I lost my father to mental health complications when I was 12 years old. At that age, you don’t have the words for something that heavy. You feel it. One day, your life is everyday, and the next day, there’s a hole in it that you don’t understand, and nobody can explain it in a way that makes it hurt less. What I remember most is how confusing it was. I didn’t only lose my dad, I lost the feeling of safety I thought I had. I started seeing the world differently, as anything could change without warning. I also carried questions I didn’t know how to ask. Was there something I missed, something I could have done, something I should have said? When you’re 12, your mind tries to make sense of it by blaming yourself or shutting down. I did a little of both at different times. That experience forced me to grow up early. I learned how to keep things inside, how to act “fine” when I wasn’t fine, and how to push through because life doesn’t pause for grief. It shaped my personality. I became more guarded, more independent, and more serious about caring for the people around me. Even now, I don’t take family for granted, because I learned young that you can love someone and still lose them. Losing my father that way also shaped my view of mental health. I don’t see it as a trend or a conversation topic. I see it as real, and sometimes life-or-death. It taught me that pain can hide behind silence and that someone can look okay and still be struggling. It made me believe in checking in on people, speaking up, and making it normal to ask for help. I don’t respect the idea that “being a man” means holding everything in until it breaks you. I’ve seen what that can cost. As a parent now, this loss affects how I raise my kids. I want them to have what I didn’t have: a father who is present, steady, and not afraid to talk about hard things. I want my home to be a place where emotions don’t get ignored. If my kids are hurting, I want them to feel safe saying it out loud. I don’t want them to carry pain alone the way I did. Losing my father at 12 didn’t just change my childhood. It shaped who I became. It made me value presence, honesty, and support. And it gave me a lifelong reason to take mental health seriously, in my life, in my relationships, and in the kind of example I’m determined to set for my kids.

I balance school and family by running my life on routine, because routine is what keeps a single-parent home from falling apart. I’m raising two kids on my own, a 13-year-old and a 5-year-old. I’m also the first person in my family working toward a college degree. I don’t have extra hours lying around, so I treat school like a second shift, not a hobby. Our day has anchors that don’t move: getting the kids to school, meals, homework, baths, and bedtime. Once those are handled, I study. Most of my work gets done early in the morning before anyone wakes up, and late at night after the house is quiet. During the day, I use small windows, lunch breaks, waiting in the car at pickup, and time during practice to read, take notes, or draft assignments. I plan the week ahead on Sunday, so I’m not guessing every day, and I stay ahead whenever I can because I know something will pop up. With kids, it always does. The reason I’m so strict about this is personal. I grew up with a single mother who worked two jobs. I love her, and I respect her, but I also remember what it felt like when she couldn’t be there. I missed moments that mattered. I understood why, but it still left a mark. I promised myself that if I ever had kids, they would not grow up feeling that same distance. I can’t control everything, but I can control effort. I can control presence. So I protect the time that belongs to my kids. I don’t want them to remember a father who was always “too busy.” I make sure there’s still dinner together when we can, still check-ins, still time to talk. My teenager is old enough to notice what I’m doing, and I want them to see follow-through. I want them to see that you can come from a tough situation and still finish. That’s how I’m trying to break the generational pattern in my family, not with speeches, but with consistency. This scholarship would help in the most practical way: it would take pressure off my home. When money is tight, the first “solution” is usually more work hours, and that comes straight out of time with my kids and time to study. A $10,000 grant would help cover tuition, books, and school fees, but it would also help with the costs that make single parents fall behind, childcare during exams, reliable transportation, a laptop or software, and the unexpected expenses that hit at the worst time. Those are the things that turn a hard semester into a crisis. With this support, I can stay on track instead of constantly playing catch-up. I can keep my grades strong, keep my kids stable, and keep moving toward my degree without my children paying the price. I’m doing this to build a better life for them, but I’m also doing it to be there for them while I build it. This scholarship helps me do both.

One book that hit me hard, and honestly helped point me toward law, was Just Mercy by Bryan Stevenson. It’s not written like a textbook, it’s written like real life, messy, unfair, emotional, and full of moments where one person’s effort changes everything. What I took from that book is simple: the system can be brutal, but it is not untouchable. It can be challenged by someone who is prepared, consistent, and willing to stand next to people the world has already judged. Reading books like that shaped my goals because it made me stop thinking about “success” as just income or status. It made me think about usefulness. Who can I become that my family can be proud of, and that my community can count on when things get serious? I’m drawn to law because it’s one of the few careers where your work can literally change the direction of someone’s life. My mental health journey has also shaped the way I look at people and the way I look at myself. I’ve had seasons where I carried a lot, family, work, school, responsibilities, and the pressure didn’t always show on the outside. When you’re trying to be strong all the time, you learn that stress doesn’t always come out as tears. Sometimes it comes out as being on edge, being exhausted, shutting down, or feeling like you’re constantly behind, even when you’re doing your best. That experience changed my beliefs. I don’t assume people are lazy or “making excuses” when they’re struggling. I’ve learned how much mental health affects decision-making, patience, and even how a person communicates in high-pressure moments. It’s also changed my relationships. I’m more intentional now. I try to listen instead of fixing everything in one conversation. I’ve learned that showing up consistently matters more than saying the perfect thing. I care about respect, especially inside my home, because I’ve seen how stress can spill over if you don’t manage it. Mental health taught me that strength isn’t pretending you’re fine; it’s learning how to function, learn, and keep moving without losing yourself. That’s directly connected to my career goals. I’m pursuing law because I want to advocate for people who feel outmatched by the system, especially the ones who don’t speak the “right” language, don’t know the deadlines, or don’t have anyone to guide them. I’ve seen how quickly a small mistake can become a big problem, losing benefits, losing housing, losing custody time, or getting buried by fees. Too many families get stuck not because they don’t care, but because they don’t have access to clear, early help. The social issue I’m working to address is that gap, the gap between what the law says and what people can realistically access. My plan is to use my career in two ways. First, direct legal work for clients who need someone steady and prepared in their corner. Second, community education: workshops, partnerships with local organizations, and simple resources that explain rights and next steps in plain language. If someone can avoid a crisis because they understood their options sooner, that’s an impact. I’m not trying to be a lawyer who looks good on paper. I’m trying to be a lawyer people trust, because I show up, I do the work, and I treat people like humans. That’s the kind of difference I want to make.

What inspired me to pursue a career in law was my prior military service and what I saw after I got out, how often good people get burned by systems they don’t understand. In the military, everything runs on rules, timelines, and procedure. You learn that one missed step can turn into a big problem, and you learn to stay calm and handle pressure when other people are panicking. More than anything, I learned what it means to look out for the person next to you. If someone in your unit is struggling, you don’t just watch them take the hit, you step in, guide them, and make sure they get through it. That mindset stayed with me. After my service, I started noticing the same kind of pressure in regular life, but without the support. People get letters they can’t understand, they miss deadlines they didn’t know mattered, or they sign things because they feel rushed. Then the consequences hit, money problems, custody issues, housing issues, or losing benefits. A lot of the time, it’s not because they didn’t care, it’s because the system isn’t written for normal people. And I hate seeing people feel powerless, like they have no voice. That’s the moment I realized I don’t just want to complain about it, I want to be trained to fight it the right way. How I hope to use my legal education to make a difference in my community is by being the person who makes the process understandable and then actually shows up for people when the stakes are high. I want to work with families and working people who feel like the system is stacked against them. I want to help clients early, not just when they’re already in crisis, by teaching them what deadlines matter, what paperwork they need, and what options they actually have. I also want to give back in a practical way, not just through cases, but through access. That means doing community workshops, partnering with local organizations, and creating simple guides that explain common legal problems in plain language. I want people to feel comfortable asking questions without feeling embarrassed. If someone leaves a conversation with me understanding their rights and their next steps, that’s already a win. I’m pursuing law because my service taught me discipline and duty, and my life since then has shown me how badly people need strong advocates who don’t fold under pressure. I want to use my legal education to protect families, hold systems accountable when they overstep, and make sure my community has someone who can stand up, speak clearly, and fight for them when it matters.

I didn’t pick law because it sounded cool. I picked it because I kept seeing the same thing happen to normal people: confusion, pressure, paperwork, and consequences that can change a life. Too many systems go too fast, talk in tongues, and don’t explain themselves. I’m the kind of person who can’t just ignore that. When something doesn’t seem fair, or someone is getting bullied by a system they don’t understand, I feel like it’s my job to get in there, hit the pause button, and try to understand what’s really going on. Now, I haven’t gotten to law school yet, but the path is clear. I’m working towards it with intention. I’m juggling work, family, and school while keeping my eyes fixed on the prize. This is important to me because this choice isn’t about a name; it’s about becoming someone who can change people's outcomes. I’ve learned from my life that consistency trumps motivation. Being there when you don’t feel like it, doing what needs to get done, and taking responsibility when it’s hard, that’s my training before any classroom. I’m drawn to law because it matches how my mind works. I like details. I like understanding rules and how they apply in real situations. I’m not satisfied with surface-level answers. I want to know what’s true, what’s provable, and what options exist when someone thinks they have none. The more I’ve learned about the legal system, the more I’ve respected the power of preparation. In many cases, the person who wins isn’t the loudest; it’s the person who knows the process and can build the strongest strategy. My motivation is personal. I’m a husband and a father, and I know what it means to protect what you love. I know the feeling of taking on responsibility and wanting to provide stability for the people who depend on you. That’s why I’m not chasing a career that’s easy or comfortable. I’m chasing a career that matters, one where I can use discipline and focus to advocate for others. I want to be the person who can guide someone through a situation that feels impossible, and make sure they aren’t reduced to a file number or dismissed because they don’t speak the system’s language. I am particularly drawn to the fields of immigration law and high-stakes litigation, where process and timing can mean the difference between a person’s success and failure. One form, one hearing, one decision can change the course of people’s lives. I want to be the person who shows up ready, who knows the law, and who treats clients with respect while fighting tirelessly for their rights. Pursuing a career in law requires character, toughness, and accountability, qualities I have already had to embody. Law school is not the beginning of my journey, but rather its continuation. I am working towards it because I want to build a life and a legacy that is founded on service, expertise, and success. When I finally have the privilege of calling myself an attorney, it will be because I did not give up, and because I remained committed to the cause long before anyone bestowed the title upon me.

Hello, I am Ismael Rojas. I am a 28-year-old Army veteran from El Paso, Texas, pursuing my criminal justice degree to one day attend law school. I returned from being a Cavalry Scout in Syria with PTSD and began rebuilding. I'm now the leader of the trainee program at R.E. West Transportation, training new drivers, including other veterans. But through time, I learned my role is greater than just getting people from point A to point B. I wish to serve my community as a lawyer who shows up for individuals when the system appears too great to fight alone. A particular case that shifted my view of the legal system is Gideon v. Wainwright. I believed prior to hearing of this case that all people in this country had the right to an attorney if they were suspected of a crime. I believed fairness was a birthright. However, this 1963 Supreme Court case showed me differently. When Clarence Earl Gideon was charged with a felony and not provided with a lawyer appointed to him because Florida only provided counsel for capital cases, he had to represent himself. He lost. In a prison cell, he wrote a typewritten petition to the Supreme Court arguing that the Sixth Amendment should extend counsel to all individuals, not just the wealthy. The Court ruled in his favor, establishing the right of counsel in state courts. This case led me to perceive the legal system in a different light, not because it was a stand-alone injustice, but because it highlighted a gap that remains. Having a right to a lawyer does not guarantee quality, attention, or understanding. Too many stay behind working-class individuals, immigrants, and most of all, veterans with mental health challenges. I've seen this firsthand. I've helped other veterans write disability appeals, clarify their rights, and walk through confusing systems. It's made me realize that access to justice isn't just about courts. It's about communication, advocacy, and trust. What impacted me most about the Gideon case was how a single person without power or resources challenged and changed the system. He didn't do it with money or influence. He did it with conviction, religion, and a need to stand up. Such an attitude fuels my passion for the law. I do not wish to be just another lawyer with a degree. I want to be the lawyer who makes people understand their rights and options before it is too late. I am going to open up a law firm with my wife, who is in the process of becoming a CPA. We want to assist veterans, families, and small business people who should be treated fairly, get honest answers, and have legal help they can trust. I believe justice should be accessible and that we must make it so. The TJ Crowson Memorial Scholarship is dear to me. Like Mr. Crowson, I come from a family where it was a sacrifice and determination to attend college. I value service, doing what is right, and applying the law to build, not tear down, opportunity. If I receive this scholarship, I will carry that belief in every client transaction, every trial, and every time I stand up for another. – Ismael Rojas

My name is Ismael Rojas. I am a 28-year-old Army veteran, husband, father, and criminal justice student in El Paso, Texas. I was a Cavalry Scout in the United States Army, with a deployment in Syria. It instilled in me discipline, leadership, and perspective. But it came with invisible costs, service-related PTSD, and the challenge of reintegrating into civilian life. These life experiences have shaped me into the individual I am today, and why I am returning to school. After leaving the military, I got my CDL and began employment with R.E. West Transportation. Over the years, I have been promoted to Lead Trainee Program Operator, where I now train and mentor new commercial drivers, many of whom are also veterans. My passion in that role is helping others transition, dismantle barriers, and find stability after service. That purpose is why I returned to school. I am pursuing a criminal justice degree and plan to attend law school. My career goal is to be an attorney committed to serving veterans, small business people, and working families, who are often underserved or overlooked by the legal community. I want to create a Texas law firm focusing on access, respect, and results. My wife is working towards becoming a CPA, and we will start a business that combines financial guidance and legal representation for the people in our community. We both understand what it's like to start from the bottom, and we want to use our education and experience to help give others an equal opportunity. As an El Pasoan, I see how financial hardship, lack of access to resources, and trauma, especially for veterans, can spiral into legal problems, homelessness, and lost opportunities. I want to be part of the solution. Whether it is fighting for a veteran having trouble securing VA benefits, defending a defendant in court who cannot afford a high-dollar attorney, or providing legal education through outreach and seminars, I want to bring dignity and clarity to those who are too often overlooked. This scholarship would enable me to keep my eyes on this long-term objective without the distraction of having to constantly bear the burden of financial worry on my shoulders. Every class I complete brings me closer to launching a career that is less about success, but about service. I am not just getting a degree. I am building a legacy that will outlive me, something that empowers families, strengthens veterans, and brings true justice to those in Texas. I appreciate your consideration. I am ready to lead, serve, and make a difference where it matters most in my community. – Ismael Rojas

My name is Ismael Rojas. I am 28 years old, an Army veteran, husband, father, and criminal justice student with a vision of becoming an attorney who advocates for underrepresented populations, especially veterans. My path to the law wasn't easy. It was built on inner conflict, subtle strength, and a growing appreciation for how much mental health impacts not just individuals but systems as well. I am a U.S. Army Cavalry Scout, and I have been deployed to Syria. When I came back home, I didn't come home with just memories. I came home with PTSD, anxiety, and the challenge of finding a new identity within the civilian world. These hidden wounds tested my marriage, my self-esteem, and my relationship abilities. For years, I was silent. Like many veterans, I figured the best thing to do was to handle it alone. But I learned that strength does not always equate to silence. Strength is calculated by standing up to what hurts and continuing on. Reading was one of the only things that calmed me down and gave me direction. Books like Just Mercy by Bryan Stevenson and The New Jim Crow by Michelle Alexander educated me to a system of justice that too often punishes trauma and not treats it. They made me understand that the fight for fairness does not stop on the battlefield—it is also fought in our courts, our neighborhoods, and our policies. These books fueled the path to my choice to return to school. They showed me that I could take my experiences and make them matter. They instilled in me the desire to dream of a time when my voice would be counted in the rooms where decisions are made. Today, I am the Lead Trainee Program Operator for R.E. West Transportation in El Paso, training and mentoring new commercial drivers, many of them veterans like me. I teach more than truck operations. I take them through transitions, help them regain confidence, and talk to them openly about what service-connected trauma is and how to go on. This job has taught me that lived experience can be a source of strength, mainly when it's employed to uplift others. That is exactly what I plan to do using the law. I am pursuing a criminal justice degree and intend to attend law school. My wife is pursuing certification as a CPA, and we are collectively developing a business plan to open an illegal and financial advocacy practice that serves veterans, small business owners, and working-class families. We want to fill the void that is lacking for those in need of representation but can't afford it or don't know how to seek it out. Mental health, particularly PTSD, has affected every area of who I am today. It taught me how to be more patient, more intentional, and more committed to change. I know the criminal justice system can be transformed from the inside out, but it takes people who deeply understand the communities being affected. I have that within me. Now, I am gaining the education and training to do something about it. This scholarship would stay on track with me as I work to become a voice for those who are too often silenced. I am not looking for handouts. I am building something degree by degree, day by day, that will make a positive difference in people's lives.

One of the most critical issues facing the criminal justice system today is its handling of veterans who have mental illness, particularly those who have PTSD and war-related trauma. They return from service and are misunderstood, misdiagnosed, and often overlooked by the medical and legal systems. Their behavior, driven by survival skills, hypervigilance, or emotional numbing, is criminalized far too often instead of being handled with compassion and understanding. I understand this not just through study or observation, but through experience. My name is Ismael Rojas. I am a 28-year-old U.S. Army veteran and former Cavalry Scout stationed in Syria. I came home with service-connected PTSD, which I've made a deliberate effort to cope with while establishing a life based on leadership, purpose, and family. I am now the Lead Trainee Program Operator for R.E. West Transportation in El Paso, Texas, where I train and coach new commercial truck drivers, most of whom are veterans themselves. My role, though mostly operational, has been a vehicle for me to guide other veterans through the process of reintegration into civilian life, to encourage them to seek assistance, stay grounded, and to find meaning outside the military. That leadership role gave me a desire to go into the legal profession. I've seen firsthand the way veterans often become caught up in cycles of stress, financial difficulties, or emotional distress with nowhere to turn. I saw how quickly that could snowball into legal issues, and how often their service-related trauma falls by the wayside when things go bad. That impressed upon me the need to return to school and study for a degree in criminal justice. I am presently working on my undergraduate degree and getting ready for law school to become an attorney who defends and represents veterans and working-class people who are so often forgotten by the justice system. I have taken every step available to expand my knowledge and engagement in this area. In addition to my work experience, I've immersed myself in legal studies, VA disability claims, and system navigation not only for myself, but to assist other veterans with their questions and appeals. I've written formal letters, built lay statements, and helped fellow vets understand their rights. These aren't courtroom experiences just yet, but they're formative because they've provided me with a firsthand perspective of the system's weaknesses and how to work within it to improve it. One day in the future, my wife and I will have our own law firm. She is obtaining her CPA, and we'll combine legal and financial services so that we can provide complete assistance to veterans, families, and small business owners. We'll provide defense representation for criminal cases, VA appeals, and financial disputes, always with a view to giving strength to those who do not often have strong advocates on their behalf. I believe true reform starts with those who understand the problem and the community where it exists. Veterans need lawyers who understand being in the uniform and coping with the traumas that follow service. They need their lawyers to see them as not a number on a case but fellow soldiers, parents, or neighbors deserving of justice, dignity, and fairness. This scholarship would help me stay on track as I move towards that goal. It would allow me to focus more intently on the learning and community service that I am sure will make a positive difference. I'm not just earning a degree; I'm building a purpose-designed career that will make a difference for those who serve. The justice system is complex and imperfect, but I believe it can be rebuilt from the inside. And I'm going to be one of those doing it. – Ismael Rojas

My name is Ismael Rojas, and I’m a 28-year-old U.S. Army veteran who proudly served as a Cavalry Scout, including a deployment to Syria. That experience shaped me in ways that go far beyond rank and responsibility. It taught me the true meaning of leadership, pressure, and sacrifice. But it also awakened me to what many veterans face when they come home: a system that doesn't always understand them, and a world that just keeps moving along as if nothing happened. After I left the military, I went through the silent struggle that's all too common for many veterans. PTSD, isolation, and the feeling of disconnection from civilian life became my daily reality. I did, though, make a choice not to let it hold me back. I got my CDL, worked my way up, and I'm now director of R.E. West Transportation's trainee program in El Paso. I train and mentor new drivers, many of whom are also veterans. I use my experience to get them through not just trucking routes, but through the transition to civilian structure, routine, and self-worth. That leadership role made one thing clear to me: I'm meant to serve off the battlefield, too. That's why I returned to school. I'm earning my degree in criminal justice and preparing to attend law school. I want to be the one that veterans and working-class families can call on when the legal system feels like just another enemy. I've seen up close how easy it is for good people to fall through the cracks when nobody's advocating for them. I'm going to change that. Along with my wife, who's studying to be a CPA, I plan to establish a law and financial defense firm dedicated to helping veterans, small business owners, and low-income families navigate complicated legal and financial systems. We want to build something real, something based on service, not greed. The military taught me how to show up when it matters. College has given me the tools to sharpen that mission. Now, I'm applying both to build something that will serve my community for the long haul. This scholarship would not only fund that pursuit it would be part of the foundation I stand on as I continue to turn service into something lasting. – Ismael Rojas, U.S. Army Veteran

My name is Ismael Rojas, and I'm a 28-year-old U.S. Army veteran. I was a Cavalry Scout and served in Syria; it's an experience that completely changed the way I think about myself and the country I used to think I knew everything about. Before I went into the military, I thought strength was about being independent, not sharing things, and making do no matter what. I'd thought that patriotism was standing tall, proud, and serving without hesitation. But service, especially on a deployment like the one I was on, taught me that strength isn't silence. It's responsibility. It's knowing what you're fighting for and carrying it anyway. And it's knowing that sometimes the best way of serving is after the uniform is removed. The military irrevocably altered how I see myself. I now bear a badge of great discipline and leadership, but also invisible wounds. I have PTSD, and that has led me to grapple with some uncomfortable truths about vulnerability, mental health, and what happens to many of us after service. But from it, I learned something strong: I'm not broken, I'm battle-tested. I've survived things that not many will ever be aware of. And I've used that experience to build a life of purpose. Now, I oversee R.E. West Transportation's training program in El Paso, where I train up new commercial drivers, some of whom are veterans like me. I don't just teach logistics. I mentor. I lead with empathy. I support because I know what it means to come home and not know the world or yourself. As for my country, my view has been both more cynical and more fervent. I've seen up close how those who serve are all too often left behind when their service ends. I've worked in systems that didn't always understand what I'd been through. I've watched some good people fall through the cracks because nobody was there to guide them. Rather than bitter, it made me motivated. That's why I'm pursuing my criminal justice degree and preparing to attend law school. I want to be an advocate for veterans in another battlefield, courtrooms, offices, and boardrooms where decisions are being made that shape their future. My wife is pursuing certification as a CPA, and we're creating a law and financial defense firm built on actual experience. We'd like to work with veterans, families, and small business owners who desire someone in their corner. We don't want to just prosper; we want to serve differently, making a lasting impact. The military taught me to lead. The military taught me how to survive. But what it taught me most importantly was that I owe it to others to pay forward not just in words, but in action. I'm taking my education, my career, and my voice and using them to assist those who are still working to transition out of service. This scholarship isn’t just a financial boost, it’s an investment in the future I’m building, not just for myself, but for every veteran I’ll stand up for along the way. – Ismael Rojas, U.S. Army Veteran

My name is Ismael Rojas. I'm a 28-year-old U.S. Army veteran, husband, father, and the Lead Trainee Program Operator for R.E. West Transportation in El Paso, Texas. I served proudly as a Cavalry Scout and deployed to Syria, performing reconnaissance missions, conducting patrols, and working in high-risk terrain. I returned home with a keen sense of discipline, leadership, and responsibility, but I returned home with something intangible: service-connected PTSD. I didn't realize it at first. I kept telling myself I was adjusting, just exhausted, just getting by. But PTSD doesn't always make you have a breakdown. Sometimes it just gets in and surprises you. It follows you when you're going to bed. It lowers your tolerance for your children. It puts a wall between you and those who care for you. I've been through those times myself and held it in for a while. But with time, I realized that silence was not strength; it was suffocating. That's when I realized: you don't heal by hiding. You heal by leading. Following the Army, I committed to making something worthwhile. I got my CDL, became part of the ranks of R.E. West, and set out to take new drivers and integrate them into civilian society as a leader. Most trainees I deal with are also veterans, and I recognize that look in their eyes since I've felt it myself. I don't instruct them just to drive a truck; I take them through what happens after service, through the fog of identity loss, worry, and tension that no one else perceives. That's what drives me. Now, I am working towards a criminal justice major and law school. My long-term goal is to be a lawyer who advocates for veterans and disadvantaged communities. Far too many of us come home and are greeted with legal, economic, or systemic issues that aggravate the PTSD. I will not stand for it. My wife, who is working on becoming a CPA, and I are building something together: a company that is a blend of legal defense, financial protection, and veteran-targeted assistance. I don't want veterans to feel like they're doing this all by themselves. I want them to know that someone on the other end understands. PTSD doesn't define me, but it did redefine me. I've learned I'm not broken. I'm battle-tested. I've built a future, I've commanded men and women, and I've carried burdens many never even catch sight of. And I've used those things for a purpose. My prayer is to be the example that says to other veterans: you're not alone, you're not weak, and you're not finished. You still have value, still have strength, and still have purpose. This award would not merely pay for my schooling. It would ignite a long-term passion for turning pain into power and service into leadership. – Ismael Rojas, 28 years old, U.S. Army Veteran