For the longest time, I truly believed that if you gave someone enough love, you could make their pain disappear. I was only a freshman in high school when I first saw my best friend struggle with depression. I didn't understand why my friendship was not enough to make her feel better. I questioned myself constantly: Was I not a good enough friend? We were supposed to enter high school together, but instead, she was taking therapy. We were supposed to have slumber parties, talk about boys, and go shopping, but instead, she was going through something that no teenager should ever go through. My attempt to help was to listen, stay close to her, and invite her to church since my faith had always been a source of comfort for me. Unfortunately, I didn't understand that her struggles would not simply disappear. Because I did not understand what was happening, I became frustrated. I remember wondering why she could not appreciate the friendship I was trying so hard to give to her. My mother eventually encouraged me to distance myself, and I did. Looking back, I realize that my reaction came from confusion rather than a lack of compassion. I was trying to understand something I had never been taught how to understand. Although that was the first time I was met with the impact of mental illnesses, it was not the last time. That experience stayed with me. As I grew older, I began experiencing my own struggles with stress and overwhelming emotions. I felt as though I was carrying everything by myself. I started separating myself from the things that had once brought me joy: music, my family, my faith, and even the people I loved. I constantly questioned whether I was enough and often felt as though the world was against me. There were days when getting through the day felt exhausting, and I began to wonder about my purpose and where I belonged in the world. What changed me was realizing that struggling with mental health does not make someone weak, selfish, or ungrateful. It makes them human. I began to understand that my best friend's mental illness was not my fault. She was struggling with something she did not know how to carry, just as I eventually struggled with things I did not know how to carry myself. That realization completely changed the way I view other people. This experience has also changed my relationships with others. A good friend is not someone who has all the answers. It is someone who can listen, sacrifice time for you, encourage you to seek help, and help you take every step forward. Most importantly, my experiences have influenced what I want to do with my future. I have become deeply interested in psychology because I want to understand what people experience beneath the surface. I plan to pursue a career where I can support children and families who are struggling with mental health. I want to become the person I needed when I was younger: someone who does not judge, minimize, or assume that a person should "get over" what they are feeling. I have prioritized my faith more than ever today. I once believed having faith meant always having the strength to handle everything on my own. Now, I have learned that faith and support from others can coexist. I believe in God while also recognizing the importance of mental health professionals, supportive relationships, and honest conversations. My journey has taught me that darkness becomes more manageable when we stop pretending it is not there. Mental health should not be something we hide because we are afraid of being judged or misunderstood. I cannot change the challenges I faced, but I can choose how I respond to them. I want to use what I have learned to become more compassionate, to build healthier relationships, and ultimately to help others feel understood rather than alone. What began as confusion about someone else's pain became a deeper understanding of my own, and that understanding has given me a purpose for the future.

From a young age, I developed the habit of noticing numbers. To me, every number had a strong significance. When my family and I would go out to eat, I wouldn't look at the pictures or descriptions on the menu; I would look at the prices next to each dish. "¿Qué se te antoja?" my parents would ask. But I wouldn't choose what I was craving. Instead, the number beside the food determined my decision. "¿Quieres algunos dulces?" my dad would ask whenever we stopped at a gas station. Like any child, I loved candy, but I would glance at the prices and let that decide for me. "No papi, estoy bien, gracias," I would respond, even when I wasn't. As a Hispanic child born next to the border and with parents who never had the opportunity to go to college or pursue higher education beyond high school, this hyper-awareness of money was my first form of financial "education".To me, numbers weren't just numbers; they represented responsibility, sacrifice, and reality. However, as I grew older, I realized that while my parents taught me the value of money and the discipline of frugality, there was a massive gap in our collective financial literacy. I understood how to save, but didn't understand how to build. I knew how to avoid spending, but I didn't know how to navigate "financial traps" that many young individuals in my community fall into. This lack of access to information is a barrier that keeps families like mine in a cycle of survival rather than growth. Even now, when I don't feel like going to school or pushing myself to do better, I am reminded of how deeply numbers impacted my younger self. I have opportunities that my family never had; their sacrifices have driven me to keep on trying. Pursuing an education represents stability, independence, and the ability to create a different legacy. College is not just about earning a degree; it is about breaking cycles and opening doors. My goal is to build a life where financial stress does not dictate my choices. In the future, I want to be able to support my family and give my future children the freedom to choose what they truly want, without hesitation. My success is to turn the awareness I had as a child into a source of strength, using education as a tool to rewrite my future.

It takes more than one magical moment to grow; rather, it requires several hours of hard work behind closed doors. Being a violin player in my high school's mariachi, I found out that the toughest instrument was not the violin, but myself. My experience in preparing a solo performance for the upcoming University Interscholastic League (UIL) competition made it very clear to me what "sewing seeds" really meant. There was no ambiguity about my objective, I needed to score well for my team. Once I managed to land an audition as the soloist in my school, the pressure started to build. My nervousness led to some odd compulsions such as nail biting, head scratching, and cheek biting. So caught up in the perfection of the piece and earning a good score, I almost forgot the reason behind playing the instrument in the first place. But I realized that to be successful, I had to learn to play through my fears. That meant spending many hours practicing and mastering every shift and vibrato movement, teaching myself that consistency is key. The performance was an important milestone. As I made my way on stage, the fear that had caused poor behavior was channeled into a positive energy. I gave a confident performance with a conviction I did not know I had. While I went into the contest hoping only for a perfect score to appease me, my attitude changed as soon as I exited the stage. The sight of my mother’s tear-filled eyes and a glowing smile was all I needed to change my mind. When she said, “I am so proud of you, mija,” all my fears went away. I knew at that instant that nothing could make me feel more satisfied than her trust in me, which was the “seed” that finally bore fruit. In the awards ceremony, I had been recognized by the title of “Outstanding Soloist.” Although the title was a blessing from above, it did not mean that all of my worries about performing have been washed away by one moment of glory. The realization that came along with it is that the point of music is not just to get an excellent grade or even to get recognized by some institution. Music is about experiencing happiness while doing what makes you happy and establishing connections with people through music. In the future, I aim at pursuing my education and spreading the lessons I have learned to my community. Being able to overcome obstacles that once seemed impossible for me to face will help me be more confident in dealing with the things in life that might stand between me and success.