When I dropped out of community college for the second time, I never imagined that one day I would be preparing to transfer to the University of California, Berkeley to study physics. At the time, I struggled with ADHD, OCD, anxiety, depression, and the loss of my father to cancer. I felt defeated and convinced that higher education simply was not meant for someone like me. More than anything, I lacked confidence. I did not believe I belonged. That experience shaped what I want to build with my education. I want to build opportunities for students who doubt themselves the same way I once did. When I returned to Modesto Junior College, I discovered that many students carried similar fears. Some believed they were not smart enough for STEM. Others felt isolated because of their age, background, finances, or personal circumstances. I realized that intelligence was rarely the biggest obstacle. More often, students simply needed encouragement and someone who believed in them. That realization inspired me to become involved in leadership and mentorship. I founded the MJC Science Club, later serving as President, where I worked to create a welcoming environment for students from all backgrounds. Through community outreach events, science nights, and educational programs, I saw firsthand how powerful curiosity can be when people are given the opportunity to explore it. Wanting to help students even more directly, I later became a STEM tutor and Supplemental Instruction Leader. Some of my favorite moments came when students who had entered convinced they would fail left believing they could succeed. Watching someone gain confidence in themselves is one of the most rewarding experiences I have ever had. My education at UC Berkeley will help me continue building that impact. As a physics major, I will gain advanced scientific knowledge, but I will also learn from a diverse community of students and faculty who are passionate about education, mentorship, and outreach. Those experiences will help me become a stronger leader, communicator, and educator. Ultimately, I hope to become a physics professor at a community college. Community colleges provide opportunities for people whose paths are often unconventional: working adults, transfer students, first-generation students, and individuals rebuilding their lives after setbacks. I know how transformative those opportunities can be because they transformed mine. The future I want to build is one where students feel welcomed rather than intimidated, encouraged rather than discouraged, and capable rather than inadequate. Somewhere there is a future scientist, engineer, teacher, or researcher who simply needs someone to believe in them. My education is helping me become that person.

When my father was dying of inoperable lung cancer, I spent nights writing suicide letters. I hid them away, never wanting him to know. He himself already suffered from lifelong depression and anxiety. Now with cancer, he carried more pain than anyone should bear. His death left me broken. But by the grace of God, while going through his things, I found a journal he kept at the end of his life, addressed to me. The entries never leave my mind. I’ll share some excerpts throughout this essay, hoping they mean something to you too. Excerpt 1: "I can't protect you from some of the greatest pain you're ever going to experience... and in the ultimate irony, I'm now forced to be the one to inflict this pain upon you." He was dying, he knew my heart was breaking, and it broke his heart even more. We were both suffering from the unbearable pain of loving someone so deeply. We carried each other’s grief, and we could do nothing to take it away. When my father was diagnosed, my own life-long depression transformed into an all-encompassing monster, torturing me endlessly. Life did not just feel meaningless—it felt cruel, coming for the person I couldn’t bear to lose. My suicide letters became more frequent, my prayers became desperate, and I slept for days at a time. The night my mom found one of my suicide letters she brought me to a mental hospital, I begged her not to tell my father. My pain had hurt him enough already. Excerpt 2: “All I want is for you to be happy, to see yourself in the way I always have.” The truth is that my struggle with mental health began long before his diagnosis. I have lived with OCD, ADHD, anxiety, and depression for as long as I can remember. As a child, I was painfully shy and terrified of everything. I felt overwhelmed by things that seemed easy for everyone else. I could not make friends and spent my birthday parties in tears. I was ashamed of who I was. My OCD was especially difficult. I became trapped in cycles of intrusive thoughts, superstitions, and compulsions that I could not explain to anyone. I spent much of my childhood terrified that if I did not do every tiny thing that popped into my head, my family would die, and it would be all my fault. I had to do everything a certain way, I sought reassurance constantly, and performed rituals in response to stimulus. None of these brought comfort. They snowballed my compulsive urges and brought more fear. I felt trapped inside my own mind. Eventually I began worrying that people could hear my uncontrollable thoughts, which made them stronger and more frequent. The less I wanted to think of something, the more OCD made sure I did. I was at the mercy of what my fears deemed reality. I was battling intrusive thoughts, ADHD, depression, and overwhelming shame and anxiety while trying so desperately to appear normal. At my lowest points, that pain became visible and I began harming myself with a blade, unable to cope with my internal constant battle. Mental illness made me feel broken, and because I was ashamed, I hid it from the people around me. I did not tell my parents until I was 16 years old. Excerpt 3: "We want to talk to people to reach out for encouragement and hope… But we want to present the strong self and keep the scared self hidden." Mental illness was not unfamiliar in my family, and neither was the shame or the attempt to hide it. My grandfather struggled deeply with his mental health. Before I was born, he disappeared from our family, reliant on alcohol to cope with his undiagnosed mental illnesses. Growing up I had heard loving stories about him. I had his eyes, he was endlessly caring and compassionate, and just like me he was terribly shy. I dreamed of his return—he’d smile at me big, scoop me up in his arms, and tell me he’d been waiting for me all this time. We’d talk about our strange minds, hand-in-hand, finding solace in the fact we had each other. That day never came. When I was 10 years old, I learned he shot himself earlier that year. I would never get to hear his stories or ask him questions. I couldn’t tell him that even though he was at war with his own thoughts, that only made me want to love him more. Excerpt 4: “We’re so quick to judge, so ready to assume. There are so many stories right next to us… we just have to be willing to listen.” How many people are lost not because they are lacking, but because they are suffering silently? Mental illness painted generations of my family, and generations of families across the world. These individuals are not defined by their illnesses. They are multi-faceted, beautiful human beings made in God’s own image, with dreams, strengths, and people who love them, a God that loves them. Mental illness is not something shameful to hide or a sign of weakness. People facing mental illnesses are warriors fighting the hardest, loneliest battles, because these are the battles others cannot see or might not believe. I say, let yourself be seen, and I will listen. I have been there, and the people I have loved most are the ones who struggled greatest. The battle scars on my arm serve as a reminder to serve others in God’s name. I vow to create learning environments where students feel seen, heard, and valued. I will make sure my future classes know that struggling does not make you incapable. Asking for help does not make you weak. Mental illness does not mean you are broken. I want them to know that they matter, irrevocably, unconditionally. In the words of my father: “We just have to be willing to listen.”

For much of my life, I felt disconnected from both education and myself. I attended community college after high school, but lacking direction or confidence in my abilities, I dropped out—twice. After losing my father to an aggressive form of lung cancer in my twenties, I reached my lowest point. I believed I had already fallen too far behind to build a meaningful future and that I had wasted my life. Slowly, I began to rebuild myself with the reminder of how deeply my father believed in me. Eventually, I made the decision to believe in myself as well, no matter how difficult that initially felt. Returning to school after a seven-year gap was one of the hardest decisions I have ever made, but it ultimately saved my life. When I re-enrolled at Modesto Junior College, I discovered not only a passion for STEM, but also a sense of purpose and belonging that I had not yet experienced. Physics especially captivated me because it challenged me to think critically, solve problems creatively, all while expanding my understanding of the world around me. What began as curiosity became something much deeper. STEM gave me confidence in myself and showed me that growth is possible at any stage of life. As I became more involved in my classes, I realized that one of the most meaningful parts of STEM was not only conquering difficult concepts but helping others believe that they too were capable of mastering them. I began working as a STEM Peer Tutor and later became a Supplemental Instruction Leader for an introductory physics course, guiding students through challenging material and helping them build lasting confidence. This summer, I am proud to continue serving in both roles. Through these experiences, I learned how important patience, communication, and encouragement are within education, especially in subjects that many students find intimidating. Wanting to create a stronger sense of community around science, I founded and became president of the MJC Science Club. What started as a small idea grew into an active organization focused on outreach, collaboration, and making STEM feel accessible and welcoming. I organized community science nights, educational events, workshops, and field trips that encouraged students and local families to engage with science in interactive ways. In 2025, our organization received my college’s Club of the Year award, an achievement that reflected our collective effort to build an inclusive and supportive STEM community. Alongside these experiences, I was recognized for my academic work in physics and received the overall Physics Award at my college this May. While these accomplishments mean a great deal to me, the most important part of my journey has been discovering how education and mentorship can transform the lives of others, just as it transformed my own. I understand now that many capable students struggle not because they lack intelligence, but because they lack support, confidence, or representation. I plan to continue my education in physics with the long-term goal of becoming a physics professor. I want to combine scientific research with teaching and mentorship, creating classrooms where students from all backgrounds feel capable of succeeding in STEM. I am especially passionate about supporting students who may feel uncertain about their place in higher education because I understand firsthand how life-changing support and community can be. To me, STEM is about far more than technical knowledge. It is a way to empower others, strengthen communities, and create opportunities for future generations. Through teaching, outreach, and service, I hope to continue using STEM not only to understand the world, but to make it better however I can.