The event that changed my life didn’t come with a trophy, a title, or a new resume builder. It came after I lost. My speech and debate coach, Mrs. McCoy, entered my life at a time when our program was barely surviving. She was a volunteer who stayed when everyone else walked away. Without any school or parental support, she used her decades of teaching and coaching experience to help a rural team that had nothing but passion for the event and a willingness to continue. After a few seniors graduated the following year and the two other members quit a year after she continued the program, I was the only one left. Yet she stayed. For two years, I was the only competitor at my school, but she still showed up. Driving long distances, juggling responsibilities for much larger teams, and believing in a program that had no guarantees. Long before I believed in myself, she believed that the work mattered and somehow thought I had potential for something greater. During my second year at nationals, I was selected as one of two students representing all of Central California in Original Oratory, the most competitive speech event. I had spent years building my skills, paid over a thousand dollars of my own money to compete, and carried the weight of representing not just myself, but my entire region. When I lost before the first break of the competition, I was crushed. I remember thinking that I hadn’t just lost, I had wasted her time. During the drive back to our hotel, Mrs. McCoy told me something I’ll never forget. She said I had just won a different kind of trophy. There are the physical trophies everyone sees, and then there are the invisible ones that actually matter. While the trophies went to the finalists, I had earned something deeper. I had written a speech I truly believed in, not one crafted just to impress judges. I had grown, made friends from around the country, and led with integrity, creativity, and commitment. That, she said, was the real point. That conversation changed how I see success. For years, I measured my worth by outcomes, titles, wins, and acceptance letters. If I didn’t win, I thought I had failed. Mrs. McCoy helped me understand that growth isn’t always loud, and that losing doesn’t mean you’re off track. That lesson followed me years later when I was accepted to UCLA, which I thought was my ultimate “trophy.” On paper, it looked perfect. But when I looked closer, I realized I was about to pay tens of thousands more for a version of myself that didn’t quite fit. Choosing Cal Maritime instead wasn’t a downgrade; it was alignment. Here, I’ve found a community of hardworking future mariners, engineers, scientists, and strategists who value substance over prestige. I have found my ultimate trophy. Continuing what I learned in the organization that changed my life, I am now an assistant coach for Carlsbad High School, writing, editing, and judging with McCoy, who continues to change my life. I have also taken an internship with the California High School Speech Association, building programs to help underserved students from rural and low-income schools to continue competing, giving back to those who may not have the support I had. Through years of dedication and one moment of encouragement, my life shifted. Mrs. McCoy didn’t just teach me how to compete: she taught me how to define success. That lesson continues to influence every decision I make, reminding me that the most meaningful victories are invisible, yet equally important.

During a large-scale national cybersecurity competition, our group was divided into two teams: the Green Team and the Gold Team. The intention was that neither team would be stronger than the other. Both were meant to collaborate, practice independently, and contribute equally to the overall success of the group. Early on, however, it became clear that this balance did not exist. The expectations were high. We were from a small state college with no senior members. Our competitors, on the other hand, were West Point students, PhD candidates, Ivy League students, and all the other types of nationally known academics that we knew would bury us if we did not prepare. On the Gold Team, most of the work was placed on a single member. Practices were constantly skipped, preparation was minimal if it occurred, and accountability was avoided when asked. In contrast, the Green Team, my team, worked steadily and collaboratively. Over time, the results showed. Our performance improved, and it became obvious that the Green Team was better prepared when our advisor first saw our presentations. I knew about the dysfunction on the Gold Team, including the fact that one individual was taking credit for work done by others, and then passing more work to them. At that point, I chose not to intervene. I kept my head down, focused on my responsibilities, and continued to support my own team. I was the team cheerleader for the green team, when deep down, I knew I should have been an advocate for helping the gold team as well. I told myself that it was not my place to get involved and that speaking up might only create conflict. As the competition approached, the situation escalated. The individual on the Gold Team began stealing work I had completed and presenting it as his own. He attempted to pressure the head advisor into moving me from the Green Team to the Gold Team after teams had already been finalized, clearly to bolster his own standing. Ultimately, he claimed that the work I had contributed, work developed through long hours of preparation and communication, was entirely his. Everything I wrote, every presentation, every practice, and even every email was his idea or his work, and I was not meant to be on green. What made this situation especially difficult was not just the loss of credit. The person taking credit for my work was someone I had already had to involve school administration with due to serious issues. I had an in-school suspension order placed against him after he broke into my dorm room. There was a history of repeated harassment and an ongoing assault case. In that context, having my work taken and my voice erased felt like more than a professional slight; it felt like a continuation of a pattern where my autonomy, safety, and credibility were disregarded. I did not just feel cheated in the way one might feel during a group project. I felt humiliated, powerless, and once again stripped of control over my own narrative. I chose this small school over other options because being on campus made me feel empowered. To be part of a small, seriously hardworking school like Cal Maritime made me feel like I belonged, and I could make a difference. Whatever difference I could have made was replaced by my initial response: silence. I withdrew further, focused on completing my responsibilities, and avoided confrontation. I believed that staying quiet would prevent further escalation and protect me from retaliation. At the time, that felt like self-preservation and even common sense. However, silence came at a cost. By not speaking up, I allowed an injustice to continue, not only against me, but against others whose work was also misrepresented. I realized that my silence did not keep the peace; it protected the person causing harm. In the aftermath, I could not shake the feeling that I was wrong. I understand now that while my reaction was understandable, I chose it because it was easy. My values were betrayed when I got scared, and nobody benefited. Avoiding conflict did not protect my work or my well-being. Instead, it reinforced a system where credit and accountability could be stolen. After the competition, I spoke with my academic advisor about what had happened. Through those conversations, I learned that advocating for myself does not have to be loud, public, or confrontational. There are ways to speak up privately, professionally, and effectively. I learned how to document concerns, communicate with faculty and organizers, and raise issues without creating unnecessary drama. Most importantly, I learned that credit is not just about recognition; it is often the line between justice and injustice. Who receives credit determines who is believed, who advances, and who is protected. I was embarrassed that I did not protect anyone in the situation, and I do not want to feel that way again. It taught me that speaking up, when done thoughtfully, is not an act of aggression, but an act of integrity. It also reinforced my belief that I had a voice and place on the team and in the school that meant so much to me. If faced with a similar situation again, I hope I would respond differently. Silence cannot be my response. I would address concerns early, involve the appropriate adults or supervisors, and advocate not only for myself but for others. I would still act with care and professionalism, but I would no longer confuse silence with strength and shame for professionalism. Strength, I have learned, lies in clarity, accountability, and the willingness to assert the truth. Though this remains a sensitive subject, it taught me the importance of self-advocacy, the consequences of misplaced credit, and the responsibility we all have to challenge injustice when we see it. Ultimately, it shaped my commitment to building environments, whether academic, professional, or personal, where work is respected, voices are protected, and credit is given where it is truly due.

For much of my life, faith felt distant: present, but not personal. I believed in God, but I did not yet understand how deeply His love could shape who I was or what I was called to do. My family went to Church, but usually only on holidays, and despite taking classes and getting involved, the separation made it difficult to see myself as a child of God. There were seasons when I felt lost, unsure of my worth, and uncertain about my place in the world. I carried responsibilities early, internalized expectations, and often measured myself by productivity rather than by grace. I did not feel unloved by others, but I struggled to feel fully known or secure within myself. There was a missing piece to my life, one that was not reconciled by good grades, friends, or my work. That changed when I allowed myself to truly step into God’s grace. Through prayer, reflection, and returning intentionally to my faith, I began to understand that I did not need to earn love; it was already given. God helped me conceptualize not only who I was, but who I could become. In that realization, I found peace. For the first time, I felt room to breathe, to grow, and to exist without fear of falling short. Like the oxygen mask cliché on a plane, once I was able to breathe, I finally had the capacity to help others. Faith gave meaning to my desire to serve. It clarified my responsibility not just to succeed, but to lift others along the way. Seeing my foster brothers and sister treated as “less than,” despite their inherent dignity, deeply impacted me. It showed me how powerful it is when someone is told, explicitly or implicitly, that they are unwanted. My faith affirmed what my heart already knew: every life is valuable, and love must be lived out through action. God’s love reframed my understanding of justice, compassion, and responsibility. As I grew more grounded in my faith, my goals became clearer. I stopped viewing service as something extra and began seeing it as essential. My involvement in mentorship, education, and advocacy is rooted in the belief that people flourish when they are seen and supported. Faith taught me to lead with humility, to persist when progress is slow, and to trust that impact is not always immediate or visible. Looking toward my career, my faith will continue to guide me as both a compass and an anchor. I plan to pursue a path in law and policy focused on protecting human dignity, safety, and the environments people depend on. In fields that often prioritize efficiency or profit, my faith reminds me to center people; to ask who is affected, who is overlooked, and who bears the cost of decisions. It also gives me resilience for the inevitable challenges ahead, grounding my work in purpose and a need to continue after each setback. My faith also calls me to live what I believe. I plan to become an emergency placement home for foster children and sibling sets, and eventually a foster or adoptive parent. This is my way of embodying the truth that no child is disposable and that love, when offered freely, can change the course of a life. God did not simply help me survive uncertainty; He gave me direction. Through His love, I found myself. Through His grace, I found my responsibility. And through faith, I have found the courage to keep building a life rooted in service, compassion, and hope for the future.

Sustainability should be a priority in my field because energy, water, and environmental systems sit at the foundation of modern life. They power economies, enable global trade, and sustain ecosystems and human life, but when managed irresponsibly, they also cause some of the greatest environmental and human harm. In fields tied so closely to oceans, energy production, and infrastructure, sustainability is not optional or idealistic; it is essential to long-term security and safety. How we power our homes, what quality water we drink, and whether or not food insecurity grows lies in these crossroads. My interest in sustainability began through hands-on experience rather than abstract theory. In FFA forestry, water issues, and natural resources competitions, I learned how ecosystems function and how quickly they can be destabilized by poor management. Studying forest health, biodiversity, and water systems showed me that environmental damage is rarely isolated; it affects local economies, public health, and future opportunity. While we are familiar with stories like Flint, Michigan's water crisis due to poor infrastructure failing, we stay unaware of the vast ripple effects damaged systems bring. Pollution from the copper kings of Montana from over 100 years ago and the overuse of California's water systems threaten daily life in these areas, yet remain unknown. In theory, this looks concerning, yet in practice, the true damage becomes clear: the Mississippi basin, one of the largest watersheds in the world, is at risk of becoming unusable for agricultural lands and human consumption, and the most populated US state continues to struggle to provide consistent and clean water to its millions of residents, damaging trust in systems and public health. These stories are unfortunately not rare. The history of these places and the lessons I learned carry forward as I became more interested in ocean and energy systems, where the consequences of unsustainable practices are magnified on a global scale. Unsustainable energy development can degrade marine ecosystems, increase pollution, and heighten risks for coastal communities. Similarly, poorly regulated maritime practices contribute to emissions, habitat destruction, and unsafe working conditions for mariners. Treating sustainability as secondary to efficiency or profit creates short-term gains at the expense of long-term damage. A sustainable approach recognizes that protecting natural systems also protects human life, economic stability, and national security. In my future career, I see myself reducing environmental impact by working at the intersection of science, policy, and law. I am pursuing studies in international strategy, security, and oceanography to understand how environmental systems operate and how regulations shape their use. With this foundation, I plan to pursue a career in energy and maritime law, where I can advocate for policies that balance development with environmental stewardship. Scientific literacy is essential for effective regulation; without understanding ocean dynamics, energy flows, or ecological thresholds, laws risk being symbolic rather than impactful. This is where my double-major matters. I also plan to contribute through education and access. I am helping to found Junior Sea Explorers, a youth organization focused on ocean literacy and sustainability, because long-term environmental change depends on early education. When students understand how oceans and energy systems affect their daily lives, sustainability becomes personal rather than political. Empowering young people to engage with science builds a future workforce that values responsibility alongside innovation. Ultimately, sustainability matters in my field because it determines whether systems endure or collapse. I hope to help create frameworks where energy and maritime industries operate responsibly: protecting ecosystems, supporting workers, and preserving resources for future generations. Reducing environmental impact is not about limiting progress; it is about redefining progress to include human dignity, environmental health, and stability.

Giving back has never been something I see as separate from my education or future, it is the reason behind both. From a young age, I learned that access to opportunity is uneven, especially for students from rural or under-resourced communities. Because I have benefited from mentors, programs, and people who believed in me when the path forward was unclear, I feel a responsibility to extend that same support to others. I see my education, career, and often free time as a bridge to help those behind me, to show empathy, demonstrate service, and make an impact. Currently, I give back primarily through education, mentorship, and service. In high school, I volunteered regularly and was deeply involved in FFA, an organization that gave me leadership skills, confidence, and hands-on learning in forestry, natural resources, and public speaking. When I realized that many academic opportunities I valued, such as mock trial and speech and debate, were unavailable at my rural school, I helped create access where none existed. I founded a mock trial club so students could explore law and advocacy, bringing over a dozen students into a high-level competitive environment with me, and I became the sole speech and debate competitor from my school, later continuing to give back by coaching students free of charge. That program did more than build skills; it gave me a voice, a sense of belonging, and direction during a pivotal time in my life. So, I turned around and gave the same opportunity to others. Today, I continue to mentor students through speech and debate organizations and am helping to found Junior Sea Explorers, a youth initiative focused on ocean literacy and environmental sustainability. The goal is to make hands-on STEM education accessible to students, especially those who may never imagined a future in marine or sustainable science. I am also involved in service work that supports low-income and rural students, and through the Ignite Fellowship with Teach For America, I have specifically requested to work with rural communities to help students navigate education systems that were not designed with them in mind. Looking ahead, I plan to positively impact the world by combining education, policy, and advocacy. I am pursuing studies in international strategy and security with a double major in oceanography. My goal is to enter energy and maritime law. Professionally, I want to advocate for safer, more equitable systems; protecting workers, communities, and the environments they depend on. Personally, I plan to become an emergency placement home for foster children and sibling sets, and eventually a foster or adoptive parent. I have seen how being treated as disposable can affect a child for life through my foster and adoptive siblings, and I want to help build stability where there has been disruption. While I have listed many opportunities and dreams of mine, this is just a snapshot of what I hope to achieve. Beyond just the points of this essay, I have been given the privilege to give back in a way that is meaningful and deep, and I do not want this work to end when I leave school. I have seen how opportunity shapes lives, and I want my legacy to be one of making opportunities for others. My guiding light through my service is the hope that those who see themselves as invisible can be empowered. That through advocacy, hands-on work, and dedication, meaningful change can occur.

Adversity has been a constant presence in my life, not as a single defining moment but as a series of obstacles that tested my resilience, confidence, and ability to adapt. Whether physical barriers created by geography or mental challenges shaped by doubt and expectation, each difficulty forced me to decide whether I would pause, retreat, or keep moving toward my goals. I chose to keep moving. Growing up in a rural mountain community meant that access was never guaranteed, but adversity was. Fires, snowed-in roads, and unreliable internet routinely disrupted my school, and empathy from primarily suburban teachers was low. Transportation limitations made extracurriculars difficult, and opportunities that students in urban or suburban areas took for granted often felt out of reach. Rather than allowing these barriers to dictate my future, I learned to plan, advocate for myself, and work around constraints. I traveled hours for competitions, enrolled in two community colleges to subsidize the lacking amount of classes my high school had, and fell in love with FFA, a club that strengthened by rural ties while teaching long-term success. These logistical challenges taught me discipline and persistence, skills that continue to shape how I approach my career aspirations today. While I thrived in FFA, I used to be a self-proclaimed "not a STEM kid". I was crazy for English and history, and would walk into a math or science class and give up. My sister was a biology and life science wizard, interested in ornithology, ichthyology, mycology, and others. All studies of which I had to Google, because I had no idea what those words meant. My brother, on the other hand, was coding at 10 years old and making complex LEGO machines a few years before that. I was embarrassed by my lack of natural born talent, or as I saw it at the time, just talent in general. I felt like I did not belong, and I was not good enough. For years, this stopped me from trying. But being recruited into FFA (originally just as a speaking role, and not for anything scientific) gave me the confidence and skills to pursue a STEM major and career. From breaking down physical barriers and replacing my mentality, I began intentionally placing myself in challenging environments and began to overcome those challenges. I found new interests, friends, and an unwavering belief that I could rise from any challenge. Last August, I stepped into my new challenge: the California Maritime Academy. Not only are expectations high and room for failure low at this rigorous academy, but the less than 20 percent female population creates new pressures as a woman in maritime. Despite the new challenges, by getting involved on campus, working hard in my classes, and volunteering in my new community, I have found a home. When adversity threatened to slow me down financially, I balanced two on-campus jobs while continuing my education and service commitments. I also pursued fellowships and mentorship roles aligned with my goals, including the Ignite Fellowship with Teach For America, where I requested placement with rural students. Rather than seeing hardship as a reason to pause my ambitions, I treated it as motivation to seek sustainable paths forward while not sacrificing my values or ambitions. Through each challenge, I have relied on consistency, reflection, and service. Adversity taught me that success is not the absence of difficulty, but the ability to keep choosing progress. By developing resilience early, I am better prepared to pursue a future in law and education, fields that demand persistence, patience, and the courage to face adversity, to be brave.

What I want to build is not a single product or title, but a bridge. One that connects people who are often overlooked to opportunities they are told are not meant for them. I want to build a future where geography, background, or circumstance does not quietly determine how far someone is allowed to go or how their future should be shaped. I grew up in a rural community where access was fragile. Roads closed due to fire or snow, internet was unreliable, and opportunities beyond school were limited by an hour-long drive. At the same time, I was raised in a merchant marine family, where essential work happened out of sight and came with real risk, but little recognition. In both worlds, I learned the same lesson: systems depend on people they do not always protect or invest in. That realization shaped what I want to build. Practically, I am building a foundation through education. I am pursuing studies in international strategy, security, and oceanography so I can understand how global systems function and where they fail people. I want to use that knowledge to advocate for safer, more equitable energy and maritime systems through policy and law. Building this future requires patience, discipline, and a willingness to sit with complexity, but it gives me the tools to turn my lived experience into lasting change. Beyond academics, I am building access for others. I founded a mock trial club at a rural school to create opportunities that did not previously exist, and I continue to coach speech and debate, free of charge, because that program gave me confidence, direction, and a sense of belonging when I felt boxed in. I am also helping to build Junior Sea Explorers, a youth organization focused on ocean literacy and sustainability, so students can have hands-on experience with STEM-focused sustainability careers and skills. Personally, I hope to build a home rooted in dignity and care. I plan to become an emergency placement home for foster children and sibling sets, and eventually a foster or adoptive parent. I have seen how being treated as disposable can ripple through a child’s entire life, and I want to build stability where there has been disruption. Building my future means building systems, spaces, and relationships that last beyond me. It will positively impact my community by expanding access, challenging assumptions, and proving that care and opportunity are not limited resources. If I succeed, the bridge I build will not just carry me forward; it will make it easier for others to cross after me.

I want to make a change in my life because I grew up hearing, both directly and indirectly, what people thought someone like me could become. In a rural town, expectations are often quiet but firm: you stay close to home, you find work where you can, and you don’t reach too far beyond what already exists. I was told that students from my school never became lawyers, and when I was being told my dreams were a waste, the assumption was always there, that my options were limited to what I could do online or to a small set of local jobs. Over time, I realized that if I accepted that narrative, it would become true. In high school, I did what was available to me. I volunteered regularly and joined FFA, an organization deeply rooted in my community. Through it, I learned leadership, responsibility, and how to speak up in spaces where people don’t always expect rural students to belong. But I also knew that staying only within my school would not be enough. Opportunities like speech and debate did not exist where I lived, so I pursued them on my own. I became the sole competitor from my school, traveling long distances to compete, and doing so all out of pocket. I started working full-time at 15 to chase my dream, skipping dances and football games for work. With my job, I was able to attend the national tournament three times, often surrounded by students from large, well-funded programs. Each trip reminded me how rare it was for someone from my background to be there, and yet, how much I belonged anyway. After graduating, I took another step that surprised people. I accepted a coaching position at a major California high school, working with students who had resources and opportunities I never did at their age. Through my coaching, I saw how easy it is for talent to be nurtured when access already exists, and how many capable students are overlooked simply because of where they come from. This scholarship matters because it determines whether I can keep moving forward. Without financial support, returning home becomes less of a choice and more of a necessity. National statistics show that rural students graduate high school at high rates, yet are far less likely to attend college. I refuse to become another number in that gap. This scholarship would allow me to continue my education without interruption, and prove that rural students are not bound by geography or expectation. Paying this forward is not optional for me; it is part of why I keep going. I will continue coaching speech and debate free of charge. Giving back to a program that gave me confidence, direction, and a future when I felt boxed in. This scholarship would also allow me to reduce my hours at one of my two on-campus jobs and focus on the Ignite Fellowship through Teach For America, where I specifically requested to work with rural students. I want to be proof that rural towns are not time capsules and that students from them are not stuck. I carry my roots with pride, but I also carry responsibility to open doors wider for those who come next. My second chance starts with the belief that background cannot determine failure or success.

When asking students their thoughts on calculus, they will probably tell you... it's the worst! Calculus is often viewed as an intimidating hurdle in the STEM field, a prerequisite to learn and then never use again. Despite its reputation of being less than pristine, its importance goes far beyond formulas and exams. Calculus teaches students how to think, persist, and solve complex problems, skills that are essential in every STEM discipline and in making meaningful contributions to the world. Even for those who may never use calculus directly in their daily careers, like me, the habits of mind it builds are foundational. Calculus is the language used to understand change. It underpins fields such as physics, engineering, economics, environmental science, medicine, and computer science. From modeling climate systems and energy flows to predicting population growth or designing safer infrastructure, calculus allows scientists and engineers to describe how systems behave over time. It connects abstract mathematics to real-world impact, turning questions into measurable, solvable problems. Without calculus, many of the innovations that define modern life: renewable energy systems, medical imaging, aerospace engineering, and data analysis, would not exist. Beyond its technical applications, calculus challenges students in ways few other subjects do. It demands patience, discipline, and resilience. Progress is rarely immediate; understanding often comes only after sustained effort and repeated failure. My pre-calculus teacher, Ms. PJ, once described math as a workout for the brain, reminding us that by taking on the challenge of calculus, we were all student athletes. Just as physical training strengthens the body through effort and repetition, calculus strengthens the mind through struggle and perseverance. This challenge is precisely what makes calculus so valuable. Students learn how to break down complex problems, adapt when an approach fails, fake it till you make it, and trust the process even when answers are not obvious. These skills translate directly to STEM careers, where problems are rarely neat, and solutions are rarely immediate. STEM is hard, calc is hard, but students can do anything they set their mind to. Whether designing experiments, writing code, or crafting policy informed by scientific data, the ability to think critically and persist through uncertainty is essential. Importantly, calculus also teaches humility and collaboration. Few students master it alone. Seeking help, working through problems together, and learning from mistakes are all part of the experience. It took me around ten tutoring sessions with my teacher to get an A in calc, and math still is not easy for me! It takes constant effort, reaching out, and first and foremost, the courage to accept the challenge of calc to succeed. This mirrors the collaborative and challenging nature of STEM fields, where progress depends on shared knowledge and collective problem-solving rather than individual brilliance. Even for students who do not use calculus explicitly in their future careers, its impact remains. Calculus trains students to approach challenges with confidence rather than avoidance. It teaches that difficulty is not a signal to quit, but an invitation to grow. These lessons are vital for anyone who hopes to contribute meaningfully to STEM-driven solutions. Ultimately, calculus is important because it develops thinkers who are capable of tackling the world’s hardest problems. It prepares students not just to succeed academically, but to persevere, adapt, and make a difference. We can all take a page out of a calculus textbook and learn to think critically and challenge complex problems.

My passion in STEM lies at the intersection of environmental science, energy systems, and human-centered problem solving. I am especially drawn to ocean and energy environments because they are foundational to modern life: powering economies, supporting ecosystems, and sustaining global trade, yet they are often discussed in abstract or political terms rather than as systems that directly affect people’s safety, livelihoods, and futures. What excites me most about STEM is its ability to turn complex, invisible processes into knowledge that can protect communities and create tangible change. My interest in STEM began through hands-on learning rather than traditional classrooms. In FFA, I competed in forestry, water issues, and natural resources events, where I learned how ecosystems function, how to assess environmental health, and how human decisions shape land and water systems. These experiences showed me that science is not just data collection; it is a tool for stewardship. Evaluating forest health, understanding biodiversity, and studying water quality helped me see how scientific knowledge translates into real-world outcomes for communities that depend on those resources. While I thrived in FFA, I used to be a self-proclaimed "not a STEM kid". I was crazy for English and history, and would walk into a math or science class and give up. My sister was a biology and life science wizard, interested in ornithology, ichthyology, mycology, and others. All studies of which I had to Google, because I had no idea what those words meant. My brother, on the other hand, was coding at 10 years old and making complex LEGO machines a few years before that. When we competed together in science olympiad, and I was the only one with nothing but a participation trophy, I was embarrassed. I felt like I did not belong, and I was not good enough. For years, this stopped me from trying. But being recruited into FFA (originally just as a speaking role, and not for anything scientific) gave me the confidence and skills to pursue a STEM major and career. Environmental sciences were not just an introduction to academic empowerment, but a way I found that I can give back to others and create meaningful change. This connection between science, security, and human impact is what drives my passion. I want to prioritize education about our world and the ability to change it. I plan to use my STEM education to help others by making technical knowledge accessible and actionable. I am helping to found Junior Sea Explorers, a youth organization designed to improve ocean literacy and inspire students to engage with marine science and sustainability, especially those who may never have had access to hands-on environmental education. By introducing young people to STEM early, I hope to empower them to see themselves as problem-solvers and stewards of their communities. I did not know how capable I was until halfway through high school, and I want to change that for others. Professionally, I intend to combine my STEM background with policy and law to advocate for safer, more sustainable energy and maritime systems. Scientific understanding is essential for creating effective regulations, protecting workers, and ensuring that environmental decisions prioritize human life alongside efficiency and profit. Whether through energy policy, environmental law, or education, I want to use STEM as a bridge between data and dignity. My passion in STEM is rooted in service. Science has the power not only to explain the world, but to improve it. By applying my STEM education to protect environments, inform policy, and uplift communities, I hope to help build systems that work for people.

This opportunity is meaningful to me because it affirms something I have learned through experience: success is not measured only by achievement, but by showing up, serving others, and trusting God even when the path forward is uncertain. My story has been shaped by transition, challenge, and responsibility, and my Catholic faith has been the constant that grounded me through each stage. I grew up navigating two worlds that often feel invisible to those outside them: a rural mountain community and a merchant marine family. Living rurally meant unreliable internet, long commutes, fire evacuations, snowed-in roads, and limited access to resources that many students take for granted. Being raised in a maritime family meant months of separation, dangerous working conditions, and learning early that the people who keep global systems running often do so quietly and without recognition. In both settings, perseverance was not optional: it was a way of life. My faith helped me understand that hardship is not a punishment or an accidental shuffling of fate, but an invitation to grow in resilience, faith, and purpose. As a Catholic currently completing my confirmation classes in college, my faith has become more intentional and active. It shapes how I understand human dignity and why service matters. Seeing my foster brothers and sister treated as “less than,” despite their inherent worth, deeply affected me. Watching how being labeled unwanted can ripple through a person’s entire life strengthened my conviction that every life matters, at every stage. Faith gave me language for what I already knew to be true: that people are not disposable, and that love must be lived, not just believed. This belief has guided my actions and achievements. I sought leadership roles not for recognition, but to create opportunity. Founding a mock trial club at a rural school, mentoring students through speech and debate, and helping to establish Junior Sea Explorers to make environmental education accessible to young people were some of my favorite ways I have been able to give back. These efforts were sustained by faith when progress felt slow or invisible. Trusting that my work had value, even when outcomes were uncertain, allowed me to persist. Looking forward, I plan to use my faith as a guiding force in both my personal and professional life. I intend to complete the necessary requirements to become an emergency placement home for foster children and sibling sets, and eventually become a foster or adoptive parent. Professionally, I aim to pursue a career in energy and maritime law, advocating for systems that protect human life, dignity, and the environments people depend on. Faith has taught me that success is not about climbing alone, but about lifting others as you rise. This opportunity supports not only my education, but my calling to live with conviction, serve with intention, and trust God as I work toward a future rooted in justice, compassion, and hope.

My Catholic faith is not something I separate from my daily life; it shapes how I see people, responsibility, and human dignity. I am currently completing my confirmation classes in college, and through this process, my faith has become more intentional and active. Catholic teaching emphasizes that every person is created in the image of God and therefore has inherent worth. This belief guides how I treat others, how I serve my community, and why helping people, especially those who are vulnerable or overlooked, matters so deeply to me. I live out my faith in small, consistent ways: through service, advocacy, and choosing compassion even when it is inconvenient. My involvement in community service, youth mentorship, and educational outreach is rooted in the belief that everyone deserves the opportunity to be seen, supported, and valued. Faith, to me, is not passive belief but action, showing up for others and creating spaces where people can thrive. My support of the pro-life movement is grounded in this same understanding of human value. For me, being pro-life extends far beyond a single issue; it is about protecting life at all stages and ensuring that children are never abandoned. One of the most formative experiences in my life was witnessing my foster brothers and sister being treated as “less than,” despite both common sense and biblical teaching affirming their worth. Seeing how being told, explicitly or implicitly, that they were unwanted shaped their sense of self showed me how deeply words and actions can affect a person’s entire life. For the 73 million induced abortions worldwide each year, these children never even get the chance to start their lives. From the moment of conception, they are treated as less than human, a barrier rather than a life. My faith and personal background show me how important the pro-life movement is, showing that all life is valuable and worth protection and care. Because of this, my pro-life commitment is centered on tangible action. I plan to complete the necessary registration to become an emergency placement home for foster children and sibling sets. When I am settled, my goal is to become a foster mother or adoptive parent. I want to live out the belief that every child deserves a home, stability, and love. Choosing to open my home is, for me, a direct expression of the conviction that no child is disposable and that abortion is not an option when society is willing to step up and care for its most vulnerable members. My faith has also shaped my future goals and career path. I am pursuing an education that will allow me to advocate for people who are often unseen or underserved, whether through policy, law, or community leadership. I plan to use my education to enact change by supporting systems that protect life, strengthen families, and provide real alternatives rooted in dignity and care. Ultimately, my faith calls me not only to believe that every life matters, but to act on that belief. Through service, foster care, and advocacy, I hope to protect life in all its stages and create lasting change. I hope to support all life, protect families, practice compassion at every turn, and dedicate my life to faith and the love of all life.

Growing up in a rural area meant learning early that access to education, infrastructure, and opportunity is never guaranteed. Fires, snowed-in roads, and unreliable internet disrupted school, while long commutes and limited transportation made extracurriculars difficult. At the same time, I was raised in a merchant marine family, where months apart, dangerous working conditions, and the constant risk of loss were normalized in service of global trade and disaster response. I am a student shaped by places and people that are often overlooked: rural mountain communities, agricultural classrooms, and maritime families whose work keeps global systems running quietly in the background. These experiences taught me that essential work is often invisible, and that advocacy matters most where systems fall short. My academic interests sit at the intersection of environmental sustainability, energy policy, education, and law. I am committed to the California Maritime Academy, where I study international strategy and security alongside oceanography. I am especially interested in maritime and energy environments because they are foundational to economic stability, national security, and environmental health, yet are frequently reduced to political talking points rather than human priorities. Through hands-on experiences in FFA forestry, water issues, and natural resources competitions, I learned to evaluate ecosystems, understand biodiversity, and see how policy decisions directly shape environmental outcomes. These experiences reframed sustainability for me as a responsibility to people and communities, not an abstract debate. Beyond academics, I am deeply invested in service and leadership. I have participated in over 100 hours of community service through organizations such as Key Club and FFA, founded a mock trial club to expand academic opportunities at a rural school, and continue working to support low-income and rural students through the California High School Speech and Debate Association and Teach for America. On my campus, I am helping to found Junior Sea Explorers, a youth organization focused on ocean literacy and sustainability for middle schoolers. My goal is to make hands-on environmental education accessible to all students, and empower them to pursue a career in environmental STEM systems. This scholarship would help me pursue my education without sacrificing these commitments. Financial support would reduce the need to prioritize short-term work at my two jobs over long-term learning, enabling me to focus on coursework, research opportunities, and service initiatives that align with my career goals. It would also help offset the costs of attending a specialized institution and participating in experiential learning opportunities that are essential in fields like oceanography and policy, including a mandatory "summer sea term", where I spend a summer on a training vessel while conducting ocean research. Stepping outside my school and future career, I would also like to complete the necessary certifications to become an emergency placement for children over 8 and sibling sets for the foster system. Having past experience with foster care, this is a goal that is very important to me. Becoming financially stable through reducing loan amounts means I will be able to get settled, finish the expensive certifications, and start trying to make a difference at home. This scholarship is not just an investment in my education, but in the work I hope to do, building systems that protect environments and people, investing in education, and giving back to the systems that make me who I am. I do not want this scholarship to fund a degree, but to follow through on my goals to help others and make a difference through resilience, hard-work, and empathy.

My interest in environmental sustainability, particularly ocean and energy systems, began through hands-on experience. In FFA, I competed in forestry, water issues, and natural resources, where I learned how ecosystems function, how human decisions shape landscapes, and how stewardship can either preserve or destroy the environments communities depend on. I went from a self-described "not-a-STEM-kid" to a state champ in forestry land measurements and runner-up for timber measurements. That experience reframed sustainability for me, not as an abstract debate or a political issue I saw on TV, but as a human responsibility that I could begin working toward. This perspective led me to begin my major in Oceanography at Cal Maritime, with a second major in International Strategy and Security. I founded Junior Sea Explorers, a youth organization aimed at making ocean literacy and sustainability accessible and engaging for middle schoolers in my community. With the guidance of mentors, I hope to inspire students to see environmental stewardship as empowering and guide them to choose a career that protects ecosystems through hands-on skills and career exploration. In the future, I hope to make sustainability a shared human priority, one rooted in education, responsibility, and long-term resilience.