The most significant challenge I've faced in my life has been managing the struggles with my mental health, which only came into focus senior year as I was diagnosed with ADHD, Generalized Anxiety Disorder, Persistent Depression Disorder, and PTSD. Reflecting on my high school years, I realized how much these conditions affected my academic and personal life. I couldn't focus, avoided everyday interactions, and found my life outside of school just as disorganized. Each day felt like an endless cycle, and by the time I reached high school, the weight of it all started to close in on me. Despite this, identifying my passions kept me pushing forward, determined to graduate. I worked hard during my junior year and even spent the summer at Community College to improve my GPA and pursue my goal of majoring in political science. My whole childhood, I've struggled to find where I fit in, switching weekly between my father's strict Muslim household and my mom's two-bedroom apartment. Neither place felt like home in the traditional sense, and both lacked the parental support I needed to be productive. Adding to this, neither of my parents accepts me being gay, which has made it harder to find a space where I feel comfortable expressing myself. In Berkeley, where the public is generally progressive and vocal about LGBT issues, I've felt the contrast more sharply. While I appreciate the supportive environment, my parents' disapproval has made me a private person, leaving me confused and feeling out of place even where my identity's accepted. Through my struggles, however, I've been able to slowly find clarity in my life. I know how to navigate life on my own, teach myself healthy routines, and overcome academic challenges without much external support. This independence has become an invaluable skill that I'll carry into college, but I unfortunately had to learn during high school. These challenges have shaped who I am today-determined and ready to take on the next chapter of my life. They have also given me a unique perspective, one I hope I can add to a campus community.

From an early age, I’ve been intrigued by power’s role in our political system; how policies shape our lives, the strategies behind elections, and the people who drive change. My interest was galvanized in middle school during a live broadcast of the 2020 election as swing states were neck and neck, deciding the future of our society. The experience was tense and precipitated a journey of researching and understanding the inequalities in our countries political framework. Discussions about policy impacts or campaign strategies gave me a sense of belonging I hadn’t found elsewhere. It wasn’t until my Law & Social Justice class at Berkeley High that my understanding of the human element of politics truly deepened. The course contradicted my assumptions about the criminal justice system, breaking away from the media's simplistic narratives. A turning point came during our class tour of San Quentin Prison. Walking into the facility, I braced myself for what I thought would be a grim, distant experience. Instead, I met individuals who defied every stereotype I had unconsciously internalized. They spoke with hope, compassion, and deep remorse; qualities I didn’t know existed within prison walls at the time. That day, I realized how myopic societal narratives and assumptions can lead us to view people in a way that strips their humanity. This theme of polarization has resonated in my personal life, too. As someone who is North African but white-passing, when I travel with my father, who appears more Arab than I do, the contrast in how we’re treated is consistent. TSA agents often “randomly” stop and question him, treating him with suspicion, while I walk through security unbothered. Identity isn’t just about how we see ourselves; it’s also about how others perceive and react to us. My fascination with politics & personal experiences have given me a unique perspective for understanding these divides. I’ve analyzed what it takes to win elections, how campaigns either attract or repel supporters and how policies can either unify or polarize. Yet my time at San Quentin reminded me that political science isn’t just about numbers and strategies; it’s about people. It’s about understanding the true human experiences behind the policies we debate and the biases we hold. I believe my ability to identify these complexities with empathy would be a positive addition to a diverse college community. The same curiosity that led me to question the electoral system as an eighth-grader now drives me to engage with people whose perspectives differ from mine. I’m excited to study political science not just to understand systems of power but to find ways to bring people together. At its core, politics is defined by community and connection, and I’m committed to using my will, voice and education to build bridges, not walls.