According to the Oxford Dictionary, achievement is defined as “a thing done successfully, typically by effort, courage, or skill.” The key word in this statement that conquers the definition is the phrase “done successfully.” We often see achievement as a significant success that is accomplished with high effort, immense bravery, great capability, and deep dedication. Usually, we view it as a tangible success that we can look at to praise—something to hang up on the bedroom wall or brag to your relatives about. Straight A’s, successful projects, competitions, college acceptances, honors societies, scholarships, and public recognition are all forms of what we constitute as standard achievements. And while these are very much valid forms of achievement, my story falls a little short of this definition. Rather than being something I did do, it became something I didn’t do, and rather than being a tangible achievement that I could hang on a wall, it became something I could forever be proud of in my heart. During my high school career, I was labeled a people pleaser. I was the girl who you could never have problems with, and if you did, I would be the one to fix it. I thought I just cared immensely about people, but really, I cared about my self-image. I yearned to fit into the safety net of the social school system. I was everyone’s puppet—someone you could go to for a student therapist, tutor, friend, or even servant. My biggest worry was to be hated or even slightly disliked by someone. I was afraid to be labeled a loner, an outsider, a weirdo, or even just to be looked upon as a nobody. I never denied a favor, no matter how ridiculous—it ranged from midnight tutoring sessions to sitting for hours with people who had major friend issues. I thrived off of companionship. I feared that if I let people down, I would lose my personal connections with everyone. Thus, my energy was devoted to people. I just had to be liked by everyone. This all changed my freshman year of college. My best friend, who promised we’d stick together during college, drifted away into a party crowd I knew I didn’t belong to. I begged her to stay, to still keep in contact, but her choice—what I realized—was something I never had control over, no matter how hard I pleaded. For the first time, I experienced complete isolation from people. I no longer had friends to stick by or to confide in. It felt like a drastic contrast to my friendship filling high school years, where every second I had a companion. As the year went by, my time in isolation made me realize that I had gained independence. I began devoting my energy to bettering myself and my career. I joined several clubs and organizations and even gained leadership positions. I was accepted into a presidential leadership program that only selected 30 first-year students out of hundreds of applicants. I learned to be stern, to critically assess, but also to find a balance between being firm and kind. I stopped letting others walk all over me. I hold my ground, with my values at the core of my heart—something I will not let others take advantage of. I learned to become more assertive, more grounded, and more focused on my goals and values. If I could speak to my younger self, I’d say: If you live for the world, you will die from its rejection. True empathy does not mean surrendering your own needs. Strength doesn’t mean being agreeable—it means knowing who you are and standing firm in it. Therefore I claim my greatest achievement is something I stop choosing to do. I stopped choosing to let the world take advantage of me, I stopped choosing to let others dictate my self esteem, I stopped choosing to care about others opinions about myself. I stop choosing others' lives, rather I chose to dwell in mine. "Choosing yourself doesn't mean abandoning kindness—it means grounding yourself in your values, growing with intention, and serving others from a place of strength rather than sacrifice."

Forty years ago, the eldest daughter of five escaped her war-torn nation of Vietnam. She later found herself aboard a boat with many others like herself, leaving part of her family behind in hopes of a better life. After endless days of hardship, she reached the shores of America, but the challenges only continued. Enrolling in school as a sophomore, she struggled immensely to find her sense of belonging. The language barrier, cultural differences, and simply being an immigrant from a rarely known foreign country furthered her struggles in finding a group to feel at home with. Solitude and fear were her companions throughout her high school years, as no one made an effort to comfort or approach her. She felt like an outcast, navigating her way through school alone. That young girl was my mother. To this day, her experiences serve as a reminder of the challenges immigrants face and the sacrifices they make for their children. Growing up, I was constantly reminded of her sacrifice, which granted me the privilege to be raised in this nation. Born and raised in Pennsylvania, I was taught to love and appreciate every aspect of my life that my mother never got to experience—a warm, cozy home, clothing, free education, home-cooked meals, and most of all, the thought that I would never have to worry about the safety of my community. Despite being born a U.S. citizen, my mother ensured I would never forget the Vietnamese heritage she grew up in. The fresh smell of beef phở, the crunchy taste of her addictive Banh mi, our celebrations of Lunar New Year with wishes for a good year and exchanges of money, our family reunions where we wrapped Banh Cuon together, our deep devotion to God and everyday worship prayers, and the instilled notion that perseverance, hard work, and charity are the foundations of a successful life have all shaped who I am. My family's heritage has been the foundation of my goals and what I intend to become. Throughout my high school years, I worked tirelessly and endlessly towards my education to ensure that I set myself up for success. My courses consisted of rigorous classes, including seven APs and twelve advanced classes. The course load was intense, and though I struggled, my spirit was always willing to find a way to power through. I attended tutoring, office hours, and found online resources to get me through each class effectively. The perseverance my family instilled in me has always been my reason for overcoming any challenge that comes my way. Beyond academics, I pursued extracurriculars that helped me find my sense of community within the school. I joined the tennis team, Key Club, Peer Advocates, and a local Asian club, connecting with many people with whom I could share my cultural experiences. Having this community beside me throughout high school further helped me embrace who I am and encouraged me to continue pursuing my aspirations. I will always be grateful for my mother, my rock, the woman who laid her foundation in the Vietnamese heritage she grew up in. To be a daughter of Vietnamese heritage is a blessing, not a curse. It is that heritage that instilled the perseverance, hard work, and kindness that define who I have become.