In my early adolescence, my understanding of “look both ways" went beyond just physical safety. It was a reminder that I lived in a neighborhood where I couldn’t afford to be a kid, where I couldn't afford the luxury of walking to the store without fear or wearing specific colors. One day at the park, the loud Bang, one single shot, one single moment that forever changed my perspective on the place I no longer called home. Before the loud bang, all I could recall was the white flash that lit up the clouds, sharp and sudden, a brutal reminder that the privilege I wished I had would never be mine. All I could think about was the endless possibilities of my selfish actions of wanting to go to the park, knowing I didn’t have the privilege, putting my family in harm's way, all because I wanted to be a kid and go outside, which now haunts me. Moving forward in my society seemed impossible. Growing up, I felt that moving forward could come at the cost of my safety, even my life, so instead I had to adapt to a harsh reality. Going to school, look down at the floor so you don’t draw attention, wear bland clothing to avoid being robbed, stay vigilant to my surroundings, and nothing ever changed. I was suffocated and trapped. It made it clear to me that I could not control a society resistant to change. At the age of twelve, I made sacrifices to support my family. I began working as a mover alongside my father in high-class neighborhoods. I witnessed the privilege that I longed for. I came to realize that I was approaching a yellow light, where I had to choose between proceeding with caution, stopping, or taking a bold risk and moving forward. I reached a point where I was no longer willing to remain suppressed in my society. I grew tired of continually adapting to a culture I resented, so I paved my own way out. I decided to become the green light I wanted to see in my own future and create the change I desired. Much like moving forward at a green light, this decision brought me a sense of peace, sustainability, and hope towards the future ahead of me. Although the sound of the gunshot remains deeply in my cautious state of mind, I refuse to allow my environment to dictate my future. The suffocation I endured became a passion to better my community and myself. I began making it my initiative to mentor kids and show them the pathways and skills I learned, including networking and socializing. I assumed more leadership roles among the youth by leveraging my position as President of the Black Student Union to speak and inspire them to be the change in their community. My desire to escape my neighborhood was intense; my desire to help change is even stronger. I aspire to help my community and those in need overcome the hate that spreads due to financial struggles. Just as it is your choice to look both ways before crossing the street, so too is it your decision to determine the direction of your life.I believe I can use my leadership skills and advocacy to make a bigger platform to serve low income societies financially and reverse the suffocation my community endure. By blessing with the scholarship you are allowing me to be an asset to my community providing resources I will learn in accounting and political science at University of Southern California.

“Look both ways before you cross the street” is a lesson my dad taught me from a young age. Growing up in South Central Los Angeles, this simple lesson carried a much deeper meaning. In my early adolescence, my understanding of “look both ways" went beyond just physical safety. It was a reminder that I lived in a neighborhood where I couldn’t afford to be a kid, where I couldn't afford the luxury of walking to the store without fear or wearing specific colors. One day at the park, the loud Bang, one single shot, one single moment that forever changed my perspective on the place I no longer called home. Before the loud bang, all I could recall was the white flash that lit up the clouds, sharp and sudden, a brutal reminder that the privilege I wished I had would never be mine. All I could think about was the endless possibilities of my selfish actions of wanting to go to the park, knowing I didn’t have the privilege, putting my family in harm's way, all because I wanted to be a kid and go outside, which now haunts me. Moving forward in my society seemed impossible, particularly as I tried to balance academics with the harsh realities outside of school. Something as simple as wearing the color red became a danger; for instance, stopping at a red light served as a barrier that prevented me from proceeding, taking away my freedom. Growing up, I felt that moving forward could come at the cost of my safety, even my life, so instead I had to adapt to a harsh reality. Going to school, I had to walk on certain streets, look down at the floor so you don’t draw attention, wear bland clothing to avoid being robbed, stay vigilant to my surroundings, and nothing ever changed. I was suffocated and trapped. It made it clear to me that I could not control a society resistant to change. At the age of twelve, I made sacrifices to support my family. I began working as a mover alongside my father in high-class neighborhoods. I witnessed the privilege that I longed for. I came to realize that I was approaching a yellow light, where I had to choose between proceeding with caution, stopping, or taking a bold risk and moving forward. I reached a point where I was no longer willing to remain suppressed in my society. I grew tired of continually adapting to a culture I resented, so I paved my own way out. I decided to become the green light I wanted to see in my own future and create the change I desired. The high-class neighborhoods sparked my interest in accounting, inspiring me to pursue it as my field of study. Much like moving forward at a green light, this decision brought me a sense of peace, sustainability, and hope towards the future ahead of me. Although the sound of the gunshot remains deeply in my cautious state of mind, I refuse to allow my environment to dictate my future. The suffocation I endured became a passion to better my community and myself. I began making it my initiative to mentor kids and show them the pathways and skills I learned, including networking and socializing. I assumed more leadership roles among the youth by leveraging my position as President of the Black Student Union to speak and inspire them to be the change in their community. My desire to escape my neighborhood was intense; my desire to help change is even stronger. I aspire to help my community and those in need overcome the hate that spreads due to financial struggles. Just as it is your choice to look both ways before crossing the street, so too is it your decision to determine the direction of your life.I believe I can use my leadership skills and advocacy to make a bigger platform to serve low income societies financially and reverse the suffocation my community and low income communities all around endure. Blessing with the scholarship you are allowing me to be an asset to my community providing resources I will learn in accounting and political science at USC.

In my early adolescence, my understanding of “look both ways" went beyond just physical safety. It was a reminder that I lived in a neighborhood where I couldn’t afford to be a kid, where I couldn't afford the luxury of walking to the store without fear or wearing specific colors. One day at the park, the loud Bang, one single shot, one single moment that forever changed my perspective on the place I no longer called home. Before the loud bang, all I could recall was the white flash that lit up the clouds, sharp and sudden, a brutal reminder that the privilege I wished I had would never be mine. All I could think about was the endless possibilities of my selfish actions of wanting to go to the park, knowing I didn’t have the privilege, putting my family in harm's way, all because I wanted to be a kid and go outside, which now haunts me. Moving forward in my society seemed impossible. Growing up, I felt that moving forward could come at the cost of my safety, even my life, so instead I had to adapt to a harsh reality. Going to school, look down at the floor so you don’t draw attention, wear bland clothing to avoid being robbed, stay vigilant to my surroundings, and nothing ever changed. I was suffocated and trapped. It made it clear to me that I could not control a society resistant to change. At the age of twelve, I made sacrifices to support my family. I began working as a mover alongside my father in high-class neighborhoods. I witnessed the privilege that I longed for. I came to realize that I was approaching a yellow light, where I had to choose between proceeding with caution, stopping, or taking a bold risk and moving forward. I reached a point where I was no longer willing to remain suppressed in my society. I grew tired of continually adapting to a culture I resented, so I paved my own way out. I decided to become the green light I wanted to see in my own future and create the change I desired. Much like moving forward at a green light, this decision brought me a sense of peace, sustainability, and hope towards the future ahead of me. Although the sound of the gunshot remains deeply in my cautious state of mind, I refuse to allow my environment to dictate my future. The suffocation I endured became a passion to better my community and myself. I began making it my initiative to mentor kids and show them the pathways and skills I learned, including networking and socializing. I assumed more leadership roles among the youth by leveraging my position as President of the Black Student Union to speak and inspire them to be the change in their community. My desire to escape my neighborhood was intense; my desire to help change is even stronger. I aspire to help my community and those in need overcome the hate that spreads due to financial struggles. Just as it is your choice to look both ways before crossing the street, so too is it your decision to determine the direction of your life.I believe I can use my leadership skills and advocacy to make a bigger platform to serve low income societies financially and reverse the suffocation my community endure. By blessing with the scholarship you are allowing me to be an asset to my community providing resources I will learn in accounting and political science at University of Southern California.

In my early adolescence, my understanding of “look both ways" went beyond just physical safety. It was a reminder that I lived in a neighborhood where I couldn’t afford to be a kid, where I couldn't afford the luxury of walking to the store without fear or wearing specific colors. One day at the park, the loud Bang, one single shot, one single moment that forever changed my perspective on the place I no longer called home. Before the loud bang, all I could recall was the white flash that lit up the clouds, sharp and sudden, a brutal reminder that the privilege I wished I had would never be mine. All I could think about was the endless possibilities of my selfish actions of wanting to go to the park, knowing I didn’t have the privilege, putting my family in harm's way, all because I wanted to be a kid and go outside, which now haunts me. Moving forward in my society seemed impossible. Growing up, I felt that moving forward could come at the cost of my safety, even my life, so instead I had to adapt to a harsh reality. Going to school, look down at the floor so you don’t draw attention, wear bland clothing to avoid being robbed, stay vigilant to my surroundings, and nothing ever changed. I was suffocated and trapped. It made it clear to me that I could not control a society resistant to change. At the age of twelve, I made sacrifices to support my family. I began working as a mover alongside my father in high-class neighborhoods. I witnessed the privilege that I longed for. I came to realize that I was approaching a yellow light, where I had to choose between proceeding with caution, stopping, or taking a bold risk and moving forward. I reached a point where I was no longer willing to remain suppressed in my society. I grew tired of continually adapting to a culture I resented, so I paved my own way out. I decided to become the green light I wanted to see in my own future and create the change I desired. Much like moving forward at a green light, this decision brought me a sense of peace, sustainability, and hope towards the future ahead of me. Although the sound of the gunshot remains deeply in my cautious state of mind, I refuse to allow my environment to dictate my future. The suffocation I endured became a passion to better my community and myself. I began making it my initiative to mentor kids and show them the pathways and skills I learned, including networking and socializing. I assumed more leadership roles among the youth by leveraging my position as President of the Black Student Union to speak and inspire them to be the change in their community. My desire to escape my neighborhood was intense; my desire to help change is even stronger. I aspire to help my community and those in need overcome the hate that spreads due to financial struggles. Just as it is your choice to look both ways before crossing the street, so too is it your decision to determine the direction of your life.I believe I can use my leadership skills and advocacy to make a bigger platform to serve low income societies financially and reverse the suffocation my community endure. By blessing with the scholarship you are allowing me to be an asset to my community providing resources I will learn in accounting and political science at University of Southern California.

In my early adolescence, my understanding of “look both ways" went beyond just physical safety. It was a reminder that I lived in a neighborhood where I couldn’t afford to be a kid, where I couldn't afford the luxury of walking to the store without fear or wearing specific colors. One day at the park, the loud Bang, one single shot, one single moment that forever changed my perspective on the place I no longer called home. Before the loud bang, all I could recall was the white flash that lit up the clouds, sharp and sudden, a brutal reminder that the privilege I wished I had would never be mine. All I could think about was the endless possibilities of my selfish actions of wanting to go to the park, knowing I didn’t have the privilege, putting my family in harm's way, all because I wanted to be a kid and go outside, which now haunts me. Moving forward in my society seemed impossible. Growing up, I felt that moving forward could come at the cost of my safety, even my life, so instead I had to adapt to a harsh reality. Going to school, look down at the floor so you don’t draw attention, wear bland clothing to avoid being robbed, stay vigilant to my surroundings, and nothing ever changed. I was suffocated and trapped. It made it clear to me that I could not control a society resistant to change. At the age of twelve, I made sacrifices to support my family. I began working as a mover alongside my father in high-class neighborhoods. I witnessed the privilege that I longed for. I came to realize that I was approaching a yellow light, where I had to choose between proceeding with caution, stopping, or taking a bold risk and moving forward. I reached a point where I was no longer willing to remain suppressed in my society. I grew tired of continually adapting to a culture I resented, so I paved my own way out. I decided to become the green light I wanted to see in my own future and create the change I desired. Much like moving forward at a green light, this decision brought me a sense of peace, sustainability, and hope towards the future ahead of me. Although the sound of the gunshot remains deeply in my cautious state of mind, I refuse to allow my environment to dictate my future. The suffocation I endured became a passion to better my community and myself. I began making it my initiative to mentor kids and show them the pathways and skills I learned, including networking and socializing. I assumed more leadership roles among the youth by leveraging my position as President of the Black Student Union to speak and inspire them to be the change in their community. My desire to escape my neighborhood was intense; my desire to help change is even stronger. I aspire to help my community and those in need overcome the hate that spreads due to financial struggles. Just as it is your choice to look both ways before crossing the street, so too is it your decision to determine the direction of your life.I believe I can use my leadership skills and advocacy to make a bigger platform to serve low income societies financially and reverse the suffocation my community endure. By blessing with the scholarship you are allowing me to be an asset to my community providing resources I will learn in accounting and political science at University of Southern California.

“Look both ways before you cross the street” is a lesson my dad taught me from a young age. Growing up in South Central Los Angeles, this simple lesson carried a much deeper meaning. In my early adolescence, my understanding of “look both ways" went beyond just physical safety. It was a reminder that I lived in a neighborhood where I couldn’t afford to be a kid, where I couldn't afford the luxury of walking to the store without fear or wearing specific colors. One day at the park, the loud Bang, one single shot, one single moment that forever changed my perspective on the place I no longer called home. Before the loud bang, all I could recall was the white flash that lit up the clouds, sharp and sudden, a brutal reminder that the privilege I wished I had would never be mine. All I could think about was the endless possibilities of my selfish actions of wanting to go to the park, knowing I didn’t have the privilege, putting my family in harm's way, all because I wanted to be a kid and go outside, which now haunts me. Moving forward in my society seemed impossible, particularly as I tried to balance academics with the harsh realities outside of school. Something as simple as wearing the color red became a danger; for instance, stopping at a red light served as a barrier that prevented me from proceeding, taking away my freedom. Growing up, I felt that moving forward could come at the cost of my safety, even my life, so instead I had to adapt to a harsh reality. Going to school, I had to walk on certain streets, look down at the floor so you don’t draw attention, wear bland clothing to avoid being robbed, stay vigilant to my surroundings, and nothing ever changed. I was suffocated and trapped. It made it clear to me that I could not control a society resistant to change. At the age of twelve, I made sacrifices to support my family. I began working as a mover alongside my father in high-class neighborhoods. I witnessed the privilege that I longed for. I came to realize that I was approaching a yellow light, where I had to choose between proceeding with caution, stopping, or taking a bold risk and moving forward. I reached a point where I was no longer willing to remain suppressed in my society. I grew tired of continually adapting to a culture I resented, so I paved my own way out. I decided to become the green light I wanted to see in my own future and create the change I desired. The high-class neighborhoods sparked my interest in accounting, inspiring me to pursue it as my field of study. Much like moving forward at a green light, this decision brought me a sense of peace, sustainability, and hope towards the future ahead of me. Although the sound of the gunshot remains deeply in my cautious state of mind, I refuse to allow my environment to dictate my future. The suffocation I endured became a passion to better my community and myself. I began making it my initiative to mentor kids and show them the pathways and skills I learned, including networking and socializing. I assumed more leadership roles among the youth by leveraging my position as President of the Black Student Union to speak and inspire them to be the change in their community. I've also hosted numerous Mens Leadership Summit for Black youth to teach financial literacy, mental health awareness, and political movements to create change as 5000 chapter role Models President a program founded by congresswoman Frederica S. Wilson. I have created a presentation designed to teach low income families financial literacy to end the suffer of struggle and crime in my community because of financial struggles. I have had two opportunities to be on the news and every single chance I got the first thing I discussed is lack of financial literacy, that is a policy that's essential to my community and I will always advocate for in my community. My desire to escape my neighborhood was intense; my desire to help change is even stronger. I aspire to help my community and those in need overcome the hate that spreads due to financial struggles. Just as it is your choice to look both ways before crossing the street, so too is it your decision to determine the direction of your life.I believe I can use my leadership skills and advocacy to make a bigger platform to serve low income societies financially and reverse the suffocation my community and low income communities all around endure.

“Look both ways before you cross the street” is a lesson my dad taught me from a young age. Growing up in South Central Los Angeles, this simple lesson carried a much deeper meaning. In my early adolescence, my understanding of “look both ways" went beyond just physical safety. It was a reminder that I lived in a neighborhood where I couldn’t afford to be a kid, where I couldn't afford the luxury of walking to the store without fear or wearing specific colors. One day at the park, the loud Bang, one single shot, one single moment that forever changed my perspective on the place I no longer called home. Before the loud bang, all I could recall was the white flash that lit up the clouds, sharp and sudden, a brutal reminder that the privilege I wished I had would never be mine. All I could think about was the endless possibilities of my selfish actions of wanting to go to the park, knowing I didn’t have the privilege, putting my family in harm's way, all because I wanted to be a kid and go outside, which now haunts me. Moving forward in my society seemed impossible. Growing up, I felt that moving forward could come at the cost of my safety, even my life, so instead I had to adapt to a harsh reality. Going to school, look down at the floor so you don’t draw attention, wear bland clothing to avoid being robbed, stay vigilant to my surroundings, and nothing ever changed. I was suffocated and trapped. It made it clear to me that I could not control a society resistant to change. At the age of twelve, I made sacrifices to support my family. I began working as a mover alongside my father in high-class neighborhoods. I witnessed the privilege that I longed for. I came to realize that I was approaching a yellow light, where I had to choose between proceeding with caution, stopping, or taking a bold risk and moving forward. I reached a point where I was no longer willing to remain suppressed in my society. I grew tired of continually adapting to a culture I resented, so I paved my own way out. I decided to become the green light I wanted to see in my own future and create the change I desired. Much like moving forward at a green light, this decision brought me a sense of peace, sustainability, and hope towards the future ahead of me. Although the sound of the gunshot remains deeply in my cautious state of mind, I refuse to allow my environment to dictate my future. The suffocation I endured became a passion to better my community and myself. I began making it my initiative to mentor kids and show them the pathways and skills I learned, including networking and socializing. I assumed more leadership roles among the youth by leveraging my position as President of the Black Student Union to speak and inspire them to be the change in their community. My desire to escape my neighborhood was intense; my desire to help change is even stronger. I aspire to help my community and those in need overcome the hate that spreads due to financial struggles. Just as it is your choice to look both ways before crossing the street, so too is it your decision to determine the direction of your life.I believe I can use my leadership skills and advocacy to make a bigger platform to serve low income societies financially and reverse the suffocation my community endure.

“Look both ways before you cross the street” is a lesson my dad taught me from a young age. Growing up in South Central Los Angeles, this simple lesson carried a much deeper meaning. In my early adolescence, my understanding of “look both ways" went beyond just physical safety. It was a reminder that I lived in a neighborhood where I couldn’t afford to be a kid, where I couldn't afford the luxury of walking to the store without fear or wearing specific colors. One day at the park, the loud Bang, one single shot, one single moment that forever changed my perspective on the place I no longer called home. Before the loud bang, all I could recall was the white flash that lit up the clouds, sharp and sudden, a brutal reminder that the privilege I wished I had would never be mine. All I could think about was the endless possibilities of my selfish actions of wanting to go to the park, knowing I didn’t have the privilege, putting my family in harm's way, all because I wanted to be a kid and go outside, which now haunts me. Moving forward in my society seemed impossible. Growing up, I felt that moving forward could come at the cost of my safety, even my life, so instead I had to adapt to a harsh reality. Going to school, look down at the floor so you don’t draw attention, wear bland clothing to avoid being robbed, stay vigilant to my surroundings, and nothing ever changed. I was suffocated and trapped. It made it clear to me that I could not control a society resistant to change. At the age of twelve, I made sacrifices to support my family. I began working as a mover alongside my father in high-class neighborhoods. I witnessed the privilege that I longed for. I came to realize that I was approaching a yellow light, where I had to choose between proceeding with caution, stopping, or taking a bold risk and moving forward. I reached a point where I was no longer willing to remain suppressed in my society. I grew tired of continually adapting to a culture I resented, so I paved my own way out. I decided to become the green light I wanted to see in my own future and create the change I desired. Much like moving forward at a green light, this decision brought me a sense of peace, sustainability, and hope towards the future ahead of me. Although the sound of the gunshot remains deeply in my cautious state of mind, I refuse to allow my environment to dictate my future. The suffocation I endured became a passion to better my community and myself. I began making it my initiative to mentor kids and show them the pathways and skills I learned, including networking and socializing. I assumed more leadership roles among the youth by leveraging my position as President of the Black Student Union to speak and inspire them to be the change in their community. My desire to escape my neighborhood was intense; my desire to help change is even stronger. I aspire to help my community and those in need overcome the hate that spreads due to financial struggles. Just as it is your choice to look both ways before crossing the street, so too is it your decision to determine the direction of your life.I believe I can use my leadership skills and advocacy to make a bigger platform to serve low income societies financially and reverse the suffocation my community endure.

“Look both ways before you cross the street” is a lesson my dad taught me from a young age. Growing up in South Central Los Angeles, this simple lesson carried a much deeper meaning. In my early adolescence, my understanding of “look both ways" went beyond just physical safety. It was a reminder that I lived in a neighborhood where I couldn’t afford to be a kid, where I couldn't afford the luxury of walking to the store without fear or wearing specific colors. One day at the park, the loud Bang, one single shot, one single moment that forever changed my perspective on the place I no longer called home. Before the loud bang, all I could recall was the white flash that lit up the clouds, sharp and sudden, a brutal reminder that the privilege I wished I had would never be mine. All I could think about was the endless possibilities of my selfish actions of wanting to go to the park, knowing I didn’t have the privilege, putting my family in harm's way, all because I wanted to be a kid and go outside, which now haunts me. Moving forward in my society seemed impossible. Growing up, I felt that moving forward could come at the cost of my safety, even my life, so instead I had to adapt to a harsh reality. Going to school, look down at the floor so you don’t draw attention, wear bland clothing to avoid being robbed, stay vigilant to my surroundings, and nothing ever changed. I was suffocated and trapped. It made it clear to me that I could not control a society resistant to change. At the age of twelve, I made sacrifices to support my family. I began working as a mover alongside my father in high-class neighborhoods. I witnessed the privilege that I longed for. I came to realize that I was approaching a yellow light, where I had to choose between proceeding with caution, stopping, or taking a bold risk and moving forward. I reached a point where I was no longer willing to remain suppressed in my society. I grew tired of continually adapting to a culture I resented, so I paved my own way out. I decided to become the green light I wanted to see in my own future and create the change I desired. Much like moving forward at a green light, this decision brought me a sense of peace, sustainability, and hope towards the future ahead of me. Although the sound of the gunshot remains deeply in my cautious state of mind, I refuse to allow my environment to dictate my future. The suffocation I endured became a passion to better my community and myself. I began making it my initiative to mentor kids and show them the pathways and skills I learned, including networking and socializing. I assumed more leadership roles among the youth by leveraging my position as President of the Black Student Union to speak and inspire them to be the change in their community. My desire to escape my neighborhood was intense; my desire to help change is even stronger. I aspire to help my community and those in need overcome the hate that spreads due to financial struggles. Just as it is your choice to look both ways before crossing the street, so too is it your decision to determine the direction of your life.I believe I can use my leadership skills and advocacy to make a bigger platform to serve low income societies financially and reverse the suffocation my community endure.

“Look both ways before you cross the street” is a lesson my dad taught me from a young age. Growing up in South Central Los Angeles, this simple lesson carried a much deeper meaning. In my early adolescence, my understanding of “look both ways" went beyond just physical safety. It was a reminder that I lived in a neighborhood where I couldn’t afford to be a kid, where I couldn't afford the luxury of walking to the store without fear or wearing specific colors. One day at the park, the loud Bang, one single shot, one single moment that forever changed my perspective on the place I no longer called home. Before the loud bang, all I could recall was the white flash that lit up the clouds, sharp and sudden, a brutal reminder that the privilege I wished I had would never be mine. All I could think about was the endless possibilities of my selfish actions of wanting to go to the park, knowing I didn’t have the privilege, putting my family in harm's way, all because I wanted to be a kid and go outside, which now haunts me. Moving forward in my society seemed impossible. Growing up, I felt that moving forward could come at the cost of my safety, even my life, so instead I had to adapt to a harsh reality. Going to school, look down at the floor so you don’t draw attention, wear bland clothing to avoid being robbed, stay vigilant to my surroundings, and nothing ever changed. I was suffocated and trapped. It made it clear to me that I could not control a society resistant to change. At the age of twelve, I made sacrifices to support my family. I began working as a mover alongside my father in high-class neighborhoods. I witnessed the privilege that I longed for. I came to realize that I was approaching a yellow light, where I had to choose between proceeding with caution, stopping, or taking a bold risk and moving forward. I reached a point where I was no longer willing to remain suppressed in my society. I grew tired of continually adapting to a culture I resented, so I paved my own way out. I decided to become the green light I wanted to see in my own future and create the change I desired. Much like moving forward at a green light, this decision brought me a sense of peace, sustainability, and hope towards the future ahead of me. Although the sound of the gunshot remains deeply in my cautious state of mind, I refuse to allow my environment to dictate my future. The suffocation I endured became a passion to better my community and myself. I began making it my initiative to mentor kids and show them the pathways and skills I learned, including networking and socializing. I assumed more leadership roles among the youth by leveraging my position as President of the Black Student Union to speak and inspire them to be the change in their community. My desire to escape my neighborhood was intense; my desire to help change is even stronger. I aspire to help my community and those in need overcome the hate that spreads due to financial struggles. Just as it is your choice to look both ways before crossing the street, so too is it your decision to determine the direction of your life.I believe I can use my leadership skills and advocacy to make a bigger platform to serve low income societies financially and reverse the suffocation my community endure.

“Look both ways before you cross the street” is a lesson my dad taught me from a young age. Growing up in South Central Los Angeles, this simple lesson carried a much deeper meaning. In my early adolescence, my understanding of “look both ways" went beyond just physical safety. It was a reminder that I lived in a neighborhood where I couldn’t afford to be a kid, where I couldn't afford the luxury of walking to the store without fear or wearing specific colors. One day at the park, the loud Bang, one single shot, one single moment that forever changed my perspective on the place I no longer called home. Before the loud bang, all I could recall was the white flash that lit up the clouds, sharp and sudden, a brutal reminder that the privilege I wished I had would never be mine. All I could think about was the endless possibilities of my selfish actions of wanting to go to the park, knowing I didn’t have the privilege, putting my family in harm's way, all because I wanted to be a kid and go outside, which now haunts me. Moving forward in my society seemed impossible. Growing up, I felt that moving forward could come at the cost of my safety, even my life, so instead I had to adapt to a harsh reality. Going to school, look down at the floor so you don’t draw attention, wear bland clothing to avoid being robbed, stay vigilant to my surroundings, and nothing ever changed. I was suffocated and trapped. It made it clear to me that I could not control a society resistant to change. At the age of twelve, I made sacrifices to support my family. I began working as a mover alongside my father in high-class neighborhoods. I witnessed the privilege that I longed for. I came to realize that I was approaching a yellow light, where I had to choose between proceeding with caution, stopping, or taking a bold risk and moving forward. I reached a point where I was no longer willing to remain suppressed in my society. I grew tired of continually adapting to a culture I resented, so I paved my own way out. I decided to become the green light I wanted to see in my own future and create the change I desired. Much like moving forward at a green light, this decision brought me a sense of peace, sustainability, and hope towards the future ahead of me. Although the sound of the gunshot remains deeply in my cautious state of mind, I refuse to allow my environment to dictate my future. The suffocation I endured became a passion to better my community and myself. I began making it my initiative to mentor kids and show them the pathways and skills I learned, including networking and socializing. I assumed more leadership roles among the youth by leveraging my position as President of the Black Student Union to speak and inspire them to be the change in their community. My desire to escape my neighborhood was intense; my desire to help change is even stronger. I aspire to help my community and those in need overcome the hate that spreads due to financial struggles. Just as it is your choice to look both ways before crossing the street, so too is it your decision to determine the direction of your life.I believe I can use my leadership skills and advocacy to make a bigger platform to serve low income societies financially and reverse the suffocation my community endure.

“Look both ways before you cross the street” is a lesson my dad taught me from a young age. Growing up in South Central Los Angeles, this simple lesson carried a much deeper meaning. In my early adolescence, my understanding of “look both ways" went beyond just physical safety. It was a reminder that I lived in a neighborhood where I couldn’t afford to be a kid, where I couldn't afford the luxury of walking to the store without fear or wearing specific colors. One day at the park, the loud Bang, one single shot, one single moment that forever changed my perspective on the place I no longer called home. Before the loud bang, all I could recall was the white flash that lit up the clouds, sharp and sudden, a brutal reminder that the privilege I wished I had would never be mine. All I could think about was the endless possibilities of my selfish actions of wanting to go to the park, knowing I didn’t have the privilege, putting my family in harm's way, all because I wanted to be a kid and go outside, which now haunts me. Moving forward in my society seemed impossible. Growing up, I felt that moving forward could come at the cost of my safety, even my life, so instead I had to adapt to a harsh reality. Going to school, look down at the floor so you don’t draw attention, wear bland clothing to avoid being robbed, stay vigilant to my surroundings, and nothing ever changed. I was suffocated and trapped. It made it clear to me that I could not control a society resistant to change. At the age of twelve, I made sacrifices to support my family. I began working as a mover alongside my father in high-class neighborhoods. I witnessed the privilege that I longed for. I came to realize that I was approaching a yellow light, where I had to choose between proceeding with caution, stopping, or taking a bold risk and moving forward. I reached a point where I was no longer willing to remain suppressed in my society. I grew tired of continually adapting to a culture I resented, so I paved my own way out. I decided to become the green light I wanted to see in my own future and create the change I desired. Much like moving forward at a green light, this decision brought me a sense of peace, sustainability, and hope towards the future ahead of me. Although the sound of the gunshot remains deeply in my cautious state of mind, I refuse to allow my environment to dictate my future. The suffocation I endured became a passion to better my community and myself. I began making it my initiative to mentor kids and show them the pathways and skills I learned, including networking and socializing. I assumed more leadership roles among the youth by leveraging my position as President of the Black Student Union to speak and inspire them to be the change in their community. My desire to escape my neighborhood was intense; my desire to help change is even stronger. I aspire to help my community and those in need overcome the hate that spreads due to financial struggles. Just as it is your choice to look both ways before crossing the street, so too is it your decision to determine the direction of your life.I believe I can use my leadership skills and advocacy to make a bigger platform to serve low income societies financially and reverse the suffocation my community endure.

“Look both ways before you cross the street” is a lesson my dad taught me from a young age. Growing up in South Central Los Angeles, this simple lesson carried a much deeper meaning. In my early adolescence, my understanding of “look both ways" went beyond just physical safety. It was a reminder that I lived in a neighborhood where I couldn’t afford to be a kid, where I couldn't afford the luxury of walking to the store without fear or wearing specific colors. One day at the park, the loud Bang, one single shot, one single moment that forever changed my perspective on the place I no longer called home. Before the loud bang, all I could recall was the white flash that lit up the clouds, sharp and sudden, a brutal reminder that the privilege I wished I had would never be mine. All I could think about was the endless possibilities of my selfish actions of wanting to go to the park, knowing I didn’t have the privilege, putting my family in harm's way, all because I wanted to be a kid and go outside, which now haunts me. Moving forward in my society seemed impossible. Growing up, I felt that moving forward could come at the cost of my safety, even my life, so instead I had to adapt to a harsh reality. Going to school, look down at the floor so you don’t draw attention, wear bland clothing to avoid being robbed, stay vigilant to my surroundings, and nothing ever changed. I was suffocated and trapped. It made it clear to me that I could not control a society resistant to change. At the age of twelve, I made sacrifices to support my family. I began working as a mover alongside my father in high-class neighborhoods. I witnessed the privilege that I longed for. I came to realize that I was approaching a yellow light, where I had to choose between proceeding with caution, stopping, or taking a bold risk and moving forward. I reached a point where I was no longer willing to remain suppressed in my society. I grew tired of continually adapting to a culture I resented, so I paved my own way out. I decided to become the green light I wanted to see in my own future and create the change I desired. Much like moving forward at a green light, this decision brought me a sense of peace, sustainability, and hope towards the future ahead of me. Although the sound of the gunshot remains deeply in my cautious state of mind, I refuse to allow my environment to dictate my future. The suffocation I endured became a passion to better my community and myself. I began making it my initiative to mentor kids and show them the pathways and skills I learned, including networking and socializing. I assumed more leadership roles among the youth by leveraging my position as President of the Black Student Union to speak and inspire them to be the change in their community. My desire to escape my neighborhood was intense; my desire to help change is even stronger. I aspire to help my community and those in need overcome the hate that spreads due to financial struggles. Just as it is your choice to look both ways before crossing the street, so too is it your decision to determine the direction of your life.I believe I can use my leadership skills and advocacy to make a bigger platform to serve low income societies financially and reverse the suffocation my community endure.

“Look both ways before you cross the street” is a lesson my dad taught me from a young age. Growing up in South Central Los Angeles, this simple lesson carried a much deeper meaning. In my early adolescence, my understanding of “look both ways" went beyond just physical safety. It was a reminder that I lived in a neighborhood where I couldn’t afford to be a kid, where I couldn't afford the luxury of walking to the store without fear or wearing specific colors. One day at the park, the loud Bang, one single shot, one single moment that forever changed my perspective on the place I no longer called home. Before the loud bang, all I could recall was the white flash that lit up the clouds, sharp and sudden, a brutal reminder that the privilege I wished I had would never be mine. All I could think about was the endless possibilities of my selfish actions of wanting to go to the park, knowing I didn’t have the privilege, putting my family in harm's way, all because I wanted to be a kid and go outside, which now haunts me. Moving forward in my society seemed impossible. Growing up, I felt that moving forward could come at the cost of my safety, even my life, so instead I had to adapt to a harsh reality. Going to school, look down at the floor so you don’t draw attention, wear bland clothing to avoid being robbed, stay vigilant to my surroundings, and nothing ever changed. I was suffocated and trapped. It made it clear to me that I could not control a society resistant to change. At the age of twelve, I made sacrifices to support my family. I began working as a mover alongside my father in high-class neighborhoods. I witnessed the privilege that I longed for. I came to realize that I was approaching a yellow light, where I had to choose between proceeding with caution, stopping, or taking a bold risk and moving forward. I reached a point where I was no longer willing to remain suppressed in my society. I grew tired of continually adapting to a culture I resented, so I paved my own way out. I decided to become the green light I wanted to see in my own future and create the change I desired. Much like moving forward at a green light, this decision brought me a sense of peace, sustainability, and hope towards the future ahead of me. Although the sound of the gunshot remains deeply in my cautious state of mind, I refuse to allow my environment to dictate my future. The suffocation I endured became a passion to better my community and myself. I began making it my initiative to mentor kids and show them the pathways and skills I learned, including networking and socializing. I assumed more leadership roles among the youth by leveraging my position as President of the Black Student Union to speak and inspire them to be the change in their community. My desire to escape my neighborhood was intense; my desire to help change is even stronger. I aspire to help my community and those in need overcome the hate that spreads due to financial struggles. Just as it is your choice to look both ways before crossing the street, so too is it your decision to determine the direction of your life.I believe I can use my leadership skills and advocacy to make a bigger platform to serve low income societies financially and reverse the suffocation my community endure.

“Look both ways before you cross the street” is a lesson my dad taught me from a young age. Growing up in South Central Los Angeles, this simple lesson carried a much deeper meaning. In my early adolescence, my understanding of “look both ways" went beyond just physical safety. It was a reminder that I lived in a neighborhood where I couldn’t afford to be a kid, where I couldn't afford the luxury of walking to the store without fear or wearing specific colors. One day at the park, the loud Bang, one single shot, one single moment that forever changed my perspective on the place I no longer called home. Before the loud bang, all I could recall was the white flash that lit up the clouds, sharp and sudden, a brutal reminder that the privilege I wished I had would never be mine. All I could think about was the endless possibilities of my selfish actions of wanting to go to the park, knowing I didn’t have the privilege, putting my family in harm's way, all because I wanted to be a kid and go outside, which now haunts me. Moving forward in my society seemed impossible, something as simple as wearing the color red became a danger.Growing up, I felt moving forward could come at the cost of my safety and my life, so instead I had to adapt to a harsh reality. Going to school, I look down at the floor so don’t draw attention, wear bland clothing to avoid being robbed, nothing ever changed. I was suffocated and trapped. It made it clear to me that I could not control a society resistant to change. At the age of twelve, I made sacrifices to support my family. I began working as a mover alongside my father in high-class neighborhoods. I witnessed the privilege that I longed for. I came to realize that I was approaching a yellow light, where I had to choose between proceeding with caution, stopping, or taking a bold risk and moving forward. I reached a point where I was no longer willing to remain suppressed in my society. I grew tired of continually adapting to a culture I resented, so I paved my own way out. I decided to become the green light I wanted to see in my own future and create the change I desired. Much like moving forward at a green light, this decision brought me a sense of peace, sustainability, and hope towards the future ahead of me. Although the sound of the gunshot remains deeply in my cautious state of mind, I refuse to allow my environment to dictate my future. The suffocation I endured became a passion to better my community and myself. I began making it my initiative to mentor kids and show them the pathways and skills I learned, including networking and socializing. I assumed more leadership roles among the youth by leveraging my position as President of the Black Student Union to speak and inspire them to be the change in their community. My desire to escape my neighborhood was intense; my desire to help change is even stronger. I aspire to help my community and those in need overcome the hate that spreads due to financial struggles. Just as it is your choice to look both ways before crossing the street, so too is it your decision to determine the direction of your life.I believe I can use my leadership skills and advocacy to make a bigger platform to serve low income societies financially and reverse the suffocation my community endure.

“Look both ways before you cross the street” is a lesson my dad taught me from a young age. Growing up in South Central Los Angeles, this simple lesson carried a much deeper meaning. In my early adolescence, my understanding of “look both ways" went beyond just physical safety. It was a reminder that I lived in a neighborhood where I couldn’t afford to be a kid, where I couldn't afford the luxury of walking to the store without fear or wearing specific colors. One day at the park, the loud Bang, one single shot, one single moment that forever changed my perspective on the place I no longer called home. Before the loud bang, all I could recall was the white flash that lit up the clouds, sharp and sudden, a brutal reminder that the privilege I wished I had would never be mine. All I could think about was the endless possibilities of my selfish actions of wanting to go to the park, knowing I didn’t have the privilege, putting my family in harm's way, all because I wanted to be a kid and go outside, which now haunts me. Moving forward in my society seemed impossible, as I tried to balance academics with the harsh realities outside of school. Growing up, I had to adapt to a harsh reality. Going to school, I had to walk certain streets, look down at the floor so you don’t draw attention, wear poor clothing to avoid being robbed and nothing ever changed. I was suffocated and trapped. It made it clear to me that I could not control a society resistant to change. At the age of twelve, I made sacrifices to support my family. I began working as a mover alongside my father in high-class neighborhoods. I witnessed the privilege that I longed for. I came to realize that I was approaching a yellow light, where I had to choose between proceeding with caution, stopping, or taking a bold risk and moving forward. I reached a point where I was no longer willing to remain suppressed in my society. I grew tired of continually adapting to a culture I resented, so I paved my own way out. I decided to become the green light I wanted to see in my own future and create the change I desired. Much like moving forward at a green light, this decision brought me a sense of peace, sustainability, and hope towards the future ahead of me. Although the sound of the gunshot remains deeply in my cautious state of mind, I refuse to allow my environment to dictate my future. The suffocation I endured became a passion to better my community and myself. I began making it my initiative to mentor kids and show them the pathways and skills I learned, including networking and socializing. I assumed more leadership roles among the youth by leveraging my position as President of the Black Student Union to speak and inspire them to be the change in their community. My desire to escape my neighborhood was intense; my desire to help change is even stronger. I aspire to help my community and those in need overcome the hate that spreads due to financial struggles. Just as it is your choice to look both ways before crossing the street, so too is it your decision to determine the direction of your life.I believe I can use my leadership skills and advocacy to make a bigger platform to serve low income societies financially and reverse the suffocation my community and low income communities all around endure.