It was a moment I had envisioned countless times in the weeks leading up to the science fair. The announcer’s voice echoed across the gymnasium: "And for the winners of the Electrical and Mechanical Engineering Category of the science fair... runner-ups are Damian S, Colton R, Leif M, and Eland M—and the first-place award goes to Ella Webb for her project on Prisms, Mirrors, and Periscopes!" Proud of how hard I had worked, I walked up to the stage as I received my award. The moment should have been triumphant. Instead, it was bittersweet. As the other recipients high-fived each other, they ignored me entirely. I felt invisible, as though my achievement had been overshadowed simply because I was the only girl in the category. The announcer, adding insult to injury, said, “Congratulations, boys," before correcting himself and tacking on, "and Ella.” Walking back to my seat, the sting of isolation was sharp. I was a young middle schooler who had poured hours into experiments with mirrors and periscopes, yet it felt like my presence was an afterthought. In that moment, I resolved to keep proving myself—not just to others, but to myself—and to ensure that young girls like me wouldn’t feel overlooked in the world of STEM. People often ask me when optics became my life. My instinct is to say it began during my junior year of high school, but the truth is, my journey started much earlier. At nine years old, I pried open a virtual reality headset, stepping into a lifelong curiosity about light and optics. By seventh grade, my bedroom had transformed into a makeshift lab. My science fair project on periscopes won first place at the county level, but the sting of being dismissed at the awards ceremony stayed with me. Years later, in my IB HL Physics class, my three friends and I sat on one side of the room while the boys clustered on the other. Familiar with this divide, I knew the only way to change perceptions was to excel. By the end of the year, I had earned one of the top spots in the class. Eventually, those same peers welcomed me as the first girl in their coding club. Together, we partnered with local engineering firms to educate people from all backgrounds on the field, inspiring many girls who saw engineers present to our school. This tenacity carried me into optometry, where I shadowed professionals and applied my coursework to real-world healthcare. The summer before my senior year, I joined Telelumen as a paid optical engineering intern. I was the youngest and the only young woman, often overlooked for my capabilities. At first, my colleagues underestimated me, but I earned their trust through persistence. By the end of the internship, I was trusted with major projects and invited to our company’s presentations. It was during this event that I met Maya, a girl with the same curiosity I’d had at her age. I showed her how to use the equipment, encouraging her not to doubt her abilities. Her excitement reminded me why I had entered the field: not just for my passion but to inspire and mentor others. STEM became my way of transforming challenges into opportunities—for myself and others. My goal now is to develop innovative optical tools improving healthcare while creating mentorship programs for young girls in STEM. I want them to know their curiosity and potential are enough to light their path. As I continue to chase the light—bending it, shaping it, and discovering its endless possibilities—I strive to illuminate futures, both through science and advocacy.

The summer after my junior year, I traded high school hallways for an office full of seasoned engineers, stepping into a world where I was both the youngest and one of the only girls. I had fought hard to prove myself in a field where I was underrepresented, leveraging my experience shadowing an optometrist and excelling in rigorous IB HL sciences (Physics, Chemistry, Biology, and Math). Those experiences earned me a hard-won title as a paid intern at Telelumen, an optical engineering company advancing programmable light spectra for circadian rhythm research. Ecstatic to have secured the role, I knew I had to continue proving myself to gain the respect of my colleagues. This wasn’t unfamiliar; I had faced similar challenges as one of the few girls in STEM classes dominated by men, ultimately proving myself as a top-performing student. At Telelumen, I began by demonstrating my knowledge and capabilities, overcoming the low expectations set for me. Eventually, I gained the trust of my colleagues and was entrusted with critical tasks, handling sensitive project data, operating the Ulbricht sphere to test LED equipment, and ultimately taking charge of LED demonstrations at our open house. The open house, hosted by our company, marked a significant milestone in proving my performance and growing my confidence. It was there that I met Maya, a 12-year-old girl with the same wild-eyed curiosity I had at her age. She lingered near my demonstration station, where I analyzed the chromaticity of LED samples, hesitant but clearly intrigued. When she finally approached, I welcomed her curiosity, explaining the science behind optics and its applications, such as hospital light therapy—concepts she quickly grasped. I invited Maya to use the equipment herself, immediately showing her trust and emphasizing that she didn’t need to prove her capabilities; her curiosity was enough to carry her far. As the LED samples illuminated her face, I noticed another glow—her curiosity coming to life. By the end of the event, she was asking insightful questions about the technology, eager to learn more. Maya’s mother later thanked me, explaining that her daughter had always been curious about science but often felt out of place in her school’s STEM classes. That moment resonated deeply with me. I knew too well what it felt like to be excluded—whether it was being overlooked by male competitors at county science fairs or, during my junior year, sitting on one side of my physics classroom with my friends while the boys grouped together on the other side, leaving us isolated. These experiences, while challenging, solidified my resolve to persevere and excel in STEM, and I didn’t want Maya’s spark of curiosity to fade. Maya reminded me of the importance of mentorship and representation in empowering young women to pursue their passions. Seeing her confidence grow in that short interaction inspired me to take a more active role in advocating for inclusion in STEM, ensuring others like her feel seen, supported, and encouraged to chase their dreams. I stayed in touch with Maya after the event, guiding her through small projects like building circuits and experimenting with prisms to split light. I even passed down some of my favorite science tools from when I was her age, including the periscopes I had designed and analyzed for a seventh-grade science fair project and my quirky “Bed Prism Spectacles” that had once let me watch Saturday morning cartoons from the comfort of my bed. A year later, she shared her excitement with me: she had joined her school’s robotics team and was considering a future in engineering. Her progress reaffirmed my belief in the importance of representation and inspired me to do more to help young women feel welcome in STEM fields. Looking ahead, I plan to use my education in optical physics to make meaningful contributions to healthcare. I want to develop innovative tools such as advanced diagnostic imaging systems that detect eye diseases at their earliest stages, giving patients better chances of treatment and recovery. Building on my work at Telelumen, I am also inspired by the potential of programmable light to improve mental and physical well-being. From hospital light therapy to circadian rhythm regulation, I hope to design systems that enhance patient care and productivity in everyday life– potentially helping patients recovering from surgery, students managing anxiety, or individuals in remote areas with limited access to natural sunlight. However, my aspirations go beyond technical innovation. I’ve seen firsthand how representation– or the lack of it– can shape someone’s confidence in their abilities. I am committed to advocating for women and underrepresented groups in STEM. Having experienced the challenges of being overlooked or underestimated, I understand the importance of mentorship and support. My goal is to create programs that connect young people, especially girls, with resources and role models to help them thrive in STEM. Maya’s journey showed me how transformative encouragement and guidance can be, and I want to ensure that more students like her see their potential to shape the world through science. Ultimately, my education in optical physics will be a tool to both advance technology and uplift others. Whether through life-changing healthcare devices or inspiring the next generation of scientists, I aspire to leave a legacy of innovation, inclusion, and empowerment. As I delve deeper into the world of optical physics, I’m still chasing the light—bending it, shaping it, and discovering the ways it can transform the world around me.

My hometown ranked 6th out of California’s 58 counties. But at a district board meeting I attended as a student delegate, this statistic wasn’t a celebration of academic or athletic achievement. Instead, it was our grim reality—ranking 6th in the state for youth substance disorders. This number wasn’t just a distant statistic; I saw its impact firsthand when I lost a classmate to an overdose, the tragic culmination of a childhood marked by bullying and neglect. At the board meeting, I listened as adults debated solutions, often stymied by mistrust between youth and authority figures. Some believed the issue was too complex or that students were unwilling to engage with the resources already in place. I found this deeply frustrating—why was it so hard to take decisive action on such an urgent issue? It became clear that if real change was going to happen, it needed to start with youth themselves. Determined to bridge this gap, I partnered with school counselors and my co-leader Alé to bring Hope Squad—a nationally recognized peer-to-peer support program—to our campus. The program focused on equipping students to support their peers during mental health crises, fostering a sense of community, and reducing stigma around asking for help. At first, Hope Squad had humble beginnings. Alé and I assembled a small group of students known as natural support systems within our school—those peers everyone turned to in times of need. We were apprehensive about whether the program would succeed, aware of the funding constraints and skepticism from some administrators. Still, we pressed forward, meeting every other week over bagels to train our peers on topics like crisis management, bullying, and how to connect struggling students with professional resources. These early sessions laid the foundation for something much larger. Over the next three years, I watched Hope Squad evolve from a scrappy initiative into one of the most vital mental health resources in our community. What started as a fledgling program became a household name among community organizers and even city council members. Our impact extended beyond the walls of my high school. Regularly presenting Hope Squad updates at district board meetings inspired officials to expand the program district-wide, bringing it to every school. But my role didn’t stop there. Beyond leading my campus chapter, I worked to establish a middle school Hope Squad and served as a consultant to other high schools looking to start their own. As word of our work spread, Alé and I became a bridge between professional mental health resources and the youth in our community. More than 25 local organizations reached out to collaborate, and we began partnering on projects aimed at systemic change. Our most significant initiative has been creating a youth-adult design team in partnership with a local organization, focused on developing new mental health programs and securing funding. Together, we crafted a proposal for a citywide tax initiative to address youth substance abuse, which we plan to present to the mayor. This project directly targets the statistic that once defined my community—ranking 6th out of California’s 58 counties for youth substance disorders—and aims to ensure no student faces these struggles alone. Throughout this journey, I’ve been constantly learning and growing, both as a leader and as a supporter of my peers. I’ve encountered situations I never expected—helping classmates cope with grief, advocating for funding in front of skeptical stakeholders, and confronting the realities of bullying head-on. Each challenge has reinforced my belief in the power of community-driven solutions and the importance of meeting people where they are. To this day, I strive to fortify my community as we continue to tackle the interconnected challenges of bullying, substance abuse, and mental health stigma. The district has since bolstered Hope Squad with additional funding and recognition, and I take pride in knowing that our efforts have created lasting change. While my hometown’s statistic initially felt like an insurmountable weight, it became the catalyst for action—proof that even in the face of adversity, a determined community can choose to rise above tragedy and build a brighter future together.