On a hot summer night in July, I went to bed knowing that my home was no longer home. When I was seventeen, I found out that I was an undocumented immigrant. Up until then, I believed that I was a U.S. citizen. There was nothing to convince me otherwise. The shock felt like a rug swept out from under me–I was not prepared in the slightest. Nobody could prepare for news like that. I thought life would stop right then and there, but I’m glad it didn’t. I maintained a GPA of no less than 3.8 during high school. I participated in every activity under the sun: volleyball, theatre, art, a 24-hour animation competition aimed towards colleges, creative writing, volunteering at a dental office, and gathering together a continuously growing group (five hundred, as of this summer) of teens and young adults in the art industry or working towards being in the art industry, and won awards for a lot of them After discovering I was not a citizen, all that effort felt wasted. At that moment, I thought it all amounted to nothing. I spent all night crying and wishing, hoping that I’d wake up and it was just a dream. It was not. I had two choices. I could sit and let my status get the best of me, define me, convince me I should give up, or I could push through. Carve a future built on ambition, determination, and relentless hope. I chose the latter. Every day of my senior year of high school, I would hike up a hill to work on multiple art portfolios and scholarship essays until nine in the evening. I maintained my 4.0 GPA and even graduated Suma Cum Laude. This effort granted me acceptance into every college I applied to, and, in the end, I chose the Laguna College of Art and Design. I’m still pursuing my dream of becoming an artist, more specifically, a storyboard artist in the animation industry. I’ve always wanted to be a voice in the writer’s room and influence the outcome of a story; more importantly, with my art, I’d like to empower underrepresented groups of people and create stories that will be fondly remembered for years to come. Every day, however, something has found a way to remind me of my status. Sometimes, it’s hard to ask for help. I don’t prefer asking for it, as I don’t want to be given handouts for my status. I want to earn the help people give me. I want people to help because of my efforts and not because of my status–but when I do receive help, I do my very best to utilize all of it, as any help I’m eternally grateful for. Some days, I dread what will happen after college–where I will go, how stable my future will be, or if my dreams will even follow through; but, I know myself. I know that if I stay true to myself, and if I follow the same ambition that lead me to pursue higher education, then I’ll be just fine.

I have always been misrepresented. As a person of color and other minorities, growing up wasn't easy, since there was little to no representation of who I was as a person. I felt nobody could see past the stereotypes and that I was already labeled before I even said hello to others. Growing up in a conservative city heightened that feeling of isolation. I feel hurt and compassion for those growing up the same way right now and in the future. Those feelings have directly propelled me to the art industry to fill that gap. That is why I'm working towards being a storyboard artist in the animation industry, where mostly kids and teens consume content that ends up cultivating their morals, values, views on the world, and most importantly, views on themselves. No kid deserves to think that they are a lesser human because they were born with less. That is why I want to pursue this career, and why I am completing a bachelor's in fine arts with an animation specialization. I want to give back to the youth in under-resourced communities via empowering media such as animation, storyboarding, and also by being a voice in the writer's room for those who have no voice. I've already started this notion and recently wrapped up one of my projects that supports this very goal. The project was called Hiraeth, which I named due to its meaning of yearning for home. Hiraeth was a story-based video game my team and I created in an internship (hosted by the BRIC Foundation, a company striving to increase representation in the entertainment industry). Hiraeth pushes a dialogue of the immigrant experience and what it is like being a child in a foreign land with no support. In this project, we also included themes of isolation and how a situation like that can bring about trauma and mistrust. I included this because these were very real emotions I felt as a kid in a similar situation. However, I also wanted to include the other side of the coin. Being born with less isn’t easy, but it isn’t an end all be all. If one trusts their story, themselves, and their voice, then one can successfully bring forth a better life. The project was a huge success when my group and I pitched it to BRIC's staff board, and it was an even bigger hit when I pitched it to some professors and students at my college a year later. Both pitches prompted an amazing response: tons of questions. People asked about my experiences, how those stories shaped the story my group and I had built, what my experience was like, and, most importantly, how they, as a privileged group, could help. It was a moment of pure humanity; a true moment of togetherness, and that is exactly what I want to achieve with my art on a larger scale. I want others to look at different perspectives and for those stories to inspire them. The animation industry needs diverse voices empowering diverse voices, and I will continue to work towards this goal with my art, one story at a time.

I have always been misrepresented. As a person of color and other minorities, growing up wasn't easy, since there was little to no representation of who I was as a person. I felt nobody could see past the stereotypes and that I was already labeled before I even said hello to others. Growing up in a conservative city heightened that feeling of isolation. I feel hurt and compassion for those growing up the same way right now and in the future. Those feelings have directly propelled me to the art industry to fill that gap. That is why I'm working towards being a storyboard artist in the animation industry, where mostly kids and teens consume content that ends up cultivating their morals, values, views on the world, and most importantly, views on themselves. No kid deserves to think that they are a lesser human because they were born with less. As such, I would give back to the youth in under-resourced communities via empowering media such as animation, storyboarding, and also by being a voice in the writer's room for those who have no voice. I've already started this notion and recently wrapped up one of my projects that supports this very goal. The project was called Hiraeth, which I named due to its meaning of yearning for home. Hiraeth was a story-based video game my team and I created in an internship (hosted by the BRIC Foundation, a company striving to increase representation in the entertainment industry). Hiraeth pushes a dialogue of the immigrant experience and what it is like being a child in a foreign land with no support. In this project, we also included themes of isolation and how a situation like that can bring about trauma and mistrust. I included this because these were very real emotions I felt as a kid in a similar situation. However, I also wanted to include the other side of the coin. Being born with less isn’t easy, but it isn’t an end all be all. If one trusts their story, themselves, and their voice, then one can successfully bring forth a better life. The project was a huge success when my group and I pitched it to BRIC's staff board, and it was an even bigger hit when I pitched it to some professors and students at my college a year later. Both pitches prompted an amazing response: tons of questions. People asked about my experiences, how those stories shaped the story my group and I had built, what my experience was like, and, most importantly, how they, as a privileged group, could help. It was a moment of pure humanity; a true moment of togetherness, and that is exactly what I want to achieve with my art on a larger scale. I want others to look at different perspectives and for those stories to inspire them. The animation industry needs diverse voices empowering diverse voices, and I will continue to work towards this goal with my art, one story at a time.

A spark from childhood. Summer. The crackle of fizzy soda amongst the buzz of cicadas and the faint sound of American Pie, my favorite childhood song that played endlessly on the 70s radio, permeating through the air. I watched in amazement as my best friend cut out paper dragons with just scissors and wrapping paper. They strung them together with little pins and made them dance in candlelight, and for a moment, the world gained a few more sparks of magic and wonder as gigantic shadows danced along the insides of our tent. That very moment, among others, was one of the many catalysts that propelled my dream of becoming an animator. American Pie continued to play throughout my life as I grew alongside my craft. It was on my iPod, some sketchily created CDs, an old iPhone, the car radio, and eventually my newest phone. Although the song was very much a more morbid reflection on the Vietnam War, my childhood attachment to that song plus the arts, specifically drawing and animation, gave it a new dimension that meant something to me. At first, it was a happy tune to jig about. It allowed my mind to run wild with ideas, and it brought a sense of comfort to me as I belted it out over my very early drawings. As I grew, however, I began to feel a nostalgic sense of the music. My art grew to a stage that I was confident enough with to move into a career, I was applying to my dream art colleges to become an animator. This would be it. I would create films with my hands that inspired people throughout the world to pursue their passions... but... The music died. My parents were getting older, yet they were working well into their late sixties as I got closer to college. My mother, although her bones were growing weary with her muscles turning thin, continued to wake up every day from five in the morning to work all the way to ten at night. My father, despite suffering a stroke, did everything he could to recover and take any job that he could. Both of them have endured years of working, and still do, just to help me pay for my schooling. I love my parents to death, and I also do my fair share of work to support myself throughout college, but they need my help. They are the ones who immigrated to this country just to provide me with better opportunities. They are the ones who believed in me, who told me that I could be anything that I wanted to be, so long that I'm the best at it. This scholarship would help pay off some of the tuition for the school that I'm currently attending, and it would provide me with more time to study rather than count endless bills. It would also bring some ease to my parents, who work endlessly for me to have the opportunities that they never had as young adults. With this scholarship, I would be a thousand steps closer to accomplishing my dreams as an animator–and hopefully, I could spark some creativity within the young people who view my future projects. Thank you so much for this gracious opportunity and for reading over my essay, I really appreciate your kindness in donating money to help students continue their education.

Hello, my name is Francine Batungbacal and I am an undocumented immigrant; but I am more than just my citizenship status. I am an artist and a creative mind, though I had almost given up at one point. I felt my soul crush when my parents told me that I was undocumented. Many doors that were once open to me had shut, any job security turned to dust, and my future in this country had been suddenly deemed uncertain. I was devastated. I had two choices back then. I could give up and move back to my home country of the Philippines, or I could pick up my pen and keep going. I chose the latter. I have committed to Laguna College of Art and Design for their BFA program despite all odds; because not only do I love art and want to pursue it above all else, I always look to shatter boundaries to make a path that wasn't there before. When there are roadblocks, I don't just look for a solution, I look to outgrow them. Additionally, I don't just problem-solve for myself. I take great pride in helping other artists who are in difficult situations gain a voice for themselves. I created a networking forum for more than four hundred and fifty young artists to provide resources and bridge a gap for those who may not be able to afford art school, those who may not live in LA (where opportunities are prominent), and those who are underrepresented in the art industry like people of color, women, and LGBTQ+. This forum resulted in members gaining an entertainment arts internship, getting accepted into their dream art colleges, creating bridges for the future, and drastically improving their art. I believe that I deserve this scholarship because I am willing to further my education despite the risks of my documentation status. In the world of art, I am not an undocumented student. I am an artist with a craving to create and imagine, and I am always taking my moves one step further. I did not give up on myself back then. Instead, I churned that devastating blow into a fiery passion to achieve my artistic goals. I have been diligent in my studies and kept a 3.7-4.1 GPA throughout my high school career. I have pushed myself to improve myself as an artist and attended not just Ryman Arts, but a storyboarding class with Andy Cung, an ArtCenter animation class, and an internship at the BRIC Foundation to grow my artistic skills as well as my presentation and problem-solving skills. I have built a foundation for myself, and I am willing to build it higher and stronger while working diligently at Laguna College of Art and Design. This scholarship would finance my education and allow me to focus on creating rather than counting. It will supplement the doors closed to me due to my immigration status, and I can lift the burden off of my parent's backs to pay back their support for my career; this is especially because they may very well be working past retirement age. If it weren't for them, I wouldn't have such a wonderful creative field to look forward to in the future. Thank you for your time and consideration, Lian Francine Batungbacal

My love of arts stemmed from my childhood best friend. I am thankful to have the courage to pursue my love of arts despite a rigorous journey ahead due to being an undocumented immigrant. Life in America had seemed so colorful when I was younger due to my childhood best friend, who was four years older than me, shielding me from anything that could bring me down. We would spend summer days drawing away to make our worlds from just paper and pencil. I remember feeling inspired to create characters, illustrate stories, and connect people through my art as a child. This was all because I was so inspired by my childhood friend, who encouraged me every step of the way. I would consider him my favorite artist, not just for his skill, but for his resilience in keeping my dream going. He encouraged me to keep creating despite how hard it was to create in a world that seemed to want to stomp out my voice as an undocumented immigrant. I only have him to thank for coming so far. I continued my dream of art into teenagehood, and eventually, high school senior year. Despite finding out my undocumented status, I never once looked back on my dream. No matter what the world labels me, I am an artist, and I will create, and I will never let that passion die for anybody. My love of art has stemmed so far from just childhood drawings. I realized throughout the years after networking with people at my internship, meeting other artists, and simply being in the moment with other people, that art is a reflection of what makes us human. It is so colorful, enticing, and alluring. Art in movies can make people feel stunned after walking out of a movie theatre, it can inspire change when drawn in comic books, it can make people consider a different point of view, and it can also spark conversation. Art throws away all superficiality and makes life raw and real, and that is what I love about it so much. It grows along people, and it helps people grow, and I am so thankful for my childhood best friend for cultivating that little spark inside of me and helping it grow into the flame of passion that it is today. I have the drive to narrate untold stories as an animator, to also pave a path for children who, despite everything, can also be encouraged to be great. I want to do for other people (whether they be young, old, middle-aged, in another country, etc...) what my childhood best friend did for me. I want to create to inspire people to pursue what they love because no greater thing drives this world than passion.

For a long time, the American Dream made me laugh. It felt like a fickle truth, a myth made up by Uncle Sam or James Truslow Adams himself–and, for a while, I denied that it existed, too. Though the land was built on immigrants, I couldn’t help but feel I was what the law defined me as an alien. Not just the law, but everyday subtleties let me know that I was an outlier–whether it be my classroom seat conveniently placed in front of a, “Do Not Let The Wall Fall” poster, an aggravating, “Confirm you are a U.S. Citizen” check box on financial aid websites or everyday conversations amongst classmates about undocumented immigrants. Despite the walls that piled up around me, I could not stop for anything. I continued to hone my skills in arts, study diligently, even if it meant losing sleep, and constantly watch my every move to make sure that I wouldn’t confirm the stereotype that undocumented immigrants were ‘lazy’, and yet, the American Dream seemed all too impossible. That was until I anxiously handed my animation portfolio to a counselor from my dream school. I had filed that appointment with nothing but sour chunks of anxiety in my throat. I knew that art school was a long shot for somebody of my status, even sustaining a career in the animation industry was shaky with the burden of illegal citizenship lifted; but I knew that I had nothing else that I truly wanted. For multiple years of my life, I had to go all or nothing. I had to stare at that American flag and recite the Pledge of Allegiance over and over again with a burning desire in my eyes. That desire would chant, “I need to succeed, I need to get a job, I need to secure a future for myself and my family, I need to go to college, I need to put forth every single effort in every fiber of my body in everything that I do.” If my portfolio was awful, I had to start again. If even the slightest detail was off, I had to start again. Even worse, I would have to find something else to do. Something that wasn’t my dream, one of the only routes of security that I had. I held my breath as I stared my counselor in the eyes, and I was practically screaming internally as I watched him sift through my drawings. The silence was deafening. My future was quite literally in his hands. “Your portfolio is great. I actually have nothing to add to it.” The acceptance letter that followed made it even sweeter. It was at that moment that I knew I could make it. All of my efforts had paid off, and though my fight to secure a future isn’t over, that surge of adrenaline, happiness, and triumph can be drawn into my very own definition of the American Dream: The American Dream is a vast concept. It takes the form of a specific person’s ideals and goals. It is subjective. It is captured when an individual conquers all obstacles in life to achieve what they want despite all conditions. Some make it, and some don’t, but I know that for certain I will do anything it takes to achieve my American Dream.

“The ideal that every citizen of the United States should have an equal opportunity to achieve success and prosperity through hard work, determination, and initiative.” For a long time, the American Dream made me laugh. It felt like a fickle truth, a myth made up by Uncle Sam or James Truslow Adams himself–and, for a while, I denied that it existed, too. Though the land was built on immigrants, I couldn’t help but feel I was what the law defined me as an alien. Not just the law, but everyday subtleties let me know that I was an outlier–whether it be my classroom seat conveniently placed in front of a, “Do Not Let The Wall Fall” poster, an aggravating, “Confirm you are a U.S. Citizen” check box on financial aid websites or everyday conversations amongst classmates about undocumented immigrants. Despite the walls that piled up around me, I could not stop for anything. I continued to hone my skills in arts, study diligently, even if it meant losing sleep, and constantly watch my every move to make sure that I wouldn’t confirm the stereotype that undocumented immigrants were ‘lazy’, and yet, the American Dream seemed all too impossible. That was until I anxiously handed my animation portfolio to a counselor from my dream school. I had filed that appointment with nothing but sour chunks of anxiety in my throat. I knew that art school was a long shot for somebody of my status, even sustaining a career in the animation industry was shaky with the burden of illegal citizenship lifted; but I knew that I had nothing else that I truly wanted. For multiple years of my life, I had to go all or nothing. I had to stare at that American flag and recite the Pledge of Allegiance over and over again with a burning desire in my eyes. That desire would chant, “I need to succeed, I need to get a job, I need to secure a future for myself and my family, I need to go to college, I need to put forth every single effort in every fiber of my body in everything that I do.” If my portfolio was awful, I had to start again. If even the slightest detail was off, I had to start again. Even worse, I would have to find something else to do. Something that wasn’t my dream, one of the only routes of security that I had. I held my breath as I stared my counselor in the eyes, and I was practically screaming internally as I watched him sift through my drawings. The silence was deafening. My future was quite literally in his hands. “Your portfolio is great. I actually have nothing to add to it.” The acceptance letter that followed made it even sweeter. It was at that moment that I knew I could make it. All of my efforts had paid off, and though my fight to secure a future isn’t over, that surge of adrenaline, happiness, and triumph can be drawn into my very own definition of the American Dream: The American Dream is a vast concept. It takes the form of a specific person’s ideals and goals. It is subjective. It is captured when an individual conquers all obstacles in life to achieve what they want despite all conditions. Some make it, and some don’t, but I know that for certain I will do anything it takes to achieve my American Dream.

There’s always that dreaded situation in every art student’s mind: their parents will never accept their passion to pursue a career in the arts. It’s a job that sets you up for failure, there’s no money involved, finding employment is hard, art will burn down your house, pull a John Wick on your dog… every single horror a parent can imagine. However, it was the opposite for me. It was I who feared my own hobby. “Mom, dad, I want to be an English professor at some university… it’ll be good pay.” “Mom, dad, I want to be a dentist since it’s good money.” Year after year, I had been scrounging up the best-paying jobs to dream of and hope to accomplish for the sake of putting my parents in a better position for retirement–however, my true love, art, had been sitting in the back and collecting dust. That was until I stepped into my first figure drawing class that I applied to on a whim. When I stepped through those doors, my tide suddenly pooled into an ocean. There was something fantastical about it. The people there all loved art and had worked on their craft for ten, twenty, thirty, even forty years. They wielded jobs at Disney or Netflix, and passionately discussed the nuances of art and creation. This experience was a catalyst in my spiral down the art rabbit hole, and suddenly I wanted to create. There were worlds that I had stuffed down the drain, characters that had been locked away in closets, creatures shoved behind textbooks of math and science to never see the light of day again–but I wanted to bring them all out, my own Renaissance was at my fingertips. That was when I realized that I did not want to be a professor, a dentist, or a nurse. “Mom, dad… I want to be an artist.” I was prepared for their response. Art sets you up for failure, there’s no money involved, finding jobs is hard, and there’s no stable future in art. “I wish you had told me sooner. I would have enrolled you in many art classes,” my mother said. My parents were completely supportive of me in pursuing my dreams. This shook me to my core and brought tears to my eyes. My mother brought up some advice she had been repeating to me since I was a little kid. “Whatever you want to do, you will be the best at it. Even if you’re a janitor, or a waitress, or a McDonald’s worker, be the best.” From then on, art has had such a profound impact on my life. I worked hard, and eventually gained an art internship to pitch my ideas and experience the art industry firsthand, I applied to three art classes to help me along my path, and I wanted to expand this horizon further for others and myself, so I created a Discord server that houses 360+ young artists who connect, create, and share with each other on the daily. I’m very lucky to have such loving and supportive parents who will walk with me through my path, but we have many roadblocks, such as money. The only way they will allow me to go to some of my most wanted art schools is if I scrounge up enough money for a full ride–but if it means that I will get to do what I truly love as a job and give back to my parents in the future, then so be it. For art and for my parents, it is all worth it.

Good things come to those who wait, but great things come to those who work for it. I've pieced this advice together over the years learning and improving my art. At one point, I never thought of what I was doing. I drew for nothing. I studied because I was told to study. I walked through life with no future goal in mind until I attended my first figure drawing class. It was an eye-opening experience. The moment I stepped inside the studio, I realized how behind I was. Suddenly, life didn't seem so ideal if I were to spend it floating aimlessly through it. I saw some younger than me who had made art I could only dream of making. That was the moment I knew what I wanted. I want a career in the arts, I want to get stories from myself and others out there, and I want to make up for the years I spent doing nothing. Life doesn't stop for anything or for anyone. It will keep going and there will be less and less time to showcase what one has to the world before they're gone. Thus, I want to work to make something and contribute to something. I want to help the world improve with art. There are so many lessons people can take away from good art. People don't need to go through some huge, potentially damaging event in order to learn something. Stories and art help others realize what they want. I'm a thorough believer in this because, after all, that's how I learned what I want.