Imagine seeing a 2-year-old pick up a magazine and read it aloud. How would you react? My teacher thought I had hyperlexia because of that early reading ability. I hesitated to embrace the label. Many children with hyperlexia develop strong reading habits, but I was still learning that skill. Maybe not hyperlexia—but another condition marked me forever: Autism Spectrum Disorder (ASD). I was diagnosed with high-functioning Asperger’s Syndrome at the age of six. The traits it brought made me stand out as the “nerdiest” kid in school: curious, intense, sometimes awkward in social situations. I didn’t understand why kids avoided me or laughed when I spoke about cartoons or fun facts. I asked my mom, “Why don’t they want to play with me, mommy?” She wiped my tears and said, “If they don’t want to play with you, who’s missing out?” Her words encouraged me to see my difference as a perspective, not a weakness. At thirteen, my mom explained my diagnosis in detail. I laughed at how accurately the descriptions fit, but I also paused, reflecting on years of misunderstandings and self-doubt. Asperger’s enhanced my academic abilities and logical thinking, but social interactions and emotional recognition remained challenging. I became curious about my strengths: artistic interests? Check. Perfectionism? Check. Sensory sensitivities? Absolutely. I realized my uniqueness gave me insights others might overlook. In high school, I decided to embrace my condition fully. I pushed myself to step out of my comfort zone, even when communicating in English felt difficult. I connected with classmates over chess, joined discussions, and found my voice. Over time, I transformed moments of uncertainty into opportunities for growth. This past summer, I committed myself to AP Calculus, coding, and advanced drawing techniques, pushing the boundaries of my intellect and creativity. I also began tutoring classmates online, fostering collaboration and understanding while building confidence in others as well as myself. Living with Asperger’s has taught me resilience, patience, and empathy. I’ve learned to transform perceived disadvantages into strengths, approaching challenges methodically and thoughtfully. Today, I see my ASD not as a limitation, but as a lens through which I engage the world with curiosity, precision, and care. My journey continues—through academics, mentorship, and exploration, I aim to foster meaningful growth, for myself and for the people around me. Autism shaped how I think, learn, and connect, and it has prepared me to embrace life fully. Every day is an opportunity to climb, stumble, and rise again—and I do so with awareness, intention, and hope.

Leadership, to me, is not about authority or titles—it’s about creating environments where others feel empowered to grow. Every day, I strive to embody that idea, whether through tutoring classmates or mentoring students across the globe. I communicate by listening first, asking questions to understand how each student learns best, and tailoring explanations so they can grasp challenging concepts. Guiding someone from confusion to clarity requires patience, clarity, and empathy—and those are the traits I carry into every interaction. Resilience has been central to my journey as a first-generation student. College felt distant and uncertain in my family, and financial challenges threatened to stall my ambitions. Rather than letting these obstacles define me, I dedicated myself to self-study in calculus, physics, and programming, embracing the discomfort of independent learning. Even when concepts seemed impossible, I returned to them, step by step, much like climbing a staircase: sometimes stumbling, sometimes pausing, but always moving upward. Each small success reinforced my commitment to growth, showing me that perseverance is not just about reaching goals, but about how you navigate the journey. Selflessness drives the way I give back. Through tutoring, I focus on the progress of my students rather than recognition for myself. Whether helping a classmate understand limits or guiding a student from India in advanced calculus, I measure success by their confidence and understanding. I organize lessons, anticipate questions, and provide support even outside scheduled sessions, prioritizing their growth over convenience. Focus, determination, and a strong work ethic shape my daily routine. Early mornings and long study sessions are balanced with lesson planning, research, and problem-solving. I approach every challenge with intention, whether it’s mastering a new concept or designing hands-on learning experiences. Completing these tasks requires consistency, discipline, and a mindset that values effort as much as outcome. Looking forward, my goal is to pursue a degree in electrical and computer engineering. I want to create educational tools and mentorship programs that make STEM accessible to students from underserved communities. Leadership, to me, means more than guiding others—it means using knowledge and resources to build opportunities for people who might not have access otherwise. By combining technical expertise with teaching and mentorship, I hope to empower the next generation to discover their potential, just as I have learned to discover mine. Through tutoring, mentoring, and my own perseverance, I strive to embody the traits of leadership, resilience, selflessness, focus, and hard work every day. They are not just ideals—they are habits that guide my journey and the way I hope to impact the world.

I’ve always been drawn to understanding how things work. It started with a simple breadboard and a few LEDs in my first engineering class, and the curiosity hasn’t stopped since. But along the way, I discovered that the most important systems aren’t circuits or machines—they’re people. How we teach, mentor, and support one another can have an impact far greater than any device we build. I grew up in a family where college felt distant. Being a first-generation student meant I had to navigate systems no one in my household understood, making my path uncertain and sometimes intimidating. But it also gave me perspective: I know what it’s like to struggle, to feel like opportunity is out of reach, and to need someone who believes in you. That understanding drives me to give back wherever I can. During my gap year, I started tutoring students in math and physics, first in my local community and then online through a platform called Schoolhouse.world. I worked with students of all ages, from around the world, helping them tackle concepts they once thought impossible. Some were nervous about failure; others were overwhelmed by systems that didn’t support their learning. Every time a student found clarity, the joy and confidence it sparked reminded me why service matters. Education is more than knowledge—it’s empowerment, and sharing it is a way to lift others up. Looking forward, I plan to pursue a career in electrical and computer engineering, focusing on creating tools and systems that expand access to STEM education. I imagine designing affordable educational devices and interactive programs that help students in underserved areas understand complex concepts. Beyond technology, I want to mentor and guide young learners, showing them that curiosity and persistence can open doors, even when the path feels uncertain. Ultimately, the impact I hope to have is twofold: to create systems that make learning more accessible and to inspire the next generation of students to believe in themselves. Just as I’ve been shaped by mentors and teachers who guided me, I hope to become someone who lights the way for others. Whether through tutoring, designing educational solutions, or building networks of mentorship, my career will be dedicated to helping people reach their potential, empowering communities, and making the world a more equitable place for learning. Service, for me, isn’t a single action—it’s a lifelong commitment. And it’s that commitment that drives everything I do, from the smallest tutoring session to the innovations I hope to create in the future.

I love math because it feels like a language that describes the world. Every formula, every function, carries a quiet truth about how things move, grow, and connect. But my real love for math began with calculus—the subject that once intimidated me most. When I first started studying calculus, I felt lost. The symbols, limits, and derivatives seemed distant and unreachable. But slowly, through late nights with textbooks and problem sets, I started to see the beauty behind it all. Calculus became more than just equations; it became a way of thinking—a method of understanding change, motion, and even persistence. To me, calculus feels like a staircase. Each concept is a step built on the one before it. You can’t reach the top without carefully climbing each level, sometimes slipping, sometimes pausing to regain balance. But every time you rise a little higher, the view becomes clearer. When I finally grasped how derivatives measure the rate of change or how integrals build up areas piece by piece, it felt like reaching a new floor of understanding—a quiet victory earned through patience and curiosity. That’s what I love most about math: it teaches humility and perseverance. It shows that progress isn’t always smooth, but it’s always possible if you keep climbing. Math reminds me that even when the steps feel steep, there’s always another insight waiting at the next rise—and that’s what keeps me moving upward.

Giving back, to me, isn’t about recognition or formality—it’s about connection. It’s about remembering how it feels to struggle alone and choosing to be the person who helps others through that same place. During my gap year, I began giving back through what I know best: learning and teaching. I started tutoring students in math and physics, both online and in person. Some were preparing for standardized tests; others were trying to understand a concept they thought they’d never master. I remember one student who messaged me late at night, frustrated because no matter how hard she tried, calculus “just didn’t make sense.” We went step by step until she solved the problem herself. When she said, “I finally get it,” it felt like a small miracle—one built from patience, persistence, and shared effort. Moments like that remind me why I keep teaching. It’s not just about transferring knowledge—it’s about helping people believe in their own ability to grow. Many of the students I’ve tutored come from backgrounds where education feels unreachable. When I teach, I don’t just explain equations; I share my story—how I self-studied AP Calculus, faced setbacks, and kept going despite uncertainty. I’ve learned that honesty can be more inspiring than perfection. But giving back also happens in smaller, quieter ways. Sometimes it means checking in on a friend who feels like giving up, or helping someone organize their study plan so their week feels less overwhelming. Those simple moments of kindness have power. They build trust. They remind us that we’re not alone in the process of trying to become something better. In the future, I hope to give back through engineering and education combined. My goal is to study electrical and computer engineering to design affordable educational technology—tools that make learning accessible even in places where resources are limited. I imagine developing low-cost learning devices for rural schools or software that helps students learn STEM interactively, no matter where they live. Beyond invention, I dream of building mentorship networks that connect high schoolers with college students and professionals, guiding them through what often feels like an invisible maze. I want to show others, especially those from low-income or first-generation backgrounds, that ambition isn’t defined by privilege—it’s defined by persistence. Giving back has taught me that impact doesn’t require perfection, only purpose. I give back now by teaching and uplifting others, and I hope to continue doing so through engineering, mentorship, and compassion that multiplies across generations. That, to me, is how you change the world—one person, one idea, one act of belief at a time.

Being a first-generation student means carrying both a dream and a responsibility. In my family, education was always valued, but college in the United States felt distant—something reserved for others. When I decided to pursue that path, I wasn’t just chasing a degree; I was trying to prove that opportunity could begin with me. The road hasn’t been simple. Coming from a low-income background, I quickly realized that ambition alone doesn’t pay tuition. I graduated as valedictorian, proud of what I had achieved, yet heartbroken to see my plans put on hold because of finances. That moment was my first real test—not just of intelligence, but of resilience. Instead of giving up, I built my own bridge forward. I took a gap year, dedicating my time to studying Multivariable Calculus, AP Physics C, English, and financial literacy on my own. Each morning began early, each study session was a step toward a future I refused to give up on. Along the way, I discovered a passion for tutoring—helping students around the world through online platforms. Many of them reminded me of myself: uncertain but capable, if only someone believed in them. Teaching others became my way of turning struggle into purpose. Being a first-generation student means learning to navigate systems no one in your family can explain. It means asking questions you’re afraid to ask, working twice as hard to understand what others take for granted, and carrying hope for more than just yourself. But it also means strength—the kind that comes from persistence, from learning how to build your own map when none exists. This scholarship would not only lift a financial weight but also honor the effort that got me here—the late nights, the self-teaching, the courage to keep believing when things seemed uncertain. My dream is to study electrical and computer engineering, using what I learn to make education and technology more accessible for others. I may be the first in my family to take this path, but I am determined not to be the last.

When I first built a simple three-way switch on a breadboard, I never imagined it would become a symbol of my purpose. That small prototype, powered by curiosity and persistence, represented something much larger: how knowledge, when shared, can light up entire communities. As a first-generation student and immigrant, I’ve often felt like I live between two worlds—one where opportunity is abundant but complex, and another where talent exists but access is limited. My home country, filled with brilliant minds and potential, often lacks the educational tools and mentorships that help students see how far they can go. That is the bridge I want to build through my career in electrical and computer engineering. Engineering, to me, isn’t just circuits and formulas—it’s connection. It’s the ability to turn abstract ideas into something tangible, something that serves people. The same way current flows through a circuit, education should flow through communities. I want to use what I learn in college to expand access to STEM education and innovation programs for students back home. Whether through mentorship networks, online tutoring, or partnerships with local schools, I plan to help students understand that curiosity can be their strongest tool. During my time tutoring calculus and physics through Schoolhouse.world, I saw what happens when knowledge becomes accessible. A student from India once asked me about the shell method—a topic I hadn’t studied yet. Instead of ending the lesson, I said, “Let’s learn it together.” That mindset—learning side by side—reminds me of the educational culture I want to nurture in my home country: curiosity without fear, collaboration without barriers. After completing my degree, I plan to return home and establish hands-on learning spaces for students interested in automation, programming, and renewable energy systems. These centers will connect technical understanding with practical skills, helping young innovators build real projects and solve local problems. I also hope to mentor teachers, introducing new methods that integrate interactive technology and encourage exploration instead of memorization. The long-term vision is to create a cycle where each student I mentor becomes a mentor themselves, spreading curiosity across towns and classrooms like a chain of lights powered by the same current. The education I receive will not just shape me—it will help me shape others. And just like that small switch I built years ago, I hope to keep lighting the way for the next generation of dreamers, inventors, and thinkers back home.

When I first built a small three-way switch using a few wires and LEDs, I wasn’t just testing a circuit—I was testing a possibility. I had recently discovered how applied math and physics gave life to energy and motion, and that experiment became the spark that guided my dreams. As a first-generation student and immigrant, I quickly realized that understanding how to make light flow through a circuit was far easier than understanding how to make opportunity flow through an unfamiliar education system. My family knew little about college in the United States. Financial aid, credits, AP courses, and SATs were foreign concepts to all of us. I often became the translator and researcher for everything—forms, deadlines, scholarships—while keeping my grades high and working to support my household. There were nights when I wondered if college was even realistic, but every equation I solved and every student I helped reminded me why I was doing this: to learn, to create, and to make education accessible for others who feel lost in the process. When I began tutoring classmates in calculus, I realized knowledge is the only resource that multiplies when shared. That insight led me to Schoolhouse.world, where I taught math to students across the globe. There, I met learners from India, the Philippines, and Latin America who, like me, were chasing understanding despite limited access. Seeing them succeed made me realize I wanted to become an engineer and educator who builds systems—both technological and academic—that empower others to learn and grow. My future plan is to study electrical and computer engineering, combining innovation with mentorship to design accessible tools for education and automation. I want to prototype projects that connect theory and practice, bridging the gap between what students learn in class and what they can create in the world. Eventually, I hope to earn a Ph.D. and develop programs that merge research and teaching to guide young engineers—especially first-generation students—toward confidence and discovery. This scholarship will help me turn those plans into action. It will relieve some of the financial pressure on my family and me, allowing me to focus on research, tutoring, and service rather than just survival. It will also serve as a reminder that the doors of education can —and should —open for everyone willing to reach for them. Because when opportunity flows freely—like current through a wire—it can light not only one student’s path, but the world around them.

When I first connected a few LEDs and wires to build a three-way switch, I had no idea I was connecting more than a circuit—I was connecting my past, present, and future. As a first-generation immigrant student, my family and I arrived in the United States with little understanding of how education worked here. We didn’t know about GPAs, credit systems, or AP courses. Yet curiosity has always been my universal language, and it became my way of navigating an entirely new system. At first, everything felt uncertain. My parents’ dreams for me were boundless, but our knowledge of how to reach them was limited. I often translated academic terms, financial forms, and even my teachers’ feedback for my family, serving as a bridge between two worlds. It was exhausting at times, but it also taught me something vital—that persistence and curiosity can overcome almost any barrier. When calculus entered my life, it became both a challenge and a compass. I was intimidated at first; my classmates understood topics I couldn’t even name. But that fear became the reason I decided to study AP Calculus BC independently. With no tutor, I dove into Khan Academy, textbooks, and late-night problem sets. Gradually, concepts that once scared me turned into sparks of fascination. When my classmates began asking for help, I shared everything I had learned. Their “aha!” moments became mine too. That’s how I discovered my true passion: transforming confusion into comprehension. Tutoring evolved from helping friends after class to hosting online sessions for students around the world through Schoolhouse.world. One student from India once asked about a calculus topic I hadn’t studied yet—the shell method. Instead of pretending to know, I said, “Let’s learn it together.” That sentence captured the essence of my journey as a first-generation learner: education isn’t about knowing everything, but about being brave enough to keep exploring. As an immigrant, I often felt like an outsider—someone learning a system that others inherited by default. But that distance gave me a clearer view of what education can do when it’s accessible, compassionate, and shared. My mother once told me, “We came here so you could have choices we never did.” Those words echo every time I solve an equation, wire a circuit, or guide a student. Education has never been just personal achievement; it’s collective growth. My hope in higher education is to keep building systems—both electrical and educational—that connect people across boundaries. I want to research automation and mentoring models that make STEM fields more approachable for students from all backgrounds, especially those who feel like outsiders themselves. My concern is that many brilliant minds are still left out because they don’t have the guidance I once lacked. My goal is to change that. As I prepare to enter higher education, I carry with me the resilience of my family, the curiosity that fueled my learning, and the conviction that understanding—like electricity—should flow freely, lighting paths for everyone willing to learn.