As a young child who grew up in a rural and low-income barangay (village), it became clear to me that my life surrounded around the environment. Our village faced the vast and bountiful ocean, so our main source of income was fishing. My maternal side of the family would sell bangus and tilapia for a mere 150 pesos each (~$2.50), and that was how they would survive their day-to-day lives. Even from a young age, it felt as though nature was woven into almost all our daily routines, even as the sun would rest for the night. From seeing rice paddies dotted with carabao to fishermen casting their nets out to the ocean, I saw my community's reliance on the environment. I have kept these memories with me, even after my move to the United States. Looking back, I see a tension I couldn't grasp as a child. There is a delicate line being crossed between surviving and unintentionally harming the word that provides for us. This realization has shaped how I think about environmental advocacy and the responsibility I carry as a first-generation immigrant to support those around us while also protecting the environment that sustains us in all we do. While combating environmental problems such as climate change, not many people realize that low-income and under-resourced minority communities are disproportionately affected. These groups are either ignored or misinformed about environmental risks, leaving them more vulnerable to harm. It saddens me that one's circumstances can limit not only the care they receive, but also the well-being of the environment around them. I have a passion to help those communities like mine. My studies of Environmental Public Health have shown me that community outreach and teamwork are essential for improving the environment. Meaningful environmental progress is possible if we correctly engage with and support our communities. In high school, I served as a Lead Intern in my school's first Natural Resources & Management internship, where every project involved the school community. Together, we planted around 30 trees, implemented the first composting program, and beekeeping initiatives. Experiences like these show that combating problems like climate change isn't just about individual actions. Change happens one group at a time. One advice I'd give to my family and friends for what they can do to reduce their carbon footprint is to use public transportation! Taking the bus every now and then or walking is an easy way to reduce energy consumption and greenhouse gas emissions.

Dr. Jack Terry’s story in and of itself is a testament to how adversity challenges a person’s mindset. For many people, adversity can either be seen as an unmovable burden or a stepping stone to self-discovery. Dr. Jack Terry’s story inspires me because he took his adversity–from surviving unimaginable loss during the Holocaust to rebuilding his life in the United States–and turned it into meaningful change, not just for himself, but for the people around him as well. His journey is proof that our struggles may shape the path we take, but it's our response and actions that determine where we end up. Dr. Jack Terry moved forward, sought education, served others, and became a beloved family member. Adversity exists in many forms, both visible and unseen. Like Dr. Jack Terry, it can be losing everything and starting over. For me, it was the slow, daily challenge of proving myself in an unfamiliar world. My mother and I immigrated from the Philippines to the U.S. when I was just six years old. I was filled with shame when I had to take individualized reading sessions as my English proficiency was low. As I lacked confidence in my English, I let my actions speak for me, which made me an easy target for bullying. Some classmates took advantage of my silence, often bossing me around whilst taunting me. I believed that blending in with others would make my transition easier. Although, I felt trapped between wanting to belong, yet fearing that speaking up would only expose my biggest flaw. Through my adversity, I learned that staying silent doesn’t protect me. Moving away from my hometown in the Philippines as a young girl made me create barriers around others. I found that this kept me from creating lifelong bonds and fully participating in the world around me. Everything changed when I discovered my passion for science. Classes like biology, marine science, and AP Environmental Science opened my eyes to the urgent challenges facing our planet, and that's when I truly realized that my voice is a tool for change rather than something to hide out of shame. The same voice I once feared using is now my greatest asset in advocating for the environment and the people it affects. Being a leader and cooperating with individuals from all over the world is also where I let my voice shine. Like Dr. Jack Terry, I refused to let adversity define me and I learned from it, instead allowing my mindset and actions to shape my future. In college, I plan to major in Environmental Toxicology, which is the study of how pollutants/chemicals affect people and the environment. I will use my studies to give back to society by researching the effects of harmful substances and developing strategies to reduce their impacts on human and ecosystem health. It’s deeply saddening to realize that our actions have not only damaged the environment, but now us as well. Back in the Philippines, pollution and smog are constant battles, yet it’s not just my home. Every nation faces these struggles in one way or another and I want to change this to help us and future generations.

Empowerment is often illustrated as something that’s given to us, as if it’s a privilege women must wait for. In reality, I believe that empowerment isn’t about permission, it’s about actively creating possibilities in order to move forward. For me, empowerment comes from within: it’s a feeling, a drive, and a force that pushes me to take action for the betterment of myself and those around me. It’s what motivates me to chase opportunities and open doors, not just for myself, but for those who have been made to feel that some doors were never meant to open for them. In many ways, my faith gives me the strength to empower others because even in uncertainty, I am never alone in my pursuit to create change (Philippians 4:13). The women in my life have always paved the way for me. As the firstborn and first generation daughter of an immigrant Filipino family, my circumstances have highlighted the importance of creating empowerment with what I have. By God’s grace, I’ve had many inspiring role models that instilled positive values within me through their empowerment. I found empowerment through my Auntie MJ, who became the first nurse in our family. She taught me that a girl like myself, who came from a small rural town in the Philippines, can achieve great things through hard work and determination. I plan to follow her footsteps in STEM, not as a nurse, but as an ecotoxicologist using science to protect both human health and the environment. I found empowerment through my mother, Mary, whose sacrifices and love taught me the importance of perseverance. Her support will always be my guiding force as I strive to make the world a better place. Lastly, I found empowerment through my elementary school teachers. From kindergarten to fifth grade, all of my teachers were women who believed in me as I navigated the challenges of transitioning to a new country as an immigrant. They made me feel seen and capable, which inspired me to want to create that same environment for others. Through examples set by the women in my life, I’ve learned that empowerment is fostering belief in others by finding strength in yourself. I carry their lessons with me as I continue to pursue my professional and personal goals. As a woman, I realize that I’ll have to work twice as hard to be seen because of the barriers that society puts up. Although, this doesn’t mean my dreams are out of reach because I’ve seen many women achieve theirs. Empowerment is my driving force and I will use it to build a future where all voices are heard and valued.

My favorite local community event that I participated in was the Niuhelewai cleanup. It happens on the first Saturday of every month and at first, I truly did not want to participate. My AP Environmental Science teacher mentioned we needed nine hours of community service to be eligible for an A in his class. This meant going to Niuhelewai on our own time to help volunteer with the cleanup process. I initially saw it as just another task, but by the end of the day, I realized how meaningful it was—not just for the environment but for my connection to Hawai‘i. As an immigrant, learning about the cultural significance of Niuhelewai while volunteering to restore it deepened my appreciation for the land and its history. It reminded me why I want to dedicate my future to environmental work, not just to protect nature, but to honor the communities that depend on it. Niuhelewai, also known as Loʻi Kalo Mini Park, is a two-acre park tucked behind a few local businesses near our high school campus. It is revered as a sacred place, a wetland that was once covered with taro patches. Niuhelewai’s unofficial steward, Robert Silva, taught us that Hawaiian royalty would come here to give birth and attend healing ceremonies. This is because it was believed that the Hawaiian goddess of childbirth and fertility, Haumea, resided there. Even after learning about Niuhelewai’s deep history, it was shocking to see what it had become over the years of unwarranted urban sprawl. It was barely recognizable, hiding behind a rusty metal fence and overrun by invasive plants. For years, I hadn’t even known it was there since it was treated as a dumping ground. Like the Native Hawaiians, everyone depends on the land for food, shelter, and our sense of identity. Seeing the saddening contrast between Niuhelewai’s past and present made me realize cleaning up a place like this wasn’t just an environmental effort, but also a way to help honor a place that deserves to be remembered. Being an immigrant in Hawaiʻi has given me the opportunity to learn about a culture that is deeply rooted in respect for the land. Moving here as a Filipino woman, who used to live in a rural coastal town, has made me see the effects of unchecked urbanization. After being part of (and creating) initiatives that improve the lives of others and the environment, I now understand the Hawaiian values of mālama ʻāina (caring for the land) and kuleana (responsibility for oneself, others, and the land). Seeing how my community has fought to protect and restore places like Niuhelewai has been extremely inspiring towards my own realization of what I want to do in the future. As a result of this cleanup, I would like to see more people in my community recognize the significance of places like Niuhelewai. Many culturally important sites are often overlooked due to disregard. By bringing more awareness to Niuhelewai’s history, I also hope that students feel inspired to get involved not just for service hours, but because they genuinely care about its history. Beyond this site, I want to see a shift in how we treat our environment as a whole and the idea that caring for the land is a shared responsibility, no matter where we come from.

Growing up in a rural and impoverished province in the Philippines, I was immersed in a culture that emphasized the tradition of “Bayanihan”, centered on unity and interconnectedness. While America is rooted in individualism which fosters independence and personal achievement, my experiences as a Filipino woman have shown me the profound strength that comes from uplifting one another through shared purpose. I’ve witnessed countless families in my childhood share limited resources to thrive together, whether that be sharing extra food or helping one another fix a broken roof. In my own personal life, I saw this in my teen parents, who sacrificed their college education to raise my Kuya (older brother) and I. Their sacrifices and selflessness became the foundation of who I am today, fueling my own passion to support others as well by creating lasting change through sustainable advocacy. When I moved to Oahu as a young child, I struggled to adapt to a new culture. However, I began to see ways in which I could integrate the values of my culture into my new life. During high school, I’ve woven the idea of Bayanihan by participating in local clean-ups and campus-wide environmental conservation efforts. From planting trees to becoming a lead intern in my school’s first Natural Resources & Management Team, I experienced firsthand how collaborating with fellow volunteers and interns echoed a sense of camaraderie. Together, we not only improved the environment but also cultivated connection, a value I cherish from my time in the Philippines. Working among individuals from diverse backgrounds helped me see things in a new light and create newfound friendships. While these involvements inspired me, they also reminded me of the environmental challenges faced by my hometown in Ilocos Norte. Being uprooted 5,000 miles away from where my deepest roots resided had its own challenges for someone so young, yet it gave me the perspective to reflect on the struggles my community in the Philippines endures daily. People are working tirelessly; making ends meet for their families, but being indifferent to the impact their struggles had on the land they relied on. Colorful plastic bags and debris followed the sidewalks that people walked on; with even the sea’s shoreline now marked by litter. These circumstances are forever etched into my memory, which gave me a new devotion. I am committed to channeling the love I have for my hometown into action by pursuing a career in Environmental Toxicology–the study of chemicals that impact ecosystems and human health. This field allows me to investigate and further mitigate the harmful effects of toxins, particularly in communities like mine, where the environment is a source of livelihood. By receiving this scholarship as a student from a low-income household, this funding would ease the financial strain of funds like tuition, books, and housing. This would allow me to focus fully on my education without worrying about money. I am proud to honor my family’s legacy by becoming the first in my family to pursue a career in science. With this opportunity, I can transform not only my future but also the lives of others. Maraming salamat po!

Kablaaw! Janelle ti nagan ko (Hello! My name is Janelle). I’m currently a senior at Farrington High School located on the island of Oahu. My post-graduation plan is to hopefully attend the University of Washington in the near future. I intend to pursue a major in Environmental Public Health, specifically Ecotoxicology, because I believe we should live in a world where the harmful effects of human actions do not compromise our health. My passion for the environment stems from my upbringing in my hometown, Ilocos Norte. My first language is Ilocano, which is primarily spoken in the Ilocos Region in the Philippines. At first glance, not many people recognize Ilocano, and they often associate the Philippines with Tagalog instead. This experience mirrors my early life as I immigrated to the U.S., often feeling isolated. When I moved at only six years old, I didn’t understand a lick of English. I felt alone when I was the only one in my class to take individualized reading sessions from kindergarten to second grade. It was discouraging to make mistakes in those lessons, especially when I knew in my heart that it should be “easy” to sound out and understand the words. Over time, I improved my English and developed meaningful friendships that helped me feel more at home. By becoming bilingual, I gained valuable skills but also faced challenges that tested my conscience. As I grew up, I learned to recognize that kindness is not always shown to immigrants. I worried about my mother, who immigrated to the U.S. with me and still struggled with her English. Her heavy Filipino accent and difficulty with certain phrases made her vulnerable to judgment. I was uneasy about the backlash she might face in her workplace, the lingering stares she might see in the corner of her eye, and the whispers of amusement she might hear behind her back. I didn’t want to hear comments like, “Why is she speaking like that?” or “Why can’t she speak English?”, and I definitely didn’t want to translate those bitter remarks back to her. My mother once asked me, “Apay haan dak maawatan (Why can’t they understand me?), my English speaking not okay?” While writing this sentence, a blue spelling suggestion is underlining it, showing that it’s grammatically incorrect. But to me, her words were perfect as they are, and I chose to reassure her that it was fine. Even in the face of these struggles, I’ve come to see the beauty and strength in being bilingual. The best thing about speaking two languages is the way it builds bridges between people, creating connections in unexpected moments. I love playing video games with my friends, remarking inside jokes only we know as a group in English. I enjoy seeing my family’s smile when they hear me greet them in Ilocano on Facetime. Most importantly, I appreciate being able to brighten up someone’s day just by showing them I can speak Ilocano. In those moments, I see those people as my mother, and how much it meant to her when someone takes the time to understand her. During my junior year in high school, I’ve started learning French and I’m currently in French 2 for senior year. In my future career, where collaboration with diverse groups will be essential, knowing multiple languages will enable me to create stronger, more meaningful relationships. It’s not just about learning words; it’s about showing empathy, building trust, and bridging gaps between cultures and communities.

During nostalgic talks about my childhood, my mother would always bring up how I was a mannangit (crybaby). She had mentioned that my tantrums were somewhat “on a schedule” since I’d cry at the most specific things at dusk: early bedtimes or when I had no appetite. To my parents’ surprise, a simple remedy to these four year-old meltdowns was a ride in my dad’s family van. As I caught a slight glimpse of the world around me through my salty tear-stained eyes, I would have never thought I’d discover the unexpected through a small van window. Traversing through my barangay (village), Caaoacan, with just my dad and I miraculously rendered me silent. The soft seats cradled my back, and the cool gusts of AC gently brushed my warm cheeks as I peered out the window. Curiosity took over me as I watched kids splashing in puddles after the rain, rice paddies dotted with carabao, and fishermen casting their nets out into the vast ocean. It felt that nature was woven into almost all our pastimes; even as the sun would rest for the night, the rhythm of life carried on. This seemingly routine experience with my dad would continue, even after my move to Oahu. Following a long six-year delay due to the pandemic, my family and I finally had the opportunity to visit the Philippines. I looked forward to a ride around the city as I reminisced the nostalgia of cruising around with my dad. As I turned my gaze to the van window once again, the world outside felt unexpectedly somber, a stark contrast to the past memories I held onto. The first thing I noticed was the heavy air, tinged with fumes that engulfed my senses. Colorful plastic bags and debris followed the sidewalks that people walked on; with even the sea’s shoreline now marked by litter. What greatly saddened me was the view of young street beggars, their eyes reflecting the struggles of their circumstances. The state of my cherished home country had quickly deteriorated before my eyes. My obliviousness as a child kept me blissfully unaware of the realities of life. Being uprooted 5,000 miles away from where my deepest roots resided had its own challenges for someone so young, yet time away helped me see my childhood in a new light. People are working tirelessly; making ends meet for their families, but being indifferent to the impact their struggles had on the land they relied on. From then on, it became clear to me that my future now had a strong sense of responsibility to protect the land that nurtured the person who I am today. My father’s van, a mere getaway for exploration, had now become a witness to my journey towards self-discovery and purpose. Each road I navigate reflects the varied paths in my life, fostering a deeper observance and compassion for the conditions around me. In a world where indifference is a luxury we cannot afford, I am committed to channeling the love I have for my hometown into environmental stewardship to help address the challenges faced by communities like mine and around the world. So many people all over the world rely on the environment, which is now riddled with toxic chemicals that make them sick. I want to study Environmental Toxicology: the study of manmade and natural chemicals that affect the environment. My hope is to reclaim the beauty of tranquility I once saw through that framed van window, ensuring that future generations can experience and protect the world we share.