Whenever someone asks what I’m passionate about, I hesitate for a second—not because I don’t have answers, but because I have too many. My mind fills with a swirl of ideas, big and small. I love learning Mexican Spanish, understanding neuroscience, and studying psychology. But if I’m being completely honest, my deepest passion is cinematography. There’s something magical about how a film can make you feel alive. Color grading sets the mood—warm oranges feel like a comforting hug, while blue shadows pull you into something mysterious. The angles and transitions pull you closer to the characters like you’re living alongside them—or running with them if it’s a thriller. For me, it’s more than storytelling; it’s about creating experiences that make people laugh, cry, or feel like they’ve lived a thousand lives in a single hour. I’m the person who pauses movies just to point out that tiny, blink-and-you’ll-miss-it moment of foreshadowing. I’ll gush about how a millisecond of hesitation in a character’s voice hinted at the entire twist ending. Or I’ll explain how a simple shift in lighting makes you feel uneasy long before the villain enters the room. Ever wonder how a character makes your stomach turn even though the actor is a sweetheart in real life? Or why do rivals on screen have such fiery chemistry, but the tension vanishes when the camera stops rolling? That’s the beauty of acting, pacing, lighting, and music all working together in perfect harmony. It’s all in the details—the scrunch of a face, the camera panning just a bit too slow, the score creeping louder until it feels like it’s inside your chest. It’s those moments that make you lean forward in your seat, holding your breath. And I live for them. For me, watching a movie isn’t just entertainment; it’s an experience to unravel, a puzzle to solve, and an art form to admire. But I also know the arts are seen as risky, and they are. That’s why I’ve made room for other passions too. I’ve spent years volunteering with kids because helping them grow makes me happy. I’ve tutored, decorated classrooms for celebrations, and collected their carnival tickets. These small moments made me realize how much my community depends on volunteers—kids need referees to play soccer games, older students to help run expensive school events, and extra hands to finish decorating for dances. I love being a mentor or an older sibling figure, especially when kids’ faces light up after learning something new or feeling supported. While it’s not my “biggest” passion, it’s no less important to me, and it’s shaped how I see the world. I see an audience who deserves to be helped and entertained because the need to have fun, is reason enough. This scholarship would help me bridge both sides of who I am. It would ease the financial stress of college so I could work toward a career in psychology and attend medical school while still allowing me to explore cinematography and screenwriting. With this support, I could fully embrace every part of myself—both the storyteller and the mentor—and create a future that inspires, uplifts, and brings dreams to life.

Minecraft has always been more than a game for me—it’s a virtual home where my cousins and I built a world that felt like ours, even though an airplane’s distance kept us apart. My favorite memory from Minecraft will always be the little town I created, complete with houses, pools, gardens, and even wishing wells. Each cousin had their own home, and they’d eagerly gather around my iPad, calling dibs on the house they wanted and sharing ideas for new designs. It was a pure, shared joy as we crafted this town together, piece by piece. I was the “builder-in-chief,” happily taking suggestions for renovations. I would rework wallpapers, floors, and beds, making each house feel uniquely theirs—unless I was too stubborn to let go of my original designs. I loved showing them what I’d built, perching on the arm of the couch, while they squished together, waiting for their turn to tour “their” house. Even though they couldn’t play alongside me, they were in that world with me, and that was everything. I have an older cousin who lives just a few minutes away, and I distinctly remember using his Minecraft account purely for the thrill of absolute chaos. With his account, I’d blow things up, drop horses from the sky, pester every villager I could find, and release armies of cats into every house—the kind of joyful, messy mayhem that’s only possible in Minecraft. My own account? That was sacred territory, kept pristine and perfect. But on his account, there were no rules. I even ventured into Survival mode, convinced I’d be fine. Spoiler alert: I was not. Within minutes, I’d been eaten by wolves, drowned in the sea, and probably crying because a spider was chasing me. In the end, I had to admit that my wild adventure in Survival was a solid 3/10 experience—fun for the stories, but I’d definitely recommend sticking to Creative mode! I deleted my beloved world years ago to make space on my device, but its essence remains vivid in my heart. Now, my younger siblings create their own Minecraft worlds, and I’m reminded of that same warmth I felt as a little kid. Whenever they show off their creations, it feels like a spark of my memories, reigniting that special connection. We live under the same roof now, and playing together is easier, but the joy of showing off a space that you built with someone else in mind remains as powerful as ever. For me, Minecraft will always symbolize connection and shared joy. It taught me that creativity can bridge distances and make memories that last long after the game is turned off.

I absolutely cannot have a bookshelf without Heartstopper by Alice Oseman, They Both Die at the End by Adam Silvera, Shadow and Bone by Leigh Bardugo, and Out of the Blue by Jason June. These books are not just stories; they’re the heartbeat of my reading life, and they deserve a front-and-center spot on my shelf! From the heartwarming moments of Heartstopper to the inevitable tears of They Both Die at the End, each title has woven its way into my heart, and the #BookTok community has only intensified my love for them. The #BookTok community’s enthusiasm for Heartstopper, especially for Isaac’s character, truly drew me in. His struggle with feeling like a third wheel when his friends prioritize their romantic lives hits home, as I've felt similar pangs of loneliness amidst the blooming relationships of others. His journey also highlights the importance of self-acceptance and waiting for the right moment rather than forcing romance. With its mix of relatability and warmth, Heartstopper has earned its spot on my shelf, representing the beauty of love in all its forms. I haven't finished They Both Die at the End yet, but the countless TikToks begging for more content and adaptations keep it high on my reading list. It seems like such a heartfelt, bittersweet journey. When I eventually finish it and inevitably tear up, I might even ask #BookTok for fanfics to stay in the story a little longer! Pairing fantasy with romance is a #BookTok staple, and Shadow and Bone has been a standout for me. The series’ blend of love, ambition, and the quest for belonging drew me in, leading me to binge the cinematic adaptation before diving into the book. Mal’s journey of love and self-worth captured my attention—even when the main character’s choices didn’t—and the show brought so much depth that I had to explore Bardugo’s world further. Out of the Blue feels like a treasure found just for me, with its tale of a mermaid who keeps his fins and a lifeguard who doesn’t lose his footing for love. This book shows that love doesn’t require sacrificing parts of ourselves, and the #BookTok community’s excitement over unique storylines like this reinforces my love for these fresh takes on romance and identity. The love I feel for these characters transcends the pages. Watching fan edits, animatics, interviews, and cosplays adds to the joy and makes me feel part of a larger community. It’s a vibrant space where all expressions of love are welcomed—whether it’s exploring grief, childhood friendships, or complex romantic connections. My ideal bookshelf isn’t just about the books themselves but the passionate community that makes each story feel alive and meaningful.

Nobody cares about my mental health as much as I do. Hear me out: family, friends, and professionals care, but nobody should know me better than I know myself. It’s unsettling to rely on others to answer questions like, “What do I enjoy?” or “What motivates me?” Losing that sense of self can feel dissociating, almost like I’m detached from my identity. Why do we praise physical health as “knowing your body” but struggle to say, “I know my mind and my feelings”? With physical health, I recognize when something’s wrong, even if I can’t fully explain it. Mental health deserves the same respect. College preparation is about completing applications or having a transportation plan; college readiness is about building a foundation for health that sustains me throughout college and beyond. Without a foundation, other academic skills crumble, and the bar of potential drains out. For instance, I can't rely on taking good notes if I’m obsessing over grades instead of understanding the material. Sure, I passed a math class, but what about the next level of the sequence? Without prioritizing sleep or setting boundaries with myself, I retained nothing meaningful from a class. You could be thinking "so what, you passed?" Let us see how strong your resolve is when you get a case of FOMO and start isolating yourself to squeeze in more study time, which means less sleep, which leads to more confusion in class, and more late-night study “sessions” in your room. Soon enough all achievement feels more like survival. So, passing the class doesn't feel good anymore! Maintaining mental health means self-advocacy, even if it’s just being honest with yourself. I struggled with sleep due to fluctuating school schedules, but I found something that worked: living by the 1% rule. I’ve learned that lofty goals often paralyze my progress, so instead, I focus on small, realistic changes that add up. Every few weeks, I decrease my bedtime by 15 to 30 minutes. It may seem like a slow approach, but it is effective. Aiming for steady improvement over idealistic perfection keeps me from comparing myself to students who get a perfect 10 hours each night. Ten hours may be ideal, but that’s not everyone’s reality—and that’s okay. Through these 1% changes, I went from sleeping past 2 a.m. on school nights to getting to bed before midnight, with occasional good nights of 10 or even 9 p.m. It’s the consistency of small steps that builds resilience. This tactic prepares me mentally for days of rejection or disappointment, transforming what might have been crushing setbacks into “silly oopsies” that I can laugh off. Living by 1% is a boundary, a commitment, and a way of showing up for yourself – not coddling unlike perfectionists may believe. Taking care of my mental health this way allows me to take myself seriously, set realistic boundaries, and keep growing—1% at a time.