My name is something I've never really been a fan of. When I moved from Zacatecas, Mexico, to a predominantly white school in Nebraska, I realized that my American classmates had a very hard time pronouncing my name the way it is supposed to be pronounced. Despite my very intense attempts to correct my classmates and teachers when they said my name, nothing ever changed, so instead, I began changing the way I said my own name to fit the standards of those around me. Every time I introduced myself to someone new, I internally cringed at the thought of what they thought of my "weird" and "foreign" name. I hated saying my own name, I dreaded icebreakers during the first week of school, when everyone would have to hear my name, I feared filling out job applications and putting my name on them, because then everyone would have to see my name. I took my grievances to my mom; I was almost angry with her for giving me such a funny-sounding name. Before I could continue, she stopped me, and she shook her head. "It's only funny-sounding if you let people make it sound funny." That's when I realized there is something so beautiful about having a foreign, Mexican name in a sea of common English names. My name carries my family's sacrifice. My name made it all the way from a small town in Zacatecas to the United States. My name is written down on all of my achievements, from my plane ticket to Nebraska, to my first homework assignment in America, to my "graduation" out of the ELL (English Language Learners) program, to my enrollment in middle school, to my high school diploma filled with honors, recognitions, and awards. Everywhere I go, everything I do, has a reminder of my background, of my culture, of the land I was born in, of all the sacrifices my parents had to make to get my brothers and me here, and of my own hard work, such as competing for one of the top 5 high school debate teams in the nation, being accepted into my school's diversity council, a space for students in the ethnic minority to discuss issues surrounding race discrimination in our primarily white school, leading a seminar for diversity council in which we got to hold conversations with district administrators on how they could help build more safe spaces for students of color in our schools, and graduating Cum Laude with a 3.8 GPA. All of these achievements have my name written on them, a reminder to not only myself, but to everyone else, that a first-generation Mexican immigrant accomplished them. Now, as a college student majoring in Political Science, I am expecting to graduate in 2029 to then hopefully go to law school to study immigration or international law. It would be the honor of my life to be able to help out other immigrant families fight their way through a justice system that's against them, to help them find their place in this country, and to inspire other immigrant children to bring their foreign, Latino name everywhere they go, because our names, too, belong in this country. Gracias, Fátima Arely Piña Mena

I was only eight when I watched my dad walk away into a taxi, headed two hours away towards the Guadalajara International Airport. Although I understood he was leaving, I didn't understand the reason why, and how much he was sacrificing for me, my mom, and my two younger brothers. It wasn't until a couple of months after, when my mom started packing our bags, shoved luggage into a small taxi, headed two hours towards Guadalajara, and then took a three hour flight to Omaha, Nebraska, that I understood why my dad had to leave us behind for a couple of months. My dad, not understanding a lick of English, not having a college degree, and with only a few bucks in his pocket, was willing to leave behind everything he had ever known to build his three children a successful, safe, and optimistic life. Working hard enough for a couple of months allowed my dad to save enough to welcome us into a small, two bedroom apartment, decorated with a dimly-lit Christmas tree in the corner of the living room. Our Christmas present, was a whole new life ahead of us. Understanding the sacrifice my parents had made, I made sure to never take it for granted. In high school, I participated in many different activities. After being asked by my debate teacher to join the debate club, I spent a lot of time writing fake legislative bills for congressional debate tournaments. Although I found out I wasn't a fan of arguing so much, I did realize I had a passion for law and legislation. Further, I joined the Diversity Council at my school, a space for minorities and students of color to discuss the diversity issues at our primarily-white school. This is where I knew I had an interest in advocating for racial diversity and more opportunities for minorities. These activities were what led me to major in Political Science. This major allows me to study government policies, international affairs, and political processes. With this major, I am hoping to go to law school to focus on international law or immigration law. Although my family and I were privileged enough to immigrate to the United States legally, I am also aware enough to understand that many other families do not have that same privilege, and do not have the time to wait for months, or even years, for legal authorization to enter a safer country. I hope that with my dad's sacrifice, I can help other families feel like their own sacrifices will be worth it, and will thrive in a whole new world, even when the policies and legislation feels like its against us.

If you take enough time to scroll far down my mom’s Facebook page, you’ll find a picture of me and my dad, sitting on top of rocks by a shallow creek. He’s handing me a small object, round and colored, but not easily recognizable, the 2009 camera quality makes it kinda fuzzy and undetectable. It’s captioned “Y así es como nacen los peces” or “that’s how fish are born.” Though I don’t remember this moment (I was only two), I realize through this picture that my dad was teaching me the life cycle of fish, with a small pebble rock as a metaphor for the fish. This is how my life has always been. Whether it’s through a colored rock or a brand new life in the United States, my dad has always handed me new opportunities for learning and education, a privilege he never had growing up in a family with nine children in rural Mexico. Taking random, hard labor jobs such as ranching or landscaping to make enough money to move his whole family to the U.S., he practically made it his mission to give us a better education. Every day before school my dad says, “Échale ganas,” give it your best, “so you don’t end up working like me.” He’s a welder at OmahaSteel, most of the time his shifts are up to 10 hours long and he comes home with calloused, burnt hands and a sore, pained back. So echarle ganas I did. Apart from taking seven AP classes and multiple dual-enrolled college courses, I also work and joined extracurricular activities, the first one being the debate team. Though I found out that I didn’t really like the arguing part about debate very much, I also realized how much I enjoyed writing, researching, and forming my own opinions on political topics. This is what sparked my passion in political science. Later, I joined the Diversity Council at my school, an opportunity for minority students to discuss racial issues within our school and community. Conversing with other students about ways to amend discrimination in our school started my interest in public law. A couple of years ago, I also started working and volunteering at a local elementary school. Every day after my last class ended, I helped young students with their homework, reading and writing, we prepared healthy snacks and meals, taught them the importance of playing outside, and took initiative to solve conflicts between the kids. This is what started my dedication for education and what made me realize how incredibly important accessible education is. In college, I am planning to pursue a major in Political Science, and later go to law school to hopefully become a political public figure. I want to advocate for the betterment and funding of public schools, for education that is easily accessible to all children, and for an education system that includes children like the kid my dad used to be. My dad has not only motivated me to keep learning, but he has also inspired me and my passion to promote education for all children. Afterall, that’s how the biggest, greatest, and most successful fish are born. Así es como nacen los peces.

“Echale ganas, siempre.” México, the dearest and purest form of myself, not only birthed my physical features, but it also cultivated my character and raised my way of thinking. Ever since I learned how to babble, my parents preached the same two-word, five-syllable phrase with their hearts; “Echale ganas.” Though Google Translate will tell you it means to “give it a try,” it truly transcends this simple translation. Rather, I would argue it means to give it your all, with strong desire. This mindset has practically been programmed into me, and it still remains after I moved to the United States. Even in the predominantly-white state of Nebraska, it’s nearly impossible to find a road without sight of a hardworking, Mexican immigrant; whether it’s an elotero out on the streets or a law firm established by Mexicans, for Mexicans. The evidence that this desire to succeed continues past borders and frontiers is not only meritorious and honorable but also inspiring and electrifying. Truly, nothing sings to the heart best than seeing your people thrive and succeed. Despite these innocent and praiseworthy goals, though, the American justice system continues to fail not only Mexican immigrants, but also American citizens of Mexican descent, whether that’s by disproportionately sentencing us to the death penalty or by proving a discrepancy between the amount of unsolved murders involving Mexican victims than their white counterparts. In hopes of getting to be a part of the solution for this issue (of simple and utter discrimination and racism), I am going to college to pursue a major in political science, with a minor in criminology. Although my parents have proven to me that they put ganas into everything they do in order to keep me and my two younger brothers comfortable— my mom worked night shifts at a hospital and my dad continuously works overtime as a welder— college is a great expense that we cannot afford. To win this scholarship would provide me with an immense amount of financial support that my parents simply cannot hand to me, as much as they would like to. These funds would be used to help pay for essential services and materials, such as textbooks, stationary, tuition, and other fees. I would say that I'm not living the American Dream, but the Mexican Dream, driven and controlled by the will to triumph. Afterall, that’s what echarle ganas is about.