Growing up in Honolulu, I was surrounded by my kind of people: Filipinos. I remember how easily my parents were able to converse with cashiers and retail workers in Ilocano, and every adult they knew suddenly turned into another uncle or aunt I could rely on. Around the city, it seemed like we all knew each other, when in reality we just shared the same culture. Whether it was a classroom, restaurant, or clothing store, I knew I would be able to fit in regardless of where I was. That sense of belonging disappeared in 2015, when my family and I moved to Las Vegas. It was a city where my people were less represented than other races. My parents struggled to adjust to the sudden cultural change, often finding themselves speaking in imperfect English in public spaces. In some classrooms, I felt lonely because I was the only Filipino in the room. The jokes I tried making with my peers garnered weird and confused looks because they simply did not share my culture. The Filipino population grew in Las Vegas over the years, but my sense of belonging did not improve, especially during high school and the rise of modern Filipino standards. Many Filipino women adopted feminine qualities such as makeup and pastel colors, but I personally rejected those qualities because I appealed to the masculine traits like a bare face and muted colors. Yet, even as I embraced these masculine traits, I was not masculine enough to be accepted by modern Filipino men. Not only did I feel underrepresented in Las Vegas, but I felt I did not even belong with my culture anymore. No matter how much I tried to ignore the fact that I did not fit in, the isolation compounded during my first semester of college. I struggled to converse, relate, and share my interests with other Filipinos. I avoided Filipino groups out of fear of being judged, and when I tried to fit in I was condemned by other Filipinos. I felt more alone than ever on top of being underrepresented in Las Vegas. Despite this, I still feel proud to be a Filipino woman, and I have even bonded with other Filipinos that also feel unfit by the culture’s new modern standards or societal underrepresentation. Although my experience of struggling to belong has had profound social and mental effects, the struggle also empowers me to show that there is no single way to be a female Filipino. In fact, I have recently started to become proud of myself for standing out from modern Filipino cultural norms. I have taught myself that the features that make me different—such as my slight masculine allure—are the same features my Filipino counterparts may be envious of. Additionally, I still love the same foods, arts, and humor that all Filipinos share, ensuring that I am Filipino regardless of my likes and dislikes. In the future, I will share this empowerment and growing confidence to other underrepresented and detached Filipinos who also feel out-of-place within our culture and within society. My future path will consist of attending career fairs and local Filipino organizations to share my story of feeling outcast, hoping to show other Filipinos that the feeling can turn into something positive. Additionally, my path will involve visiting classrooms and sharing my story to Filipino adolescents, which is the age group that many individuals are impacted by social standards considerably. Ultimately, my journey may have left emotional and social scars growing up, but I managed to turn those scars into gems of empowerment that I will share.

Personally, legacy means being able to continue the actions that created a positive result on someone’s life, while simultaneously leaving the actions that stimulated a negative reaction. It is crucial for parents to understand that every single action they pursue can impact a child. However, it felt like my parents were not aware of their actions at times, which did more harm than they believed. I feel that my upbringing of growing up in a Filipino household has left a multitude of positive attributes, but it has also left many negative scars on my path in life. Positively, my parents’ legacy instilled concepts of perseverance and hard work within me. My mom is a great example of perseverance. Even though she may be exhausted or overwhelmed on some days, she still makes an effort to clean the house, cook food, do laundry, and head to her graveyard-shift job. She inspires me to keep going regardless of the hardships I may encounter in life. Similarly, my dad is the best example of hard work. From what I know, my dad is always determined to get a job done, and he would even go beyond his usual work hours to ensure that a wall is fixed, a toilet is unclogged, or that a house can pass a safety test. He inspires me to finish all my tasks for the day, regardless of how hard they are. Perseverance and hard work are good features of their legacy that they passed down to me, and I plan on passing down these concepts to my future family as well. However, there were some negative aspects of my parents’ legacies that were passed down too. Growing up, I was deemed dishonorable, crazy, and even stupid if I made a mistake or accident. Additionally, my parents resorted to verbally shaming and physically hitting me, downplaying my educational achievements to imply that I am not good enough, and dismissing my emotions and feelings to assert dominance. As a result, I have developed a few emotional and social difficulties over the years. I refrain from telling people about my achievements out of fear of judgement, and I struggle to convey my emotions even when necessary. These are negative consequences of my parents' legacies that they unfortunately passed down to me, and I am making an effort to ensure that I do not pass down these attributes to my future family. From my experiences, I will continue the cycle of positive legacies, while simultaneously breaking the cycle of leaving negative scars on people. However, it is easier said than done. Recently, I discovered and accepted the fact that abuse is heavily integrated into Filipino culture. It is so normalized that actions are overlooked, and that is the issue my parents avoided. I need to become heavily aware of my actions, especially when starting my future family. A few ways I plan on doing this is to ask my child questions such as “Did what I do make you uncomfortable?” in an effort to engage with my child’s feelings during times of distress. Additionally, I will teach my child the concepts of perseverance and hard work, which are the same two concepts that my parents taught me when creating their legacies that impacted me. Ultimately, I do not want to wholly abandon my Filipino culture and parents’ legacies. Instead, I will pick and choose which parts of their legacies I will continue and which parts must be left in the past.

Growing up, I was constantly reminded to follow the cultural, yet stereotypical, image of a Filipina: submissive and service-oriented. Instead, these values inspired me to pursue architecture—a traditional male-dominated field—and to show other Filipinas their potential. From a young age, I wanted to forge my own identity, but I felt my family was trying to destroy it. I remember one Sunday when my family was preparing for church. I had to dress nicely, so I wore an elevated version of my style: a white, black-striped shirt with dark jeans and a jean jacket. In front of the mirror, I felt pretty without having to wear feminine clothes, and the reflection I saw in the mirror was me. Eager, I showed the outfit to my mom, but her face expressed disapproval. I knew it was because I was not conforming to our cultural values: no dress, no heels, and no ponytail hair. Nonetheless I stood my ground, refusing to change into something more “Filipina,” despite the anticipated consequences. Looking back, that day marked a pivotal moment for me. I was done obeying to the Filipina stereotype and determined to become the confident and rebellious woman I desired. Due to ongoing familial judgement, I want to redefine what it means to be a Filipina by embracing my own identity and through my career as an architect, instead of a typical service-oriented nurse or housewife. Regarding my education, I am pursuing architecture to help disadvantaged communities in Las Vegas via the creation of soup kitchens, affordable housing, and accessible resource hubs. My strengths in art and math are unique and extraordinary compared to a traditional Filipina. This is also why I am pursuing architecture to make the world a better place for Filipinas who are wanting to escape from the cultural stereotype. Knowing my strengths and wants, I realized that I could do more than what I was traditionally destined to be. So during my undergraduate journey, I plan to visit classrooms, attend career fairs, and attend local Filipino organizations to show Filipinas the power of their potential from breaking away from tradition and embracing their own identity. However, the first step to sharing my personal conflicts with Filipino tradition and improving the world is to attend college. I plan to pursue a Bachelor’s of Science in Architecture at the University of Nevada, Las Vegas (UNLV) in the Fall of 2025. Yet, I cannot ignore the financial hardships my family is currently facing. In 2024, my father lost his job, and we lost about $30,000 of our usual annual total income. Although he’s working now, I have heard that he is planning to quit this job soon as he feels uncomfortable with the work environment. Furthermore, my sister is anticipating surgery for tonsillectomy, and our parents will soon be burdened with medical bills and medicines to buy post-surgery. Right now, asking for any form of financial assistance for college may distress our family's situation further. I cannot imagine trying to present and inspire others through my story with financial distress on my mind. Receiving this scholarship would ease the financial distress of college and alleviate my parents’ worry about paying for my education. I also plan to be involved at UNLV’s FIlipino American Student Association, where I am able to showcase my ambitious personality that contradicts traditional roles and builds other Filipinas. As a future Filipina architect and ongoing stereotype-breaker, I will reference my personal challenges to uplift the community of Filipinas in Las Vegas and worldwide, without having to stress about student debt or my family’s tight financial situation.

Being a first-generation, low-income student of immigrant Filipino parents is hard. I experience so much pressure to be the best academically and make my parents’ journey to the United States worthwhile. However, these goals are hard when you live in a state that is ranked one of the lowest in education. Nevada has a poor education system, but that is not stopping me from pursuing my career goals. Nevada has underfunded education and a decade-long teacher shortage issue. In addition, high school students in Nevada have a high absentee rate, are disrespectful, and prone to dropping out. I was surrounded by students who were clueless about their future after graduation. As a first-generation student, I could not succumb to this “Nevada high school student” stereotype because it discards the benefits of taking advantage of secondary education. That is why when I first stepped foot into Bonanza High School in Las Vegas, I had to find a way to make this school work for my post-secondary goals. I saw the students’ poor behavior and Nevada’s education system as a challenge to break the stereotype of the “Nevada high school student.” First, I created my post-secondary goals: double major in landscape architecture and civil engineering at Rice University. The next step was to find resources and a support system. One of the programs I joined was Upward Bound (UB), a college-preparation program for low-income and first-generation students. This was perfect for me since I could not ask my parents for college advice, and UB did way more than expected. UB impacted my high school journey the most. The mentors answered the college-related questions my parents could not answer: “What is work-study? What are internships exactly? How can I develop leadership skills?” But not only that, UB provided an opportunity unlike any other: a six-week summer residential program at the University of Nevada, Las Vegas. Picking engineering and architecture classes, greeting professional engineers and architects, conducting research, stressing over multiple upcoming deadlines, and touring out-of-state colleges are experiences I will never forget. Upward Bound’s summer residential program was exactly what I needed to prepare me for out-of-state college life and an opportunity to be independent from my family. Being in the program since sophomore year and participating in the summer program for 2 years, I have never felt more prepared for college. They turned the anxious and silent girl of my freshman and sophomore years into the confident and outspoken woman of my junior and senior years. No other opportunity is like Upward Bound. Nevada’s education gave me motivation to challenge my academic merit, and Upward Bound gave me the college resources I needed to prepare myself for my career goals. After college, my future plans include addressing major social issues in Nevada like access to healthy meals, housing affordability for low-income and impoverished communities, and warehouse locations for clothes. I want to uplift and give back to Nevada with my intended fields, and these are a few ways I could improve it. But as a first-generation, low-income high school senior, I need the money to help fund for post-secondary education. Now, with my Dad thinking about quitting his job again—he lost his previous job in April 2024 and got employed again 2 weeks ago—and FAFSA opening later than usual, I will not know how much money I have to pay for out-of-state colleges until next year. The Joseph A. Monachino Memorial Scholarship is crucial in easing my financial stress. The reward will help me focus on making my parents proud, completing college, and helping Nevada rather than worrying about potential financial debt.

“Why can’t I perfect this part of the song?” I frustratingly thought to myself. It was the spring of 2023, and I was playing a song on my favorite rhythm game: Taiko no Tatsujin. However, I was getting especially mad at myself because I was not nailing a certain part of the song. Taiko no Tatsujin is a drumming game with a variety of Japanese and Pop songs. The goal is to “clear” a song by accurately drumming to a provided series of notes. I love playing this game because it challenges my spatial-intelligence, hand-eye coordination, pattern recognition, and muscle memory skills. Generally, I play the game on the hardest difficulties—extreme and super extreme—for fun. But sometimes these insane difficulties have their drawbacks. At the time, I was playing the song “Grip and Breakdown,” one of the most well-known Japanese songs of the game. The upbeat instrumental, the catchy lyrics, and the syncopated note sequences make the song enjoyable to play. However, I started to find myself getting irate, especially at myself, when I would play on super extreme difficulty. On super extreme, the introduction of “Grip and Breakdown” kept me from mastering the song. It contains an extensive series of long, complex sequences of notes. That time, I could not wrap my mind, or my fingers, around perfecting the introduction. My eyebrows were furrowed, my mouth spewed curses, and my hands constantly slammed on my laptop’s keyboard. I took a week off of Taiko no Tatsujin. I realized my consistent failures were getting me nowhere, and my actions in response to those failures were unhealthy. But I knew this break did not mean I gave up. I knew this break did not mean my skills were declining. I knew this break was a chance to make me stronger. So, I created a game plan to master “Grip and Breakdown.” The strategy was to start slow: master the introduction of the song at 0.6x speed and slowly increase the speed by 0.5; and ultimately, it would force me to do something I sometimes struggled with: patience. Initially, the game plan was dreadful. The notes moved too slow, I kept missing points, and my happiness was experiencing a slow decline. Although I hated the slow gameplay, I had to push my hatred aside and focus on the game plan’s benefits. This strategy would improve my skills and make me a stronger player at the game. In addition, it forced me to be kind towards myself. When I would miss some notes of the introduction, I would breathe and restart, telling myself: “It is only practice. It is not the real deal yet. You are making progress.” Deep down I knew that amidst the fast-paced playing and vivid gameplay, I was teaching myself the importance of self-kindness and perseverance by making myself a stronger Taiko no Tatsujin player. Soon enough, I nailed the introduction of “Grip and Breakdown.” It was exhilarating. I felt like running and telling all my loved ones about this achievement. Now, I can proudly say that I have mastered “Grip and Breakdown” on super extreme difficulty. But I have also improved my patience, perseverance, and kindness skills. Reflecting on this experience, I realize that I could apply the concept of my strategy—and the benefits that came with it—when I attend college. Rather than constantly brute forcing an assignment as a response to struggle or failure, I now feel more comfortable to take a break, create a plan, and approach the problem from a different angle. Who knew that a rhythm game would enhance something so valuable in college?

“It was hard living in the Ilocos Region. I worked all day with my mom to help my family,” Mom mentioned after I asked about her life in the Philippines. My parents left their origins, their past, and their families to immigrate to the United States for a better life. It aches my heart, but their sacrificial actions inspire me to pursue a similar path. It is an inevitable yet exciting path full of opportunities that will help me give back to my family: the path to college. As a first-generation student of immigrant Ilocano parents, my job is to pursue post-secondary education in Landscape Architecture and Civil Engineering. As a descendant of a hard-working and responsibility-oriented family, I need this education to help those in need. As someone with strong desires to improve the world, the Alexander de Guia Memorial Scholarship will help me get there. My family and I have a history of being low-income: impoverishment, renting, and living on someone else’s property. In the past, I struggled to understand why my mom could not buy me a giant dollhouse or a Pillow Pet I saw on TV. I now understand that we did not have a choice to spend money on such items. This lifestyle has a long-lasting impact on me as I still conserve money despite living stably. While reflecting on the past, I will prevent anything that reverses my parents’ work of dragging me out of that life. In college, I plan to solely pay my tuition. It is my education, and I believe my family should not contribute anything towards my tuition after the sacrifices they made for me. Their actions of constructing a better lifestyle for me continuously drive me to work hard in high school, be a leader outside of school, and volunteer in my community. I have ambitions to simultaneously pursue a Master’s in Landscape Architecture and a Bachelor’s in Civil Engineering at Rice University. These concentrations will help me improve the world for others by helping me develop artistic and realistic skills to create appealing and sustainable buildings. After discovering the destitution of the Philippines, I want to produce environmentally-friendly solutions to this poverty problem while also implementing the fine arts of architecture to help my people in need. My concepts of buildings that support the habitats of plants—and even incorporate vegetation into the characteristics of buildings—are small yet critical steps into making this world more livable, bit by bit, building by building. Post-secondary education will enhance the merit and prerequisites I need for Landscape Architecture and Civil Engineering. In addition to my plans of developing a refined and pleasant landscape, I will advocate the potential of Filipinas with the assistance of post-secondary education. Traditionally, Filipinas are expected to stay at home and serve their husbands. These stereotypes have bothered me for a considerable amount of time. Now, it is time I face them head-on. I am breaking these roles while writing this essay, and I will continue to break them once I step foot into college. I enrolled in traditionally male-dominated courses—AP Chemistry and AP World History, for example—to ignore the expectations imposed onto me by my culture. Instead, I am advocating for my career in Architecture and Engineering, and setting a new success standard for Filipinas to achieve: the standard of pursuing self-interests. I deserve the Alexander de Guia Memorial Scholarship because it will help me enact my plans and ease the stress of college tuition and potential debt. It will help advocate for my Architecture and Engineering career goals while also helping me repay my parent’s sacrifices.