I still don’t know how to pronounce that second word of the month, and I’m not totally sure how to say those really big hills like Matterhorn or Mount Fuji. Don’t even get me started on that sauce, whose name starts with a “w.” Even after having lived for almost five years in the United States, the origin of my tongue still shows through with every roll of my speech and every strain of my vocal cords. Even though I studied for almost ten years in a bilingual school in Mexico, where the curriculum was designed to heavily focus on the English language, no one prepared me to be thrown into the deep waters of California and keep up with its fast pace and peculiar accent. To be exact, I moved here when I was thirteen, after my dad was offered a relocation for his job. My sister and I felt pretty confident that we would adapt quickly to this abrupt change in culture and language, given that we had always excelled in our English classes in Mexico. Although my background did provide a significant advantage (especially when compared to the millions of immigrants who move without speaking the language), it was still a massive challenge to adapt my tongue after over a decade of habits. Only after moving here and immersing myself in the language did I realize how many things I had been saying incorrectly my entire life, forcing me to train my ear to new phonemes. Fortunately, I can now tell the difference between the word “beach” and the derogatory term for a female dog. At home, however, I still speak in the language of my roots. I am incredibly proud to speak Spanish, for it is the language that I grew up with and the language that raised and shaped me. It is the language that still connects me most closely to my family and to the life I had in Mexico. Thus, despite the challenges of being bilingual and living in a country where my first language is not the dominant one, I would not want it any other way (except learning more languages, of course). Being bilingual has given me far more than it has ever taken from me. It has allowed me to bridge two worlds and help them better understand each other. It has allowed me to connect with people I otherwise might never have met and to move between cultures with greater ease and understanding. Most importantly, it has taught me that language is not a barrier, but a bridge between perspectives, identities, and lived experiences. I do not live in a bubble of one language or culture; instead, I am able to understand and move between diverse backgrounds, cultures, and ways of thinking. Looking ahead, I plan to study chemical engineering with a minor in neuroscience at the University of California, Los Angeles, where I will continue to bring this bilingual perspective into my academic and everyday life. I aim to be an advocate and use my education to help those navigating language and cultural transitions, just like I and millions of immigrants have done. Because I know what it feels like to exist between two languages, two cultures, and two versions of your identity. I hope to help make that transition for others not isolating, but instead empowering and enriching.

"Who better than a migrant? Somebody that knows what it's like to dive into the unknown.” I first heard this quote in sophomore year AP Chemistry while watching A Million Miles Away, the story of José Hernández, the first Mexican-American migrant farmworker to go to space. Looking around, I realized I was the only Latino in the room. Usually, I felt the weight of my different upbringing, cultural misfit, and thick accent that served as a constant reminder I wasn’t born here. But in that moment, none of that mattered; I sat there with a tear in my eye, moved by a story that felt so close to mine – moved to chase the stars, even if that meant being the only one in the room that looked like me. Like Hernandez in the film, I too was launched into unfamiliar territory. Not with a rocket, but with a suitcase and a one way ticket. My journey began in 2021, when my dad broke the news: we were moving to the United States in a few weeks. I was shocked, terrified at the idea of leaving my life behind. What about my culture? My family? My people? What about my beautiful Mexico? To many, it would have been a dream to leave Mexico and chase the American Dream, but for me, it was a nightmare. I had no say in this decision, I could only look back to everything my 13 year old self thought I was leaving. Before I knew it, launch day came, propelling me into the great beyond. Landing in California felt like stepping onto the moon. Everything was different: the language, the city, the people, even the way others interacted. I felt like an alien in a foreign galaxy, and I wondered if others looked at me that way. But just like in a real space mission, adaptation meant survival. I pushed myself to speak English, to navigate a new school system, to rebuild a life from scratch. Slowly, I began to prove to myself that I was capable of not only surviving, but thriving – making friends, succeeding in school, regaining both academic and personal confidence, and creating a new home for myself. That journey brought me to that chemistry classroom, watching Hernandez’s story. I realized I wouldn’t have experienced any of this if my family and I hadn't taken that leap of faith. I wouldn’t have this infinity of opportunities - leading student organizations, interning at Children’s Hospital Los Angeles, planning for American universities, and thinking about life in the city of my dreams – if I had stayed in my comfort zone. Moving taught me to embrace the unknown, even if my first instinct was to retreat. Leaving my entire life behind - family, culture, language, comfort - in a blind quest towards a better future wasn’t easy. However, like Hernandez, I’ve learned to see my circumstances not as obstacles, but as an inextinguishable fire that ignites my drive. Being a Hispanic immigrant in STEM means facing underrepresentation and doubt, but I’ve never let that stop me. Now, I am committed more than ever to demonstrating the untapped potential in my community, demonstrating what we are truly capable of achieving. Like Hernandez, I aim to achieve goals I used to think were out of this world. I am devoted to becoming part of the next generation of STEM, inspiring others to pursue their dreams and uplifting my community along the way. Because the one thing I didn’t leave behind in Mexico is my drive to reach the stars.

I live in my own world surrounded by imposing walls on all four sides, consisting of a complex network of cement bricks which are in turn supported by four formidable pillars. I’ve lived my life constantly pushing and trying to break this dense structure, trying to make the mosaic of alienating memories collapse with my own effort and force. In the callouses and bruises produced on my skin, I see everything that makes me different from my so-called peers, friends, and family. Everything I’ve been judged for, and everything I judge myself for. I see those childhood memories of being taken to psychologists and doctors for my seemingly “weird” behaviors: non-verbality, total avoidance of eye contact, explosive fits of anger upon facing anything I disliked, and extremely unusual social behaviors with peers. Yet they could never find a diagnosis or “cure” for my condition, perhaps due to lack of knowledge, or because I didn’t show all the traditional symptoms of autism in children. Instead, we simply got told that I was just different and would grow out of that phase. I never did. My entire life, I’ve lived within those same four walls, trying my hardest to somehow escape and be able to get close to others. I never knew why this barrier existed; I simply thought I had to be alienated, and that it was my duty to bring those walls down. And so, to cope with my solitude of living isolated in that enclosed, narrow space, I turned to art. With my graphite pencils, watercolors, and oil paints, I began to bring life to those walls, painting each brick with color in an attempt to bring light into my world. Azure, midnight, and navy hues to illustrate my blues. Crimson, rose, and scarlet fires to express my internal desires. In this mosaic of my life, I was finally able to transmit my experience, struggles, and emotions—feeling as if I could finally breathe after being trapped in that box for so many years. Through this artistic journey, not only was I able to develop my own skills and create meaningful narratives, but I also found a consistent outlet for expression, emotional regulation, and self-discovery. Most importantly, I learned that despite my disability, living with autism, I am still able to build a world for myself that is meaningful and my own. Now, I continue to use art to cope and stay engaged with the world around me—whether that be by using it to calm myself when facing turmoil, or by transforming my experiences into something tangible and expressive. Art has become both a refuge and a form of motivation, allowing me to process emotions while continuing to grow creatively. And it seems as if for once in my lifetime, I am finally able to breathe the fresh air after painting so many skies, smell the grass after drawing so many fields, and see the smiles of people after sketching so many faces.

Growing up, I watched loved ones suffer from an inexplicable sadness, which I later recognized as depression after experiencing it myself. When I began experiencing symptoms, my confusion and despair quickly turned into curiosity. I started asking questions extending beyond personal experience: why do mental illnesses exist at a biological level? Why, despite tremendous scientific progress, do so many treatments continue to focus on only managing symptoms rather than addressing their root causes? Why doesn’t humanity have better, more targeted cures for mental illness? Living with mental health challenges made these questions deeply personal. I often felt as if something was inherently “off” with my brain, as if I was wired differently than my peers, yet never being able to put my finger on what exactly was “wrong” with me. There were periods of time when school felt incredibly challenging and overwhelming—not being able to concentrate in class, struggling to complete assignments on time, and failing to stay motivated. The disconnect between my internal ambitions of excelling personally and academically and my lack of external motivation felt extremely frustrating and isolating. Yet, instead of withdrawing from my academics because of my depression, I began to rely on them. Education became not only my safe space, but also my way of making sense of what I was experiencing. Thus, rather than accepting uncertainty, I became determined to understand it. One of the biggest challenges I have overcome was learning how to persist academically while managing my mental health. It required me to push through periods of low motivation, develop discipline, and learn how to keep going even when I did not feel fully present or capable. Education became the structure that helped me move forward when everything else felt unstable. In my quest toward an explanation for what I considered an abnormality, I ended up discovering a passion for neuroscience, and ultimately, for chemical engineering—combining chemistry, biology, and engineering to solve complex biological problems. Driven by an insatiable curiosity, I began independently exploring scientific literature and lectures on the neurochemistry of mental illness. I found myself immersed in topics such as serotonin receptor subtypes, delayed neuroplasticity, and emerging models like the inflammation hypothesis and the network theory of depression. Each discovery only led me to more questions, further deepening my fascination with how biochemical processes in the brain can alter mood, cognition, and behavior. I kept getting pulled deeper into the rabbit hole of how we can truly address mental health conditions at their source. What started as a personal search for understanding evolved into a genuine academic pursuit, as each answer led to even deeper questions. Being a Hispanic immigrant in STEM means facing underrepresentation and doubt, but I’ve never let that stop me. There have been moments where I felt out of place or uncertain of my belonging in academic spaces, but those moments only strengthened my determination. Now, I am committed more than ever to demonstrating the untapped potential in my community and showing what we are truly capable of achieving. I aim to achieve goals I used to think were out of this world. I am devoted to becoming part of the next generation of STEM, inspiring others to pursue their dreams and uplifting my community along the way. Ultimately, education, initially my source of escapism and relief from my depression, gave me a sense of purpose and direction. What once was only isolation and uncertainty became the foundation for my goals and future career. Now, I aim to study chemical engineering with a minor in neuroscience, building the foundation necessary to contribute to more effective, targeted treatments for mental illness. I am especially motivated by the prospect of not only creating more effective therapies, but also making them more accessible to underserved communities, where mental health resources have been historically limited and stigmatized. I aim to contribute to scientific research to revolutionize psychiatric care. Advancing this field has the power to revolutionize mental health care, shifting the focus from symptom management to understanding the underlying biological mechanisms. The idea of improving the lives of millions—especially those with limited access to care—fills me with a profound sense of purpose and urgency. My pursuit of chemical engineering is driven not only by innate scientific curiosity, but also by a deep, intrinsic desire to contribute to a future where mental illness is better understood and treated. I am driven by the hope that one day, no one will have to suffer in silence due to limited access to effective treatment

The world is filled with injustices – from sexism, to social inequality, and war. But I believe if you have the ability to help, you have the responsibility to act. The issue that first pushed me to act was animal cruelty, which I became aware of after adopting my two cats. Caring for them sparked a love for animals, which led me to foster strays, volunteer at shelters, and educate others about their ethical treatment. I even went vegan three years ago and convinced my mom to do the same after learning about the cruelties of factory farming. Wanting to expand my impact beyond home, I founded Paws and Claws, my school’s only animal welfare club. As president, I’ve organized donation drives that raised hundreds of dollars and collected dozens of pounds of food, toys, and supplies for local rescues. I built partnerships with two shelters, led social media campaigns that reached hundreds of students, and coordinated monthly volunteer groups to support shelters in need. Through every meeting, donation drive, and fundraiser, I’ve made it our mission to speak for those who meow or bark, rather than talk. Leading Paws and Claws has taught me invaluable lessons in collaboration and persistence to achieve change. Despite facing challenges– from low turnout rates to volunteer events, to disorganization among officers – our drive to help animals kept us moving forward. This was never for praise or recognition, but for an intrinsic desire to help the helpless. This shared commitment kept us going in times of uncertainty; today, our club stands 40 students strong, united by the same goal. The most meaningful part is seeing these efforts produce tangible results: cats thriving after donations, dogs adopted into loving families, farmed animals recovering after years of abuse, and peers inspired to begin their own animal activism journeys. Looking forward, I plan to major in chemical engineering and later pursue a doctorate in a related subfield, channeling my knowledge and passion for biochemistry in order to help develop ethical and sustainable practices that impact both animals and the environment. I am particularly interested in how this field can be applied to develop humane and sustainable alternatives to factory farming., And so what began as caring for my two pets has grown into a lifelong commitment to animal rights advocacy, showing that even small actions—however insignificant they may seem—can amount to meaningful change. Now, I am more inspired than ever to continue using both science and advocacy to help build a more compassionate world.

Around the globe, hundreds of millions struggle with mental health conditions like depression, anxiety, and OCD; yet the majority—especially those from low- and middle-income countries—never receive treatment. These disorders are among the leading causes of disability worldwide, yet our knowledge of their neurobiology remains limited. I’m part of these statistics. Having experienced mental health disorders for as long as I can remember, I’ve often felt as if something was inherently “off” in my brain. I’ve watched loved ones fight similar battles and asked myself: why doesn’t humanity have better, more accessible cures? This question drives my career goal: I aim to combine biochemical research and neuroengineering to investigate the brain mechanisms behind mental disorders, ultimately to develop targeted therapies that target these disorders at a molecular level. However, it is equally important to ensure these developments are accessible to anyone in need - regardless of location or income - which is why I want to minor in political science, giving me the tools to become an advocate for marginalized communities. The idea of improving the life of nearly a billion people, especially those with limited access to care, fills me with a profound sense of purpose and urgency, fueling my dedication to biochemical research and neuroengineering. This work is deeply personal, and I am driven by the hope that one day, no one will have to suffer in silence due to lack of understanding or access.

"Who better than a migrant? Somebody that knows what it's like to dive into the unknown.” I first heard this quote in sophomore year AP Chemistry while watching A Million Miles Away, the story of José Hernández, the first Mexican-American migrant farmworker to go to space. Looking around, I realized I was the only Latino in the room. Usually, I felt the weight of my different upbringing, cultural misfit, and thick accent that served as a constant reminder I wasn’t born here. But in that moment, none of that mattered; I sat there with a tear in my eye, moved by a story that felt so close to mine – moved to chase the stars, even if that meant being the only one in the room that looked like me. Like Hernandez in the film, I too was launched into unfamiliar territory. Not with a rocket, but with a suitcase and a one way ticket. My journey began in 2021, when my dad broke the news: we were moving to the United States in a few weeks. I was terrified of leaving behind my family, my culture, and my life in Mexico. Landing in California felt like stepping onto the moon. Everything was different: the language, the city, the people, even the way others interacted. I felt like an alien in a foreign galaxy, and I wondered if others looked at me that way. But just like in a real space mission, adaptation meant survival. Academically, I pushed myself to speak English, navigate a more competitive school system, and adapt to unfamiliar teaching styles. Being a Hispanic student in STEM meant often feeling underrepresented and underestimated. However, I slowly began proving to myself that I was capable of not only surviving, but thriving – regaining academic and personal confidence, excelling in my classes, and creating a new home for myself. Leaving my entire life behind - family, culture, language, comfort - in a blind quest towards a better future wasn’t easy. However, like Hernandez, I’ve learned to see my circumstances not as obstacles, but as an inextinguishable fire that ignites my drive. Now, I am committed more than ever to demonstrating the untapped potential in my community, demonstrating what we are truly capable of achieving. I hope to use my education to give back, as I am doing now through mentoring younger students, leading student organizations that support underrepresented students, and pushing others to pursue their dreams. I want to show my community that the barriers we face are not limitations, but instead stepping stones to our future. Like Hernandez, I aim to achieve goals I used to think were out of this world. Through education, I hope to become part of the next generation of STEM, inspiring others to pursue their dreams and uplifting my community along the way. Because the one thing I didn’t leave behind in Mexico is my drive to reach the stars, and I am determine to share that with my community.