A gentle “thank you” drifts through the dining room from a resident whose kindness brightens every meal. Silverware clinks on plates, servers move between tables, and conversations fill the room with a steady buzz. The smell of warm bread and fresh soup makes the space feel welcoming. Yet, even with many menu choices, she sometimes finds it hard to decide, and what should be simple can feel overwhelming. During my first shift as a server at the retirement community, I saw her quietly struggling. She looked at the menu for a long time while others chose quickly. At first, I thought she only needed more time. But I soon realized that everyone needs different kinds of care. Some residents want to be independent, while others need reassurance, patience, or a gentle push. Like Don Jorge, I noticed that people need things without words, which inspired me to pay attention to small details. Each evening, I set a cold glass of 2% milk at her place before she comes in. This simple act takes away one decision for her and gives her something familiar. I greet her with a smile and a calm voice, hoping she feels noticed. Her regular “thank you” reminds me that small actions can mean a lot. Getting to know her taught me that patience is more than just waiting. It means choosing to slow down for someone else, even when life feels busy. I learned that what seems easy to me can be hard for someone else. My job also showed me that leadership is not only about giving directions. Sometimes, it is about watching, adjusting, and helping in ways that protect someone’s dignity and independence. These experiences changed my decision to become a nurse from just a choice to something I feel called to do. I started by serving meals, but the relationships I built taught me the importance of empathy. Every conversation showed me that healing is more than just medicine. True care comes from kindness, respect, patience, and real human connection. This experience taught me to notice what people need even when they do not say it, to speak up for them when they are vulnerable, and to care for each person as an individual. As a future nurse, I want to give every patient the same attention: remembering small details, listening without judging, and helping each person feel safe, valued, and understood. *The submitted photo shows my workplace; however, I cannot take photos with that specific resident due to HIPAA regulations.

I want to become a nurse because I want to make an impact not only in the medical field, but also in immigrant and low-income communities where reliable healthcare information and services can be difficult to access. As a Filipino immigrant, I understand how language barriers, financial limitations, cultural stigma, and unfamiliarity with the healthcare system can prevent families from receiving the support they need. I want to become a nurse who makes patients feel heard, respected, and confident when seeking care. I realized that I wanted to pursue nursing during my junior year of high school, when I took an anatomy and physiology class. Although I had always been interested in science, learning about the human body made healthcare feel more meaningful and personal. I became especially interested in the female reproductive system and the biological processes involved in menstruation, pregnancy, and reproductive health. However, the class also made me realize how little I had previously been taught about my own body. Before taking anatomy and physiology, I had received only basic information about reproductive health, despite experiencing menstruation for years. I began wondering how many other adolescents also lacked the information needed to understand what was happening in their bodies. Reproductive health is often treated as an uncomfortable or inappropriate subject, especially in conservative and immigrant communities. As a result, many young people may grow up feeling confused, embarrassed, or afraid to ask questions about their health. Instead of only recognizing this problem, I began taking action. I conducted a research project examining the relationship between the number of years since a person’s first menstrual period and the severity of menstrual cramps among adolescents. Through this project, I learned how to collect and analyze data while exploring a health issue that affects many young people but is often dismissed or misunderstood. I am also developing and publishing the Dalaga Health Project, an easy-to-understand online guide that teaches adolescents about menstruation and reproductive health. My goal is to make medically accurate information more accessible to young people, especially those who may not receive detailed reproductive-health education at home or in school. These experiences strengthened my interest in both women’s health and healthcare access. I became interested not only in the science behind reproductive health, but also in how education, income, culture, and public policy affect a person’s ability to receive care. I want to help make reproductive-health information accurate, understandable, and accessible, particularly for adolescents, immigrants, and families with limited financial resources. In the future, I hope to become a Women’s Health Nurse Practtioner. In this role, I would be able to provide reproductive and preventive healthcare, educate patients, and build trusting relationships with women throughout different stages of their lives. I also plan to earn a Master of Public Health so I can address healthcare disparities beyond individual patient appointments. Public-health training would allow me to participate in community education, research, advocacy, and the development of programs that improve access to reproductive healthcare. To me, nursing is more than treating an illness or completing a medical procedure. It is using scientific knowledge, empathy, education, and advocacy to help people feel less alone in the healthcare system. I want to become the type of nurse who not only cares for patients, but also takes action to improve the systems and communities surrounding them.

For a while, love looked like my mother coming home late at night, exhausted from work, but still asking if my brother and I had eaten. In 2023, after my parents separated, my mother, younger brother, and I immigrated to the United States, leaving my younger sister with my biological father in the Philippines. My mom brought us here because she wanted to give us better opportunities, even if it meant carrying the weight of our family on her own. The first few months were difficult. We could not rent a home yet, so we stayed at my mom’s relative’s house, cramped in one bedroom. My brother and I were mostly stuck there all day while my mother worked long shifts as a caregiver. I barely saw her except when she came home late at night. At first, I felt lonely and uncertain. Over time, I realized that her absence was not neglect. It was sacrifice. Even when she was tired, my mother still tried to make us feel loved. Whenever she had time off, she would bring us to a restaurant or to the mall so we could spend time together. Those small moments taught me that love is not always shown through comfort or free time. Sometimes, love is working through exhaustion so your children can have a better future. After those rough months, we were finally able to rent an apartment and start school. My mom continued working as a caregiver while my brother and I became active in school, earned high grades, and participated in sports. There were times when we only saw her twice a week because she had to take continuous shifts to cover rent and other expenses. She was raising two children by herself because my father never really provided money for us. At the same time, she was also sending money to our grandfather and helping fund my older cousin’s education in the Philippines. Being raised by a single mother made me grow up with responsibility. I learned to be independent without being asked. I focused on my grades, helped my brother adjust, and tried to become one less thing my mother had to worry about. Watching her carry so much quietly pushed me to work harder, not only for myself, but also for her. After a year of settling in the United States, my mom decided to study to become a CNA while still working and caring for us. Later, she continued taking more courses, which helped her get a job in the surgical field at a hospital. I am proud of her because despite everything she faced, I never heard her complain about raising us. She gave everything to make sure we had a good life, but she also kept pursuing her own dreams. Her work in healthcare has shaped my own goals. Seeing my mother work in the OB surgical area inspired me to pursue nursing or another medical field in college and focus on women’s reproductive health. I plan to publish research about menstrual cramps and create a website that provides easy-to-understand menstruation information for young adolescents, immigrants, and low-income communities who may lack access to health education. Being raised by a single mother taught me that strength is not always loud. Sometimes, it is quiet, tired, and still showing up every day. My mother’s love and resilience shaped my ambition, drive, and desire to create impact. Because of her, I want to succeed, support my family, and use the opportunities she gave me to help other young women and families like ours.

The fighting ended when my parents separated, but the echoes of it remained in me. Glass shattering. Doors slamming. Things being thrown across the room. That was my childhood. For thirteen years, I lived in a household where communication barely existed. Instead, disagreements were settled through shouting, anger, and the need to prove who was right. Even when I was supposed to be asleep, I could hear every argument through the walls. Sometimes, the fighting became physical. For thirteen years, that was what I saw, what I heard, and what I believed was normal. People often say that children absorb what they see growing up, and I am a clear example of that. When my parents separated, my mother and I left the house that had witnessed everything. For the first time in years, it was quiet. There were no more arguments, no more things being thrown, and no more nights spent listening to shouting from another room. I thought that chapter of my life was over. I could finally breathe. I even promised myself that I would never become like my parents. However, leaving that environment did not erase what it had taught me. I entered my first serious relationship at thirteen. Looking back, I realize that I was searching for someone to fill an emptiness I did not yet understand. I thought that having someone beside me would somehow heal the hurt I carried from childhood. Instead, every argument revealed parts of myself that I did not want to see. When I was hurt, I used harsh words because I wanted the other person to feel the same pain I felt. Then I would isolate myself, avoid communication, and wait for time to pass rather than addressing the problem. Pride often mattered more than understanding. At the time, I did not realize what was happening. I thought I had escaped my past, but it was slowly resurfacing in my own actions. After two and a half years, the relationship ended. When I reflected on what had happened, I came to a difficult realization: I had become the person I promised myself I would never be. Not because I wanted to hurt others, but because I had spent my entire childhood surrounded by unhealthy ways of handling conflict. Leaving that environment had given me a false sense of relief. I believed that once I was gone, the effects would disappear too. Instead, I learned that the lessons we absorb as children do not vanish overnight. For the first time, I stopped making promises to myself and started taking accountability. I began attending therapy, where I talked openly about experiences I had spent years trying to leave behind. Through therapy, I realized that I had never truly faced the younger version of myself. Instead, I had buried her and hoped she would stay there. Healing did not come from pretending the past never happened; it came from understanding it. I learned that self-awareness is not about judging who you were, but about recognizing your patterns and choosing to change them. Over time, my understanding of relationships transformed. I no longer viewed arguments as battles where one person wins and another loses. Instead, I learned that conflict can be an opportunity to understand different perspectives and grow together. Most importantly, I learned that many people carry invisible experiences from childhood that continue to shape them in ways they do not always recognize. That realization has made me more empathetic toward others and more intentional in the way I communicate. My experience with mental health taught me that healing is not a destination but a continuous process of self-reflection, accountability, and growth. Although I cannot change the environment I grew up in, I can choose what I carry forward from it. Rather than repeating the cycle I witnessed as a child, I am committed to breaking it. That commitment has shaped my relationships, my understanding of the world, and the person I strive to become every day.

Their eyebrows furrow with a look of confusion and uncertainty on their faces—that is what I always notice during my work shifts. I work as a server in a retirement community, specifically in the assisted living section where elderly residents are monitored and supported by CNAs due to their inability to live fully independently. During dinner service, I am assigned to a section with a table of three elderly women who often struggle to communicate their orders clearly, yet they never fail to express appreciation for the care we provide. Many times, the residents have difficulty deciding what they want to eat and will ask me to choose for them. As someone who tends to be impatient, especially with my younger brother at home, I made a conscious decision to practice patience with the residents I serve. I remind myself that they deserve understanding and respect, especially in moments where they feel unsure or overwhelmed. When taking their orders, I often hear the familiar line, “There are too many choices on the menu.” In those moments, I try to put myself in their position to better understand how I can help. I speak slowly and clearly so they can follow without feeling rushed or pressured. If they miss something, I repeat it as many times as needed until they feel confident in their choice. I also guide them gently by pointing out simple options, such as a cheeseburger or a hot dog, to make the decision less overwhelming. They felt less overwhelmed when presented with simpler options, and they became calmer knowing they were able to make a decision. But it was not just about offering random choices; it was about getting to know them—memorizing their preferences and what they enjoyed eating. At my workplace, the experience is not just about completing tasks, but about building familiarity with the residents and treating them as companions. Their furrowed eyebrows would slowly relax after they placed their order and thanked me. Although they often struggled with expressing their choices, they never failed to say “thank you,” and that simple word fills my heart with the feeling that I was able to help them, even in the smallest way. These recurring situations show that necessary actions in serving people are not just about service, but also about making them feel understood, especially those who need extra patience and care. This taught me that the service industry does not only require technical skills—such as memorizing and familiarizing myself with menus and systems—but also human qualities such as empathy, patience, and understanding. These repeated experiences are helping me develop the ability to handle situations involving people in need, which will be valuable in the field I plan to pursue: nursing.