For a long time, I didn’t fully understand where my voice belonged. I come from two strong and deeply rooted cultures. My mother is Black, and my maternal grandmother is an immigrant from the Cape Verde islands, off the coast of West Africa. My father is Native Hawaiian. Both sides of my family carry histories of resilience, survival, and cultural pride. But growing up, especially as I moved between different environments, I often felt like I was existing in between worlds rather than fully seen in either one. One of the most important parts of who I am is that I speak ʻŌlelo Hawaiʻi fluently. I attended a Hawaiian immersion school, where Hawaiian was the first language I learned to read and write. That experience connected me deeply to my culture, but it also made me aware of how rare that connection is. Outside of those spaces, I often found that people didn’t understand that part of me, or didn’t fully recognize it. It became another layer of feeling like I had to choose when and how to share my identity. In high school, there were moments when I stayed quiet, even when I had something to say. It wasn’t because I didn’t care. It was because I wasn’t sure how my voice would be received. Would people understand where I was coming from? Would I have to explain parts of myself that felt too complex to put into words? One moment that stands out happened during a class discussion about culture and identity. The conversation stayed on the surface, and I remember feeling frustrated because I knew there was so much more that wasn’t being said. I thought about my grandmother’s journey from Cape Verde, about the history of colonization in Hawaiʻi, and about how both parts of who I am come from people who had to fight to preserve their identity. I had all of that in my mind, but I didn’t speak up. After class, that silence stayed with me. I realized that by holding back, I was allowing my own story to go unheard. That moment was uncomfortable, but it was also a turning point. I started to understand that finding my voice wasn’t just about confidence. It was about responsibility. I began to push myself to speak more and to show up in ways that felt authentic to who I am. In high school, I became actively involved with the Scituate Cape Verde Sister City Committee, where my grandmother serves as chair. As the student liaison, I helped support events and initiatives that celebrated Cape Verdean culture and strengthened connections within the community. That experience gave me a space where my voice wasn’t just accepted, it was needed. I wasn’t just representing myself, I was helping tell a larger story about culture, identity, and belonging. At the same time, I carried my Hawaiian identity with me in quieter but equally meaningful ways. Being able to speak Hawaiian fluently is something I am incredibly proud of. It connects me to a history of resilience and cultural preservation, and it has shaped how I see the importance of language, storytelling, and education. Even when I didn’t always say it out loud, that part of me influenced how I listened, how I learned, and how I began to understand the power of voice. Learning to use my voice didn’t happen all at once. There were still moments of doubt, moments where I questioned whether I would be understood. But over time, I found confidence not in being perfect, but in being honest. I realized that my perspective matters because it is real, and because it reflects experiences that are often overlooked. Now, as a freshman in college with a 3.9 GPA and a place on the Chancellor’s List, I carry those lessons with me. I am more willing to speak up, to share my perspective, and to create space for others to do the same. I understand that communication is not just about speaking clearly, it is about speaking with purpose. In the future, I hope to use my voice to build connections across communities and to continue advocating for cultural understanding and education. Coming from both African and Indigenous backgrounds, I know how powerful it is when stories are shared and voices are heard. I want to be part of that impact. My voice is still growing, but it is no longer silent. It is shaped by my cultures, my experiences, and the moments when I chose to stop holding back.

My name is Grace Waineʻe Kuihewa-a-Makawalu, and my story begins with a language that was once nearly taken away. I grew up in Hawaiʻi attending a Hawaiian immersion school from kindergarten through fourth grade, where everything was taught in ʻŌlelo Hawaiʻi. Before I ever learned to read and write in English, I learned in my native language. At the time, it felt natural. It was simply the way school was. It wasn’t until I got older that I understood how significant that experience really was. There was a time when speaking Hawaiian was illegal. After the overthrow of the Hawaiian Kingdom, our language and cultural practices were suppressed. People were punished for speaking ʻŌlelo Hawaiʻi, for dancing hula, for living as who they were. The language nearly disappeared. Entire generations grew up disconnected from it. So the fact that I was able to learn it first, to speak it fluently, is not just a personal experience. It is part of a larger story of resilience and cultural survival. One of my earliest memories is sitting in a classroom where only Hawaiian was spoken, learning to read, write, and understand the world through a language my ancestors fought to keep alive. At the time, I didn’t realize that just by being there, I was part of something much bigger. Looking back, I understand that it was an act of reclamation. Outside of the classroom, I connected to my culture in other ways. I became a canoe paddler, learning discipline, teamwork, and respect for the ocean. I danced hula, telling stories through movement that have been passed down for generations. These weren’t just activities. They were ways of staying connected to who I am and where I come from. As I continued my education and eventually transitioned into English-speaking schools, I began to see how underrepresented Native voices are, especially outside of Hawaiʻi. There were moments where I felt the weight of that, where I felt like a part of my identity was not fully understood. But instead of pulling away from it, I leaned in. I became more proud of my name, my language, and my culture. My experiences have shaped my goals in a very clear way. I plan to pursue a master’s degree in education so I can give back to my community and help continue the revitalization of the Hawaiian language. Language is more than words. It carries history, identity, and connection. I want to be part of the effort to ensure that future generations not only learn ʻŌlelo Hawaiʻi, but grow up with it as a living, thriving language. The story that has shaped me is not just my own. It is the story of a culture that refused to disappear. It is the story of people who held on to their identity even when they were told to let it go. I carry that with me in everything I do. Being able to speak Hawaiian fluently is something I am incredibly proud of, but more importantly, it comes with responsibility. I want to use what I’ve been given to make an impact, to teach, to preserve, and to continue a legacy that was nearly lost. My journey in higher education is not just about personal success. It is about honoring where I come from and making sure that the stories, language, and traditions of indigenous people continue to be told for generations to come.

The moment I stepped onto the stage at my school’s annual Open Mic Night, gripping the microphone with trembling hands, I felt the weight of years of struggle lift from my shoulders. I was there to honor my friend Max, who we had lost too soon. I had spent months organizing this event as the president of our school GSA, determined to create a space where students could feel safe, heard, and celebrated. Standing before a crowd that had once felt unfamiliar and unwelcoming, I realized I had done something great. I had turned pain into purpose, and in doing so, I had found my voice. My journey to that stage was not an easy one. I transferred to my high school as a freshman, carrying the weight of anxiety and self-doubt. Coming from a culturally rich background (Cape Verdean, Indigenous Native Hawaiian, Asian Pacific Islander, and Jewish), I often felt like an outsider in a predominantly white school. The transition was overwhelming, and my social anxiety made it even harder to find my place. But instead of retreating, I pushed forward, determined to create the kind of community I had longed for. During my sophomore year, I became involved with the GSA, a small but passionate group of students who wanted to make a difference. By sophomore year, I was elected president, and I threw myself into advocacy work. I organized Pride events, led discussions on LGBTQ+ rights, and worked to ensure that every student, especially those who felt unseen, had a place to belong. It wasn’t always easy. There were times when I felt discouraged, when it seemed like the challenges outweighed the progress. But I kept going, leaning on the resilience I had built over years of overcoming hardship. Beyond my work with the GSA, I dedicated myself to my passion for childcare and education. I’ve been babysitting since I was 13, learning from my mother, a career nanny. I volunteered as a preschool teacher’s helper and spent my summers as a junior camp counselor, guiding young children through activities that nurtured their confidence and curiosity. These experiences solidified my decision to pursue a degree in early childhood education. I want to be the teacher who creates safe spaces for children, just as I worked to create one at my high school. Perhaps my greatest lesson came from learning to balance my responsibilities while navigating personal struggles. I have endured loss, family challenges, and the weight of expectations, but I have never let those hardships define me. Instead, I have used them as fuel to grow stronger. Organizing our annual Open Mic Night was more than just an event; it was a reflection of my journey. It was proof that I could take pain and transform it into something meaningful, something that brought people together. As I look ahead to college and beyond, I carry with me the lessons of perseverance, leadership, and community-building. I know that challenges will come, but I also know that I have the strength to overcome them. Just as I found my voice on that stage, I am ready to use it to make a difference in the lives of others.

As the granddaughter of an immigrant from Cape Verde, my cultural heritage has been a guiding force in shaping my educational experiences, values, and goals. My grandmother, Angela Ribeiro Dray, came to the United States seeking a better life for her family, and her sacrifices have inspired me to approach my education with purpose and determination. Being part of a Cape Verdean immigrant family has instilled in me a sense of pride in my culture and the importance of community. This background has also shaped my involvement in various local initiatives and inspired my future goals, particularly in education. One of the most meaningful ways I’ve contributed to my community is through my work with the Scituate/Cape Verde Sister City Committee. This initiative seeks to strengthen ties between Scituate and Cape Verde, celebrating our shared heritage and fostering cultural exchange. I’ve been actively involved in planning cultural events, educational programs, and community gatherings, helping people from different backgrounds come together to learn about and appreciate Cape Verdean culture. This experience has shown me how important it is to preserve and share one’s cultural identity while building bridges with others. It’s also a way for me to honor my grandmother’s journey and contribute to the community she became a part of. Additionally, my cultural background has influenced my academic interests and aspirations. As a senior in high school, I’ve always been drawn to subjects that help me understand the world around me. While I’m passionate about pursuing a career in early childhood education, I also believe in the importance of diversity and inclusivity in the classroom. Through my work with children, including my work at the Inly Preschool after-school program and as President of the GSA at my school, I’ve learned how crucial it is to create spaces where every child, regardless of background, feels accepted and valued. I hope to use my position as an educator to promote cultural awareness and embrace diversity, much like how my family has embraced me and my heritage. I’ve also been involved with South Shore Pride, where I’ve worked to create an inclusive and supportive space for students. This experience has reinforced my belief in the power of advocacy and support, both for other students who identify as LGBTQ+ and those who come from marginalized backgrounds. I’ve seen firsthand how important it is to foster an environment where all students feel empowered and heard. This commitment to inclusivity will guide my work as an educator, where I aim to create safe and accepting spaces for all children. Receiving the Dr. Soronnadi Nnaji Legacy Scholarship would allow me to further my education and continue my efforts to make a positive impact on my community. It would help alleviate the financial burden of my college education and enable me to pursue my passion for early childhood education. The scholarship would give me the opportunity to continue my work in creating inclusive, supportive environments for all students. It would also allow me to honor my grandmother’s legacy by ensuring that the values she instilled in me; hard work, community, and cultural pride, are passed on to the next generation. By earning this scholarship, I would be able to contribute more to my community and ensure that every child has the opportunity to feel valued and supported in their educational journey. The legacy of my family, combined with my desire to make a difference in the lives of children, motivates me to continue my education and work toward a future where all students can thrive.

When I read Professor Harold Bloom’s quote, “The purpose of teaching is to bring the student to his or her sense of his or her own presence,” it made me think deeply about what teaching means to me. As a high school senior, I’ve had the privilege of working with children in various roles, including as a babysitter and an after-school worker at Inly Preschool. Through these experiences, I’ve seen how important it is for every child to feel recognized for who they are, especially in environments where they may feel out of place. I want to help my future students, particularly those with special needs, experience a sense of their own presence by fostering a classroom that celebrates their individuality, strengths, and unique journeys. For me, experiencing a sense of presence means being fully aware of one's identity, abilities, and value in the world. As president of my high school’s Gender-Sexuality Alliance (GSA), I’ve worked hard to create a space where students feel empowered to express their true selves. I’ve seen firsthand how important it is to make others feel heard and supported, especially when they may be struggling with their identity or facing personal challenges. This has inspired me to bring a similar inclusive environment to my future classroom. I want every child to feel like they belong and that their presence is valued, whether in the classroom or in life. Through my work as a babysitter and my work at the Inly Preschool after-school program, I’ve learned the importance of guiding children through their learning and growth while also helping them discover their strengths. Whether it’s helping a child with their homework or engaging them in a creative activity, I’ve seen the joy that comes when a child recognizes their own progress. I’ve learned that teaching isn’t just about passing on information; it’s about helping students discover who they are, what they are capable of, and how they can succeed. This is especially important for students with special needs, who may face more obstacles in their educational journey. I want to guide them to recognize their abilities, build their self-confidence, and empower them to pursue their goals. As president of the GSA, I’ve also learned how to be a leader and advocate for others. I’ve worked to ensure that every student, regardless of their background or identity, feels accepted and supported. I believe these same principles of acceptance and empowerment are key when working with children with special needs. I want to create a classroom where students not only feel safe but also feel inspired to reach their full potential. I’ve seen how the smallest moments of encouragement and validation can make a huge difference in a child’s self-esteem and motivation. I know that becoming a special education teacher will be a challenging and rewarding journey. It will require patience, flexibility, and creativity. However, I am passionate about providing a space where every student can grow, develop, and learn in their own way. Just as I’ve found strength in communities that accepted me, I want to create a classroom that fosters that same sense of belonging and self-confidence. By helping my students recognize their own strengths and guiding them through challenges, I hope to help them develop the confidence and self-awareness they need to succeed both in school and in life.

Throughout my high school years, I have strived for excellence both academically and personally, while also working hard to leave a meaningful legacy within my family and community. Growing up in a family of Cape Verdean immigrants, I was taught the importance of hard work, resilience, and giving back. These values have been central to my success and have motivated me to excel in my education, while also focusing on creating positive change in my community. Academically, I’ve consistently worked to achieve high standards. As a student, I’ve balanced challenging coursework with a deep involvement in extracurricular activities. I am passionate about learning, and this passion drives me to push myself beyond the classroom. I’ve taken on leadership roles that not only allowed me to hone my organizational and communication skills but also gave me the opportunity to inspire others to be involved in the causes that matter most to me. As the president of the Scituate High School Gender and Sexuality Alliance (GSA), I’ve led efforts to create a safe, welcoming space for all students, where they can express their identities and find support. This leadership role has taught me that education is not just about academic success but about making a difference in people’s lives. Beyond GSA, I have been heavily involved in several community organizations, such as the Scituate Freedom Team, South Shore Pride, and the Scituate/Cape Verde Sister City Committee. In these roles, I’ve advocated for the LGBTQ+ community, social justice, and inclusivity. My work with South Shore Pride has been particularly impactful, as I’ve helped organize events to raise awareness and provide a platform for LGBTQ+ voices in our town. Through my involvement with the Sister City Committee, I’ve had the privilege of helping foster connections between Scituate and Cape Verde, celebrating shared cultural history and strengthening the bond between our communities. These experiences have shown me the power of service and how small acts of involvement can create lasting change. My experiences have also shaped my desire to pursue a career in Early Childhood Education and Child Psychology. I’ve spent years working with children, whether through babysitting, volunteering at the UHM Children’s Center in Hawaii, or working with Inly’s after-school program. These experiences have shown me the importance of nurturing young minds and providing a foundation for their success. I hope to make a difference in the lives of children by fostering an environment where they feel safe, supported, and empowered to succeed. The legacy I hope to leave is one of service, inclusivity, and education. I want my actions to inspire future generations of young people to stand up for what is right, embrace diversity, and always seek to create positive change. I’ve been fortunate to have a supportive family who has always encouraged me to pursue my dreams, and I am committed to honoring their sacrifices by continuing to give back to the community that shaped me. This scholarship would help me continue my education and further my commitment to making a lasting impact in both my family and community. I look forward to the opportunity to continue learning, growing, and serving others.

When I first joined the GSA at Scituate High School, I was searching for a sense of belonging. During my freshman year I had just transferred from a different school across the globe in Hawai'i, and the transition was overwhelming. However, the GSA quickly became a space where I felt safe, supported, and empowered. By sophomore year, I became president, determined to make our group a visible and active force for LGBTQ+ students. One of my proudest moments was organizing a tribute to our friend Max at our annual open mic event, ensuring that his legacy and the importance of LGBTQ+ mental health were honored. Through this role, I’ve worked to create safe spaces, educate others, and advocate for greater inclusivity within our school community. Beyond the GSA, I serve as the student liaison for South Shore Pride, working to expand resources and events for the LGBTQ+ community in our region. This role has allowed me to collaborate with local leaders and organizations to create year-round events that celebrate and support LGBTQ+ individuals. I’ve also been involved with the Scituate Freedom Team, advocating for inclusivity and fostering conversations about equality. These experiences have shaped my understanding of activism and reinforced my belief that real change happens when communities come together. My commitment to advocacy isn’t just about leadership; it’s about making sure no one feels alone in their identity. As someone who has faced challenges in finding my own place, I know how important it is to have support systems. I want to ensure that others, especially young people, have the resources and encouragement they need to embrace who they are. My passion for advocacy aligns with my career goal: to work in Early Childhood Education and Child Psychology. I have always loved working with children and have dedicated years to babysitting, volunteering at preschools, and mentoring younger students. I want to create safe, affirming environments where all children, regardless of background, feel valued and understood. Representation and inclusion start at a young age, and I hope to be an educator who fosters confidence, acceptance, and love in every child I work with. Receiving this scholarship would ease the financial burden of pursuing higher education and allow me to continue my mission of fostering inclusivity, one child at a time. I am committed to making a difference in my community and beyond, ensuring that LGBTQ+ youth always have the support and opportunities they deserve.