Some might look back to their childhood and reminisce about what their life used to look like. It might’ve consisted of a colorful bedroom, trendy toys, and Disney channel on the TV; however, my childhood in Magnolia was different. Instead, my room was a mixture of Tinkerbell decor and carton boxes my parents had no room for. My toys held together with love (and scavenged plastic), and our TV would only work after getting kicked exactly 3 times. While some might see my childhood as one of hardship, I remember it as a rollercoaster with rocky bumps where I always managed to laugh and have fun all thanks to my parents' strengths. My father was the hardest working person I knew. He would come home every other day just to catch a few hours of sleep, rarely having any days off. Despite his relentless dedication, it still wasn’t enough to fully support me and my two older siblings. This is where my mother stepped in. Although my mom stayed home to care for us, she made sure to make use of that time. She would wake up every other day at 3 AM to cook and set up 30 plates of food to sell. She would also invest her own money in drinks and snacks to sell at my father’s job. No matter the circumstances, my parents always found a way to get money to support their family. As me and my brothers grew, we began to understand what the circumstances were, and we began to help out. Every other weekend I was gently awakened by the sound of plastic wrinkling in my room. It was my mother placing all the drink and snack packages on her tiny white cart. “Ya estas lista?” “Si, ya voy", I would mumble. I would quickly change, brush my teeth, and pick up the smallest packages off my Tinkerbell table. We would throw in all of the packages in the car and drive off to my father’s job. The aroma of sweet bread and savory chips filled the car and the Spanish rock music blasting from the radio was the only motivation for us to stay awake. As we arrived, we would see our dad including many other of his work friends running towards us, eager to be first in line. We would quickly unload all the packages and began to work. Seeing their satisfied smiles as they savored each bite brought me so much joy. I could see the pride in my mother’s eyes while she counted the money she made knowing we would make it to another month of financial stability. Hard work was the rhythm of our lives. Sleep was often sacrificed; stomach grumbling was ignored but it was never a burden. It was the engine that drove us to something bigger. Watching my parent’s sacrifices my entire life is what leads me to do whatever it is that I have to do to make sure their hard work wasn’t in vain. I push myself to aim higher, to get a good career with good grades and scholarships so that I can one day repay my parents. I’m always willing to risk anything if it means that I can one day prove to my parents that they raised me to be a mirrored version of them.

I was never forced to pick up a book. I knew what sound each letter made and how letters came together to form a word. I loved the images books inserted in my head and the praise I got for my reading level. 4th grade reading level as a kindergarten, by the way. Then there was 1st grade. My teachers talked to me in a language I couldn’t understand. I was once asked how I was, and I attempted my best to identify what she had asked me. I for some reason ended up just saying “yellow”. My reading level went down, the praises stopped, and I couldn’t see any images anymore. I remember the feeling in my throat I would always get when I felt like I was falling behind. That’s because I was. As time went on, I got to know a lady, Ms. Garcia. She spent most of her time in a huge room, surrounded by books. I saw her there so much I began thinking she must’ve lived there. She was the first to notice the difference between me and my classmates and very often offered to help with choosing out a book. Though my memory about back then is a blur, I remember her sitting with me, going over each English word. Her wrinkly finger following the words as I read. Over the years, I grew accustomed to the language. I was able to conversate, joke around and most importantly get my love for reading back. The Boy Who Harnessed the Wind by Wiliam Kamkwamba, was one of the first books I read when I started middle school. The book talked about William, a boy whose village suffered a drought. Using his curiosity and creativity, he created a windmill that brought an end to the drought which helped everyone in his village. Reading about a young boy, bound by poverty, who was able to rise out of his circumstances through knowledge and determination made me realize something. If William could do it, I could do it too. I could also use my knowledge and abilities to make a positive impact on those around me. I see a significant need for trusted individuals who can communicate in Spanish, as there are often very few in healthcare settings. Just as William’s innovative thinking allowed him to transform his environment, I want to empower others by providing support and clear communication in a setting that can be intimidating. Now recently this year, I came across probably my favorite book ever. A Thousand Splendid Suns by Khaled Hosseini. The book talked about two Afghan woman, Laila and Mariam, who were both wives and victims of their abusive husband. Despite their struggles with war and hardship, they were able to find comfort within each other, Through Mariam’s selfless sacrifice, Laila was able to escape everything and create her own life by becoming a teacher and a woman’s rights advocator. This book resonates deeply with me as a first-generation student. Just like Laila, I have faced my own struggles, especially dealing with a language barrier. However, I worked hard to overcome these challenges and am proud to be the first in my family to pursue a higher education, creating my own future. Through my education and experiences, I aim to create a positive impact in healthcare, bridging language gaps and promoting understanding, ultimately contributing to a healthier and more inclusive community. Inspired by their journeys, I aim for a career in healthcare to advocate for those facing language barriers, ensuring every patient receives compassionate care embodying the resilience these characters represent.

As me and my cousin got ready, we blasted PinkPantheress’s new album, singing along to every track. Each song felt like a soundtrack to our anticipation as we picked out our outfits and fussed over our hair and makeup. My cousin was a bundle of energy, making sure we had everything we needed for the day. “Don’t forget your water!” she reminded me. I appreciated how seriously she took our hydration mission because after all, we were going to be in line for hours. On the way to the venue, excitement turned into nerves, and a sudden wave of nausea hit me. Was it the anticipation? The long wait ahead? Probably both. When we finally joined the line, the sight of all the fans ahead of us was thrilling yet daunting. Within just 10 minutes, exhaustion set in, and we had to plop down on the ground like everyone else. The heat was intense, but instead of feeling grouchy about it, I was amazed at the kindness around us. Strangers offered snacks, saved spots for others while they went to get food, and even helped with makeup touch-ups. It was heartwarming to witness everyone coming together, sharing the moment. As the hours passed and dusk approached, the sky turned stunning shades of orange and pink. It felt like we were part of something magical, even in a seemingly never-ending line. When the security team finally instructed us to prepare our tickets, we erupted into cheers. We were so close! Once inside the venue, an exhilarating rush took over. It felt like I was running on pure adrenaline as we dash walked toward the barricades. Security guards shouted good-naturedly at fans trying to push to the front and I couldn’t help but laugh amidst the chaos. Even though I didn’t get a spot right at the barricade, I was thrilled to be there. Standing close to the stage, I realized my view was blocked, and disappointment washed over me. A knot twisted in my throat, and I battled with frustration-after all that waiting, was this how it would end? I tried to not let this affect me, eventually letting it go. The heat intensified, our foreheads shining with sweat. Just when I thought I couldn’t take it anymore, the security staff passed around bottles of water-such a simple yet thoughtful gesture amidst the chaos. Then, the opener took the stage. I didn’t recognize him at first, but when he played “Go”, a popular TikTok song, the crowd got hyped. I sang along, feeling the energy surge, and my cousin let me stand on her shoes for a better view. That little act of kindness made all the difference for me. Then came the moment I’ll never forget. During his last song, he held up a bouquet and tossed it into the crowd. Time seemed to slow as it arced toward me. I instinctively reached, heart racing, and after a brief struggle, I caught it! I was in disbelief as everyone, including the performer, acknowledged me. Once PinkPantheress came out, I couldn’t focus on anything else. All I could do was close my eyes and let the music wash over me, filling me with a sense of euphoria. The familiar songs I listened to during tough times were now blasting in front of me, resonating with my soul in a whole new way. I could feel the rhythm pulsing through my entire being, and it was as if the music connected us all. Even though I could barely see a thing, it was the music that made me feel completely alive.