Within the thin walls of our apartment bedroom, crayons smashed onto paper, the strings of a Toys-R-Us ukulele strummed softly, plastic vegetables sizzled on a toy stove, and a teddy bear’s heart was lovingly restarted. This was my childhood—a kaleidoscope of creativity and imagination. Having moved from the Philippines at a young age, my parents and I found solace and community within a tight-knit group of newly arrived Filipino immigrants in our apartment complex. All of our mothers were sponsored by hospitals as nurses, working night shifts while our fathers hosted nightly gatherings for me and my pig-tailed friends. Those playdates, filled with laughter and dreams, became the foundation for our aspirations: artists, musicians, chefs, and doctors. Yet, as we grew older, reality set in. Many of us found our dreams slipping away due to financial barriers, familial obligations, and a lack of understanding about the pathways to higher education. College felt like an unattainable luxury, and our once-bold ambitions were often replaced with “realistic” choices, often driven by necessity rather than passion. This transformation disheartened me. I watched my ates (term for 'older sisters', but in this case, respected older female friends), who once envisioned bright futures, settle for familiar and more accessible careers like nursing, or even forgo their dreams altogether. I recognized the weight of cultural expectations and systemic barriers, but I was fortunate to avoid some of the challenges that held others back—like sexism, early motherhood, or crippling financial responsibilities. This privilege allowed me to navigate my own educational journey with a bit more freedom. Fueled by my experiences, I became determined to forge my own path. I started an AAPI alliance club in high school, seeking inspiration from teachers who recognized my potential. With their encouragement, I convinced my parents of my ambitions and applied for scholarships that opened the doors to college. It was during my freshman year that I began to truly understand the historical and institutional struggles faced by Filipino women. I learned about the intricate ties between Filipino labor, migration, and nursing, illuminated in works like Empire of Care by Catherine Ceniza Choy. It was a revelation that my experiences as a first-generation Filipina were not isolated, but rather part of a broader narrative of resilience and strength. As I continued my studies, I discovered a passion for statistics and data analytics. With each new skill I acquired, I kept my personal history and the stories of those around me close to my heart. I found ways to apply my knowledge, whether it was creating an app to help immigrant families retain their first languages or developing data dashboards to analyze the impact of air pollution on marginalized and low-income communities. My background has continually informed my work, guiding me in using technology for social good. This past summer, I had the incredible opportunity to be sponsored by Amazon for research in cybersecurity to protect Internet users' vulnerable information, a chance that further ignited my desire to make a difference. Now, as I face the challenges of being a Filipina woman in STEM, navigating college independently, and supporting myself through part-time jobs, my passion for diversity and representation burns brightly. I am driven to return to my community, to inspire others to pursue their dreams just as we once envisioned. My aim is to establish mentorship networks that connect Filipina mentors with high school students, promoting generational knowledge and personal support. By fostering these connections, I hope to empower others to reach for the stars, ensuring that our childhood dreams don’t fade away but instead flourish into reality.

Applying to college, I daydreamed about earning degrees in Asian-American studies and History and eventually a PhD. Less than two years later, as a mathematics major, I realized that my journey was anything but linear. Taking the ‘scenic drive’ during my underclassman years allowed me to discover and fall in love with a discipline I never imagined I would enjoy. Asking far-reaching questions in my humanities classes and arriving at strict conclusions in applied math, I discovered that data science and statistics were the perfect marriage of my two interests. Through my classes, I’ve explored various facets of computer science and data: machine learning, data analysis, visualizations, running chi-squared tests, and more. But outside the classroom is where I truly let my passions shine. As a data journalist for my student newspaper and a researcher exploring pollution effects in the Inland Empire, I became fascinated by the humanity of data. While .csv files and data frames might seem dry, they tell compelling stories when analyzed in R Studio and PyCharm. Every Tuesday, I eagerly dive into the TidyTuesday dataset, exploring diverse topics from March Madness team chances to comic book prices. This constant engagement with new data keeps my curiosity alive and fuels my passion for data science. My love for math stems from its ability to bridge the analytical with the humanistic, transforming raw data into meaningful narratives. Math is more than just numbers; it’s a powerful tool for understanding and improving the world. As I learned about systemic injustices in my humanities class, my ultimate goal is to use technology for good, such as volunteering with AAPI Data. There, I can marry my interests by advancing Asian-American representation and rights through the wonderful world of data analysis.

Within the thin walls of an apartment bedroom, crayons smashed onto paper, a Toys-R-Us ukulele's strings strummed, plastic vegetables sizzled, and a teddy bear's heart restarted. Moving from the Philippines at a young age, my parents and I found community within a small, tight-knit group of newly-arrived Filipino immigrants in the same apartment complex. All of our mothers were sponsored by hospitals as nurses, working night shifts while our fathers hosted nightly hangouts for me and my pig-tailed friends. Whether we knew it or not, those playdates became the breeding ground for our dreams: artists, musicians, chefs, doctors. However, as we grew older, our dreams shifted and changed for many reasons: college was too expensive, kuyas (older brothers) were given more support, our dreams were deemed unrealistic, younger siblings needed care, and we lacked generational knowledge to understand what opportunities were available to us. These challenges disheartened me as I saw many of my ates (older sisters), who once dreamed of reaching the stars or healing minds, decide to pursue 'realistic' and familiar careers such as nursing or forego their dreams of higher education entirely. In many aspects, I was fortunate to not experience the same degree of sexism, maternal responsibilities, or debilitating financial burdens at a young age. This allowed me to start an AAPI alliance club in high school, seek inspiration from teachers who believed in me, convince my parents of my potential, and earn scholarships that opened doors for exploration in college. As a college freshman, I delved into the historical and institutional problems Filipino women face, including how Filipino labor, migration, and nursing are intrinsically tied by American policies (as explored in "Empire of Care" by Catherine Ceniza Choy). I realized that my personal experiences and struggles as a first-gen Filipina were shaped by cultural values, financial struggles, and racism, but also by a lineage of Filipinas who had worked tirelessly to overcome historical barriers. During my college journey, I discovered a passion for statistics and data analytics. While learning new technical skills, I kept my personal experiences and learned histories close. Whether creating apps to promote the retention of first languages for immigrants or developing data dashboards on air pollution and its impact on marginalized communities, my background continually informs me on how to use technology for good. My passion projects led to a sponsorship by Amazon this summer to conduct research in data analytics! I am excited to further enhance my skills so that in the future, I can volunteer for organizations like AAPI Data. There, I aim to highlight the specific problems Filipino women face, using data to drive policy changes and community support initiatives. As I now navigate the challenges of being a Filipina woman in STEM, balancing college with part-time jobs, and supporting myself, my passion for diversity and representation for Filipinas continues to fuel my drive. My aim is to return to my community and inspire others to reach for the stars, just like our childlike selves once dreamed. With continued support on my journey, I will establish mentorship networks to connect Filipina mentors with high school mentees, promoting generational and communal knowledge while providing personal support. By addressing these challenges and leveraging our strengths, I can help empower Filipino women to help and contribute to STEM.

Within the thin walls of an apartment bedroom, crayons smashed onto paper, a Toys-R-Us ukulele's strings strummed, plastic vegetables sizzled, and a teddy bear's heart restarted. Moving from the Philippines at a young age, my parents and I found community within a small, tight-knit group of newly-arrived Filipino immigrants in the same apartment complex. All of our mothers were sponsored by hospitals as nurses, working night shifts while our fathers hosted nightly hangouts for me and my pig-tailed friends. Whether we knew it or not, those playdates became the breeding ground for our dreams: artists, musicians, chefs, doctors. However, as we grew older, our dreams shifted and changed for many reasons: college was too expensive, kuyas (older brothers) were given more support, our dreams were deemed unrealistic, younger siblings needed care, and we lacked generational knowledge to understand what opportunities were available to us. These challenges disheartened me as I saw many of my ates (older sisters), who once dreamed of reaching the stars or healing minds, decide to pursue 'realistic' and familiar careers such as nursing or forego their dreams of higher education entirely. In many aspects, I was fortunate to not experience the same degree of sexism, maternal responsibilities, or debilitating financial burdens at a young age. This allowed me to start an AAPI alliance club in high school, seek inspiration from teachers who believed in me, convince my parents of my potential, and earn scholarships that opened doors for exploration in college. As a college freshman, I delved into the historical and institutional problems Filipino women face, including how Filipino labor, migration, and nursing are intrinsically tied by American policies (as explored in "Empire of Care" by Catherine Ceniza Choy). I realized that my personal experiences and struggles as a first-gen Filipina were shaped by cultural values, financial struggles, and racism, but also by a lineage of Filipinas who had worked tirelessly to overcome historical barriers. During my college journey, I discovered a passion for statistics and data analytics. While learning new technical skills, I kept my personal experiences and learned histories close. Whether creating apps to promote the retention of first languages for immigrants or developing data dashboards on air pollution and its impact on marginalized communities, my background continually informs me on how to use technology for good. My passion projects led to a sponsorship by Amazon this summer to conduct research in data analytics! I am excited to further enhance my skills so that in the future, I can volunteer for organizations like AAPI Data. There, I aim to highlight the specific problems Filipino women face, using data to drive policy changes and community support initiatives. As I now navigate the challenges of being a Filipina woman in STEM, balancing college with part-time jobs, and supporting myself, my passion for diversity and representation for Filipinas continues to fuel my drive. My aim is to return to my community and inspire others to reach for the stars, just like our childlike selves once dreamed. With continued support on my journey, I will establish mentorship networks to connect Filipina mentors with high school mentees, promoting generational and communal knowledge while providing personal support. By addressing these challenges and leveraging our strengths, we can empower Filipino women to achieve their dreams and advance our community.

On March 16, 2021, a shooting in Atlanta killed eight people—six of whom were Asian women. They reminded me of my mom—of the women in my community—and I mourned them. My school is only 2.5% Asian. As a Filipina, the tragedy echoed the slurs from past classmates. I let them go, instead criticizing them silently. Despite my cultural differences with my Pakistani and Japanese classmates—we were all acquainted with ignorance; in them, I found solidarity. I realized hate grew from the small hurts we endured silently. We brainstormed a place not only for people to tell their own stories, but for others to understand them. By August, a new club joined Freshman Orientation: the Asian American Pacific Islander Alliance. At meetings, I made new friends: Maho, a Japanese transfer student, Arabella, a transplant from the Philippines, and Emily, a Colombian girl curious about new cultures. Over chai, we vent injustices, share languages, and gush over K-Pop. While I had founded the Alliance, my members cultivated it with their boisterous laughter—not because of a tragedy, but for the simple love for their cultures. On Mondays in Room 108, the doors are open for anyone willing to learn with me As a mentor, I hope to continue to create safe spaces for POCs, using fun activities to promote inclusion and learning. Especially after the rise in Asian-American hate crimes, I hope to always be someone one can always look toward for stability.

I first learned the power of stories at the dinner table. Cheeks stuffed and eyes bright, I listened as the adults reminisced about the Philippines and their treks to America, complete with firecracker laughs laced with quiet melancholy. Through their experiences, by the time I was four, I had already lived ten times over. Researching for my IB History Internal Assessment, I expanded my Asian-American knowledge past the apartment walls of my childhood. I traveled to 1876, willing the kidnapped, prostituted Chinese women to know that one day, somebody would tell their story. I interviewed railroad workers, their stories no longer consolidated by the one throwaway line in my textbooks. I learned to realize that Asian-American voices, and marginalized experiences as a whole, were not just underrepresented in history. I had seen it happen in academia, in our policies, and in the media. On March 16, 2021, a shooting in Atlanta killed eight people—six of whom were Asian women. They reminded me of my mom—of the women in my community—and I mourned them. I realized the painful histories I once learned continued to echo to today, manifesting itself into different monsters. My school is only 2.5% Asian. As a Filipina, the tragedy echoed the slurs from past classmates. I let them go, instead criticizing them silently. Despite my cultural differences with my Pakistani and Japanese classmates—we were all acquainted with ignorance; in them, I found solidarity. I realized hate grew from the small hurts we endured silently. We brainstormed a place not only for people to tell their own stories, but for others to understand them. By August, a new club joined Freshman Orientation: the Asian American Pacific Islander Alliance. At meetings, I made new friends: Maho, a Japanese transfer student, Arabella, a transplant from the Philippines, and Emily, a Colombian girl curious about new cultures. Over chai, we vent injustices, share languages, and gush over K-Pop. While I had founded the Alliance, my members cultivated it with their boisterous laughter—not because of a tragedy, but for the simple love for their cultures. On Mondays in Room 108, the doors are open for anyone willing to learn with me.