Every Christmas Eve, our kitchen fills with the aroma of freshly baked grittibänz. On Lunar New Year, my sister and I practice broken Mandarin as we prepare vegetables for huoguo. For Día de los Muertos, we cut bright paper strips into papel picado. Growing up half-Swiss, half-Taiwanese, and ten minutes from the Mexican-American border, my early experiences involved a constant flux of different languages, traditions, and values. In this environment, I became deeply aware of the stigma surrounding mental health in minority communities. With my Taiwanese grandparents, discussions about emotions, stress, or psychological well-being were often met with silence, dismissed as “weakness,” or overshadowed by the cultural expectation of achievement. Pain that was not physical was ignored, despite the severe consequences of leaving that pain unaddressed. In college, my drive to understand invisible wounds led me to the Boston VA hospital, where I listened to veterans like “Albert,” a former Army combat medic, recount harrowing front-line stories. “I had to put heads in cereal boxes.” I sat speechless as Albert explained how he honored fallen comrades, several lost to suicide, when body bags ran out. I could see the pain in his eyes as he recalled those he could not save. Shocked to learn veteran suicide rates are double that of the general population, I began conducting research with post-9/11 veterans, some only months removed from suicide attempts. Searching for cognitive markers of suicide risk, we administered cognitive performance tasks and analyzed attentional control data. Veterans with past suicide attempts showed striking variability in sustained attention, even after accounting for comorbid depression and PTSD, suggesting an “attentional flicker” that might precede self-harm. As an aspiring military physician, I recognized the clinical potential: building this marker into routine screenings could prompt provider intervention before despair turns lethal. These results, and Albert’s resilience, deepened my commitment to lead medical teams that support patients in their most vulnerable moments and provide life-saving care in crises. This project at the Boston VA, “Attentional Dysfunction in Post-9/11 Veterans with Suicidal Thoughts and Behaviors,” has been submitted to the Journal of Affective Disorders (pending review), where I am listed as a 3rd author. Across my experiences, I have come to understand mental health as intertwined with the broader contexts of culture and lived experience. My background has shaped my ability to recognize these nuances, from navigating conversations across languages to understanding the cultural barriers that prevent patients from seeking care. As I prepare to attend Yale School of Medicine through the Health Professions Scholarship Program, I hope to build on my work in suicide risk detection and contribute to a system where early identification and compassionate care can prevent needless loss. Dr. Shuqiao Yao’s legacy of advancing clinical neuroscience and psychological assessment inspires me. By integrating research, clinical practice, and advocacy, I aim to continue helping challenge the stigma surrounding mental health, especially among underrepresented communities in the military population, improve accessibility to care, and contribute to the growing body of knowledge on stress-related disorders. By bridging cultures, medicine, service, and research, I hope to help continue supporting patients whose struggles too often go unseen.

Growing up, I was deeply aware of the stigma surrounding mental health in Asian communities. Discussions about emotions, stress, or psychological well-being were often met with silence, dismissed as mere phases, or overshadowed by the cultural expectation of perseverance. However, my personal experiences and academic pursuits have driven me to challenge these barriers. I witnessed the psychological toll of cultural displacement, language barriers, and unspoken pressure to succeed emphasized by my immigrant grandparents. These struggles often manifested in anxiety, depression, and burnout—yet professional mental health resources were rarely considered. My family, like many others, prioritized survival over self-care. This ignited my curiosity about mental health, leading me to explore the psychological effects of stress and trauma. During my undergraduate studies, I conducted research on PTSD and depression within veteran populations. Utilizing fMRI and psychometric assessments, I analyzed how PTSD severity correlated with cognitive deficits, focusing on executive function and memory impairments. By applying statistical models to patient data, I contributed to identifying neural markers associated with trauma-related disorders, reinforcing my commitment to understanding the biological basis of mental health conditions. Seeing how stress-related disorders altered cognition and health strengthened my resolve to bridge research with clinical care. Beyond research, I have pursued clinical experience to complement my academic interests. Working in sports medicine at UCLA, I assisted a UCLA volleyball player recovering from an ACL tear, guiding her through targeted exercises and offering insights from my own ACL recovery several years ago. This hands-on experience deepened my understanding of the psychological toll injuries take on athletes and reinforced the importance of mental resilience in recovery. Observing how physical injuries often led to emotional distress reinforced my belief in the inseparability of mental and physical health. Additionally, shadowing physicians in military and VA hospitals exposed me to the reality that many patients—particularly those with service-related trauma—struggled with untreated mental health conditions. One veteran with a traumatic brain injury exhibited PTSD symptoms yet had never sought psychiatric care. Witnessing these disparities reinforced the urgent need for improved psychiatric services for veterans and deepened my commitment to mental health advocacy. My background has not only shaped my academic and professional aspirations but also given me a unique perspective on mental health advocacy. I am committed to addressing mental health disparities among underrepresented populations, particularly Asian communities and military personnel. By pursuing a career in military medicine, I hope to contribute to a more inclusive healthcare system that recognizes cultural differences and prioritizes holistic well-being. Dr. Shuqiao Yao’s legacy of advancing clinical neuroscience and psychological assessment inspires me. By integrating research, clinical practice, and advocacy, I aim to continue helping challenge the stigma surrounding mental health, especially among Asian-Americans and the military population, improve accessibility to care, and contribute to the growing body of knowledge on stress-related disorders. With this scholarship, I hope to further my education, expand my research, and ultimately make a meaningful impact in mental health.

When I opened my MRI report, it felt like the air had been sucked out of my lungs: Tear of deltoid ligaments, tear of anterior talofibular ligament, high-grade sprain of interosseus membrane, fracture of the fibula. Tear of ACL, sprain of MCL, bone marrow contusion of tibia. I remembered playing in soccer tournaments across the country, running hills after three-hour practices, and tirelessly training my footwork during days off. I had shed blood, sweat, and tears, and dedicated the past ten years of my life to soccer with hopes of playing in college. One unlucky tackle, however, forced me to watch from the sidelines as my team competed without me. My teammates committed to D1 schools on full-ride scholarships while I underwent surgery and a nine-month recovery. During my now-abundant free time, I began asking my surgeon and physical therapist questions: Which muscle does this exercise target? How do you decide whether to use a hamstring or patellar graft for an ACL reconstruction? As I learned more, I became curious about the recovery process and mechanisms of injury treatment. I found myself reading case studies about high ankle sprains, watching videos of ACL surgery, and learning how to tape my own ankle using heel locks and stirrups. When I started as a sports medicine intern with UCLA Athletics this year, I met a Division 1 volleyball player in her fifth month of ACL recovery, named Katie. I gave her advice based on my experiences, suggesting certain exercises and drills that helped me get through rehab, and empathized with her frustration when progress was slow. While my athletic career may be finished, I could use my skills and experiences to help Katie return to her athletic aspirations. Just recently, Katie was cleared to return to play, and we celebrated her determination and courage in staying strong in recovery for the long nine months. My experience with injuries and time in physical therapy has inspired me to further explore the field of medicine, and has also given me the athlete’s perspective on some of the different fields that fall under sports medicine—athletic training, physical therapy, and orthopedic surgery. I hope to continue to explore these different fields to find a career field that is both fulfilling and allows me to help others. While there are still moments where I struggle with my chronic knee and ankle pain, I have found purpose through the adversity—the ability to use my experiences to help treat others.

“I had to put heads in cereal boxes.” I listened, speechless, as Albert recounted stories from when he served as a combat medic on the front lines in Iraq. He told of delivering a civilian’s baby without proper medical equipment and, most hauntingly, placing the heads of those he couldn’t save in cereal boxes. On the other hand, it was incredible to hear about his heroics. Albert ran a clinic for Iraqi civilians in a wartorn area and treated soldiers on both sides of the firefight, saving hundreds of lives. My name is Jaiden Huang and I am a sophomore at UCLA. In high school, I learned about Air Force ROTC and applied for the High School Scholarship Program. I was awarded a 4-year, full-tuition Type 1 Scholarship, and decided to try out the program. Since joining ROTC, I've been able to study abroad in Taiwan through Project Global Officer, spend a weekend at NASA mentoring high schoolers interested in the military, listen to speakers like General John W. Raymond and General Mark D. Kelley, become Squadron Commander of my school's Arnold Air Society Squadron, and meet other cadets from all over the country. In my search for a fulfilling career path, I have met countless incredible mentors in the military—Dr. Stobbe welcomed me to shadow her at Los Angeles Air Force Base, and Dr. McKinney told me about her story joining the Air Force reserves. After many conversations and the past year and a half exploring, there are several military medical careers that have caught my interest: Space Medicine, Flight Surgery, and, after speaking to Albert—the Special Operations Surgical Team. Although it is terrifying that one wrong decision when applying emergency trauma care to an injured soldier or civilian could cost them their life, it electrifies me to think that one right decision could save them. It is this thought that fuels my drive to pursue medicine. My hopes to serve abroad also mean that I hope to continue building my language skills and cultural awareness. I grew up half-Swiss and half-Taiwanese in the border town of Chula Vista in San Diego, and have studied Spanish, Chinese, and Korean. I’ve seen how speaking someone’s language can break cultural barriers in simple moments, like conversing with my Uber driver in Spanish and discussing her transition from El Salvador to Los Angeles, and the struggle for her to learn English grammar. Being a special operations physician will require these language skills to communicate with my patients about their injuries and provide comfort in high-pressure environments. I will also draw from my cultural experiences to navigate the landscape of a foreign country and be able to adapt in unpredictable circumstances.

“I had to put heads in cereal boxes.” I listened, speechless, as Albert recounted stories from when he served as a combat medic on the front lines in Iraq. He told of delivering a civilian’s baby without proper medical equipment and, most hauntingly, placing the heads of those he couldn’t save in cereal boxes. On the other hand, it was incredible to hear about his heroics. Albert ran a clinic for Iraqi civilians in a wartorn area and treated soldiers on both sides of the firefight, saving hundreds of lives. My name is Jaiden Huang and I am a sophomore at UCLA. In high school, I learned about Air Force ROTC and applied for the High School Scholarship Program. I was awarded a 4-year, full-tuition Type 1 Scholarship, and decided to try out the program. Since joining ROTC, I've been able to study abroad in Taiwan through Project Global Officer, spend a weekend at NASA mentoring high schoolers interested in the military, listen to speakers like General John W. Raymond and General Mark D. Kelley, become Squadron Commander of my school's Arnold Air Society Squadron, and meet other cadets from all over the country. In my search for a fulfilling career path, I have met countless incredible mentors in the military—Dr. Stobbe welcomed me to shadow her at Los Angeles Air Force Base, and Dr. McKinney told me about her story joining the Air Force reserves. After many conversations and the past year and a half exploring, there are several military medical careers that have caught my interest: Space Medicine, Flight Surgery, and, after speaking to Albert—the Special Operations Surgical Team. Although it is terrifying that one wrong decision when applying emergency trauma care to an injured soldier or civilian could cost them their life, it electrifies me to think that one right decision could save them. It is this thought that fuels my drive to pursue medicine. My hopes to serve abroad also mean that I hope to continue building my language skills and cultural awareness. I grew up half-Swiss and half-Taiwanese in the border town of Chula Vista in San Diego, and have studied Spanish, Chinese, and Korean. I’ve seen how speaking someone’s language can break cultural barriers in simple moments, like conversing with my Uber driver in Spanish and discussing her transition from El Salvador to Los Angeles, and the struggle for her to learn English grammar. Being a special operations physician will require these language skills to communicate with my patients about their injuries and provide comfort in high-pressure environments. I will also draw from my cultural experiences to navigate the landscape of a foreign country and be able to adapt in unpredictable circumstances.

Reign in your emotions. Lock them up. Frustration, sadness, despair. Don’t let others in. You don’t need help. You’re fine. I’m fine. My freshman year of high school was the darkest period of my life. My mind was a prison of self-deprecating thoughts—a downward spiral towards rock bottom. I cut off my closest friends. I no longer found enjoyment in my hobbies. For a while, I lost my desire to live. But I made it through. I did. I fought tooth and nail to get a grip, a foothold—anything to help claw myself away from the jaws of depression. And that, that perseverance, that unrelenting drive, is what defines me today. At the end of the school year, I made the decision to leave my brick-and-mortar high school and enroll in an independent study charter school. This change allowed me to pursue dual enrollment in colleges and be able to focus on healing myself. I discovered bullet journaling— an artistic planning system, where you can create custom spreads to organize your life. Bullet journaling served as a creative outlet and a positive coping mechanism. I started an Instagram page to share pictures of my journal with other people. Through this page, I was able to meet some of my best friends today, and start an international bullet journaling club. My club— GlobalBujo— has allowed me to connect with dozens of people all around the world and learn how bullet journaling has helped them cope with hardship and improve their productivity. I also learned about veganism, the practice of abstaining from using or consuming animal products. On October 29, 2018, I decided to take the plunge, and have been vegan ever since. To me, this represents a kinder way of living, I have been able to try new recipes and visit vegan restaurants around the country. Now, I have an internship at a local vegan non-profit organization, Vegan in San Diego, and I am so grateful for the opportunity to help spread awareness of a more sustainable lifestyle. I learned about GreenSpeed, a training facility run by former Olympic trainee Tom Green, and began to work out regularly. It was a different type of exercise than soccer, as it focused more on full-body strengthening and weightlifting. It is a positive environment where I am pushed to my limits every time I work out. GreenSpeed was a place where I could relieve stress and release endorphins, without any pressure to perform. It also opened so many opportunities for me, from news article features to my first freelance lettering job. Because of my struggles, I have learned so much about myself and my limits, as well as gained the strength to pursue my own path. I have been able to take classes at various community colleges, exploring new subjects and meeting people from all walks of life. I realize that I have the freedom to make an impact on the lives of others. And even though I struggled and suffered, I wouldn’t change my experiences for the world.

“To learn a language is to have one more window from which to look at the world” I am not a polyglot, nor a linguist. But just as this ancient Chinese proverb suggests, I have come to appreciate the importance of learning languages: they break borders between people, connecting us despite cultural differences. Languages—particularly Spanish and Korean—have played a significant role in shaping the person I am today. I am a half-Taiwanese, half-Swiss native English speaker. However, from kindergarten to ninth grade, I was enrolled in a dual-language program; I took classes in Spanish and was immersed in Latin American culture. In November we celebrated Día de los Muertos, putting together altares and eating pan de muerto. At the annual school festival, we danced to La Raspa. Living in the uniquely multicultural Chula Vista—a Mexican-American border city—Spanish has helped me connect with my community. Outside of the classroom, I still find ways to engage with the language and culture. On a misty morning walk, I’ll listen to a TED en Español podcast. On a cozy evening, I’ll curl up in bed with Isabel Allende’s El reino del dragón de oro. I once again found myself captivated by an unfamiliar language and culture when I discovered the Hallyu—the wave of Korean pop influence. I started listening to K-pop and occasionally tried my hand at cooking bibimbap. Inspired by this sensational culture, I began taking Korean at a local college. And while my vocabulary still has room to expand, I hope to become fluent one day. My fascination with foreign cultures has piqued my interest in learning more languages; I want to rediscover that world of excitement and new experiences. Having been exposed to other perspectives has also inspired me to study abroad; I aspire to explore another country like a local.

I love playing the piano. I love letting my fingers fly over the keys in hundreds of different variations. I love learning new songs and playing for my family and friends. I have played piano recreationally for 10 years but decided not to pursue it at a competitive level, having chosen club soccer instead. However, a season-ending soccer injury created an opportunity for me to use my skill in a meaningful way: I have started volunteering to play the piano at my grandmother’s memory care home. On my first day volunteering, I walked into the common area, my eyes scanning over the elderly folks sitting at tables throughout the room, my heart heavy as I witnessed the effects of cognitive degeneration on the residents—some aimlessly wandered the room and others stared blankly at the wall. But, as I sat down at the piano and played my first song, I saw something shift in their demeanor. I watched the residents come to life, the sound of the piano breaking through their expressionless exteriors. Even the residents that seemed perpetually lost had grins on their faces by the time the first song ended. Whenever I play, a gentleman with wire-rimmed glasses politely requests, “Could you play Für Elise again?” My grandmother smiles widely when I play her favorite song, Canon in C. A couple dances when I play The Entertainer and always clap along to Maple Leaf Rag. As I leave every week, the fond “Thank you, Miss” and “That was wonderful!” warm my heart. Music is truly a universal language, and I experience it firsthand as the residents’ eyes light up in excitement when I sit down at the piano every week. The music I share draws out an almost youthful liveliness in them, bringing back some of their faded memories.

Several years ago, I stumbled across the idea of a “bullet journal.” The concept was rather ingenious—use a notebook to create a planner system with an emphasis on artistic expression, rather than on simple to-do lists. I’ve always been fascinated with art, with how artists can bring a blank canvas to life with just a brush. And although I occasionally painted or drew, I had never truly immersed myself, as I had little room to fit new hobbies into my already jam-packed schedule (or so I thought). However, discovering bullet journaling pushed me to learn more. Using the brush pens that I received for Christmas, I planned my first month: May 2018. I remember setting up my first page, lines shaky and uncertain, mesmerized by the way an entire spread came together at the flick of a pen. I was captivated. In my fervor, I started an Instagram page to keep track of my artistic progress. It was so exciting to select different color palettes and design new themes every month. Looking back, it’s incredible to see the evolution of my bullet journal. Initially, my spreads were simple and bland—they lacked personality. Now they are vibrant and full of my artistic voice—doodles, stickers, and varied lettering. I am constantly exploring new techniques—shading, image layering, and calligraphy—which have given me a deeper sense of my capabilities and helped me tap into my creativity. Bullet journaling has changed the way I see myself in the world, and it has since grown into an indispensable part of my life.

It was the final quarter of the game. Sweat beaded on my brow and my legs burned from the exertion. My team was winning 4-0, but we needed the shut-out to advance to the semifinals. In a desperate attempt for a counterattack, one of the opposing players dribbled hard down the sideline. I ran to intercept the ball. When I went in for the tackle, however, my knee gave out and I heard a loud pop. A week later, my MRI results came in, revealing a complete ACL tear. It was heartbreaking. Soccer has been at the core of my life since I was 6 years old. When I made the jump from recreational to club soccer, I made the second team, but after 2 years, I had risen through the ranks to become a starting player on the first team. Three years later, my team qualified for the Elite Clubs National League—the highest league for youth soccer in the nation. Now, at the most crucial time for college recruiting, this dream seemed to crumble before me. I desperately tried to pick up the pieces, to no avail. I threw myself into physical therapy, but I would still need surgery and full recovery would take a minimum of 9 months. I watched from the sidelines as my team competed without me. I watched as my teammates committed to division 1 schools on full-ride scholarships. I felt defeated. After a decade of hard work and focus, soccer was taken from me in an instant. I had always known that serious injuries were just a part of the sport, but this made me feel vulnerable and weak. If I was ever going to stop playing soccer, I wanted it to be my choice, my decision. I wasn’t even allowed that. Years ago, when I struggled with severe depression and anxiety, I needed to find coping mechanisms to help manage my mental illnesses. One such coping mechanism was bullet journaling—a personalized artistic planning system. Bullet journaling allowed me to express my emotions creatively and pull me out of the hole I was in. I created my Instagram account, jaidenbujos, in June of 2018, and have been consistently posting content since. At first, this was solely a coping mechanism, but it has since evolved into an indispensable part of my character. Following my injury, I was suddenly able to dedicate more time to this creative endeavor. I applied to be a representative for several stationery shops. Over several months, I posted pictures of my bullet journal using their products in my spreads. As a “rep” I receive free products and discount codes for my followers. It has been an amazing experience to use my social media platform to help support other artists who shared my enthusiasm for creativity. With a reinvigorated spirit for bullet journaling, my friend and I founded Global Bujo, an international club dedicated to connecting bullet journalists from all over the world. Bullet journaling had saved me not once, but twice, and I realized its capacity to do the same for others. Through Global Bujo, we have led discussions, hosted group collaborations, and shared bullet journal tips and ideas. It was one of the most difficult things I have had to accept, but this chapter of my life had come to a close. This break from soccer has given me a chance to follow other paths from a labyrinth of opportunities. Even though soccer is my most accomplished, long-standing activity, I am more than just my athletics. I am thrilled to see what opportunities the future holds for me.

1 cup all-purpose flour. ½ cup dairy-free chocolate chips. ¼ cup applesauce. Wait—applesauce? And so my baking life has been for the past 3 years; little moments of confusion are common during my time in the kitchen. I went vegan in October of 2018, right before Halloween. Ergo, no Twix bars, no Tootsie-Rolls, no candy really. It was an entirely new lifestyle that, while it opened doors for creativity, brought on a slew of challenges. I had only been vegan a month before an insatiable craving for chocolate chip cookies prompted my quest to bake the perfect cookie. I scoured the internet for recipes. I found cookies containing a range of strange ingredients, from arrowroot powder to aquafaba. My first attempt yielded dry, odd-shaped mounds of gummy cookie-wannabes. I didn’t let that deter me; my mishap simply provided more opportunities to play with other methods. At some point, I stumbled across something called a “flax-egg,” which, as the name suggests, is used to replace an egg in a recipe. Using flax and water, I made my first batch using a flax-egg. They turned out to be my best cookies yet—though nowhere near perfect. Now I had a foundation to build on. On my next grocery run, while exploring mock meats and non-dairy milks in the plant-based section at Trader Joe’s, I noticed a box labeled ‘vegan butter.’ Intrigued, I sacrificed $5.75 and tossed it into my shopping cart. The discovery of this vegan butter was a game-changer. It landed my cookies in the goldilocks zone of texture—a perfect balance of chewiness and crispness. More importantly, they now spread while baking; my cookies finally looked like cookies! Something was still missing, however. I once again ventured down a rabbit hole of recipes on the internet. After scrolling through what seemed like hundreds of recipes, I paused at one that called for applesauce. Skeptical but willing to experiment, I incorporated the substance into my latest batch. What was most fascinating about this non-traditional ingredient was that, in contrast to the other elements of vegan variations on this baked classic, the applesauce wasn’t replacing anything—it was a pure addition. The result? A chewy, golden-brown cookie that kept its moisture, even after being left out overnight; a cookie that spread during baking; a cookie with crisp edges and a soft center. Through trial-and-error my cookies have gone from questionable lumps to so-good-you-wouldn’t-know-they-were-vegan. And, most importantly, I used whole, sustainable ingredients, and no animals were mistreated in the process. I often think back to the months I spent researching and baking these chocolate chip cookies. I think about my commitment to achieving and perfecting something so seemingly simple. While I know my determination has shone through in other aspects of my life—succeeding in an independent-study high school while taking college classes; seeking and obtaining an internship with my favorite local non-profit; earning a scholarship from my gym (which helped me compete at the highest level of club soccer) for my dedication to fitness and academics; and overcoming the abrupt halt of my college soccer recruitment process with a season-ending knee injury before my senior year—my chocolate chip cookie endeavor has helped me gain insight into my thought process, curiosity, and what excites me. I realize that the next chapter of my life will be a similar process—whether it is joining the college Quiz Bowl team, competing in Intramural soccer, or studying abroad. Whatever I end up doing, I know that I will draw on my inquisitive and persevering nature to explore different fields, interests, and passions and make an impact on something greater than myself.

My favorite piece of art is Wheatfield With Crows by Vincent Van Gogh. The colors, drama, and paint strokes make this painting resonate with me. I have had the pleasure of seeing this painting in person in the Van Gogh museum in Amsterdam. I first learned of this painting in 10th grade, when I was completing a project on Van Gogh for my Drawing class. I was immediately captivated by this work because although it bears a significant resemblance to Van Gogh's famous Starry Night, it is much darker. I struggled with severe depression in my freshman year of high school, and I felt that this painting really captured the entirety of what I felt during my lowest. The wheatfield itself looks desolate, with little life other than the crows that eerily fly over the top. To me, this represented the loneliness borne from a depressive episode. I had pushed my friends and family away and spent much of my time alone with my dark thoughts. The wheatfield retains a sense of motion, which was the way I trudged through life: going to school, doing my homework, and attending soccer practice. It wasn’t really living, though. The crows are similar to my thoughts during this time: menacing and out of my control. They constantly loomed over me, wearing at my happiness. The darkening sky in the distance was perhaps my favorite part of the painting. It is so ominous; unknown peril waiting in the distance. This struck a chord with me because my mental state had gone from a happy, light sky to a dark blue end. Having overcome such a dark mental state, this painting correlated with my deepest, most vulnerable moments, and for that reason, it remains my favorite painting of all time.

In my community, I support environmentalism by advocating for plant-based diets and cleaning natural habitats. I am currently an intern at the non-profit organization Vegan in San Diego, which seeks to promote veganism by making vegan options more well-known and accessible to the public. I have been vegan for nearly 3 years, and in that time have learned a lot about how a plant-based diet is one of the best ways that a person can reduce their impact on the environment. I also have a home garden, where I grow plants and compost food scraps rather than discarding them. I have volunteered with the organization, I Love a Clean San Diego on various occasions, where I dedicate 6 hours of my weekend to picking up trash in local neighborhoods and parks. I also run a social media account, @jaidenbujos on Instagram, where I post pictures of my bullet journal and also share tips and advice on reducing our carbon footprints. I have shared many recipe ideas, as well as easy sustainability swaps to help the environment.