My greatest strength is turning passion into meaningful change - a skill that began with banana slugs and my aunt's promise of a dollar per slug. At seven years old, I filled a sparkly owl notebook with slug sightings, creating crayon maps of their favorite spots. While initially motivated by pocket money, this simple experience taught me something valuable: that paying attention to the world around us can lead to meaningful discoveries. This early lesson evolved into active environmental advocacy in high school. Through our Turn Off the Lights Day and Sustainability Ambassadors program, I learned to translate data into compelling stories for change. By tracking our school's electricity usage and commuting habits, I uncovered striking statistics: a 30% reduction in energy consumption and a 9,000-pound daily CO2 footprint from transportation alone. These findings became catalysts for action. Seeing that data alone didn’t have the power to create change, I began to speak at statewide PTA and city council meetings, sharing these insights and advocating for sustainable practices in schools and in our communities. When Initiative 2117 threatened to restrict public transit funding critical for reducing emissions, I wrote an op-ed opposing it and pitched it to the Seattle Times, determined to amplify awareness of its environmental impact. The sustainability plan I developed for my school gained traction and spread throughout our district, demonstrating how individual action can create rippling change. Then, while working with teachers across multiple school districts, I helped develop curricula incorporating sustainability concepts through Sound Transit light rail case studies, allowing us to integrate environmental awareness directly into classrooms, ensuring lasting impact through education. From crayon maps to sustainability initiatives, I've learned that meaningful change starts with genuine curiosity and grows through collaboration. Each project has taught me more about gathering evidence, working with others, and turning ideas into action. While I'm still learning, my passions and persistence continue to grow as do my actions to create positive change in our communities. In the future, I hope to combine engineering with environmental advocacy, creating carbon capturing technologies so widespread that environmental protection becomes one of our nation's greatest priorities, and our citizens equally passionate -- and merging that with patent law, helping other entrepreneurs turn their wildest dreams of environmental protection services and products into real action to help our world become more sustainable, because at it's core, environmental challenges are fundamentally human stories, requiring solutions that honor both technical expertise and community wisdom.

At 3 AM at the Exothermic Robot House, I was in my element, channeling my inner Bob the Builder. My fingers gripped the wrench as I adjusted the nut just a spacer away from my wheel. With each turn, the friction eased. Here, all else fell away—I was in paradise. Robotics was my escape, where stress melted and peace reigned. I thrived on bringing wild designs to life. I pulled out my stopwatch. "START." Brushing the wheel, I watched it spin and gradually slow. "STOP." 16.243 seconds. Not bad, but the friction needed work. I loosened the nut again. 18.482 seconds. A small triumph, but to me, it was everything. Not too bad for a girl. In my junior year, I met a former VEX World Champion. His fingers traced the rubbery tube lining our robot's intake. "Unconventional, simple, yet ingenious," he declared. As my male teammates revealed I had designed and built it, his smile faltered. His fingers pulled away, and he reassessed, now calling it merely "unconventional and simple." In robotics, where girls are outnumbered fifteen to one, I became the only one to step foot into the workshop more than once a week, as my female peers had been chipped away by similar snide remarks. Forty hours turned to 25, then to 7. Eventually, I, too, distanced myself from the physical workshop, not because I lacked drive, but because my passion was slipping beneath the weight of others' dismissiveness. Still, I couldn't sever my tie to robotics, so I channeled my passion into something more lasting. Now collaborating online with my team, I spent hours daily documenting every nuance of our robot build, game strategy, programming, and design—page after page until a 650-page analysis emerged. It wasn't just an engineering notebook; it was the spark that reignited my purpose. That notebook earned recognition at an International Signature event, winning us the Excellence Award and a ticket to the World Championship. This wasn't about winning. The judges saw what I had poured into that notebook—my resilience, my voice, my refusal to be written off. With my work validated, I realized I didn't need to fit into preconceived molds. The only one that mattered was the one I was creating for myself. I re-entered the robotics community, not as someone who needed to prove herself, but as someone with the confidence to make valued contributions. I began leading and teaching. From girl-powered workshops to mentorship sessions, I showed others that they, too, could design, build, and lead. I organized a three-month educational program for students from underserved communities, determined to make sure no one would feel out of place in spaces that should welcome all. In teaching and empowering others, I found the true reward. While I'm proud of my awards, their significance pales in comparison to helping others thrive where I once struggled. The challenges shaped me into someone who doesn't just persevere but paves the way for others. Growth doesn't come from easy moments; it's born from adversity. I am the wall breaker, the challenger of the status quo. By redefining my role in robotics and beyond, I found strength in my uniqueness, instead of conforming to others' expectations. Fast forward, 40 hours in, at 3 AM, I am Emily the Builder, Advisor, and Leader—poised to continue breaking barriers. Not too bad for a girl.

From the Tao Te Ching by Laozi, Chapter 2: "When people see some things as beautiful, other things become ugly. When people see some things as good, other things become bad. Being and non-being produce each other. Difficult and easy complement each other. Long and short contrast each other. High and low depend on each other. Before and after follow each other. Therefore the sage goes about doing nothing, teaching no-talking. The ten thousand things arise from it, and yet it does not make them its own." The passage from the Tao Te Ching reveals a profound metaphysical critique of human perception and the nature of existence itself. At its core, Laozi challenges the fundamental way we construct meaning through binary oppositions, exposing the illusory nature of categorical distinctions. The statement "When people see some things as beautiful, other things become ugly" is not merely a linguistic observation, but a radical philosophical deconstruction of how human consciousness creates value and meaning. This insight touches on a deep philosophical problem of ontological relativity. Laozi suggests that what we perceive as inherent qualities are actually relational constructs entirely dependent on perspective and context. Beauty, goodness, length, height—these are not objective properties, but emergent phenomena arising from a complex web of interdependent relationships. Each conceptual category derives its significance not from any intrinsic essence, but from its dynamic interaction with its perceived opposite. The philosophical implications are profound. Traditional Western metaphysics, from Plato to Descartes, often sought to establish fixed, essential categories of understanding. In contrast, Laozi presents a radically fluid ontology where being and non-being are not opposing states, but mutually generative processes. This anticipates later philosophical developments like Hegel's dialectical method and contemporary process philosophy, which view reality as a continuous, transformative becoming rather than a static set of substances. Wu wei, often mistranslated as passive inaction, represents a sophisticated epistemological approach to engaging with reality. It is not resignation, but a sophisticated attunement to the intrinsic dynamism of existence. The sage who "does nothing" is not passive, but is instead so deeply aligned with the fundamental rhythms of reality that action emerges spontaneously and effortlessly. This represents a profound alternative to the Western philosophical tradition's emphasis on intentional, goal-directed action. Laozi's philosophy challenges not just how we perceive the world, but the very structure of perception itself. Our tendency to categorize, to create rigid distinctions, is revealed as a limited mode of understanding. True wisdom, according to this perspective, comes from recognizing the fundamental interpenetration of all phenomena—a radical non-dualism that dissolves the subject-object distinction. This approach resonates with several philosophical traditions. It bears striking similarities to Buddhist concepts of emptiness (śūnyatā), where all phenomena are understood as fundamentally interdependent and lacking inherent self-nature. It also anticipates aspects of phenomenology, particularly Merleau-Ponty's conception of the body as a dynamic, interrelated system constantly co-creating its environment. In contemporary philosophical discourse, Laozi's insights connect powerfully with systems theory, complexity science, and ecological thinking. These fields increasingly recognize the world not as a collection of discrete entities, but as a complex, interconnected network where change emerges from intricate relational dynamics. The profound simplicity of Laozi's approach lies in its recognition that our attempts to control, categorize, and comprehend are themselves part of the very dynamic we seek to understand. By releasing the impulse to definitively grasp or manipulate, we open ourselves to a more nuanced, responsive engagement with the fundamental mystery of existence. This is not a philosophy of passive acceptance, but of active receptivity—a delicate attunement to the generative, ever-shifting nature of reality. In a world increasingly characterized by fragmentation and conflict, Laozi offers a radical alternative: an understanding of existence as a continuous, interdependent dance of becoming.

At seven years old, while my parents balanced full-time jobs and the demands of raising three children, I found myself becoming a caregiver to my younger brother—brushing his teeth, helping him dress, and walking him to the bus stop. What felt like an unfair burden then—a trade-off between childhood freedom and family duty—became the foundation of who I am today. Those early morning routines planted the seeds of responsibility and resilience before I fully understood their meanings, something that would later define my approach to life's obstacles. By twelve, I embraced my first real challenge: coaching tennis to neighborhood kids. I was nervous and far younger than most of my students, who towered over me. But instead of shrinking back, I took it as a test of problem-solving and confidence. I broke down techniques, creating drills that turned intimidating skills into something they could actually do. After each session, I sent parents a recap, sometimes with videos, and slowly, the kids started to look up to me—literally and figuratively. Soon, I was earning enough to treat my brother to his favorite gummy bears—a small gesture that symbolized my growing independence and capability. My journey with tennis became a profound teacher of resilience. During my sophomore year, an osteochondral defect in my right elbow threatened to derail my athletic passion. A bone graft and a year of rehabilitation tested my determination, but I refused to be defined by limitation. I returned to varsity singles, making it to districts. My most recent challenge emerged from my passion for robotics. Recognizing the lack of STEM education in underserved communities, I developed and led a free robotics program for fifteen high school students in Bellingham, Washington. Over three months, I learned that teaching complicated concepts to a group with little background in engineering required not just technical know-how, but empathy, patience, and endless adaptability. Some students quickly caught on, while others struggled, so I adjusted on the spot, sometimes abandoning my plans to find new ways to make each idea click. Watching them finally "get it" reminded me of the first time I felt that pride in problem-solving—and it showed me how rewarding it is to push through challenges that help others. Each of these experiences has taught me that obstacles are often where we find our strengths. I've learned to analyze, adapt, and keep pushing forward, building a quiet confidence that has carried into my academic work. Now, challenges are less about pressure and more about discovery—and I'm excited to see what more I'll learn as new ones come my way.

At seven years old, while my parents balanced full-time jobs and the demands of raising three children, I found myself becoming a caregiver to my younger brother—brushing his teeth, helping him dress, and walking him to the bus stop. What felt like an unfair burden then—a trade-off between childhood freedom and family duty—became the foundation of who I am today. Those early morning routines planted the seeds of responsibility and resilience before I fully understood their meanings, something that would later define my approach to life's obstacles. By twelve, I embraced my first real challenge: coaching tennis to neighborhood kids. I was nervous and far younger than most of my students, who towered over me. But instead of shrinking back, I took it as a test of problem-solving and confidence. I broke down techniques, creating drills that turned intimidating skills into something they could actually do. After each session, I sent parents a recap, sometimes with videos, and slowly, the kids started to look up to me—literally and figuratively. Soon, I was earning enough to treat my brother to his favorite gummy bears—a small gesture that symbolized my growing independence and capability. My journey with tennis became a profound teacher of resilience. During my sophomore year, an osteochondral defect in my right elbow threatened to derail my athletic passion. A bone graft and a year of rehabilitation tested my determination, but I refused to be defined by limitation. I returned to varsity singles, making it to districts. My most recent challenge emerged from my passion for robotics. Recognizing the lack of STEM education in underserved communities, I developed and led a free robotics program for fifteen high school students in Bellingham, Washington. Over three months, I learned that teaching complicated concepts to a group with little background in engineering required not just technical know-how, but empathy, patience, and endless adaptability. Some students quickly caught on, while others struggled, so I adjusted on the spot, sometimes abandoning my plans to find new ways to make each idea click. Watching them finally "get it" reminded me of the first time I felt that pride in problem-solving—and it showed me how rewarding it is to push through challenges that help others. Each of these experiences has taught me that obstacles are often where we find our strengths. I've learned to analyze, adapt, and keep pushing forward, building a quiet confidence that has carried into my academic work. Now, challenges are less about pressure and more about discovery—and I'm excited to see what more I'll learn as new ones come my way.

My journey into data analysis began with banana slugs and my aunt's promise of a dollar per slug. At seven years old, I became an enthusiastic slug hunter on our family hikes, carefully recording my findings in a sparkly owl notebook. Soon, I noticed patterns - more slugs appeared in shady spots after rain, especially near fallen logs. My crude crayon maps of "slug hotspots" may have been driven by a child's desire for pocket money, but they sparked something deeper: a fascination with how collecting and analyzing information could reveal hidden patterns in the world around us. This childhood curiosity evolved into meaningful action in high school, where I discovered the power of data to drive environmental change. Through initiatives like Turn Off the Lights Day and the Sustainability Ambassadors program, I learned to harness data visualization to tell compelling stories. By tracking our school's electricity usage and commuting habits, I revealed startling statistics - from a 30% reduction in energy consumption to the discovery of our 9,000-pound daily CO2 footprint from transportation alone. These numbers, when presented effectively, transformed abstract environmental concerns into tangible challenges our community could tackle together. My passion for understanding patterns extends beyond environmental data. Fascinated by the coordinated movements of minnows in local streams, my brother and I spent countless nights coding simulations using Craig Reynolds' Boids flocking algorithm to digitally replicate the dynamics of the schools of fry we had grown up with. This experience taught me how complex natural behaviors could be understood and replicated through careful observation and mathematical modeling - a perfect blend of my interests in nature and technology. These experiences draw me to pursue Information technology, particularly in data analysis programs. Each school's emphasis on practical application excites me through programs like the Living Labs initiative, where I could contribute to projects like the Campus Farm Data Collection and Analysis program. Working with experts in both data science and sustainable agriculture would help me understand how to create information systems that support ecological decision-making. Partnerships with sustainability institutions, like the Graham Sustainability Institute would allow me to participate in interdisciplinary research projects, developing digital tools to help communities track and reduce their environmental impact. In the spirit of my grandmother's garden and the slug-filled forests of my childhood, I carry forward a belief that meaningful change grows from deep, patient understanding. Each dataset is a story waiting to be told, each algorithm a bridge between observation and action.

At 3 AM at the Exothermic Robot House, I found myself in my element, channeling my inner Bob the Builder. My fingers gripped the wrench as I adjusted the nut just a spacer away from my wheel. With each turn, the friction eased, and in that moment, all else fell away—I was in paradise. Robotics became my escape from the chaos of the outside world, where stress melted away, and peace reigned. Here, I could truly relax and let my creativity flow, thriving on the thrill of bringing the wildest designs to life—building and testing without limits. I pulled out my stopwatch. “START.” As I brushed the wheel, I watched it quickly spin and gradually slow to a halt. “STOP.” 16.243 seconds. Not bad, but the friction still needed work. I loosened the nut again. “18.482 seconds.” A small triumph, but to me, it was everything. Not too bad for a girl. In my junior year of high school, I was introduced to a former VEX World Champion. His fingers traced the rubbery tube that lined the rough plastic above our robot’s intake. “Unconventional, simple, yet ingenious,” he declared. My male teammates proudly revealed to him that I had designed and built it. His smile faltered, and his fingers pulled away, now labeling it “unconventional and simple.” Feeling increasingly out of place, I struggled to find my footing in robotics, where girls were outnumbered one to fifteen. I became the only one stepping into the workshop regularly, as my female peers faded away under similar snide remarks. My hours dwindled from forty to twenty-five, then to seven. Eventually, I distanced myself from the workshop—not due to lack of drive, but because my passion was slipping beneath the weight of others’ dismissiveness. Yet I couldn’t sever my tie to robotics. I channeled my passion into something more lasting, collaborating online with my team. I documented every nuance of my robot build, game strategy, programming, and design—until a 650-page analysis emerged. It wasn’t just an engineering notebook; it was the spark that reignited my purpose, earning us the Excellence Award and a ticket to the World Championship. With my work validated, I realized I didn’t need to fit into preconceived molds. I re-entered the robotics community as someone confident enough to make valued contributions. I began leading and teaching through girl-powered workshops and mentorship sessions, ensuring no one felt out of place in spaces meant to be welcoming to all. Fast forward to 3 AM, I am still awake—playing Emily the Builder, Advisor, and Leader—poised to continue breaking barriers. *Not too bad for a girl.*

Between the rows of gai lan and fuzzy melon vines in my grandmother's Washington backyard garden, I learned my first lessons about nurturing life. But beyond our bamboo trellises draped with climbing beans, news of climate change and vanishing habitats transformed my garden dreams into environmental urgency. At seven, I filled a sparkly owl notebook with slug sightings, creating crayon maps of their favorite spots. While initially motivated by pocket money, this simple experience taught me something valuable: that paying attention to the world around us can lead to meaningful discoveries. This early lesson evolved into active environmental advocacy in high school. Through our Turn Off the Lights Day and Sustainability Ambassadors program, I learned to translate data into compelling stories for change. By tracking our school's electricity usage and commuting habits, I uncovered striking statistics: a 30% reduction in energy consumption and a 9,000-pound daily CO2 footprint from transportation alone. These findings became catalysts for action. Seeing that data alone didn’t have the power to create change, I began to speak at statewide PTA meetings, sharing these insights and advocating for sustainable practices in schools. When Initiative 2117 threatened to restrict public transit funding critical for reducing emissions, I wrote an op-ed opposing it and pitched it to the Seattle Times, determined to amplify awareness of its environmental impact. The sustainability plan I developed for my school gained traction and spread throughout our district, demonstrating how individual action can create rippling change. Then, while working with teachers across multiple school districts, I helped develop curricula incorporating sustainability concepts through Sound Transit light rail case studies, allowing us to integrate environmental awareness directly into classrooms, ensuring lasting impact through education. From crayon maps to sustainability initiatives, I've learned that meaningful change starts with genuine curiosity and grows through collaboration. Each project has taught me more about gathering evidence, working with others, and turning ideas into action. While I'm still learning, my passions and persistence continue to grow as does my actions to create positive change in our communities. I hope to explore how traditional growing practices inform climate resilience, investigating how carbon-capturing materials could be economically integrated into urban farming. In twenty years, I envision myself as a leader, bridging science, engineering, and policy. On some days, I'm in a lab, designing systems that capture carbon dioxide from the air and convert it into sustainable energy, helping to combat the accelerating climate crisis. On others, I’m guiding cities in implementing green technologies, ensuring that the ecosystems I cherished as a child can thrive for generations.

Between the rows of gai lan and fuzzy melon vines in my grandmother's Washington backyard garden, I learned my first lessons about nurturing life. But beyond our bamboo trellises draped with climbing beans, news of climate change and vanishing habitats transformed my garden dreams into environmental urgency. At seven, I filled a sparkly owl notebook with slug sightings, creating crayon maps of their favorite spots. While initially motivated by pocket money, this simple experience taught me something valuable: that paying attention to the world around us can lead to meaningful discoveries. This early lesson evolved into active environmental advocacy in high school. Through our Turn Off the Lights Day and Sustainability Ambassadors program, I learned to translate data into compelling stories for change. By tracking our school's electricity usage and commuting habits, I uncovered striking statistics: a 30% reduction in energy consumption and a 9,000-pound daily CO2 footprint from transportation alone. These findings became catalysts for action. Seeing that data alone didn’t have the power to create change, I began to speak at statewide PTA meetings, sharing these insights and advocating for sustainable practices in schools. When Initiative 2117 threatened to restrict public transit funding critical for reducing emissions, I wrote an op-ed opposing it and pitched it to the Seattle Times, determined to amplify awareness of its environmental impact. The sustainability plan I developed for my school gained traction and spread throughout our district, demonstrating how individual action can create rippling change. Then, while working with teachers across multiple school districts, I helped develop curricula incorporating sustainability concepts through Sound Transit light rail case studies, allowing us to integrate environmental awareness directly into classrooms, ensuring lasting impact through education. From crayon maps to sustainability initiatives, I've learned that meaningful change starts with genuine curiosity and grows through collaboration. Each project has taught me more about gathering evidence, working with others, and turning ideas into action. While I'm still learning, my passions and persistence continue to grow as does my actions to create positive change in our communities. I hope to explore how traditional growing practices inform climate resilience, investigating how carbon-capturing materials could be economically integrated into urban farming. In twenty years, I envision myself as a leader, bridging science, engineering, and policy. On some days, I'm in a lab, designing systems that capture carbon dioxide from the air and convert it into sustainable energy, helping to combat the accelerating climate crisis. On others, I’m guiding cities in implementing green technologies, ensuring that the ecosystems I cherished as a child can thrive for generations.

At 3 AM at the Exothermic Robot House, I was in my element, channeling my inner Bob the Builder. My fingers gripped the wrench as I adjusted the nut just a spacer away from my wheel. With each turn of the wrench, the friction eased. Here, all else fell away— I was in paradise. Robotics was my escape from the outside world, where stress melted, and peace reigned. In these moments, I could truly relax, letting my creativity flow. I thrived on bringing the wildest designs to life — building and testing without limits. I pulled out my stopwatch. “START”. Brushing the wheel, I watched it quickly spin and gradually slow to a halt. “STOP”. 16.243 seconds. Not bad, but the friction still needed work. I loosened the nut again. 18.482 seconds. A small triumph, but to me, it was everything. Not too bad for a girl. In my junior year of high school, I was introduced to a former VEX World Champion. His fingers traced the rubbery tube that lined the rough plastic above our robot’s intake. “Unconventional, simple, yet ingenious,” he declared. As my male teammates proudly revealed to him that I had designed and built it, his smile faltered. His fingers pulled away, and he reassessed, now calling it merely “unconventional and simple.” Feeling increasingly out of place, I struggled to find my footing in robotics, where girls are outnumbered fifteen to one, I became the only one to step foot into the workshop more than once a week, as my female peers had been chipped away by similar snide remarks. Forty hours turned to 25, then to 7. Eventually, I, too, distanced myself from the physical workshop, not because I lacked the drive, but because my passion was slipping beneath the weight of others’ dismissiveness. Still, I couldn’t sever my tie to robotics, so I channeled my passion into something more lasting, something I could control. Now collaborating more online with my team, I spent hours daily documenting every nuance of our robot build, game strategy, programming, and design- page after page until a 650-page analysis emerged. It wasn’t just an engineering notebook; it was the spark that reignited my purpose. That notebook earned recognition at an International Signature event, winning us the Excellence Award and a ticket to the World Championship. This wasn’t just about winning. The judges saw what I had poured into that notebook- my resilience, my voice, my refusal to be written off. With my work validated, I realized that I didn’t need to fit into preconceived molds. The only one that mattered was the one I was creating for myself. I re-entered the robotics community, not as someone who needed to prove herself, but as someone with the confidence to make valued contributions. I began leading and teaching. From girl-powered workshops to mentorship sessions, I showed others that they, too, could design, build, and lead. I even organized a three-month educational program for students from underserved communities, determined to make sure no one would feel out of place in spaces that should be welcoming to all. In teaching, sharing, and empowering others, I found the true reward of my journey. While I’m proud of my awards and trophies, their significance pales in comparison to the impact of helping others thrive where I once struggled. The challenges I faced shaped me into someone who doesn’t just persevere for herself but paves the way for others. Growth doesn’t come from easy moments; it’s born from adversity. I am the wall breaker, and I am the challenger of the status quo. By redefining my role in robotics and beyond, I found strength in my uniqueness, instead of conforming to the expectations of others. Fast forward, 40 hours in, at 3AM, I am still awake— playing Emily the Builder, Advisor, and Leader— poised to continue breaking barriers. Not too bad for a girl.

At 3 AM at the Exothermic Robot House, I was in my element, channeling my inner Bob the Builder. My fingers gripped the wrench as I adjusted the nut just a spacer away from my wheel. With each turn, the friction eased. Here, all else fell away—I was in paradise. Robotics was my escape, where stress melted and peace reigned. I thrived on bringing wild designs to life. I pulled out my stopwatch. "START." Brushing the wheel, I watched it spin and gradually slow. "STOP." 16.243 seconds. Not bad, but the friction needed work. I loosened the nut again. 18.482 seconds. A small triumph, but to me, it was everything. Not too bad for a girl. In my junior year, I met a former VEX World Champion. His fingers traced the rubbery tube lining our robot's intake. "Unconventional, simple, yet ingenious," he declared. As my male teammates revealed I had designed and built it, his smile faltered. His fingers pulled away, and he reassessed, now calling it merely "unconventional and simple." In robotics, where girls are outnumbered fifteen to one, I became the only one to step foot into the workshop more than once a week, as my female peers had been chipped away by similar snide remarks. Forty hours turned to 25, then to 7. Eventually, I, too, distanced myself from the physical workshop, not because I lacked drive, but because my passion was slipping beneath the weight of others' dismissiveness. Still, I couldn't sever my tie to robotics, so I channeled my passion into something more lasting. Now collaborating online with my team, I spent hours daily documenting every nuance of our robot build, game strategy, programming, and design—page after page until a 650-page analysis emerged. It wasn't just an engineering notebook; it was the spark that reignited my purpose. That notebook earned recognition at an International Signature event, winning us the Excellence Award and a ticket to the World Championship. This wasn't about winning. The judges saw what I had poured into that notebook—my resilience, my voice, my refusal to be written off. With my work validated, I realized I didn't need to fit into preconceived molds. The only one that mattered was the one I was creating for myself. I re-entered the robotics community, not as someone who needed to prove herself, but as someone with the confidence to make valued contributions. I began leading and teaching. From girl-powered workshops to mentorship sessions, I showed others that they, too, could design, build, and lead. I organized a three-month educational program for students from underserved communities, determined to make sure no one would feel out of place in spaces that should welcome all. In teaching and empowering others, I found the true reward. While I'm proud of my awards, their significance pales in comparison to helping others thrive where I once struggled. The challenges shaped me into someone who doesn't just persevere but paves the way for others. Growth doesn't come from easy moments; it's born from adversity. I am the wall breaker, the challenger of the status quo. By redefining my role in robotics and beyond, I found strength in my uniqueness, instead of conforming to others' expectations. Fast forward, 40 hours in, at 3 AM, I am still awake—playing Emily the Builder, Advisor, and Leader—poised to continue breaking barriers. Not too bad for a girl.

At 3 AM at the Exothermic Robot House, I was in my element, channeling my inner Bob the Builder. My fingers gripped the wrench as I adjusted the nut just a spacer away from my wheel. With each turn of the wrench, the friction eased. Here, all else fell away— I was in paradise. Robotics was my escape from the outside world, where stress melted, and peace reigned. In these moments, I could truly relax, letting my creativity flow. I thrived on bringing the wildest designs to life — building and testing without limits. I pulled out my stopwatch. “START”. Brushing the wheel, I watched it quickly spin and gradually slow to a halt. “STOP”. 16.243 seconds. Not bad, but the friction still needed work. I loosened the nut again. 18.482 seconds. A small triumph, but to me, it was everything. Not too bad for a girl. In my junior year of high school, I was introduced to a former VEX World Champion. His fingers traced the rubbery tube that lined the rough plastic above our robot’s intake. “Unconventional, simple, yet ingenious,” he declared. My male teammates proudly revealed to him that I had designed and built it. His smile faltered. His fingers pulled away, and he reassessed, now calling it merely “unconventional and simple.” Feeling increasingly out of place, I struggled to find my footing in robotics, where girls are outnumbered fifteen to one, I became the only one to step foot into the workshop more than once a week, as my female peers had been chipped away by similar snide remarks. Forty hours turned to 25, then to 7. Eventually, I, too, distanced myself from the physical workshop, not because I lacked the drive, but because my passion was slipping beneath the weight of others’ dismissiveness. Still, I couldn’t sever my tie to robotics, so I channeled my passion into something more lasting, something I could control. Now collaborating more online with my team, I spent hours daily documenting every nuance of our robot build, game strategy, programming, and design- page after page until a 650-page analysis emerged. It wasn’t just an engineering notebook; it was the spark that reignited my purpose. That notebook earned recognition at an International Signature event, winning us the Excellence Award and a ticket to the World Championship. This wasn’t just about winning. The judges saw what I had poured into that notebook- my resilience, my voice, my refusal to be written off. With my work validated, I realized that I didn’t need to fit into preconceived molds. The only one that mattered was the one I was creating for myself. I re-entered the robotics community, not as someone who needed to prove herself, but as someone with the confidence to make valued contributions. I began leading and teaching. From girl-powered workshops to mentorship sessions, I showed others that they, too, could design, build, and lead. I even organized a three-month educational program for students from underserved communities, determined to make sure no one would feel out of place in spaces that should be welcoming to all. In teaching, sharing, and empowering others, I found the true reward of my journey. While awards and trophies hold their significance, they pale in comparison to the impact of helping others thrive where I once struggled. The challenges I faced shaped me into someone who doesn’t just persevere for herself but paves the way for others. My journey taught me that growth doesn’t come from easy moments; it’s born from adversity. I am the wall breaker, and I am the challenger of the status quo. By redefining my space in robotics and beyond, I found strength in what makes me different, rather than conforming to others’ expectations. Fast forward, 40 hours in, at 3AM, I am still awake— playing Emily the Builder, Advisor, and Leader— poised to continue breaking barriers. Not too bad for a girl.

At 3 AM at the Exothermic Robot House, I was in my element, channeling my inner Bob the Builder. My fingers gripped the wrench as I adjusted the nut just a spacer away from my wheel. With each turn, the friction eased, and all else fell away—I was in paradise. Robotics became my escape from the chaos of the outside world, where stress melted away, and peace reigned. Here, I could relax and let my creativity flow, thriving on bringing the wildest designs to life—building and testing without limits. I pulled out my stopwatch. “START.” As I brushed the wheel, I watched it spin and gradually slow to a halt. “STOP.” 16.243 seconds. Not bad, but the friction still needed work. I loosened the nut again. “18.482 seconds.” A small triumph, but to me, it was everything. *Not too bad for a girl.* In my junior year, I worked with a former VEX World Champion. His fingers traced the rubbery tube above our robot’s intake. “Unconventional, simple, yet ingenious,” he declared. My male teammates proudly revealed that I had designed it. His smile faltered, and he reassessed, now calling it merely “unconventional and simple.” Feeling increasingly out of place, I struggled to find my footing in robotics, where girls were outnumbered one to fifteen. I became the only one to step into the workshop more than once a week, as my female peers had been chipped away by snide remarks. My commitment dwindled from forty hours a week to twenty-five, then to seven. Eventually, I distanced myself from the workshop—not due to a lack of drive, but because my passion was slipping beneath the weight of others’ dismissiveness. Still, I couldn’t sever my tie to robotics. I channeled my passion into something more lasting. Collaborating online with my team, I spent hours each day documenting every nuance of our robot build, game strategy, programming, and design. Page after page, a 650-page analysis emerged. It wasn’t just an engineering notebook; it was the spark that reignited my purpose. That notebook earned recognition at an International Signature event, winning us the Excellence Award and a ticket to the World Championship. This achievement wasn’t just about winning. The judges recognized what I had poured into that notebook—my resilience, my voice, my refusal to be written off. With my work validated, I realized I didn’t need to fit into preconceived molds. The only one that mattered was the one I was creating for myself. I re-entered the robotics community, not as someone needing to prove herself, but as someone confident enough to contribute meaningfully. I began leading and teaching. From girl-powered workshops to mentorship sessions, I showed others that they, too, could design, build, and lead. I organized a three-month educational program for students from underserved communities, determined to ensure no one felt out of place in spaces that should be welcoming. In teaching and empowering others, I discovered the true reward of my journey. While awards hold significance, they pale in comparison to the impact of helping others thrive where I once struggled. My journey taught me that growth doesn’t come from easy moments; it’s born from adversity. I am the wall breaker, the challenger of the status quo. By redefining my space in robotics and beyond, I found strength in what makes me different rather than conforming to others’ expectations. Fast forward to 3 AM, I am still awake—playing Emily the Builder, Advisor, and Leader—poised to continue breaking barriers. *Not too bad for a girl.*

My most vivid childhood memories are woven from the threads of long, winding road trips, laughter-filled games, and the joyful exploration of nature. I recall the way the sun danced through the car windows as my siblings and I played word games, our voices rising and falling with excitement. We crafted stories of adventure, each word a stepping stone across our imagination's vast landscape. As the miles rolled by, so did our creativity, unfurling like the wildflowers we would later seek along the roadside. Each pause on these journeys brought us to splashing creeks, where the cool water kissed our feet and the earth echoed with our laughter. I remember the thrill of feeling the soft, slippery bodies of minnows dart between my fingers as I tried to catch them, their quick movements a reminder of nature's lively pulse. The gentle rush of water, the chorus of chirping crickets, and the rustle of leaves became the soundtrack of my childhood, a melody that still lingers in my heart. Then, there were the banana slug finding bets, where my siblings and I would turn over rocks and logs in search of the elusive creature, our playful wagers an embodiment of our spirited curiosity. Raised by two parents who emphasized the value of resilience and hard work, I learned that true fulfillment lies not in accolades or status but in the joy of life's simple beauties. My parents worked tirelessly to provide for our family, demonstrating the importance of determination in the face of adversity. At times, I envied friends whose weekends were packed with structured activities, the kind of lives that felt so carefully curated. However, I've grown to appreciate the invaluable hours spent in unscripted play with my siblings. Our adventures were never defined by structure but by our willingness to explore the world around us. We ventured to hidden waterfalls, where the water cascaded like diamonds in the sunlight, our shouts echoing against the rocks as we dared each other to jump into the cool embrace below. We searched for Indian paintbrushes, their vibrant hues a testament to nature's artistry, filling our arms with colors that reflected the laughter and love we shared. These moments, rich with spontaneity and wonder, shaped my understanding of what it means to live fully and authentically. While I have performed well academically, it is these simple moments that truly define who I am. They have taught me to embrace life’s subtleties with gratitude and intention, to find beauty in the ordinary, and to appreciate the profound connections we forge in the quiet spaces of our lives. This perspective has become a guiding principle, influencing not only my outlook but also my aspirations. As I look toward the future, I aspire to enter the fields of environmental engineering or sustainability. I want to use my talents to do good, helping people navigate the challenges of a changing world. While I may not know exactly what career path I will take, I am committed to making a positive impact on the environment and the communities I serve. My goal is to create solutions that not only address environmental issues but also empower others to take part in preserving our planet's beauty. In every interaction, I strive to embody the lessons learned from those sun-drenched road trips and splashing creeks. By cherishing simplicity, embracing vulnerability, and finding joy in the everyday, I hope to inspire others to do the same. I believe that fulfillment lies not in the accolades we chase but in the moments we savor and the positive change we can create together.

At 3 AM at the Exothermic Robot House, I found myself in my element, channeling my inner Bob the Builder. My fingers gripped the wrench as I adjusted the nut just a spacer away from my wheel. With each turn, the friction eased, and in that moment, all else fell away—I was in paradise. Robotics became my escape from the chaos of the outside world, where stress melted away, and peace reigned. Here, I could truly relax and let my creativity flow, thriving on the thrill of bringing the wildest designs to life—building and testing without limits. I pulled out my stopwatch. “START.” As I brushed the wheel, I watched it quickly spin and gradually slow to a halt. “STOP.” 16.243 seconds. Not bad, but the friction still needed work. I loosened the nut again. “18.482 seconds.” A small triumph, but to me, it was everything. Not too bad for a girl. In my junior year of high school, I was introduced to a former VEX World Champion. His fingers traced the rubbery tube that lined the rough plastic above our robot’s intake. “Unconventional, simple, yet ingenious,” he declared. My male teammates proudly revealed to him that I had designed and built it. His smile faltered, and his fingers pulled away, now labeling it “unconventional and simple.” Feeling increasingly out of place, I struggled to find my footing in robotics, where girls were outnumbered one to fifteen. I became the only one stepping into the workshop regularly, as my female peers faded away under similar snide remarks. My hours dwindled from forty to twenty-five, then to seven. Eventually, I distanced myself from the workshop—not due to lack of drive, but because my passion was slipping beneath the weight of others’ dismissiveness. Yet I couldn’t sever my tie to robotics. I channeled my passion into something more lasting, collaborating online with my team. I documented every nuance of our robot build, game strategy, programming, and design—until a 650-page analysis emerged. It wasn’t just an engineering notebook; it was the spark that reignited my purpose, earning us the Excellence Award and a ticket to the World Championship. With my work validated, I realized I didn’t need to fit into preconceived molds. I re-entered the robotics community as someone confident enough to make valued contributions. I began leading and teaching through girl-powered workshops and mentorship sessions, ensuring no one felt out of place in spaces meant to be welcoming to all. Fast forward to 3 AM, I am still awake—playing Emily the Builder, Advisor, and Leader—poised to continue breaking barriers. *Not too bad for a girl.*

108 speckle dace minnows later, I sat on the shore of Jenny Lake, watching the light flicker across their scales as the sun slipped behind the Tetons. Held captive in my crinkled plastic water bottle, the minnows’ synchronized movements mesmerized me. I was fascinated by how they moved as one, with no leader, yet in perfect harmony—each fish responding fluidly to its surroundings. That moment of quiet wonder ignited my passion for understanding the complex behaviors hidden in the natural world, a passion that would later transform into a technical pursuit. Inspired by the group dynamics I observed in nature, my brother and I embarked on a project to replicate those interactions digitally. We implemented Craig Reynolds’ 1986 Boids flocking algorithm in Python and C++, aiming to model how animals behave in groups. For countless nights, we coded and recalibrated the algorithm’s parameters, working to ensure our virtual creatures moved with the same grace and fluidity as their real-world counterparts. The challenge of capturing such complexity drew me in, and I began to see how my love for nature’s subtleties could intersect with my passion for STEM and robotics. Looking forward, I am deeply excited by the field of biolocomotion research—the study of how animals move and interact in their environments. I am particularly fascinated by how collective intelligence in animals, like the schooling behavior of minnows or the raft-building of fire ants, can inspire technological innovations. Fire ants, for example, link their bodies together to form rafts when threatened by floods, demonstrating a remarkable adaptability that reflects my childhood observations of minnows. These examples of collective movement point toward revolutionary applications in robotics. One area that excites me most is swarm robotics—robotic systems that can function in unpredictable environments by mimicking the behavior of animals. Imagine robots designed for search-and-rescue missions that could navigate rubble or floodwaters by adapting in real time, much like schools of fish or colonies of ants. With my background in robotics, programming, and project management, I am eager to contribute to advancing this field, developing systems that combine the adaptability of nature with human ingenuity to tackle real-world challenges. Outside of my academic and professional aspirations, my connection to nature will always ground me. The natural world is where I find inspiration, from the shimmer of minnows in a lake to the complex behaviors of animals that reveal deeper truths about life. My goal is to merge my love of nature with my skills in robotics and project management, creating technologies that reflect the profound intelligence of the world around us while contributing to solutions for the future.

108 speckle dace minnows later, I sat beside Jenny Lake, watching the rays of sunlight flicker off their silvery scales. Held captive in my crinkled plastic water bottle, these tiny fish mirrored the last light of day over the Tetons. In that quiet moment, I marveled at how effortlessly they moved as a unit—each fish responding to its neighbors with no clear leader, yet working in perfect harmony. That childhood wonder evolved into something far greater as I sought to understand the intricate dynamics that govern such collective behavior. This curiosity sparked a technical pursuit. My brother and I, captivated by the fluidity of nature, decided to implement Craig Reynolds’ 1986 Boids flocking algorithm in Python and C++ to digitally replicate the dynamics of animal groups. Our project consumed countless nights, fine-tuning parameters and adjusting code until our virtual creatures moved with the same responsiveness and complexity we’d seen in nature. It was in those quiet hours of coding that I realized how seamlessly my love for the outdoors and group dynamics could blend with my passion for STEM. As I look toward the future, my excitement lies in biolocomotion research—the study of how animals move and interact. The way fire ants band together to form rafts when threatened by rising floodwaters fascinates me, as it mirrors the schooling behavior of minnows I observed as a child. Both involve intricate group dynamics that allow for problem-solving far beyond the capability of any single individual. It’s this collective intelligence that I hope to harness in the realm of robotics. I am particularly interested in how this research could lead to advances in swarm technology. Imagine robots in search-and-rescue missions that can move through rubble or floodwaters by mimicking the adaptive behavior of animals. With my background in robotics, programming, and project management, I am eager to contribute to designing systems that are not only technically innovative but also deeply inspired by nature’s remarkable problem-solving abilities. Beyond the academic and professional, my passion for the outdoors will always guide my work. I plan to continue exploring nature, constantly inspired by its subtle patterns and movements. My goal is to merge my fascination with animal locomotion and collective intelligence into technologies that serve humanity while honoring the natural world that first ignited my curiosity.