My entire life, I was forced to love women from a distance; I admired their beauty from the closet I resided in. The religion I was born into prohibited me from acting on my urges. So, I would appreciate their features silently, concealing my desires behind the Bible's words. Praying my admiration would fade into a sweet memory I could look back on while enjoying a cup of coffee with my "husband." Alas, I stopped waiting for that day to come when I met Ashley. I began to look forward to Sundays, anxiously awaiting the week to conclude so we could have a moment of fleeting time together. We shared stolen glances during the worship songs and scripture readings; our hands would ever so slightly touch on the glossy pews, and electric currents shot up my spine each time her fingers lingered on mine. It became a routine I had grown accustomed to. We were 16 when my father caught us kissing in the church parking lot. I still remember the disappointment and rage that consumed his eyes as he pulled me out of her car; his calloused hands felt like sandpaper invading my skin as I fell to the pavement. My family watched intently as my father ridiculed me in the parking lot; a symphony of curses exited his mouth as they watched from afar. As though it were a car accident, everyone knows they should stare straight ahead, but we all find ourselves craning our necks to take in the damage.  Those connected to me by blood had left, carefully avoiding the controversial daughter. My peers distanced themselves so as not to be associated with "the lesbian one." Whispers endlessly crept through the hallways, numerous accusations, but no one had asked me themselves. My only sanctuary was the animals inhabiting the wildlife rehabilitation center where I volunteered. The hours that could've been spent crying within the confines of my bedroom were better allocated to preparing the coyote with mange for a comfortable death, the eastern cotton tail's tedious hourly feedings, or extracting botflies from groundhogs. What once began as an activity to distract me had morphed into a passion, and I had discovered a sense of purpose through these animals. In this place, my sexual orientation was not an embarrassment or sickness. My aspirations ran wild as I quickly dove into wildlife conservation. My family's views never wavered, which only motivated me to pursue my career. Allowing a book to determine their relationship with me burned a once invincible bridge, one configured of steel that no fire could endure. It turns out one spark, and the entire structure ignites. My love for women only grew stronger as the years passed, and when I met the girl I planned to marry, the notion of my family's acceptance became obsolete.  I will continue to work at my wildlife facility, making a difference on a smaller scale until I can pursue my dream of traveling and contributing to wide-scale conservation efforts. My advocacy for my community never wavered as I quickly became vice president of our LQBTQ+ Voices Club. This scholarship will allow me to contribute to wildlife conservation by ameliorating my financial burdens, enabling me to dedicate myself to attaining a Bachelor of Science Degree. My relentless pursuit of more secure habitat for wildlife will never be relinquished because they provided solace and support in my time of greatest need, so I will continue to work to do the same for them.

My body was riddled with excitement as the blow of the buzzer shot through my ear, this obnoxious yet beautiful sound meant one thing; we were going to the quarter-finals. Our team instinctively released their sticks from their grasp to sprint to our goalie. I watched as our opponents exited the field, some crying, some angrily bickering with the referee and some congratulating us as our paths crossed. I understood every emotion that the opposing team captivated as I've been there a time or twenty. As the team captain, one of the various jobs I have is to conclude the game by rounding the team up for a post-game chat. I began discussing the pride I have in being able to be a part of such a selfless, dedicated, and passionate team. Every day I watched these women show up consistently and put in the necessary effort, even when faced with challenges or setbacks. Our school was notorious for having a "weak" girls' soccer program which results in our peers belittling our performance and our game attendance to an average four to five people. Regardless of the stigma our team was reduced to, we were able to make history. After the speech concluded when I was finishing picking up equipment and most of my teammates had left. I heard sniffling behind the bleachers, I went over to investigate to see one of our freshmen hugging her knees with tears streaming down her face. Without saying a word I sat down next to her and placed my hand on her back. "We can sit here in silence or we can talk, whatever you need." I gave her a gentle smile. After a few minutes, she began to talk, "My performance was horrible today, I missed a PK and I completely messed up our zone defense." "You are one of the most phenomenal players I have ever seen, I watch you stay thirty minutes after practice just to work on your shooting form. You put your heart and soul into this sport and you're only fourteen." She wiped the tears from her cheeks, "If I'm going to be as good as Marta I have to do all that and more." " You cannot reduce yourself to how many goals you score or how well you memorize the plays, you are so much more than that. You are your own worst critic, I just wish you could see how much you've grown as a player and a person. Please give yourself a break and allow yourself to take pride in your performance today." She smiled, "You're just saying that 'cause you're the captain." I nudged her lightly, "I said it because I truly believe it, you are going to accomplish amazing things and you being an extraordinary soccer player is only one portion of your identity.” I took her hand and we walked off the field where her dad was waiting with a grin and open arms. "I've never seen you play so well, that's my girl!" I squeezed her hand and whispered, "told ya!" Being a captain is more than staying late after practice. It means taking the time to get to know your teammates individually, understanding their strengths, weaknesses, and motivations and being able to pick them up when they feel as though they're not good enough. It means being a source of positivity and encouragement, especially during challenging times. Your actions, attitude, and dedication will set the tone for the entire team, anyone can be a captain but only a few can truly be a leader for their team.

My entire life, I was forced to love women from a distance; I admired their beauty from the closet I resided in. The religion I was born into prohibited me from acting on my urges. So, I would appreciate their features silently, concealing my desires behind the Bible's words. Praying my admiration would fade into a sweet memory I could look back on while enjoying a cup of coffee with my "husband." Alas, I stopped waiting for that day to come when I met Ashley. I began to look forward to Sundays, anxiously awaiting the week to conclude so we could have a moment of fleeting time together. We shared stolen glances during the worship songs and scripture readings; our hands would ever so slightly touch on the glossy pews, and electric currents shot up my spine each time her fingers lingered on mine. It became a routine I had grown accustomed to. We were 16 when my father caught us kissing in the church parking lot. I still remember the disappointment and rage that consumed his eyes as he pulled me out of her car; his calloused hands felt like sandpaper invading my skin as I fell to the pavement. My family watched intently as my father ridiculed me in the parking lot; a symphony of curses exited his mouth as they watched from afar. As though it were a car accident, everyone knows they should stare straight ahead, but we all find ourselves craning our necks to take in the damage. Those connected to me by blood had left, carefully avoiding the controversial daughter. My peers distanced themselves so as not to be associated with "the lesbian one." Whispers endlessly crept through the hallways, numerous accusations, but no one had asked me themselves. My only sanctuary was the animals inhabiting the wildlife rehabilitation center where I volunteered. The hours that could've been spent crying within the confines of my bedroom were better allocated to preparing the coyote with mange for a comfortable death, the eastern cotton tail's tedious hourly feedings, or extracting botflies from groundhogs. What once began as an activity to distract me had morphed into a passion, and I had discovered a sense of purpose through these animals. In this place, my sexual orientation was not an embarrassment or sickness. My aspirations ran wild as I quickly dove into wildlife conservation. My family's views never wavered, which only motivated me to pursue my career. Allowing a book to determine their relationship with me burned a once invincible bridge, one configured of steel that no fire could endure. It turns out one spark, and the entire structure ignites. My love for women only grew stronger as the years passed, and when I met the girl I planned to marry, the notion of my family's acceptance became obsolete. I made it to college by myself. I received my first internship by myself. I did it all by myself. As I continue to impact the environment positively, I can't help but be proud of the girl I was before. I am becoming the person I looked up to as a child. I will continue to work at my wildlife facility, making a difference on a smaller scale until I can pursue my dream of traveling and contributing to wide-scale conservation efforts. My advocacy for my community will never waiver, as shall my relentless pursuit of a more secure habitat for the wildlife therein, which provided solace and support in my time of greatest need.

As I sat in my car, hitting my steering wheel and wondering where I went wrong, I heard a light tap at my window. I was greeted by my mother’s warm smile as she entered my car. A few minutes of unwavering silence went by, “We don’t have to talk baby, we can just sit here if that's what you need.” She clasped my hand. I wiped the tears from my face, “The APUSH exam, I failed it,” I couldn’t even look her in the eye. “It’s just an exam, Kendelye, you put all this pressure on yourself to excel. It’s okay to fail, it's important to remember that failure is not a reflection of your worth or potential.” I take a deep breath, “I’m burnt out Mom, I’m tired all the time and I feel like I’ll never be good enough.” She promptly grabs my hand and looks into my eyes. “You are more than enough.” This conversation is one of many where she has picked me up when I’ve fallen. When I had my self-harm relapse after being two years clean, my mother was there to tell me that my relapse does not define me and my progress was still valid. She took me to therapy and was there, holding my hand, every step of the way. Reducing my mother’s impact on me to 600 words is a challenge I am willing to attempt. She is my guiding light, my rock, and my best friend. Her love and support have shaped me into the person I am today. She was not only a mother but a father, a teammate, a cheerleader, a role model and so much more. There was not one time during my childhood when my mother allowed me to throw in the towel or give up, that was not the daughter she raised. She is the embodiment of strength and courage, facing the challenges that come her way with unwavering resolve. My mother's diligence allowed me to view my adversity as merely an obstacle to overcome rather than a permanent boundary. Each time I watched my mother exhibit her resilience whether it was battling my father in court or having to commute to Boston daily. When she would come home from 12-hour work days and still make her children dinner. I began to wonder if this perseverance was genetic, it was. Why am I so avid that I can accomplish my goals? My mother has consistently shown that if I want my goal enough I will obtain it through blood, sweat, and tears. She can single-handedly raise three children while simultaneously paying their tuition and maintaining a full-time job in another state. I realized that with enough passion my potential remains infinite and my mother confirms this idea with each field trip she chaperoned and the game she attended. As a working mother, she was forced to make sacrifices but this did not hinder her ability to show up, because in her words, “seeing my face light up when I saw her in the crowd was worth every minute of hardship she endured to be there.” I want my mother to see that she raised a daughter that was just as strong as she was and with each difficult test, grueling homework assignment, or 8-hour study session that comes my way, I will tirelessly work towards making this statement true. I am a reflection of my mother and I could not be more proud of the person she shaped me to become.

My body was riddled with excitement as the blow of the buzzer shot through my ear, this obnoxious yet beautiful sound meant one thing; we were going to the quarter-finals. Our team instinctively released their sticks from their grasp to sprint to our goalie. I watched as our opponents exited the field, some crying, some angrily bickering with the referee and some congratulating us as our paths crossed. I understood every emotion that the opposing team captivated as I've been there a time or twenty. As the team captain, one of the various jobs I have is to conclude the game by rounding the team up for a post-game chat. I began discussing the pride I have in being able to be a part of such a selfless, dedicated, and passionate team. Every day I watched these women show up consistently and put in the necessary effort, even when faced with challenges or setbacks. Our school was notorious for having a "weak" girls' lacrosse program which results in our peers belittling our performance and our game attendance to average four to five people. Regardless of the stigma our team was reduced to, we were able to make history. After the speech concluded when I was finishing picking up equipment and most of my teammates had left. I heard sniffling behind the bleachers, I went over to investigate to see one of our freshmen hugging her knees with tears streaming down her face. Without saying a word I sat down next to her and placed my hand on her back. "We can sit here in silence or we can talk, whatever you need." I gave her a gentle smile. After a few minutes, she began to talk, "My performance was horrible today, I missed a free position and I completely messed up our zone defense." "You are one of the most phenomenal players I have ever seen, I watch you stay thirty minutes after practice just to work on your shooting form. You put your heart and soul into this sport and you're only fourteen." She wiped the tears from her cheeks, "If I'm going to be as good as Charlotte North, I have to do all that and more." " You cannot reduce yourself to how many goals you score or how well you memorize the plays, you are so much more than that. You are your own worst critic, I just wish you could see how much you've grown as a player and a person. Please give yourself a break and allow yourself to take pride in your performance today." She smiled, "You're just saying that 'cause you're the captain." I nudged her lightly, "I said it because I truly believe it, you are going to accomplish amazing things and you being an extraordinary lacrosse player is only one portion of your identity.” I took her hand and we walked off the field where her dad was waiting with a grin and open arms. "I've never seen you play so well, that's my girl!" I squeezed her hand and whispered, "told ya!" Being a captain is more than staying late after practice. It means taking the time to get to know your teammates individually, understanding their strengths, weaknesses, and motivations and being able to pick them up when they feel as though they're not good enough. It means being a source of positivity and encouragement, especially during challenging times. Your actions, attitude, and dedication will set the tone for the entire team, anyone can be a captain but only a few can truly be a leader for their team.

My body became frail as I became friends with the marble seat in my bathroom. Its cool exterior provided comfort to my forehead as I rested on the toilet, throwing up my recent dinner. I must’ve spent hours begging the food inhabiting my stomach to exit my body as the weight of the online comments, each one counting the roles within the stomach I once loved, I would say I didn’t care yet those words wrapped around my subconscious and controlled the person I was. This chained me to the scale, its numerals determined my mood that day, who knew a small box producing numbers could become lethal. I began to loathe the mirror sitting in front of me, my skin once containing a soft glow was fully stretched across my skeleton. Months passed and I managed to conceal my situation as I was embarrassed by the events that transpire within the bathroom stall. I began to develop a healthy relationship with food But my battle wasn’t over. My depressive episodes began weighing me down, as though the fire in my eyes had been doused with ice water. I morphed into a state of eternal numbness. I realized that I was no longer living. I was attempting to survive. My life was quickly engulfed with consistent pressure of performing well in the classroom and on the field, being the mediator for my parent's screaming matches, assignments due at 11:59, and therapeutically screaming in my car. Dark circles inhabited the skin beneath my eyes as I drained myself in an attempt to be the best. I was always “the happy one,” constantly having a smile on my face and producing endless compliments to my peers, hoping they would never feel the same way about themselves that I do. It was when I got into my room that I crumbled under the pressure. I didn’t know who I was anymore, saying anything and everything in an attempt to please my audience, my personality morphed into a reflection of the social group I was in. I had lost my identity and had become merely a shell of the person I once knew. I dyed my hair Maybe that would help. It didn't. It was when I realized that there was no shame in illness. Recovery is not linear, relapses are natural. I ate my dinner that night. The bathroom remained empty. My stomach remained full. My story wasn’t over. Even though I never completely overcame my mental illness I realized that it shouldn’t consume me. It took years for me to conclude that my disorders do not define who I am, it was the strength and perseverance I used to overcome them that do. I applied my mental difficulties to my preparation for my future career as a wildlife conservationist. Never allowing them to define how well I perform academically and athletically and using it as motivation rather than an excuse. I was more than my depression and I wanted to prove that with each test I aced and each game I won. The goal I achieved due to my ability to overcome my inner self was not an award or a gold medal but something that lacked being a physical entity. I no longer resented the mirror or the thoughts within my head. I finally fell in love with myself. Isn’t that what we all strive for?

I could feel jealousy brewing within my stomach as I watched daughters slow dancing on their father’s leather oxfords and their freshly painted pink nails clutching their lapels for balance. I began to feel guilty. I should be happy for the little girls whose dads show up to their dances and soccer games, shouldn't I? I checked my Care Bears watch. He said he’d be here by seven. There was a small portion of me that knew he would make a routine of his absence, constantly making empty promises soon to become lies. It was when I grew resentful of my surroundings, then my mother walked in. She didn’t have freshly polished Oxfords or a dry-cleaned suit but her presence was more than enough for me. She had just traveled from Boston in enough time to ensure I would have a parent on my first official school daddy-daughter dance. I didn’t see the sacrifices she made for me then but I certainly do now. I was watching as my mother meticulously analyzed the bills that inhabit the kitchen table. The warm glow from the overhead lamp illuminated the sweat glistening on her forehead. She attempted to conceal my vulnerable eyes, allowing the rose-colored glasses to permanently mold onto my face. They rendered themselves transparent as I realized our reality. Her diligence allowed me to view my adversity as merely an obstacle to be overcome rather than a permanent boundary. I began to wonder if this perseverance was genetic, it was. She always encouraged me to pursue a four-year education so I can further support my understanding of preserving wildlife and fuel my passion for conserving the environment by exposing me to principles of managing wildlife populations and their habitats while helping me develop better skills such as leadership, communication, and application of knowledge, all traits my mother genetically embedded in me. I watched her single-handedly raise three children while simultaneously paying their tuition and maintaining a full-time job in another state. I realized that with enough passion my potential remains infinite and my mother confirms this idea with each obstacle she overcomes whether that is fighting for custody in court or speeding from Boston to make a middle school daddy-daughter dance. As a working mother, she was forced to make sacrifices but this did not hinder her ability to show up, something my father never got the hang of. I want my mother to see that she raised a daughter that was just as strong as she was and with each difficult test, grueling homework assignment, or 8-hour study session that comes my way, I will tirelessly work towards making this statement true.

I could feel jealousy brewing within my stomach as I watched daughters slow dancing on their father’s leather oxfords and their freshly painted pink nails clutching their lapels for balance. I began to feel guilty. I should be happy for the little girls whose dads show up to their dances and soccer games, shouldn't I? I checked my Care Bears watch. He said he’d be here by seven. There was a small portion of me that knew he would make a routine of his absence, constantly making empty promises soon to become lies. It was when I grew resentful of my surroundings that my mother walked in. She didn’t have freshly polished Oxfords or a dry-cleaned suit but her presence was more than enough for me. She had just traveled from Boston in enough time to ensure I would have a parent on my first official school daddy- daughter dance. I didn’t see the sacrifices she made for me then but I certainly do now. I was watching as my mother meticulously analyzed the bills that inhabit the kitchen table. The warm glow from the overhead lamp illuminated the sweat glistening on her forehead. She attempted to conceal my vulnerable eyes, allowing the rose-colored glasses to permanently mold onto my face. They rendered themselves transparent as I realized our brutal reality. However, her diligence allowed me to view my adversity as merely an obstacle to be overcome rather than a permanent boundary. Each time I watched my mother exhibit her resilience whether it was battling in court or having to commute to Boston daily. I began to wonder if this perseverance was genetic, it was. Since I was in elementary school I strived to transform the world, while this was a big task for a fifth grader, I did it in small increments. I became a vegetarian and seven years later, the diet remains prominent to my identity. I strive to contribute to groundbreaking work that enlightens the public as to what they can do to protect our ecosystems, allowing them to see what is going on outside the four walls of their home. While this task will require relentless diligence and determination I believe I hold the ability to administer a positive change to our Earth. Why am I so avid that I can accomplish this goal? My mother have consistently showed that if I want my goal enough I will obtain it. My mother can single-handedly raise three children while simultaneously maintaining a full-time job in another state. I realized that with enough passion my potential remains infinite and my mother confirms this idea with each field trip she chaperoned and game she attended. As a working mother, she was forced to make sacrifices but this did not hinder her ability to show up, something my father never got the hang of. I want my mother to see that she raised a daughter that was just as strong as she was and with each difficult test, grueling homework assignment, or 8-hour study session that comes my way, I will tirelessly work towards making this statement true.

I was diligently working on my assignment for Environmental Sustainability when I watched an orangutan desperately fighting for his home, his arms clutching the excavator as it ripped away each tree from the Sungai Putri forest in Borneo. This visual has become too frequent as there are species being forced to starvation every day as their home is consumed by palm oil plantations. The only thing that remained in my mind was how I would fight to prevent this tragedy and how I would not stop advocating until land conservation is able to protect all creatures. Becoming a wildlife conservationist was intimidating at first, how I was supposed to tackle these worldwide issues with a highschool diploma? The Snap Finance Young Women for STEM Scholarship will give me the opportunity for financial relief and will act as a building block towards bettering my career and contributing to accomplishing my passion in life; creating a sustainable environment for our future. The four year education I will receive can further support my understanding of preserving wildlife and fuel my passion for conserving the environment while simultaneously helping me develop better skills such as leadership, communication, problem solving, and application of knowledge. A class such as Environmental Law would expand my knowledge on the movements such as the Clean Air Act. It could also enhance certain traits l of these skills are a necessity to not only pursue my career in wildlife conservation, but to also give me an advantage in this competitive job market. As an overachiever, being average is never good enough for me. During every test that frustrated me, every homework assignment I struggled to understand, every discouragement I faced would soon be overpowered with the idea of reducing the destruction of the environment. When I lose motivation, I ask myself “what is the point?” Why am I draining myself for that A? This rhetorical question can be quickly answered; because I was put on this Earth to make a difference, my passion and rigor are not traits one develops easily and I knew I could apply them to wildlife conservation. Since I was in elementary school I strived to transform the world, while this was a big task for a fifth grader, I did it in small increments. I became a vegetarian and seven years later, the diet remains prominent to my identity. My passion was ignited when I first discovered how animals were treated within factory farming, a startling discovery for a nine-year-old, but rather than losing faith in humanity, I possessed hope. Hope that I can use my eagerness and drive to advocate for those without a voice, and create potential solutions to protect and maintain species and their habitats. I strive to contribute to groundbreaking work that enlightens the public as to what they can do to protect our ecosystems, allowing them to see what is going on outside the four walls of their home. While this task will require relentless diligence and determination I believe I hold the ability to administer a positive change to our Earth. I’m certain there are more fervent little girls out there just like I was, enraged by society's treatment of animals, aspiring to change the world one orangutan at a time.