’t go as planned. These are lessons I carry with me in everything I do, and they will continue to guide me as I take the next step in my education and beyond.

The first time I began thinking seriously about global systems wasn’t in a classroom—it was while baking cookies in my kitchen. What started as a small project turned into a steady business, and with it came a simple but powerful realization: even at a small scale, inefficiency creates waste. I saw ingredients go unused, time get mismanaged, and demand fluctuate in ways that felt unpredictable. That experience made me curious about something bigger—if small systems waste this much, what does that look like at a national or global level? That question led me to explore food systems and environmental policy. Through my studies, I learned how much food is wasted in the United States while millions of people worldwide lack consistent access to basic resources. Understanding this imbalance through the lens of history and geography helped me see that these issues are not random—they are the result of patterns, decisions, and systems built over time. That realization is what drives me today. At Long Beach Poly, I’ve worked to grow both academically and personally. As a water polo and swim athlete, I’ve learned discipline, resilience, and how to perform under pressure. But more importantly, I’ve learned how to be a reliable teammate. Over time, I’ve become someone younger athletes turn to for support and encouragement. That role matters to me because I remember how much guidance helped me when I was in their position. These experiences have shown me that leadership is less about recognition and more about consistency and trust. My interest in political science and environmental policy is rooted in a desire to improve how systems function for real people. History teaches us which policies have failed and why. Cultural anthropology helps us understand how different communities interact with resources and each other. Geography reveals how physical environments shape opportunity and limitation. Together, these fields provide a framework for making smarter, more informed decisions. In the future, I hope to work in policy—possibly in Washington, D.C.—where I can contribute to practical solutions that reduce waste, improve resource distribution, and create more equitable systems. I am especially interested in developing policies that address food insecurity in ways that are efficient, scalable, and grounded in real-world conditions rather than idealized assumptions. I don’t see change as something that happens all at once. It happens through small, thoughtful improvements that build over time—just like running a business, being part of a team, or learning from past mistakes. My goal is to take what I’ve learned—from my experiences, my studies, and the people around me—and apply it in a way that creates meaningful, lasting impact. With the support of this scholarship, I will be able to continue my education and deepen my understanding of the systems that shape our world. More importantly, I will be better prepared to contribute to improving them.