For me, it’s blinking a lot. I never really thought about it growing up, it was just something I did without even noticing, like breathing or tapping your foot when you’re bored. But at some point someone pointed it out, and after that it was like I became hyper aware of it. Every time I blinked, which was obviously all the time, it felt like it stood out way more than it actually did. At first, I won’t lie, it felt kind of awkward. It’s one of those things where you start thinking everyone else is noticing it too, even if they probably aren’t. Like you’re in a conversation and instead of just focusing on what you’re saying, part of your brain is thinking, “am I blinking too much right now?” And the funny part is the more I thought about it, the more I probably did it. So it just became this cycle that made it seem like a bigger deal than it really was. But over time, I started realizing something that sounds obvious now but didn’t back then. People aren’t paying attention to you as much as you think they are. Everyone has their own thing they’re worried about, whether it’s how they look, how they sound, or something else they feel insecure about. So something like blinking a lot, which felt huge in my head, was probably something most people didn’t even notice unless I brought it up. And even if they did notice, it didn’t really matter. It’s not something that defines who I am or what I can do. It’s just a small detail, like being left handed or having a certain way of talking. In a way, it actually made me realize that everyone has something a little “off” or different about them, it’s just that not everyone talks about it. Some people are really tall, some people have a weird laugh, some people talk fast, and for me it’s blinking a lot. Now I kind of see it differently. Instead of thinking of it as something awkward, I just see it as part of me. It’s not something I try to hide or fix anymore, because there’s really nothing to fix. And honestly, the moment I stopped overthinking it, it stopped feeling like a problem at all. It just blended into everything else about me. So yeah, if blinking a lot is my “awkward” thing, I’m fine with that. It’s small, it’s harmless, and it reminds me that nobody is as perfect as they might seem at first glance. And if anything, it made me more aware of how quick people are to judge themselves over things that don’t actually matter that much.

At 6:58 p.m., I’m sitting at the kitchen table reviewing material costs for a project in my family’s kitchen design business, watching how quickly prices change depending on the choices we make. One decision means higher waste. Another means better efficiency but tighter margins. That’s where I began to understand why sustainability must be a priority in business and how I see my future role in reducing environmental impact. In business, every decision has consequences beyond profit. It affects resources, waste, and long-term impact. But too often, sustainability is treated as optional, something businesses consider only after maximizing short-term gains. I’ve seen firsthand how that thinking creates problems. Materials are over-ordered, waste is ignored, and efficiency is overlooked because it seems easier in the moment. But in reality, those choices cost more over time, both financially and environmentally. Because of this, I believe sustainability should be built into business decisions from the start, not added later. My interest in finance and business has always been tied to real-world impact. As a first-generation Moroccan Jewish student, I’ve learned to look at systems not just for how they function, but for who they serve and what they leave behind. Sustainability fits directly into that mindset. A system that creates profit while damaging the environment isn’t truly efficient, it’s incomplete. Through my experiences in my family’s business, I started thinking differently about decision-making. Instead of just asking “what costs less now,” I began asking “what creates less waste,” “what lasts longer,” and “what reduces impact over time.” That shift is what I want to expand in my future career. I plan to pursue a career in finance, but not in a way that ignores sustainability. I want to work at the intersection of business and environmental responsibility, helping companies make decisions that are both profitable and sustainable. Whether that’s through investing in companies that prioritize renewable practices, analyzing long-term costs of waste, or helping businesses restructure operations to be more efficient, I want to use financial tools to drive better outcomes. I’ve already started developing that mindset. As Vice President of the Finance Club, a student-led organization focused on financial literacy and investing, I’ve learned how to evaluate decisions beyond surface-level outcomes. In Teen Court, a youth restorative justice program where students help determine fair outcomes for first-time offenders, I’ve seen how decisions should consider long-term impact, not just immediate consequences. Even in volunteering at Magalim, a nonprofit supporting youth with disabilities, I’ve learned the importance of thoughtful, intentional action. These experiences all connect back to one idea: impact matters. In the future, I see myself helping businesses and communities transition toward more sustainable systems. That could mean developing investment strategies that prioritize environmentally responsible companies, creating financial models that account for environmental costs, or building my own ventures that combine profitability with sustainability. Sustainability isn’t just about protecting the environment. It’s about making smarter, more responsible decisions that benefit both people and the planet. And in my field, business and finance, those decisions have the power to shape the future on a large scale. That’s the role I want to play.

At 11:52 p.m., I’m sitting at my desk with headphones in, replaying “Espresso” while working through numbers on a spreadsheet. It’s an odd combination, music and math, but for me, they connect. Sabrina Carpenter’s career didn’t just entertain me, it showed me what it looks like to evolve, take risks, and build something intentionally, lessons that directly shaped how I approach finance and my own future. I first saw Sabrina Carpenter on Girl Meets World, where she played Maya Hart, a character who didn’t always fit expectations but still stayed true to herself. At the time, that stood out to me. As a first-generation Moroccan Jewish student, I understood what it felt like to not fully fit into one box. Watching her navigate that role with confidence made me think differently about identity, not as something you hide, but something you own. But what impacted me more was her transition beyond that role. Moving from acting into music, releasing songs like Espresso and Please Please Please, she didn’t stay comfortable. She took risks, evolved her image, and built a career that reflected who she was becoming, not just who she started as. That idea stuck with me. In finance, growth works the same way. When I first started learning about investing, I made impulsive decisions and lost money. At that moment, I could have stopped. But instead, I adapted. I started tracking my decisions, managing risk, and thinking long-term. Just like Sabrina didn’t stay defined by one role, I didn’t stay defined by one mistake. I learned to evolve. Her career also showed me the importance of consistency behind the scenes. Success doesn’t come from one moment, it comes from repeated effort, improving, adjusting, and staying disciplined. That’s the same mindset I apply in my life, whether it’s in school, where I’ve taken AP and college-level finance courses, or in the gym, where progress only comes from showing up every day. What inspires me most is that she built something authentic. She didn’t follow a fixed path, she created her own. And that’s exactly how I see my future in finance. I don’t just want to follow a traditional route. I want to build something that reflects both my skills and my purpose, using financial knowledge to help others make better decisions and create opportunities for themselves. Sabrina Carpenter’s journey taught me that growth isn’t about staying comfortable. It’s about adapting, improving, and staying true to who you are while you do it. And that’s exactly the mindset I carry into everything I’m building.

At 12:14 a.m., my room is quiet except for the sound of my laptop fan and the faint glow of a chart moving up and down on the screen. Numbers shift, decisions play out in real time, and I sit there thinking about one question: what am I actually doing with what I’m learning? That question defines how education has shaped my goals, the challenges I’ve overcome, and the future I’m working toward. I didn’t grow up with a clear roadmap to success. As a first-generation Moroccan Jewish immigrant, I came to the United States speaking only Hebrew, trying to understand a world that felt unfamiliar and fast. School wasn’t just about learning content, it was about learning how to exist in a system I didn’t yet understand. I remember sitting quietly in classrooms, listening more than speaking, trying to piece together meaning from words I didn’t fully know. At the same time, my family life brought its own challenges. After my parents divorced, responsibility became something I couldn’t avoid. I saw firsthand how financial decisions affected stability, stress, and opportunity. There wasn’t always a clear guide, so I learned to figure things out on my own. That combination, navigating a new environment while growing up in a single-parent dynamic, forced me to become independent earlier than most. At first, that independence felt heavy. There were moments where I wished things were simpler, where I didn’t have to think about responsibilities beyond school or worry about how everything would work out. But over time, something shifted. Instead of seeing my situation as something holding me back, I started seeing it as something shaping me. Education became my way forward. Not just as a requirement, but as a tool. I stopped approaching school as something I had to do and started treating it as something I could use. I challenged myself with AP courses and went further by enrolling in community college classes in finance, accounting, economics, and business law while still in high school. Those classes weren’t easy. They came with real expectations, real deadlines, and real consequences. But that’s exactly what I needed. For the first time, I felt like I wasn’t just learning, I was building something. My interest in finance didn’t come from a textbook. It came from real life. Working in my family’s kitchen design business, I saw how every number mattered. Pricing wasn’t just math, it was the difference between something being affordable or out of reach. Budgeting wasn’t theoretical, it affected real families making real decisions. That experience changed how I saw education. It wasn’t separate from life. It was directly connected to it. At the same time, I faced another kind of challenge, failure. When I first got into finance on my own, I made impulsive decisions. I didn’t fully understand risk, and I lost money. That moment could have pushed me away from the field completely. Instead, it did the opposite. I started tracking every decision, writing down my reasoning, my mistakes, and my outcomes. I turned failure into a system. That’s when education became more than knowledge. It became discipline. I learned how to think, not just what to think. That mindset carried into every part of my life. In the gym, I went from being overweight and unsure of myself to building consistency, structure, and confidence. In leadership, I stepped into roles that required responsibility and awareness. As Vice President of the Finance Club, a student-led organization focused on financial literacy, I began helping others understand concepts that once confused me. I saw students hesitate to speak because they felt like they didn’t belong, and I recognized that feeling immediately. So I worked to change it, breaking down ideas into simple, real-world terms and creating a space where everyone felt included. In Teen Court, a youth restorative justice program where students help determine fair outcomes for first-time offenders, I learned how to lead with empathy. Sitting in those rooms, I saw how people are often defined by one moment instead of their full story. That experience reinforced something education had already been teaching me, understanding matters more than judgment. I also volunteered at Magalim, a nonprofit that supports youth with disabilities, where I learned patience in a different way. Working with individuals who communicate differently forced me to slow down, listen, and meet people where they are. That lesson changed how I approach not just service, but life. Through all of these experiences, my direction became clear. I don’t just want to succeed within systems. I want to improve how people interact with them. My goal is to pursue finance or economics and use that education to make complex systems understandable and accessible. I want to create tools, programs, or businesses that help individuals, especially first-generation and underserved communities, make informed financial decisions. Because I’ve seen what happens when people don’t have access to that knowledge. It doesn’t limit their intelligence or effort. It limits their opportunities. Education gave me direction, but more importantly, it gave me purpose. It showed me that I can take what I’ve learned, what I’ve struggled through, and turn it into something that helps others move forward. I’m not just working toward a degree. I’m working toward becoming someone who turns knowledge into impact, challenges into structure, and uncertainty into opportunity. Because where I started doesn’t define where I’m going. But what I learn, and how I use it, will.

At 7:18 p.m., I’m sitting at the kitchen table helping go over costs for a project in my family’s business, watching how every number matters. One decision can make something affordable or out of reach. That’s where my academic and professional goals, my community involvement, and my desire to make an impact all come together. As a first-generation Moroccan Jewish student, I didn’t grow up with access to clear financial guidance or a roadmap to higher education. I saw how hard my family worked, but I also saw how a lack of financial knowledge made things more difficult than they had to be. That’s what pushed me toward finance. Not just as a career, but as a tool. Academically, I’ve challenged myself by taking AP courses and enrolling in community college classes in finance, accounting, business law, and economics while still in high school. I didn’t take these classes just to get ahead, I took them because I wanted to understand how systems actually work. My goal is to pursue a degree in finance or economics, where I can deepen that understanding and apply it in real-world situations. Professionally, I want to become more than just someone working in finance. I want to become a translator of it. Someone who takes complex systems and turns them into practical tools people can use in their everyday lives. I want to build platforms, businesses, or programs that help individuals and families make informed financial decisions, especially in communities like mine where that knowledge isn’t always accessible. I’ve already started working toward that impact. As Vice President of the Finance Club, a student-led organization focused on financial literacy and investing, I noticed how many students felt excluded from conversations about money. They thought it was too complicated or not meant for them. I recognized that feeling because I once felt it too. So instead of keeping things technical, I broke concepts down into simple, real-world explanations. Over time, I saw students who once stayed quiet start asking questions, then answering them, then helping others. That shift showed me the power of making knowledge accessible. I’ve also given back through Teen Court, a youth restorative justice program where students help determine fair outcomes for first-time offenders. In that space, I’ve learned how to lead with empathy, making sure every voice is heard, even when perspectives clash. It taught me that impact isn’t just about what you know, it’s about how you treat people. At Magalim, a nonprofit that supports youth with disabilities, I learned patience and understanding in a different way. Working with individuals who communicate differently forced me to slow down and meet people where they are. That lesson changed how I approach everything. These experiences didn’t just show me how to give back. They showed me why it matters. They made me realize that talent exists everywhere, but opportunity does not. And that’s what I want to change. My goal isn’t just to succeed in finance. It’s to use it to create access. To build systems that make information clear, decisions easier, and opportunities more reachable for people who feel left out of those spaces. Because I know what it feels like to stand on the outside of something you don’t fully understand. And I want to make sure others don’t have to.

At 9:12 p.m., I’m sitting at the kitchen table going over numbers for my family’s business while my dad talks through costs and decisions that need to be made. There’s no one else to split the responsibility with, no second opinion in the room. Just us. Growing up with divorced parents shaped how I see responsibility, independence, and ultimately who I’ve become. When my parents separated, things didn’t suddenly fall apart, but they changed in ways I couldn’t ignore. I had to grow up faster. Decisions that most kids don’t think about, financial stress, time management, responsibility, became part of my everyday life. There wasn’t always someone there to guide every step, so I learned to figure things out on my own. At first, that independence felt like pressure. I remember moments where I wished things were simpler, where I didn’t have to think about responsibilities beyond school or worry about how everything would come together. But over time, something shifted. Instead of seeing my situation as something holding me back, I started seeing it as something shaping me. One moment that changed my understanding came through working in my family’s kitchen design business. I wasn’t just helping, I was involved in real decisions, pricing projects, managing numbers, and seeing how every choice affected our stability. I realized that my role wasn’t small. I was contributing to something that mattered. That realization changed how I saw myself. I stopped thinking of myself as someone just getting through challenges and started seeing myself as someone capable of handling them. I became more disciplined, more focused, and more intentional with how I used my time. Whether it was pushing myself academically through AP and college-level courses, staying consistent in the gym, or stepping into leadership roles like Vice President of the Finance Club, I carried that same mindset: show up, figure it out, and improve. At the same time, my upbringing changed how I see others. In Teen Court, a youth restorative justice program where students help determine fair outcomes for first-time offenders, I’ve seen people at different points in their lives, all dealing with challenges others don’t see. Because of my own experiences, I approach those situations with more empathy. I understand that people are often carrying more than what’s visible on the surface. Growing up in a single-parent dynamic didn’t make things easier. But it made me stronger in ways I wouldn’t trade. It taught me how to take responsibility without waiting to be told. It taught me how to adapt when things don’t go as planned. And most importantly, it taught me that your circumstances don’t define your outcome, your response does. I’m proud of who I’ve become because of it. Not because everything was perfect, but because I learned how to move forward even when it wasn’t.

At 10:03 a.m., the classroom is louder than it should be. Chairs scrape, side conversations build, and voices overlap. In the middle of it, Mr. Lim stands at the board, focused, writing out a physics problem step by step. He pauses, turns, and continues teaching, even as interruptions continue. Through his example, I learned how resilience, patience, and purpose can shape how someone approaches life. Mr. Lim, my physics teacher, is deaf. Because of that, teaching in a loud classroom came with constant challenges. Students would interrupt, talk over him, or not fully realize the effort it took for him to stay engaged in the lesson. At first, I didn’t fully understand what that meant. I just saw a teacher doing his job. But over time, I started noticing the details. The way he stayed focused no matter how distracting the environment became. The way he continued explaining concepts clearly, never showing frustration, never lowering his expectations for us. That’s what stood out to me. He didn’t let his circumstances define how he showed up. There were moments when the class felt out of control, when it would have been easy for him to stop, slow down, or give less effort. But he didn’t. He kept teaching with the same consistency every day. And slowly, I began to change how I acted in that classroom. I paid more attention. I made sure I wasn’t contributing to the noise. Not because I was told to, but because I respected the effort he was putting in. That shift went beyond just one class. Mr. Lim showed me that discipline isn’t about perfect conditions, it’s about consistency regardless of conditions. In my own life, I started applying that mindset. Whether it was in the gym, sticking to a routine even when I didn’t feel motivated, or in academics, pushing through difficult material instead of avoiding it, I began focusing less on excuses and more on action. He also changed how I think about challenges. Before, I would sometimes see obstacles as limits. But watching him teach every day, fully committed despite constant distractions, made me realize that challenges don’t have to slow you down unless you let them. They can become something you move through, not something that stops you. Beyond that, he taught me something even more important: respect and awareness. It’s easy to overlook what others are dealing with if you’re not paying attention. But once I became aware of what he was navigating, I understood the importance of being more considerate, not just in his class, but everywhere. Mr. Lim didn’t give long speeches about resilience or discipline. He didn’t need to. He showed it. And because of that, he changed how I approach everything.

At 7:02 p.m., I’m sitting at the kitchen table with my laptop open, reviewing numbers for my family’s business while my dad talks through costs, materials, and what a customer can realistically afford. It’s not just a conversation about a kitchen. It’s a conversation about money, risk, and decisions that carry real weight. That’s when I realized something early: understanding money isn’t optional, it’s the difference between stability and stress. As a first-generation immigrant, I didn’t grow up with a roadmap to financial systems or higher education. I had to learn both at the same time. I came to the U.S. speaking only Hebrew, trying to understand a world that felt fast and unfamiliar. Over time, I taught myself how to adapt, how to learn, and eventually, how to take control of my own path. That mindset is what led me to finance. A college degree, to me, is more than a milestone. It’s leverage. It’s the opportunity to take everything I’ve been trying to figure out on my own, money, markets, decision-making, and understand it at a deeper, more structured level. It’s a way to turn curiosity into skill, and skill into impact. But more than that, it’s a way to change what’s possible for my family. My family didn’t have access to financial knowledge or higher education pathways. Every decision was learned through experience, sometimes the hard way. I want to change that. By earning a degree in finance or economics, I can bring back not just a diploma, but understanding. I want to help my family make better financial decisions, build stability, and create opportunities that didn’t exist before. And beyond my family, I want to extend that impact to my community. My passion for finance didn’t come from a classroom, it came from experience. I started learning on my own, trading, making mistakes, losing money, and then rebuilding with discipline. I began tracking every decision, analyzing outcomes, and focusing on process over results. That shift taught me that success isn’t about luck, it’s about understanding risk and making informed choices. To deepen that passion, I took community college courses in finance, accounting, business law, and economics while still in high school. I challenged myself with real college-level material because I wanted more than surface-level understanding. At the same time, I applied what I learned in real environments, helping with pricing and accounting in my family’s business and serving as Vice President of the Finance Club, where I break down complex financial concepts into simple, real-world ideas for other students. Through these experiences, I realized something important: financial knowledge is powerful, but only if people can access and understand it. That’s why my long-term goal goes beyond personal success. I want to use my education to create tools, businesses, or programs that make financial literacy accessible, especially for first-generation and low-income communities. I want to translate complexity into clarity, so people can make decisions with confidence instead of uncertainty. Maria’s story reminds me that education isn’t just about the individual, it’s about what that individual brings back to others. Like her, I want my journey through higher education to create something that extends beyond me. A college degree will change my life. But more importantly, it will change what I can do for the people around me.

At 2:11 a.m., my room is quiet except for the sound of my laptop fan and the constant refresh of a chart moving in real time. The numbers don’t care how I feel. They only reflect decisions. That’s what drew me to finance in the first place, not just the possibility of profit, but the responsibility behind every choice. I’m a first-generation immigrant who came to the United States speaking only Hebrew, trying to understand a world that moved faster than I could process. I remember sitting on playgrounds, listening more than speaking, trying to decode conversations that didn’t include me. That experience taught me something early: if you don’t understand the system, you’re left out of it. So I made it my goal to learn how systems work, whether that was language, school, or eventually finance. My first real exposure to finance wasn’t structured. It was messy. I started trading without a full understanding of risk, driven by curiosity but also impatience, and I lost money. That loss wasn’t just financial, it forced me to confront my own lack of discipline. Instead of quitting, I built a method. I started tracking every trade, writing down my reasoning, my risk, and the outcome. Over time, I stopped chasing results and started focusing on decisions. That shift changed everything. At the same time, I was facing challenges outside of finance. My parents’ divorce and the stress of family responsibilities forced me to mature quickly. I couldn’t control everything happening around me, but I could control how I responded. I turned to structure. School, fitness, learning, these became anchors. I pushed myself academically through AP classes and community college courses in finance, economics, and business, not just to succeed, but to understand. Because for me, knowledge became a form of stability. These experiences shaped my career path. I plan to pursue finance not just as a profession, but as a tool for impact. I’ve seen how financial illiteracy limits opportunities, especially in immigrant and first-generation communities. People don’t lack effort or ambition, they lack access to clear, understandable information. That’s the gap I want to close. In my career, I want to become a translator of finance, someone who takes complex systems and turns them into practical tools people can use in their everyday lives. Whether that’s through entrepreneurship, education, or building platforms that simplify financial decisions, my goal is to make opportunity more accessible. Not by changing the system overnight, but by helping individuals navigate it with confidence. I’ve already started doing this in small ways. As Vice President of the Finance Club, I help break down complex topics into simple explanations so more students feel included. In Teen Court, I’ve learned how to guide discussions that impact real outcomes, ensuring fairness and clarity. And in my family’s business, I’ve seen how financial decisions directly affect people’s lives. Adversity shaped how I think, but it didn’t limit what I could become. If anything, it gave me a clearer purpose. I started as someone trying to understand the system. Now, I want to help others do the same. And in my career, that’s exactly the impact I plan to make.

At 10:17 p.m., I’m at my desk with two screens open, one showing a spreadsheet from my family’s kitchen design business, the other showing notes from a finance lecture I just finished. Numbers move on both screens, but they mean different things. One is theory. The other is real life. And I’ve learned to live in both. I’m a senior at William Howard Taft High School, and throughout high school I’ve pushed myself into spaces that challenge how I think. I’ve taken AP courses like AP Research and AP U.S. History while also enrolling in community college classes in finance, business law, accounting, and economics. I didn’t take these classes just to get ahead, I took them because I wanted to understand how the world actually works. Growing up as a first-generation immigrant, I saw how financial decisions shaped everything, stability, opportunity, stress. That pushed me to learn a language I wasn’t taught: finance. Outside the classroom, I’ve focused on leadership and impact. As Vice President of the Finance Club, I help break down complex financial ideas into simple, real-world concepts so other students feel confident engaging with them. In Teen Court, a youth restorative justice program, I serve as a juror and often as a foreperson, guiding discussions to ensure fairness and inclusion. I’ve also volunteered with organizations like Magalim, working with youth with disabilities, where I learned that real service starts with patience and understanding, not control. Fitness is another important part of my life. I didn’t grow up confident in my body, but through discipline, tracking, and consistency, I transformed not just physically but mentally. That process taught me how to build systems, stay accountable, and push through discomfort, lessons I carry into everything I do. After high school, I plan to pursue a degree in finance or economics. But my goal isn’t just to enter the financial world, it’s to improve how people interact with it. I want to become someone who doesn’t just understand complex systems, but translates them into something others can use. If I were to start my own charity, it would focus on financial literacy for first-generation and underserved communities. I’ve seen how lack of financial knowledge creates barriers that aren’t about intelligence or effort, but access. My mission would be simple: make financial decisions understandable and actionable. The charity would offer workshops in schools and community centers, covering topics like budgeting, credit, saving, and basic investing. But more importantly, it would focus on real-life application, helping families understand their own financial situations and make informed choices. Volunteers wouldn’t just teach, they would mentor. They would sit down with individuals, walk through decisions step by step, and provide tools people can continue using long after the session ends. I would also build digital resources, simple guides, templates, and tools that break down complex financial systems into clear, usable information. Because knowledge shouldn’t be locked behind complicated language. Aserina Hill’s story reminds me that impact doesn’t come from what you keep, but from what you give. Like her, I want to use what I have to create opportunity for others. And through education, service, and eventually entrepreneurship, I plan to do exactly that.

Kindness in Action At Magalim, I remember sitting next to a teen with autism who barely spoke at first, his hands moving more than his words, his attention shifting quickly from one thing to another. Most people tried to correct him or redirect him, but I took a different approach. I slowed down. I matched his pace instead of forcing mine. And instead of trying to control the interaction, I focused on understanding it. At first, progress was small. A short response. A glance. Then over time, something shifted. He started engaging more, laughing, even initiating conversation in his own way. That moment mattered to me because it changed how I define kindness. It’s not always loud or obvious. Sometimes it’s patience. Sometimes it’s meeting someone exactly where they are without trying to change them. Because of that experience, I started approaching all my interactions differently. Whether it’s in Teen Court, where I make sure quieter jurors are heard, or in everyday conversations, I try to create space for people to feel comfortable being themselves. I realized that real support isn’t about fixing someone, it’s about giving them the confidence to show up as they are. That moment stayed with me. It taught me that even small actions, when done with intention, can completely change how someone experiences a space. And that’s the kind of impact I want to continue creating. Creating Connection The first Finance Club meeting I attended felt divided before it even started. Some people already understood investing, throwing around terms confidently, while others stayed quiet, unsure if they even belonged in the room. I recognized that feeling immediately, because I’ve been on both sides of it. So instead of letting that gap stay there, I worked to close it. As Vice President, I started restructuring how we ran meetings. Instead of jumping straight into complex topics, we broke things down into simple, real-world explanations. We walked through examples step by step, and I made it a priority to bring quieter members into the conversation. Not forcing them, but giving them space to contribute. Over time, the room changed. People who once stayed silent began asking questions, then answering them, then eventually helping others. I also focused on building connection beyond just content. Conversations didn’t stop at finance. We talked about goals, mistakes, and lessons. That’s what made people stay. Not just learning, but feeling like they were part of something. This wasn’t just about a club. It was about creating belonging. I’ve learned that bringing people together isn’t about putting everyone in the same room, it’s about making sure everyone feels like they have a place in it. And that’s something I carry everywhere I go, whether it’s in a classroom, a team, or a community.

At 11:28 p.m., my screen is glowing red. The trade I thought made perfect sense just turned against me, fast. My first instinct is to blame the market, bad timing, bad luck, anything but myself. But instead of closing the tab and moving on, I open a blank document and title it “error log.” What assumption failed? What did I miss? That moment changed how I see finance. My first experiences with money weren’t structured or guided. They were messy. I started with crypto and futures, driven by curiosity but also impatience, and I lost money early. But instead of walking away, I leaned in. I began tracking every decision, writing down my reasoning, my risk, and the outcome. Over time, I realized finance isn’t about predicting the future, it’s about managing what you don’t know. That shift, from impulse to discipline, is what turned interest into commitment. At the same time, I started noticing how little financial education actually exists around me. In school, we learn equations and theories, but rarely how to manage money, evaluate risk, or make real-world financial decisions. I saw this gap clearly in my own community. Friends who were smart and capable still felt lost when it came to budgeting, credit, or investing. That disconnect made me realize that financial knowledge isn’t just useful, it’s necessary. So I began teaching while learning. In Finance Club, I broke down concepts into simple, clear ideas and walked people through real examples. Instead of using complicated terms, I focused on what actually matters, how decisions affect outcomes. I saw confidence grow in others the same way it once grew in me. And that reinforced something important: knowledge becomes powerful when it’s shared. Outside of school, working in my family’s kitchen design business gave me another perspective. I wasn’t just dealing with numbers, I was dealing with people making decisions that impact their lives. Pricing, budgeting, trade-offs. I saw how financial understanding directly shapes opportunity. And I realized that finance isn’t just about markets, it’s about people navigating choices with limited information. Because of these experiences, my academic goals are focused on studying finance and economics at a deeper level. I want to understand how markets function, how individuals make decisions within them, and how systems can be improved to serve more people. But I’m not interested in learning passively. I plan to apply what I learn through real-world experiences, whether that’s through internships, student-run organizations, or entrepreneurial projects. For me, learning only matters if it turns into action. Looking ahead, I plan to use my education to build solutions that make financial knowledge more accessible. I want to create tools, platforms, or programs that break down complex financial systems into something people can actually use. Especially for first-generation and immigrant communities, where access to this knowledge can completely change outcomes. My goal isn’t just to succeed in finance, it’s to use finance as a way to create stability and opportunity for others. Finance started as curiosity, then became discipline, and now it’s purpose. And everything I learn moving forward, I plan to turn into something that doesn’t just benefit me, but helps others move forward with clarity and confidence.