I was born in Quezon City and lived in East Fairview from 2006 to 2011, until I was five years old. What I remembered growing up there was simple: family gatherings, playing in the streets with the neighborhood kids, car rides packed with my parents and my two older sisters, running through the rain just because it felt good to. We had a coconut tree in front of our house, and people from the street used to climb it and take coconuts before we could. Instead of fighting that or fencing it off completely, my dad made a deal: if someone climbed up and harvested the coconuts, they could keep 40 percent and give us 60. It wasn't a perfect solution, and it wasn't generosity exactly, it was something closer to bayanihan without either of us having a word for it at the time: a recognition that a shared resource in a shared neighborhood works better as something negotiated together than something one family hoards alone. It wasn't until years later, comparing that memory against life in the United States, that I understood East Fairview was genuinely low-income, prone to flooding, the kind of place where even coconuts were worth negotiating over. As a kid, I never knew that. I just knew I was happy, and I know now that the reason I was happy wasn't the absence of hardship, it was the presence of community holding that hardship together, quietly, in small decisions like my dad's deal with the neighborhood. That value, bayanihan, showing up not as a grand gesture but as an ordinary way of solving an ordinary problem, has stayed with me longer than the memory of the tree itself. I see it now in how my family still operates, and in the choices I've made since. I currently volunteer with Christian Community Action, helping run their food market and warehouse, distributing food to families in my own community who are navigating instability, the same kind of instability my family understood firsthand back in East Fairview, even if I didn't have language for it as a child. I didn't start volunteering because I had extra time or resources to spare. I started because bayanihan, as I understood it from my dad's coconut tree, was never about having abundance before you give. It was about recognizing that a shared problem gets smaller when more people are willing to hold a piece of it. I hope to honor my family's migration story by carrying that same instinct forward, concretely, not just as a value I hold personally but as something I actively build toward. I'm working toward a career in cybersecurity here in the United States, and part of what draws me to it is the same logic that shaped the coconut tree deal: protecting a shared resource means finding a fair, sustainable way to include everyone who depends on it, rather than building walls around what little you have. Long term, I want to use the stability I build here to give back directly to the community I came from, not as a distant gesture, but the same way my dad did it: practically, locally, and without waiting until I have more than enough before I start.

Money has never been something that my family had extra of, both prior to this year's crisis and for most of my life prior to this year as well. I remember growing up, however, seeing my parents perform the math on any given situation that arose in our household. I did not have a choice in how I spent our money and resources, but I watched as my parents performed the calculations necessary for any decision that we made, and I eventually learned to perform those same calculations myself. Outside of money, though, I also remember growing up seeing my parents work harder than almost anyone else that I knew in my family. My father, for instance, moved across several different countries while working as a general manager for gas companies, eventually starting his own business in Texas. My mother also worked hard alongside him in building a life and family. Both of them showed me, even when I was younger, the ways in which one builds stability in their life rather than receiving it from somewhere else. There was also another quieter part of growing up with less that I did not talk about much. From an early age I recognized the difference between my situation and that of those around me. Whether it was my birthday celebrations, the number of repairs that I needed to perform upon my vehicle, or how often I had to ask permission before spending money on something extra, I was aware of the difference between my situation and others. I am not speaking to elicit sympathy from those who may read this. I speak of my experiences growing up and my situation with less money because of them simply to share how that experience has helped to shape my view of money and the effort that is required to obtain and protect it. This past year has pushed all of this further into my life. My mother lost her job, and my father lost his largest location for his business, and as a result, our income dropped to the point where I have to help pay for the rent for the apartment that we live in. While I do not include this as a complaint, I include it as a description of my life as it is today, and how this has helped me to understand that financial stability can be fragile even within a family that has worked hard to establish it over the years, something that I desire to provide for the people I love for the rest of my life. That is the goal that I have underneath all of the other goals that I have pursued throughout this past year. I maintained my 4.0 GPA despite the hardships of this past year because I understand that leaving my education would not fix my family's money problems, only delay my ability to eventually assist in fixing those problems themselves. I chose my degree in cybersecurity for more than the stability and salary it offers, though I won't pretend those don't matter to me. I chose it because I understand, in a way many people never have to, how much real security actually costs to build and how easily it can be taken away. That understanding is what draws me to protecting it for other people, not just earning it for myself. I want to build that same security for my family, and eventually, to be the stability for them that they have always tried to be for me.

The book that has had the most influence upon me is Chris Gardner's The Pursuit of Happyness. While I was initially familiar with this story from the film, it was Gardner's memoir of the same name that helped me understand the story in a different way. Where the film presented dramatic moments that illustrated his struggles, the memoir took a step back and illustrated the challenges he faced and the reasons he was unable to succeed during those periods of his life. Much of his story leading up to the instance of him securing the job and walking out of the store in tears centered upon the fact that he had every reason to believe in his inability to succeed in his life. He was sleeping in shelters and subway station bathrooms with his young son, carrying everything he owned in a single bag, while still showing up to an unpaid stockbroker internship in the same suit every day. Nevertheless, Gardner chose not to accept the measurement of his circumstances as a measurement of his potential. He studied on his own time, taught himself the material other trainees were learning through formal education he didn't have access to, and refused to let his living situation become the ceiling on what he believed he could understand or achieve. As a result, he was able to work through his challenges and overcome his hardships. When faced with my own challenges in the past year, such as the continued financial struggles within my family, both due to my mother's unemployment and my father's loss of his largest business location, I feel that this story taught me how to separate my circumstances from my potential. Though my circumstances may be challenging at this time, they do not define my potential in regard to my education, gaining new skills in the area of cybersecurity, or even my potential for creating a career that can help change our family's financial situation. Just as Gardner used the time he had, even in unstable conditions, to build the knowledge that would eventually change his circumstances, I try to use whatever time and resources I have now, regardless of how stressful things at home might be, to keep building toward my own goals instead of waiting for stability to arrive first. Beyond these challenges, the story also gave me insight into the type of individual I would like to become after I have begun to build my own life and career. Gardner was able to overcome his challenges to create a life that helped others in their own situations, becoming a steady presence for his family and eventually for others as well. This is the type of individual and life I would like to create for myself, one where the difficulty I've experienced becomes a reason to help other people through similar circumstances, rather than something I simply move past and forget. Thus, this story entertained me, but also gave me language for a belief I already held within myself but had not yet defined: that while my circumstances and the challenges I face within my life are real, they are not the whole of my story. Books like this one continue to influence me in my life for these and other reasons.

I have never really connected with the theoretical side of math. Geometry, proofs, the various shapes out there that seem to have no reason for existing other than to prove other shapes exist, none of this has ever resonated with me the same way that equations do. Equations have a certain satisfaction to them. You begin with a series of variables and equations that seem to lead nowhere in particular, but if you follow the proper steps, it will resolve to one answer. It's true or it isn't. There is this process to trust in calculus and pre-calculus in particular. Every derivative, every limit, every equation that I work through in pre-calculus follows a process that, no matter what, even if I am having the worst day of my life, 2 + 2 will always equal 4 by the end of it. It's comforting in a world where nothing else seems to be as reliable as math. It's the only subject in which I know I can trust the answer and the process will always yield that answer. Equations don't allow for faking your way through problems. You either figured out the steps correctly or you didn't. I respect the honesty of subjects like this, which is the same reason I'm drawn to fields like cybersecurity, where a system either has a vulnerability or it doesn't, and the only way to know is to actually do the work. Most other subjects leave room for interpretation. Math never does. I know there's an answer waiting for me if I do the work correctly. For me, math is not because I love numbers. Instead, I love the process of figuring it out. That's a feeling that I will never get tired of pursuing.

This semester, I almost dropped out because my mother lost her job and my father lost his biggest vending machine location. I made the sacrifice of a semester so my parents could keep supporting themselves through this difficult time. This is who I am as an individual: someone who measures himself by what he's willing to give up for the people he loves. My father started three businesses from nothing in three different countries before settling in Texas. I taught myself web development and created three websites for his companies, and I taught myself cybersecurity skills the same way. There was nobody else to teach me, so I had to figure it out on my own. When I think of The Pursuit of Happyness, I think about the challenges Chris faced rather than the resolution of the movie. He endured all of it for the sake of his son. My decision to continue into this upcoming semester while maintaining my 4.0 comes from that same kind of endurance, except mine is for my parents. By pursuing my education and maintaining my 4.0, I will be able to give my parents a break from the grueling schedules they've kept for years. A 4.0 alone won't make that happen. It's the drive behind it that will.