We were leaving for my cousin's birthday party when we got the call. Halfway up the driveway, my mom jumped out of the car and raced towards the house; returning with my two-year-old chicken Stoptoad. Wrapped in a towel, she lay calmly in my mother's lap. Her breathing was heavy, her eyes weary and her feathers puffed outwards. It had been this way for days, and I had become increasingly worried about her. At eight years old, I was doing everything I could to help her, but extra snacks and snuggles didn’t seem to work. Only one veterinary office saw chickens, and though we had called almost a week ago, they just had an opening. My chicken may hardly be strong enough to lift her head, but I was thrilled knowing they would make her feel better. When we arrived, my mother handed her to me, and I walked inside, cradling her against my chest. The vet led us into a small room while I explained what was wrong. She diligently watched Stoptoad, and, after a thorough examination, determined the condition was terminal. Even after a short procedure, she was only given a month to live. I was devastated. I thought we had many more years together; her death had not been something I had even considered. Still, I took it upon myself to ensure her last month would be the best I could make it. Every day, I would diligently administer her pills, and when needed, I would repeat the vet’s procedure, carefully prodding her with needles under the supervision of my mom. One month passed, and Stoptoad was still with us, thriving as if nothing was wrong. She continued to do so for many more months until one faithful day when the needles and medication could no longer keep up. As her soul peacefully left her body, I reflected upon our time together. Thinking about our visit to the vet, I was so grateful for the care they were able to provide. They helped ease her pain and suffering and gave us more time together. The extra few months had strengthened our bond significantly, and it was hard to accept it was ending. The journey and joy of caring for her was over, yet as tears streamed down my face I realized it wasn’t the end, it was just the beginning. Other animals suffered from sickness and pain, and I could help them just as the vet helped Stoptoad. “I'm going to be a veterinarian,” I told her as we said our final goodbyes. 9 years later, the statement still stands. I now have experience with intubation, IVs, microchipping, syringe feeding, and other basic veterinary procedures. The more I learn, the more passionate I become. I want to be a veterinarian to ease animals' pain and sickness, giving people and pets more time together. I am so excited to begin making a difference in the lives of people and pets, and this scholarship will help make my dream a reality!

Every day when I get home from school, my dad asks me the same question. “Can I help you with your math?” Being a math teacher for over 25 years, he is an expert on the subject and can always help with any topic I may be struggling with. Sitting at the kitchen table, we will run through problem after problem, going over the many ways to solve them. Although I am often confused in class, he can always make sense of it for me, and by the time the test comes around, I’m confident in my skills. And though I appreciate the good test scores, it’s not the reason I love math. I love math because it connects me with him. Being a varsity athlete with two jobs, it is often hard to find time to hang with my family. Our after-school math sessions automatically put aside time for us to catch up while also allowing me to complete my homework. Oftentimes, other members of my family will join in as well. My mom and I have made many math posters over the years that hang on my bedroom door. It’s not just my family math connects me to, it’s my friends as well. It doesn’t matter what school they go to, we are all taking math. It’s something I can always talk about, and people can relate to even if I don’t know them. Oftentimes, we are learning the same things and can help each other. Although I might not always remember the correct formulas or drop every negative, I will always remember the fond memories and people math has connected me to.

Nature is always around us, whether it be a forest outside or a single plant sitting on a windowsill; we are constantly exposed to the miraculous wonders of its creation. However, as much as we see the exposed parts of nature, we often forget about the hidden, more vulnerable parts, such as frogs. Camouflaged among the leaves, they are often disregarded, causing people to harm them unknowingly by using toxic chemicals or planting invasive plants. This puts many species at risk of becoming endangered and even going extinct. Knowing this, the people at my local garden and I decided to hold a community gathering to teach people about frogs and inform them on how they can support their populations. We spent weeks getting the garden in tip-top shape, trimming back black berries, watering plants, and pulling weeds in hopes that others would see nature's beauty and be inspired to cultivate it in their own yards. When the day came, I was so excited. The large garden shed had temporarily been turned into an auditorium with rows of chairs, and the parking lot was filled with cars. People buzzed with excitement as they learned they could attract frogs into their own backyard and how beneficial they are to the ecosystem. During the short tour, we showed them the many frog ponds we have hidden around the garden and shared stories of the frogs we had seen beside them. People were captivated by the stunning waterfalls and natural ponds circling the area, as well as the beautiful assortment of native plants. Many began discussing changes they could make to their backyard to provide frogs with their ideal environment while also making it a place they could enjoy. Although the event ended after a couple of hours, many participants stayed to engage in a workshop where they made frog habitats small enough to fit on a balcony or the corner of a backyard. Others asked questions about what native plants attract the most frogs and what else they could do to help them. It was absolutely amazing to watch people get so excited, curious, and passionate about the outdoors! I hope people went home and were inspired to look under the leaves for our hidden frog friends and decided to take action and help them, and I hope they share their knowledge with others so frogs can continue to thrive in our community!

My mom woke me up early one morning, dragged me out of bed, and declared we were going on a run. Too tired to resist, I headed downstairs, laced my shoes, and stepped outside. I took a deep breath, allowing the cold, foggy air into my lungs before following her down the block. For the first 5 or so minutes, I was enjoying myself. I felt power each time my foot struck the concrete, a growing urge to go faster and faster before my lungs started burning, my legs ached, and my stomach hurt like never before. “I’m done,” I said, stopping and turning towards my mom. She shook her head and pointed towards the road ahead of me. “You got it! Just down to the corner, and we'll turn around!” I shook my head, my breath still rapid. “I’m walking back,” I replied. “We can go slow and stop whenever you need,” She added. “Just keep going! You got it.” Taking her encouragement, I turned to face the road, slowly letting my legs pick up speed again. I continued through the run, stopping a couple more times to catch my breath. It was only a mile, but to 4th grade me, it seemed like 10. I was completely exhausted, yet when she asked to wake me up the next day, I agreed. Every time I felt like quitting, she always said the same thing. “Just keep going.” Although I’ve had those words ingrained in my mind for as long as I can remember, they didn’t really sink in until my high school career. Shifting from middle school training to high school training was a big change. We were no longer just running for fun, we were also running to get faster and win. This involved longer runs, harder workouts, and more focus on races. Each new aspect had a number attached to it, a certain amount of miles, times, or reps you were supposed to hit. I became obsessed with these marks, always aiming to hit them, and when I didn’t, I would become convinced I was incapable of doing so. When this began impacting my race performance, my coach helped me realize that not every workout is going to feel great, I’m not going to PR every race or always hit my ideal weekly mileage, but that’s normal and ok! What matters is that I keep going and give what I can at the moment because, in the end, I will always get something out of it. I have found this to be true in other aspects of life as well. Balancing practice, school, and two jobs is often difficult and stressful. When I feel overwhelmed by the tasks ahead of me, telling myself to just keep going helps me focus on the task at hand and do the best I can. Despite missing many school days for races and having less time for school work, living by this motto allows me to stay on top of my grades and missed work. Although being a student athlete can be challenging, I know it has taught me things I will carry with me for the rest of my life!

I was caught off guard the first time I looked under the bed. In the dark room, I could make out the figure of our current foster cat curled up in the corner and another creature slowly crawling towards me. Startled, I backed away, only to reappear at the realization of what the creature was. Rushing downstairs as fast as my 12-year-old legs would let me, I rapped eagerly on my mother's bedroom door. “There’s a kitten! Labara’s having her kittens!” Immediately, she woke both my siblings up, and I led them upstairs, showing them the tiny, white kitten curled up against its mother. Being late at night, my mother shooed us back to bed. However, after much pleading, she hesitantly agreed to the idea of a kitten sleepover on my bedroom floor as long as we didn’t bother Labarbra. In preparation for the birth, my mattress had been moved to the floor, and the wooden frame was covered in a large sheet so we could have easy access and Labrabra could keep her dark hideaway. The rest of my room was filled with cardboard cat castles and scratching boards. This was something I had been anticipating the entire summer. I had read book after book about the labor process so I would know if and when help would be needed. I stayed up most of the night, listening to the soft meows of the kittens as they were brought into the world. Although I knew I would be tired the next morning, I didn’t want to miss such an amazing experience. When the morning came, 3 kittens lay curled up beside an exhausted Labarbra. We texted the vet to let them know the kittens had been born, and she said she would stop by later in the day to make sure both the kittens and Labarbra were healthy. As I watched Labarbra and her kittens throughout the morning, I noticed her abdomen still appeared abnormally swollen and could see something moving around, as I had seen the days prior to the delivery. Addressing this to my mom, she said the vet would check it out. When the vet arrived, she carried with her a small carrier containing a day-old black and white kitten. Abandoned by its mother, she hoped Labrabra would take it in as one of her own. Sure enough, the second Labrabra heard the kitten's cry, she jumped up and picked him up in her mouth, carrying him over to join the rest of her litter. However, instead of snuggling back up against her kittens, Labarbra began to pace the floor, letting out distressed sounds. “She’s still in labor,” The vet said, concerned. At this point, it had been roughly 24 hours of contractions, unusual for a cat. Suddenly, a leg pushed out, and what I thought was going to be an incredible moment quickly turned into an emergency situation. The kitten was stuck, unmoving, despite the vet's attempt to gently pull it out. “I’m gonna need to take her to the emergency vet.” She declared, quickly shifting gears and packing the kittens and Labrabra in the carrier, the little leg still halfway out, waving around desperately. “I’ll text you guys and let you know what’s going on, but I need to take her right now.” We helped her load everything in the car and headed back inside, wondering if the kittens and Labarbra were going to be ok. Luckily, a few hours later, we received good news. Labrabra had delivered the unresponsive kitten in the car, and the vet was able to resuscitate it while driving down the highway. We cheered and jumped for joy as we looked at the picture of the tiny tortoiseshell kitten. However, our excitement quickly turned to shock when we received an ultrasound showing she still had 4 more kittens to deliver. Soon, our house was crawling with 9 rambunctious cats. I took it upon myself to weigh them daily and make sure they were developing as they should. As the kittens grew, I noticed Labarbra was not looking too good herself. She was already a small cat, but she seemed to have gotten even smaller. I began weighing her as well, finding that she was losing a significant amount of weight each day. After confronting the vet, we put her on a high-calorie diet; however, the weight loss only continued, and a few days later, I caught her throwing up blood. The vet quickly came and got her, determining she had severe stomach ulcers. Being only a year old herself, the job of feeding 8 kittens was too demanding for her body to keep up, especially given her small size. Due to her fragile condition, she had to stay at the shelter, receiving constant medical care for a couple of months when she should have been sent to her new home. I was able to visit her a couple of times a week. It was heartbreaking to see her so ill, especially knowing how it easily could have been prevented. Larabra's owner refused to get her spayed. Pregnancy was something Labrabra should have experienced, especially when she was so young herself. Such negligence led to the multiple traumatic events Labaraba and her kittens had to go through. If someone hadn’t rescued her, she would have likely died. Sadly, this is the reality for many other animals as well. Every foster cat or kitten who has come through my doors has fought a life-threatening illness. I have cared for each one, administering IVs, taking temperatures, giving medications, and performing other basic veterinary procedures. There is nothing like aiding an animal in need. To see it go from being in pain to enjoying life again is the best feeling, and I know I want to do it for the rest of my life. I want to become a veterinarian to help animals in need like Labarabra so they can live the happy, healthy lives they deserve!

We were leaving for my cousin's birthday party when we got the call. Halfway up the driveway, my mom jumped out of the car and raced towards the house; returning with my two-year-old chicken Stoptoad. Wrapped in a towel, she lay calmly in my mother's lap. Her breathing was heavy, her eyes weary and her feathers puffed outwards. It had been this way for days, and I had become increasingly worried about her. At eight years old, I was doing everything I could to help her, but extra snacks and snuggles didn’t seem to work. Only one veterinary office saw chickens, and though we had called almost a week ago, they just had an opening. I was thrilled. My chicken may hardly be strong enough to lift her head, but I knew they would make her feel better. When we arrived, my mother handed her to me, and I walked inside, cradling her against my chest. The vet led us into a small room while I explained what was wrong. She diligently watched Stoptoad, and after a thorough examination determined the condition was terminal. Even after a short procedure, she was only given a month to live. I was devastated, I thought we had many more years together; her death had not been something I had even considered. Still, I took it upon myself to ensure her last month would be the best I could make it. Every day, I would diligently administer her pills, and when needed would repeat the vet’s procedure; carefully prodding her with needles under the supervision of my mom. One month passed, and Stoptoad was still with us, thriving as if nothing was wrong. This continued for months; until one faithful day when the needles and medication could no longer keep up. As her soul peacefully left her body, I reflected upon our time together. Thinking about our visit to the vet, I was so grateful for the care they were able to provide. They helped ease her pain and suffering and gave us more time together. The extra few months had strengthened our bond significantly, and it was hard to accept it was ending. The journey and joy of caring for her was over, yet as tears streamed down my face I realized it wasn’t the end, it was just the beginning. Other animals suffered from sickness and pain, and I could help them just as the vet helped me. “I'm going to be a veterinarian,” I told her as we said our final goodbyes. 9 years later, the statement still stands. I now have experience with intubation, IVs, microchipping, syringe feeding, and other basic veterinary procedures. The more I learn, the more passionate I become. I want to be a veterinarian to ease animals' pain and sickness, giving people and pets more time together. I am so excited to begin making a difference in the lives of people and pets, and this scholarship will help make my dream a reality!

When I read Divergent for the first time, I was captivated. It was the most mature book I had ever read, full of romance, violence, and science fiction ideas I had never thought about. I read the entire book in one day, and when I finished I read it again. I became obsessed with the characters, creating endless fanfiction and drawings of them. When I discovered there was a movie, I begged my parents to let me watch it, but they deemed 11-year-old me too young for the PG-13 film. Disappointed, I continued to engage in Tris and Tobias’s world through the remaining books in the series, figuring the movie couldn’t possibly be as good. However, when I finally got to watch it, I was proven wrong. It was the best movie I had ever seen. For the first time, I watched the characters I had grown so fond of somewhere other than my imagination. When rereading the book shortly after finishing the movie, I was able to picture the scenes more vividly than before which made the book even better! The casting selections were impeccable, each character looked exactly as I had imagined, and although some characteristics deviated from the book's description, they further added to the story. For example, in the book Tris is described as not being particularly pretty, yet in the movie, she is gorgeous with immaculate hair. Referenced throughout the book, hair remains a symbol of home for Tris. Having her hair be more apparent than described in the book enhances the meaning behind the symbolism by making the changes appear more drastic. After binge-watching the entire 3 movie series in one night, I was further impressed. With such detailed sets and amazing special effects, I was thoroughly entertained. Although the last two strayed significantly from the original plot, it was fun to watch the characters act out a new storyline. I also greatly appreciated how the directors kept Tris alive, as I hated her death in the books, and was so happy to see her achieve the happy ending she deserved with Tobias. Divergent will always remain a special story in my heart, not only did it introduce me to the dystopian genre which I have fallen in love with, but it helped me find my love for writing and inspired me to start writing dystopian stories of my own. It is truly incredible to be able to enjoy Divergent both in film and literature.

If I had to pick one place to be for the rest of my life, it would be between the pages of a fresh notebook. Snuggled under a blanket with a warm cup of tea, pen in hand, the possibilities would be endless. Stories of dragons, fairies, dystopian lands, and unforgettable romances would cover the pages as I let my mind wander. The drama and stress of everyday life would cease to exist, as it always does when I write. It would be magical. I first discovered my love for writing during the Covid-19 pandemic. With so much free time, I had the chance to explore many new hobbies, yet always came back to writing. I wrote for hours each day, creating endless stories, letters, and poems. Not only did it give me something to do and help me separate from all the crazy uncertainties at the time, but it also helped me stay connected with family and friends. I remember reading my stories to my Grandma, both masked and 6 feet apart. She would laugh and cry at my plotlines and always looked forward to hearing the next chapter when it was completed. Writing letters to extended family allowed me to keep in touch with relatives I couldn’t see. Reading the stories of their lives brought me so much joy each week and made me realize how powerful writing can be. The sense of connection and belongingness spoken in written words is incredible. When I write, I’m not just writing for me, I’m writing for people across the world. I want people to identify with the characters, be intrigued by the plot, and inspired by the message so they can apply it to their lives. I published my first book in 2023, a children's book about pursuing your dreams. It was a story I first wrote during Covid 19 as a 7th grader. Putting something I’d cherished for so long into the world for others to enjoy felt incredible, and I can’t wait to publish more! Right now, I’m working on an exciting dystopian novel I love and have notebooks filled with ideas and completed stories needing editing! I’m so excited to continue writing in college and be able to take my new experiences and weave them into my stories. The more I learn and grow, the more my stories will. I can’t wait to find a cozy spot somewhere on campus to put my imagination on paper. Writing is not just a hobby; it is a form of communication. As someone who continually struggles with anxiety, I find it extremely difficult to voice my needs and emotions through spoken words and have learned to rely on written ones instead. When I have particularly anxious days, I take pen to paper and let my feelings translate on the page. Sharing this dialogue with those closest to me allows me to feel seen, heard, and validated while allowing them to understand how to support me. The absence of such interaction would leave us in constant miscommunication. The road ahead is filled with many uncertainties and challenges. I will live alone for the first time, be in charge of my own finances, and be in a new area. But no matter how hard it gets, I know writing will always be there for me, and I can’t wait to see where it takes me!

We were leaving for my cousin's birthday party when we got the call. Halfway up the driveway, my mom jumped out of the car and raced towards the house; returning with my two-year-old chicken Stoptoad. Wrapped in a towel, she lay calmly in my mother's lap. Her breathing was heavy, her eyes weary and her feathers puffed outwards. It had been this way for days, and I had become increasingly worried about her. At eight years old, I was doing everything I could to help her, but extra snacks and snuggles didn’t seem to work. Only one veterinary office saw chickens, and though we had called almost a week ago, they just had an opening. I was thrilled. My chicken may hardly be strong enough to lift her head, but I knew they would make her feel better. When we arrived, my mother handed her to me, and I walked inside, cradling her against my chest. The vet led us into a small room while I explained what was wrong. She diligently watched Stoptoad, and after a thorough examination determined the condition was terminal. Even after a short procedure, she was only given a month to live. I was devastated, I thought we had many more years together; her death had not been something I had even considered. Still, I took it upon myself to ensure her last month would be the best I could make it. Every day, I would diligently administer her pills, and when needed would repeat the vet’s procedure; carefully prodding her with needles under the supervision of my mom. One month passed, and Stoptoad was still with us, thriving as if nothing was wrong. This continued for months; until one faithful day when the needles and medication could no longer keep up. As her soul peacefully left her body, I reflected upon our time together. Thinking about our visit to the vet, I was so grateful for the care they were able to provide. They helped ease her pain and suffering and gave us more time together. The extra few months had strengthened our bond significantly, and it was hard to accept it was ending. The journey and joy of caring for her was over, yet as tears streamed down my face I realized it wasn’t the end, it was just the beginning. Other animals suffered from sickness and pain, and I could help them just as the vet helped me. “I'm going to be a veterinarian,” I told her as we said our final goodbyes. 9 years later, the statement still stands. I now have experience with intubation, IVs, microchipping, syringe feeding, and other basic veterinary procedures. The more I learn, the more passionate I become. I want to be a veterinarian to ease animals' pain and sickness, giving people and pets more time together. I am so excited to begin making a difference in the lives of people and pets, and this scholarship will help make my dream a reality!

The consequence of mixing potions in the bathroom was a large cut running deep along the palm of my hand. I had been in there for at least an hour, mixing various ingredients, and seeing what fizzed, bubbled, and separated. As I shook it for the final time, the jar slipped from my hands, shattering on the counter below and grazing my hand in the process. Blood pooled and I cried as my parents raced to find the source of my screaming, debating whether or not stitches were needed. When I was bandaged up, my hand suffocated by layers of ace bandages, my parents asked what had caused such a significant injury. Feebishly, I lead them upstairs to the blue concoction spilled over the tile floor, expecting to be scolded for staying up past my bedtime. Instead, however, they asked what I was making, and relived I eagerly told them.  From a young age, my parents always encouraged my love for STEM. It was something they could tell I loved, and something they decided to nurture. I remember as a child when people would ask my mom what I wanted to do when I grew up, she would proudly exclaim. “She’s going into STEM!” I would beam beside her, not knowing why this made her so happy. However, as I got older, I realized it was because I was a girl curious about a field historically dominated and available to men. The first time I became aware of this gender divide was at a local STEM convention with my mom. It was an event the two of us attended annually and was always great fun. The best part was that it was for girls only. Taught by girls for girls. We learned what makes airplanes fly, how to make a potato battery, and the art of 3d printing among other fascinating topics, but one year, they let boys join. Suddenly, us girls were overlooked. The boys were the only ones called on to answer questions, they got more help from the teachers and cut in line. It was an entirely different experience, and since then I have experienced this divide on multiple other occasions. I have been in many classes, such as drones and architecture where I am the only female. The feeling of constantly being overlooked in these classes was frustrating. No one would partner with me, and people would always explain things like I was stupid. I had to work harder than everyone else to prove I was just as capable, and I know it will be this way for the rest of my life. I will have to prove myself over, and over, and over again to my male counterparts because they don’t see me as a doctor, a mathematician, or a computer programmer. They just see me as a woman. I will have to work twice as hard, but it will be worth it because I love STEM. I love how it is a never-ending subject. There will always be something new and exciting to learn that will fascinate me. I want to inspire others to be curious about the world around them while breaking down the gender barrier so the next generation of girls are not seen as just women but as smart, tenacious, and capable people of society.

Animals are friends, not food, has been a motto in my household before I was alive, and remains a strict value I live by. Being born a vegetarian, I have always wanted to know the truth about where my food comes from. However, through children's books, online photos, and videos, I was taught that dairy cows frolicked in pastures, eating green grass and dandelions, so that's what I believed. I knew what the egg industry was like; I had seen the trucks of "spent" hens being shipped off to slaughter. Having chickens of my own, I couldn't imagine them being stuck in tiny cages with no room to move, so long before I went vegan I only ate eggs from my hens. However, it never occurred to me that the milk I put in my cereal or the butter I spread on my toast came from animals in the same situation. Until I came across a video of a cow escaping a dairy farm. She looked like she was running for her life. As I rewatched her jump over fences into traffic, I was startled. What would make a cow risk her life like that? I immediately opened Google and discovered the life of a dairy cow is not a happy ever after. They live in horrible conditions, are constantly overmilked, suffer from infections, and are forcibly impregnated. This was shocking to me. I thought my diet was helping limit the number of animals being slaughtered for consumption, but now I was learning the cows that gave me milk were the same ones that were being killed. How could I possibly be helping these animals with my diet when the dairy I consumed helped contribute to the cause I was trying to protest? That night at dinner, I looked at my slice of cheese pizza and pushed it away. All I could see were the cows, standing in a swamp of feces, stuck behind bars without a blade of grass. I heard the mother cows crying out as their babies were taken away from them. And what for? So I could enjoy a slice of pizza for a few minutes? Was that pizza worth all the pain and suffering it brought the cow? No. It was not. I didn’t eat the Tillamook ice cream for dessert that night, or put milk in my cereal in the morning. Dairy just didn’t look good anymore, in fact, it disgusted me, simply because treating animals with such disrespect is wrong. Shortly after I became vegan, we watched a documentary in class about veganism relating to athletics. I found it fascinating. As a varsity distance runner, nutrition is a direct reflection of performance, and when I explained I was going vegan to those closest to me, I was told my new diet wouldn’t support my activity level and I would suffer as an athlete. Yet, the documentary demonstrated that going vegan is great for athletes! From lower cholesterol and fat levels to faster recovery and increased energy, the vegan diet can help prevent and lower the chances of injury, as well as increase overall performance. As someone who plans to go into athletic training, I plan on sharing this with future patients not only to help them improve athletically but also to spread awareness and educate people about the truth behind the dairy industry. With this scholarship, my dream of changing the lives of people and animals can become a reality!