Life is often compared to an obstacle course, with challenges that seem to grow more difficult as we age. Sometimes, I feel like a track and field athlete just learning to jump hurdles, facing overwhelming obstacles. Among these challenges, one of the most significant has been navigating my own mental health. Growing up, I was fortunate to have both of my parents present in my life, providing me with a stable environment. I always had food on the table, a roof over my head, and a bed to sleep in. Because of this, I often felt that my struggles with depression were unfounded or even ridiculous. How could I feel so sad and overwhelmed when I had so much to be grateful for? This internal conflict led me to keep my feelings of self-hate, doubt, anxiety, and overwhelming sadness to myself for a long time. I felt that I didn’t have the right to feel the way I did, and in doing so, I became my own obstacle. I've always been the cheerful and outgoing friend in the group, the one who takes charge of planning trips, parties, and hangouts. Being an only child, I naturally fell into this role, often setting up appointments on behalf of others, correcting orders when someone was too shy to speak up, and handling those small but significant tasks that gave me a sense of leadership and responsibility. This role made me feel like I had to maintain a confident, put-together image for others to see. I believed I needed to be the strong, reliable one, the person who could handle anything that came her way. But this self-imposed expectation came with its own set of challenges. The idea of being open about my insecurities, fears, and sadness was embarrassing to me. I felt like I couldn’t afford to show vulnerability because it might shatter the image I had worked so hard to create. Admitting that I wasn’t always okay seemed like admitting failure, not just to myself but to those who relied on me. I was drowning in my emotions, too afraid and unwilling to ask for help. But as time passed, I realized that I couldn’t continue on this path. I needed to help myself, even if it meant pushing against my own negative mindset. Reaching out to my father about wanting to go to therapy was a significant step. Although their initial reactions weren’t entirely supportive, they allowed me to pursue it and helped me find a therapist. Therapy became a turning point for me. It helped me uncover the deeply internalized hate I had carried with me for so long and understand the root of my issues. Through therapy, I learned healthier ways to express myself rather than bottling everything up inside. I realized that I had to take the lead in my own life, even when it felt impossible. Looking back, I see that life is not just an obstacle course but a journey of growth and self-discovery. Each hurdle I’ve faced has taught me something valuable, and overcoming my mental health struggles has been one of the most important lessons of all. It’s a reminder that while the hurdles may get taller as we grow older, we also become stronger and more capable of handling them.

Creativity is the embodiment of freedom—the power to express the deepest parts of yourself through the language of the heart. It is the connection forged with a stranger when you both experience the same emotion, transcending words to share a moment of understanding. It is the appreciation of every small detail that surrounds you, the desire to savor each fleeting second, and the wish for that moment to stretch into eternity. Creativity is not just an act but a way of embracing life in all its richness and fleeting beauty.

Raised in Costa Rica through my teenage years, I was far from ignorant about the injustices Latin women endure, even within our communities. Terms like femicide and "machismo" echoed frequently throughout my upbringing. From the moment I was born, societal expectations were placed upon me: I was gifted a toy kitchen and a cleaning set as a child, encouraged to nurture plastic babies, and assured that I would one day make a wonderful mother. However, my mother stood in quiet defiance of these norms. She nurtured my curiosity about the world and constantly reminded me that there was more to life than merely marrying and having children. "Study first, think about boys later," she would often tell me. Initially, I thought this was simply the strictness of a protective parent, but as I matured, I realized it was her way of shielding me. She wanted me to aspire to more in life, to have dreams and goals that would propel me forward. As I grew older, the disparities between men and women became increasingly apparent. At the age of twelve, during a lesson on menstruation, the boys in my class were dismissed by our teacher because it was considered irrelevant for them to know of that subject. I experienced my first catcall at the tender age of thirteen, from a man old enough to be my grandfather. I was told by a friend that my opinions didn’t matter if I was on my period. My heritage has been fetishized, with labels like "exotic" and "spicy" imposed upon me, and I have been dismissed as "another crazy Latina" for daring to stand up for myself. Throughout my life, I have listened to countless brutal stories from friends—tales of being chased, harassed, assaulted, and exploited by men, only to be betrayed by the very system that was supposed to protect them, instead turning its back to defend their perpetrators. When my family relocated to Texas, I held the hope and expectation that gender disparity would be less pervasive in a nation that prides itself on being part of the so-called first world. Sadly, I was gravely mistaken. During my time in high school, I became involved in the feminist movement. I came to realize just how profoundly ingrained misogyny is in our lives. When women are forced to spend up to $18,000 on menstrual products over a lifetime, when young girls are placed on birth control because the system has failed to adequately study women's health, leaving them with a pill that wreaks havoc on their bodies, when toxic substances like lead are found in tampons when the pink tax persists when obtaining an abortion can result in a longer prison sentence than committing rape when saying "no" is interpreted as "maybe" and "maybe" as "yes"—it becomes painfully clear that gender disparity is not just another topic for an essay. It is a pervasive disease, a scourge that continues to claim the lives of women year after year. This struggle is not merely about being inspired to make a change; it is about the desperate fight to survive, gasping for air as the world suffocates us with its patriarchal rules and conservative beliefs. I stand for women's rights because I am committed to saving them—to saving us. As I prepare to attend the University of Texas at San Antonio, I am eager to join the Women in Leadership group and take concrete steps to further the cause of women's rights and protection. I am determined to do more for my community and to engage in actions that will shape a better future

I was born and raised in the most beautiful country in the world, Costa Rica. Where mountains surround the view, nature thrives, the sun rises at 5, and the smell of good, locally harvested coffee invades your nostrils every morning. Unfortunately, living in a paradise isn't the same for locals as for tourists. As much as my family loved Costa Rica, living there was more difficult every year, even as a small family. We moved to the United States after my father got the opportunity of a job transfer, but under his work Visa, my father was the only one legally allowed to work. This arrangement wasn't a problem because I was still a minor at the time, but nowadays, I've faced countless obstacles due to my current legal status. For starters, I legally can't work. Not only am I not allowed to because I'm considered my father's dependent, but also because most jobs don't accept anyone without a work permit or license. I have done babysitting and house cleaning gigs on the side, but most of that income is not constant, and it has been risky doing this under the table. It scares me that I will get my family in trouble if I continue taking small jobs like these. For a while, I assumed this would be enough to make me eligible for scholarships in San Antonio. Still, many of them needed me to be an American citizen or permanent resident, and while I legally reside here under my visa, I am not considered either. Furthermore, because I am legally here in this country, most scholarships for immigrant students do not deem me eligible for assistance. When I first started my profession, I had one goal in mind: not to put myself or my family in debt. I planned to study for two years at a community college and then end my career at a four-year college, focusing solely on those two years. I was not eligible for FASFA or TASFA, but I was fortunate to be accepted under the Alamo Promise Scholarship, which paid for my two years at North West Vista Community College. Unfortunately, this scholarship no longer covers my tuition at the four-year college I applied to, leaving me to pay for it on my own. I am still considered a dependent on my father; I live under his roof and help around the house, but because he is the only source of income in our home, I am left to pay for my entire tuition on my own, and many scholarships and student grants institutions I have applied for don't understand that; they simply see my father's earnings as my own and assume I can afford to pay for my education without help, but I can't, and it feels like my hands are tied behind me. I was desperate to locate a scholarship to which I could apply, and this was one of the few. I genuinely want to continue my career so that when I turn 21, I may apply for a student visa and be able to work and earn my own money. This scholarship would be extremely beneficial in meeting that aim. I am aware that the obstacles I have faced as an immigrant student are little in comparison to what other students may face, but I refuse to give up on my education and will continue to share my story because it is important.