When I was a child, I spent most of my time outdoors—turning over every rock, reading novels in tree branches, and striking up conversations with anyone who piqued my curiosity. My powerpoint field guides on lady bugs and rolly pollies were enough to leave any entomologist envious. My self-initiated rap performances left people speechless. The bottom line is, I was curious and ready to engage with the world. That is an aspect of me that has not only remained, but evolved. Life, like for anyone, has introduced me to its complexities. I’ve come to understand that one’s economic background contributes to one’s home-life and that reality is not unique to me. These experiences haven't discouraged me however—they’ve motivated me to learn how systems function and, more importantly, how they can be improved. This drive led me to apply for and win a scholarship sponsored by the Naoko Mitsui Shirane Foundation, a program designed to foster cross-cultural connections between Japan and San Antonio. In Japan, I had the rare opportunity to meet with business executives and government officials. One conversation, in particular, with Nagoya Consulate Principal Officer Anna Wang, shifted something in me. We spoke about the political navigation required to lead under shifting administrations. I was struck by the idea that political careers could not only span decades but also remain consistent in purpose, even amidst change. That conversation planted the seed of a career interest I had never previously considered: public policy at the national or global level. When I came back from Japan, I knew that connection, regardless of ideology, was invaluable. Although my experiences have been intensive, they are the result of first applying my passions to the world around me. I have used my high school experience to explore life and grow as a person. My intention was range. I was in dance, theater, art, and basketball. I wrote and edited work in the school newspaper. I even managed my school's gardening and composting team, but eventually, I craved broader impact. That led me to a Land Stewardship program where I was recognized as an advocate and avid learner. I conducted research, wrote essays, and spoke publicly about the intersection of environmental science, economics, and public policy. Land stewards sow the seeds for the continuation of abundance, which by definition is of mutualistic character and benefits both the quality and prosperity of humans and ecosystems. Through my experiences, I’ve learned that meaningful change must be foundational. That’s why I intend to study public policy: to create systemic solutions that include people of all economic backgrounds. I envision a future where I conduct research, evaluate the efficacy of public programs, and ensure that government policy truly serves its citizens. I know I’ve been privileged in many ways: I had the rare opportunity of graduating with an associate’s degree. But if a government’s willingness to care for its people has lasting social and psychological effects, then it is important to dissolve the illusion of separation between the government as an entity “out there” and the daily lives of citizens. People deserve the tools, resources, and knowledge to take agency over their futures. I’m ready to help build the systems that make that possible.

My scholarship to Japan allowed me to live through an encyclopedia, rather than just read one. As informative as the trip was, it was the people who truly educated me. In any group of learners, you realize quickly: the teacher is not the only one teaching. Every scholar beside you offers a question, critique, or moment of awe that deepens your understanding. A defining part of the program was our meetings with business executives and government officials. I was eager to ask hard questions—about economics, sustainability, and equity. I arrived with a healthy skepticism toward the idea of corporate “give-and-take,” a phrase that often masks exploitation. But in Japan, I encountered a more nuanced narrative. Industry wasn’t just tolerated; it was regarded with trust and even pride. At Toyota, I saw the line between company and community blur. It wasn’t perfect, but there was intention in how they treated labor and invested locally. It made me rethink the constructs that sustain corporate greed. As someone fascinated by Japan’s train systems—where efficiency, design, and public benefit coexist—I began to wonder: To what extent does profit maximization come at the cost of public good? What if economic security weren’t a privilege, but a protected right? These weren’t abstract questions—they were present, grounded, and real. The visit reframed my understanding of business as a space where policy and justice intersect. It challenged me to imagine how legal systems could serve the public rather than just preserve power. More than anything, the trip gave me a sense of urgency and empowerment. Speaking with U.S. diplomats abroad felt like a personal initiation—an invitation to use the power I already hold as a citizen. One moment in particular stands out: meeting Anna Wang, Principal Officer at the U.S. Consulate in Nagoya. We spoke about leading under shifting administrations and how to maintain integrity in public service. That conversation awakened a deeper interest in law and policy, especially at the international level. I returned home with the conviction that connection, across differences, is essential to any informed decision. In Hiroshima, the lessons became visceral. Peace was not a concept—it was a presence, shaped by the weight of its absence. I spoke with Japanese students my age who volunteer to teach about Hiroshima’s history and the country’s peace efforts. Through their stories and our shared questions, I saw how memory becomes a civic duty—and how the law, when written without compassion, can outlast the lives it harms. The trip ended with a quieter, but equally powerful, lesson: the meaning of family. In Isa City, I met a small, shy girl who sat beside me during lunch. I noticed a familiar cartoon on her bag and said, “Kawaii, kawaii.” We didn’t share a language, but we shared a moment. At the end of the day, she gave me a pink square, half-folded into a heart. She looked disappointed that it wasn’t finished. But to me, it was perfect. It was her effort—untranslated but deeply understood—that made the gesture unforgettable. My time with my host family deepened that feeling. Their home carried a sense of harmony, sustained by laughter and care. As my host mother said, “Our hearts said what words could not.” This experience didn’t just change how I see the world—it changed how I see my role in it. I returned not just as a global citizen, but as a future advocate, accountable to a global family. And committed to using the law not merely as a structure, but as a tool for justice.

There is nothing better than dipping your fork into the entree of your dreams, knowing that every bite is another gift to your overall well-being. For me, I have the rare opportunity for that dream to actualize in my reality on various occasions. However, eating healthy is not consistent in my household, and I want to do something about that. It's not a difficult task to find restaurants that offer food with affordability in mind. However, nutritional value is another subject entirely. I was a vegetarian for almost two years, and although I valued my diet, it was not sustainable for me. I live in an apartment with my mom, and I didn't want to burden her with the expenses of having a specialty diet. That being said, transitioning into eating regular food again made me realize how uncomfortable I was with the quality of food in restaurants and grocery stores. Documentaries not only perpetuated my concerns but validated them. I walk home from school daily, and on my expeditions, I have discovered dandelions, winter gourds, and the Sweet Indian Mallow. All of which are native and edible. Besides cultivating an essential skill for life, culinary arts can provide me with the opportunity to nourish myself and others both physically and mentally through food. When I was a vegetarian, I was forced to explore different possibilities with food, and I loved it. I remember making pineapple salads, making soup with tea, and connecting with my Mexican roots by making nopales and eggs. Big change calls for big ideas, and instead of complaining, I want to deliver a solution to the masses, and those local to my community in San Antonio. I participated in a Land Stewardship Ambassadors program, and there we learned about native plant species in Texas and how ancient civilizations and indigenous cultures have utilized the plants and animals around them. After learning about native species, creating a way to deliver native edible plants to people has played around in my mind. However, with greater consideration, I thought about creating a restaurant that supported independent farmers and brought people closer to the wild that always surrounds them. The restaurant would be called Farmed & Foraged. It would be located on a ranch, and through utilizing sustainable land stewardship practices, people could harvest food together, from their own Texas backyard. My idea could even be expanded into ecotourism, and encourage people to educate themselves on the living world around them. Through my foraging initiative, employees would be instructed on how to properly harvest goods and paid for their cultivation in the wild. In some instances, this could have a broader application through community service and volunteering. The menu would be unpredictable, but exciting. I want a degree in culinary arts to experiment with native edible plants, and discover new possibilities for different palettes. The menu is only one aspect to the plan. Farmed & Foraged would stake hold in the heart of the city, ensuring accessibility for a broader audience. The restaurant would incorporate green architecture and utilize the space to maximize vertical farming. I would also love to incorporate pop-up shops while supplies last. I deeply desire to give people more opportunities to appreciate the world around them.