When I moved from the Philippines to the United States at age nine, I carried with me more than just clothes and keepsakes—I carried my culture, my language, and the values my mother and community raised me with: pagmamalasakit (compassion), bayanihan (community uplift), and pagtitiis (resilience in hardship). These values have shaped every part of my educational journey and are why I’m committed to using what I learn for myself and to make the world better for others. Back home in the Philippines, I attended a private school where I felt seen and included. But in America, I walked into a public elementary school where no one looked like me. I felt invisible—disconnected, not just from others but from who I was. That changed when I found the school library. Books became my bridge. They connected me to peers, helped me process my emotions, and showed me that even when I felt alone, someone—somewhere—had felt the same. My love for stories became a lifeline, especially during one of the most emotional moments of my life: when I learned my aunt, just a year older than me, had run away from home in the Philippines. I was devastated and scared. While reading a book about a teenage girl navigating shame and isolation, I couldn’t help but imagine my aunt in the same position. That story helped me understand that sometimes, what young people need most is to feel seen, to know that their lives, struggles, and choices matter. That moment lit a fire in me. I realized that access to education and stories like these is a privilege—one not everyone, especially in my home country, has. I wanted to do something about it. Since then, I’ve co-created a children’s book on financial literacy and led a book tour across three elementary schools, teaching fifth graders how to budget, save, and make smart decisions with money. I’ve hosted self-care events and mental health fairs to support student wellness and advocate for accessible emotional resources. At the Auburn Parks and Recreation Center, I worked directly with children, helping them build confidence and find their voices. As Vice Chair of the Auburn Junior City Council, I’ve spoken up for youth needs in local government, ensuring young people, especially immigrants and students of color, are heard. All of this stems from my Filipino upbringing: the value of kapwa—our deep, shared sense of humanity—and the belief that we rise by lifting others. Financially, my family has always made sacrifices to support my dreams. However, higher education comes with costs that are growing quickly. This scholarship would mean more than just tuition support. It would allow me to continue my community work while earning my Business Administration and Nonprofit Management degree. It would also bring me closer to my long-term goal: opening a global-access library that brings free, diverse books and educational resources to underserved youth, starting in the Philippines. To me, being Filipino means being resourceful, community-centered, and resilient. I don’t just carry that identity with pride—I use it as fuel to create change. Through this scholarship, I hope to honor my heritage by investing in others, just as my community has invested in me.

Life is inherently complex. I learned this through quiet struggles—moments of invisibility, cultural displacement, and helplessness. At nine, I moved from the Philippines to the U.S. with my mother. The transition uprooted everything I knew: language, family, and identity. In my private school back home, I felt like I belonged. But when I walked into my first American public classroom, I looked for someone who looked like me, and found no one. I didn’t just feel different; I felt invisible. That changed when I entered the school library. Books became my first real friends. They helped me process new emotions, connect with peers, and rediscover my voice. I joined a reading group and competed in the Global Reading Challenge. Through literacy, I realized stories don’t just offer escape—they create connection, empathy, and healing. Years later, I faced one of the most challenging emotional moments in my life: my aunt, only a year older than me, ran away from home in the Philippines. I didn’t know if she was safe. I was overwhelmed with fear and guilt, desperate to help, but thousands of miles away. That same week, I was reading a story about a girl judged for an unexpected pregnancy. The parallels to my aunt’s situation were striking—and heartbreaking. I began to wonder: what if she had read this book too? Could it have helped her feel seen? Guided her toward a different decision? That’s when I understood how powerful stories can be—not just as comfort but as tools for wellness and decision-making. In the next five years, I will create a positive environmental impact—locally and globally—by advancing youth wellness and financial literacy through storytelling. I’ve already begun. I co-created a children’s book that teaches financial literacy through relatable storytelling. We brought it to three elementary schools and taught fifth graders how to save, spend, and plan confidently. I’ve also hosted self-care fairs to support students’ emotional wellness by providing access to mental health resources, stress relief kits, and peer support. I’ve worked at the Auburn Parks and Recreation Center, helping youth build confidence and express themselves through creative activities. As Vice Chair of the Auburn Junior City Council, I advocated for youth programs and support systems, pushing for more inclusive spaces where young people feel safe, heard, and seen. Now, I want to scale this impact. I aim to launch a youth-led initiative that creates and distributes free literacy kits focused on financial empowerment and emotional wellness. These kits will include storybooks, journals, and reflective tools that help young people navigate their emotional and economic environments. I plan to partner with schools and nonprofits in the U.S. and underserved communities in the Philippines to expand access to this resource. My long-term vision is to build a global-access library system that integrates stories, wellness practices, and financial education. Through it, I want to cultivate environments that uplift and empower children to make healthier choices and imagine bigger futures. The environment I hope to shape isn’t just physical—it’s emotional, educational, and social. I want to help young people, especially those like my aunt and younger self, live in environments where they are informed, supported, and believed in. This scholarship will help me continue building that world—one story, one voice, and one child at a time.

I was sitting in my room, immersed in a book about a teenage girl ridiculed and shamed for her pregnancy when I heard the news—my aunt in the Philippines, only a year older than me, had run away from home with a boy. I was fourteen, old enough to understand the consequences of the choices made by two curious teenagers. I tried to distract myself by returning to the story, but I couldn’t help imagining my aunt as the protagonist I was reading about. In the book, a high school girl becomes immaculately pregnant and is harshly judged by a world unwilling to believe her. Though fictional, her pain felt real—shame, isolation, and the burden of growing up too soon. It mirrored what many girls, like my aunt, go through every day. That moment helped me grasp how powerful storytelling could be—not just as entertainment but as a way to process emotions, reflect on real-life struggles, and find meaning in chaos. I thought back to my last visit to the Philippines and the dismal state of the school libraries. The shelves were dusty, filled with outdated textbooks, and missing stories that reflected the lives of the kids who read them. I wondered: if my aunt had access to stories like the one I was reading, would she have felt less alone? Could a book have helped her see a different path? That realization shifted something in me. I understood how fortunate I was to grow up surrounded by books—stories that helped me make sense of the world, challenge harmful norms, and imagine new possibilities. That’s when I knew I wanted to share this privilege. My mission is to broaden the minds of young people, especially in under-resourced communities like my aunt’s, through storytelling. I want to give youth access to books that reflect their realities, expand their imagination, and offer guidance during life’s most complex decisions. I want girls to know they’re not alone. I want boys to find emotional outlets and see new models of masculinity. I want all young people to discover stories connecting them to the world and themselves. I believe I’m worth this dream because I’ve already started living it. I’ve seen firsthand the consequences of inequality in education and used those experiences not as excuses but as fuel to build something better. I don’t just dream of change—I’m committed to making it happen. Whether through writing, literacy advocacy, or developing programs that bring powerful, diverse narratives to those who need them most, I want to be part of that change. Stories shaped me, and I believe they can shape the world.

I was sitting in my room, immersed in a book about a teenage girl ridiculed and shamed for her pregnancy when I heard the news—my aunt in the Philippines, only a year older than me, had run away from home with a boy. I was fourteen, old enough to understand the consequences of choices made by two curious teenagers. I tried to distract myself by returning to my book. Still, I couldn't help imagining my aunt as the protagonist I was reading about. In the story, a high school girl becomes immaculately pregnant and faces harsh judgment from those who don't believe her. Although fictional, her struggles mirrored real challenges faced by young girls everywhere—shame, isolation, and the burden of navigating adulthood too soon. The story helped me fully grasp the emotional weight and real-life consequences of decisions made without guidance or support. I thought back to my last visit home and how dismal their libraries were in school. The shelves were dusty, filled with outdated textbooks and barely any stories that reflected the kids' lives reading them. If more youth there had access to relevant and relatable stories, would they make better, educated choices? It made me wonder: what if my aunt had access to books like the one I was reading? Would it have changed her choices? This new understanding helped me appreciate how fortunate I was to learn from the lives of protagonists in my unlimited supply of books. It hit me hard that I was so lucky to have access to a whole world that others did not. Books have always shaped how I see the world, helping me better process new or old emotions and teaching me life lessons earlier on in life. But not everyone has that privilege. I was fortunate to grow up in a society that provided these resources. At the same time, many back home in the Philippines did not. That's when I knew—I wanted to do something about it. Thus, my mission is to broaden the minds of those less fortunate through storytelling. I want to give young people, especially those in communities like my aunt's, access to stories that matter. Stories that reflect their lives open their minds and help them make sense of the world around them. I want girls to know they're not alone in their struggles and that someone has felt their feelings. I want boys to find outlets to express themselves and connect with characters who show them different ways of thinking. Through storytelling, I want to offer not just an escape but guidance, hope, and connection—things that can help someone make better choices when it counts. I want to empower young people by giving them access to stories that reflect their realities and inspire them to dream beyond their circumstances. This is the impact I want to have through my career. Whether through writing, advocating for literacy, or creating programs that bring diverse stories to places most needed, I want to be part of that change. Stories shaped me, and they can shape the world. The only way to reach this goal of being able to educate and provide others opportunities is first to educate myself. Without education—without knowledge, there is no new space to grow above and beyond our initial potential. I am incredibly grateful to have the ability to receive higher education. However, the reality is that with these ever-increasing ambitions come growing payments that bring them to fruition. I would be grateful if this scholarship provided me with the resources to continue my endeavors to help those most in need.

Call me a delusional, attention-seeking, overambitious girl, but I can’t help believing that I belong on stage. Since I was a young girl, I’d look at people in the spotlight and imagine how exhilarating it would feel to be in their place. There was always an instant spark I felt tingling throughout my body when I imagined: lights on me, the energy of the audience, and the euphoric thrill of raw emotions seeping through my every pore. It all started when I was chosen to represent my first-grade class in the Philippines to compete in the annual story-telling contest. My role was to present the timeless tale of the lion and the mouse. I was given a three-page monologue to memorize within two weeks, with full production, costume, and acting—as a six-year-old. Of course, I was afraid. However, it wasn’t the thought of disappointing my mother or my classmates that shook my bones. What truly terrified me was the idea of not doing the story justice. So I worked hard, memorized my lines and choreography, and when the day came, I put my all into portraying how a brave little mouse saved the life of a mighty lion. At the final award ceremony, when I heard my name boom through the gym PA system and the words, “first-place winner of the 2012 story-telling contest,” a heart-warming new feeling of true content and delight took root in me. That very moment solidified my love for story-telling. And that love grew and guided me to who I am now. The following year, I was chosen again to compete. To my surprise, I won first place for the second time. Then, my mother enrolled me in a theatre workshop to encourage my budding talent. My experience in that program opened my eyes to the universe of storytelling. It made me realize there were so many stories out there and many creative ways to bring them to life. Since that initial realization, my journey in exploring all kinds of outlets for storytelling has expanded in ways I never imagined possible. From drawing to singing, teaching, writing, and acting, stories became my guiding post. Returning to it on numerous occasions, I developed a particular affinity for theater. There was something about stepping into the dimmed light of a stage and looking beyond the crowd to enter a new world that endlessly excited me. Performing on a stage ignited me to break through my insecurities and transform into someone entirely different–someone who saw the world through a distinct lens, felt unfamiliar emotions, and uniquely expressed themselves. The creative world of storytelling was where I felt the most connected to myself. Grasping every opportunity to revisit this world, I joined local high school productions as a middle school student. In eighth grade, when I landed the role of Sandy Dumbrowski for a high school production of Grease, I discovered that my potential and passion were much deeper than I had ever realized. The confidence I gained from that experience spilled into other pools of my life. Whether it was in my presentation skills, taking on leadership roles, or being assertive with my life decisions, I found storytelling useful and empowering. It taught me to take chances, step through open doors, feel confident in my abilities, and appreciate the ocean of individual perspectives there are on life. Call me stubborn, starry-eyed, or naive, but you can be sure I will always find my way to the stage. Look high, low, beyond your sight, or at a show; as long as I live, all stories must be told.

The Wings It Granted There it stands, so patient and inviting, A sight for sore eyes when life feels like a circus I grip the rope, its fibers rough on my hands Then, settle on its dusty, round, weathered surface What used to fit me perfectly now brushes the ground While the rain-soaked air lingers, infusing my sense of smell And the taste of the cold dances on my smile as I swing I pump my legs harder as I hear the stampede of my siblings Desperate for a taste of freedom in the wind that carries me— Grateful for the wings it grants, even if it’s only for a fleeting moment.

I was an accident. I was never meant to be a part of my mother's plans, and I certainly wasn’t one of the little tasks on her checklist waiting to be crossed off. Still, I happened. My mother was born on the third island of the Philippines. Her mother, my lola, gave birth to her in their hut house. In that same house she gave birth to her next two children. Over the course of a decade or two, she birthed five more. My mother had to step in to become a second mom to her younger siblings. Growing up in a poor household that had mouths to feed, my mother worked odd jobs starting from a young age. She did so continuously all while receiving her education at a public school that was over a three mile walk from home through the forest. When she would recount these days to me, I often believed she exaggerated her circumstances. After visiting her childhood home, I knew there was nothing to exaggerate. As my mother grew, she faced more struggles with the addition of her siblings and the increasing workload in school and various jobs. She rarely had the time nor the funds to participate in extracurriculars. Her definition of play always surrounded her siblings, and she never quite had a life of her own. It wasn’t until when she reached college that she started living her life. On her nineteenth birthday she tried cake for the first time and received her first ever birthday gift from her newfound friends. She had crushes on boys, became a member of the university student leaders' program, and started to truly discover herself. In the midst of her discoveries and curiosity, though, she made me. My mother found out she was pregnant six months in. I was not a part of her plans, but she knew deep inside that she wanted me. To her, I was her blessing. During her pregnancy, she took time off of college to work multiple jobs. She earned enough money to buy necessities for me and to save for our future. Eventually she gave birth to me, and she knew that her current lifestyle was not enough. She wanted a better life for me. With that, she flew to the biggest city in the Philippines which was an hour flight away. There in Manila she made her way working and going to college at the same time. I was four years old when my mother finally took me with her. It wasn’t until ten years later that I knew the full story. My mother’s hard work and dedication to me and our future has become my motivator in life to keep striving for the best. If it wasn’t for her, I would not be the person I am. She has taught me to put in the time and effort to achieve my goals and succeed. There is no other way up than to work for it. Thank you, mom.

The uprooting of my life at the age of nine occurred only six years ago when my mother and I flew from the Philippines to a place best known for its opportunities provided to those who seek them: the United States of America. Moving to a place so different in culture and societal expectations was an earthquake that threw cracks into my well-built system of “fitting in.” In my private school in the Philippines, I belonged in every way and felt united in my community of peers. When I first stepped into an American public elementary school, though, I looked around me, searched for a face that looked similar to mine and was left with my first feelings of alienation when I found none. It wasn’t until I entered the school library that I began to find my place. The world of literacy and books opened up the way for me to form connections with my peers in profound ways. It offered me a group of students who, just like me, enjoyed books and the stories they provided. Every day after school, we read stories and exchanged honest thoughts. We even competed in the Global Reading Challenge and placed third overall in our school. Not only did literacy bring me a group of like-minded new friends, but it also widened my lens on the perspectives and experiences of those around me that were not visible to my naked eyes. When I remained ignorant and refused to believe that anyone could understand how it felt as an immigrant, books reminded me I was not alone. Literacy showed me that even a simple picture book could unite two people from differing backgrounds and help them understand that underneath it all, they’re not so different from one another. From these experiences, I discovered the true power of literacy in all shapes and forms. With this award, I will pursue my goal of broadening my education in hopes that one day, I open up my library. This library will aim to provide children globally with free and accessible books. A service that children in other countries, like the Philippines, are not as fortunate to have. In this library, readers will activate and broaden their minds. They will learn about different experiences and the possibilities they could take for themselves. It will be a safe space where the seeds of hope and ambition will set roots in the minds of dreaming young children who will keep growing and expanding into their tree of life.