Every year, my high school holds a Thanksgiving feast on campus for anyone who wants to come. It’s a tradition of giving back to our community, especially those who are unhoused as we live in an area particularly affected by homelessness. In addition to just serving food, volunteers work together to pass out warm supplies for the winter, give vaccinations, and provide resources. I had the opportunity to participate in the event last year, and it quickly became one of the most meaningful experiences I’ve had. Alongside a couple of friends, I helped run the women’s clothing station–setting up, organizing, and handing out items like jackets, gloves, socks, mittens, and scarves. Many of the women who stopped by had little more than the clothes on their back, and seeing their gratitude when receiving something as simple as a warm coat or pair of socks was deeply moving and made me feel grateful for everything I have. It reminded me not to take anything for granted. After the distribution, I stayed to help clean up, folding boxes, picking up trash, and packing sleeping bags in cardboard boxes to the stored or passed out. Though my role may have seemed small as compared to bigger speakers at the event, I was able to see firsthand how something as simple as a warm coat or a kind conversation could brighten someone’s day and bring a smile to their face, and consequently, mine. What made this event especially meaningful was the sense of connection and shared purpose it created not just among volunteers, but with those we served. It reminded me that real change begins with compassion and community. In the future, I’d love to see this event grow even further, perhaps by offering more long-term support such as pop-up medical checkups, mental health services, or job resources. These additions could help bridge the gap between temporary relief and lasting change. We could also expand onto a bigger campus or venue and turn it into a city-wide event, allowing us to serve many more people and create an even bigger impact. Needless to say, I will definitely be continuing to attend my high school’s yearly Thanksgiving feast, even after I graduate next year. The event has not only provided a way for me to give back, but also inspired me to continue making a difference in my community, no matter how big or small the impact may seem.

My name is Katie Kuo. I was born and raised in California, the daughter of two immigrants–my mother from Malaysia and my father from Taiwan, who came to the United States fresh out of their teens chasing the hope of better opportunities. At the age of 5, I was diagnosed with aggressive cancer. This put a lot of strain on the rest of my family. I was in and out of the hospital all the time. Thankfully, I was able to make a full recovery after receiving radiation therapy and a stem-cell transplant. From a young age, I learned to value education, as the faces of my peers and teachers were replaced with those of doctors and nurses. Despite not being able to receive consistent schooling during my treatment, I was able to bounce back quickly to the rigors of academic life by middle school. Through it all, my parents’ relationship remained strained, and in December of 2020, my father committed suicide. He left behind me and my two brothers, all of us not yet even high-school age. What resulted was a fracturing of my family. After a long and costly legal battle, my father’s side completely cut us off. My mom’s family did their best to support us from Malaysia, but it was hard. With no extended family in the country, it became just the four of us– my mother, my brothers, and I. Losing my father at such a young age was extremely hard for me. I had always been close to him since I was a little girl, even feeling cut off from my mother at times who I felt favored my brothers. However, after my father’s death, our tiny family was brought together; united in grief, held together by a shared determination to move forward. Resilience and perseverance were solidified as some of my key qualities, and they became the foundation by which I rebuilt my life. One moment that brought me a new perspective occurred during a visit to a family friend in the stroke ward of a hospital. While we were waiting to get into his room, a man slowly passed us in the hallway. He was leaning on a walker, a nurse by his side as he slowly trudged along, giving us a weathered smile. “After 15 years, I’m walking again,” he said. Immediately, I came to realize that even through everything I’ve experienced, I’m still standing. Just like that man, I can take steps to my dreams and goals, and though I’ve been knocked down before, I will stay standing. If received, this scholarship would be invaluable not only to me, but to my family. My mother carries the weight of our entire household on her shoulders, working hard to support my brothers and me. Any support I receive would not just ease a financial burden, but would be a step toward building the future my parents once dreamed of when they came to this country. Education has always been at the heart of that dream, and for me, it is the path forward.

For me, the line “pretty isn’t pretty enough” from Olivia Rodrigo’s song of the same name captures a tough part of my current experience as a teenager. More and more, I find myself obsessing over how I look. I didn’t even realize this fact until one night on school retreat, when I resonated with a fellow classmate who shared that she’s unable to go a moment without thoughts about how she’s perceived. Unfortunately, this is becoming the case for many young people nowadays. Fueled by the rise of social media and the impossible standard of the Instagram ideal, teens like me are made to feel like their value as a person corresponds to their appearance–-which is never the case. Up until my teenage years, I didn’t really care about what I wore, what I ate, or how many fingers wide my forehead was. But as I get older, these seemingly irrelevant things take up space in my mind, threatening to define me at their worst. My wishlist, once stuffed animals and the newest flavor of candy, is now filled with makeup, skincare, and hair products. And while self-care is something I value and even enjoy, on some days, I find myself paying way too much attention to how I look rather than truly taking care of myself. I don’t quite have a full resolution for this story yet. I’m still working through it, and I experience both good and bad days. It fluctuates, really, and day-to-day my confidence can look so different. Some mornings, I wake up feeling amazing, like I can take on anything. On others, my face being the slightest bit more puffy or me retaining just a little more water can determine my entire mood for the day. And I know I’m not alone; I see it in my peers as well– my friend who lingers in front of the bathroom mirror a second too long at school, a classmate who “forgets” to bring lunch every day. It’s the way eyes dart to faces in group photos, a quiet kind of insecurity, unspoken but there. And yet, I know that deep down, these external standards aren’t what truly define us. I am the girl who’ll run errands with you, the girl who’ll cheer up a crying friend no questions asked, the girl who remembers your birthday. I am strong. I am kind. I am funny and thoughtful. And that is what matters.

Just one year older than me, my brother has always been a part of my life. Whether it was building Lego robots together as wide-eyed kids or navigating stresses and teen drama, I can’t imagine a moment where he wasn’t present in some way. During my bout with childhood cancer, he was one of the only constants in my life. So, when I experienced the second major tragedy of my life in the loss of my father to suicide during my seventh-grade year, though devastated, I knew I wasn’t entirely alone. But it was the way my brother truly stepped up in such an unimaginable situation that stunned me and allowed me to grow into the person I am today. In line with our age gap, my brother has always been one grade ahead of me. This meant that I had the opportunity to watch him navigate challenges and big milestones first, which has served as an invaluable roadmap for me. As a young girl emerging straight out of middle school, my dad’s death obviously took a huge toll on me. I found myself struggling in classes I had previously breezed through, and this compounded with the stresses of entering a whole new school was overwhelming. It was my brother who supported me through it all, as I reminded myself that if he could, I could as well. We attended support groups together, and even when I couldn’t get out of bed, he was quietly by my side. In addition to being a huge inspiration and motivator to me, my brother helped out in more practical ways as well. Countless hours he spent driving me to and from school and school events, while my mom was working. This allowed me to get directly involved in my school community in ways I had never been before. I am now a part of multiple student clubs and even the president of my very own Environmental Club. I’ve racked up close to one hundred service hours, and am now applying to be a Campus Minister in my senior year. During our drives, my brother and I would talk about the future and how we would support our mother as grown-ups. I got a lot of advice from him about which classes were the best to take and which schools I could later apply to. At the dinner table, he would help me with math, offering tricks and mnemonics after everyone was asleep. Though older than me, my brother was really also just a kid, which hurts my heart. But in the midst of painful loss, it was that young man who gave me the gift of knowledge, of comfort, of open doors. I feel forever grateful that I have someone who knows me and everything I’ve been through. Today, as he receives his acceptances, I prepare to apply to college. I would be so grateful for your support as I carry everything my brother has taught me and build on it. I’m currently debating my major, mainly between Communications, Accounting, or Pharmacy, but I’m determined to get my education and I know that whatever path I take, my older brother will always be there for me.