Covid created time–time that could be wasted. That didn’t sit right with me, so I started picking up random hobbies: piano, cooking, and jewelry-making. And then I started making more jewelry, and more, and more. Images of new designs would meet me in my dreams; the first thing I’d do before logging onto class would be bending wire and arranging beads, creating variations of the design that came to me in my sleep. As many supportive parents whose main concern was the mental health of their children during the pandemic, my mom and dad definitely took perhaps an exaggerated awe in these creations. But when my 13 year old sister–who’s never admitted anything about me was “cool”–asked me to make her a ring, it was my greatest compliment. I started posting my latest projects to my private Snapchat story, and had an overwhelming amount of people swipe up asking if they could purchase what I posted. I thought, well, if I’m going to do this, I might as well go big and create a company. The two consecutive all-nighters dedicated to building my website, endless trial and error when creating new designs, and weekends solely dedicated to making inventory didn’t feel like work, but rather passion. After selling a significant amount online and creating a multi-media following, I inquired about having a booth at local farmer’s markets. Every weekend I didn’t have a soccer tournament, I looked forward to meeting new people, teaching interested customers how to make my favorite pieces with materials I brought, and giving 20 minute tours of my 10x10 booth to excited young girls. This journey through what started as daydreams solidified what I was meant to do: entrepreneurship. My dad questioned what I’d innovate down the line; my immediate response was, “I’m not sure yet. But whatever it is, it’s gonna be a big deal.” Although I don’t foresee myself selling handmade jewelry the rest of my life, at age 16 I discovered something incredible: I could create something out of nothing that had an impact and following far bigger than myself. My aunt sat me down and asked me what my "why" was. What got me out of bed every morning? I had to think for a second. I came back with, "well, making a difference." When I look at the world from an 18 year-old perspective, I see what seems like an infinite amount of problems. I hope to tackle at least one of those and make as many differences as possible. I dream to study entrepreneurship to deepen my understanding of how to successfully operate a significant company on a large scale, and have an effect large enough to make a dent in some of these issues.

I have always wanted to make a change, but as a kid, sometimes lacked the courage. My dad recognized this, and would purposely push me. My first recollection was at McDonald’s when he gave me, a shy five-year-old, the most daunting challenge: going to the counter and asking for ketchup. As years passed, he continually encouraged me to put myself out there until I began doing so myself. Now our family motto, “getting the ketchup” refers to pushing oneself out of their box in order to make their mark. Similar to what my dad did for me, my four years elected as class president allowed me to make my mark: creating opportunities for those around me to “get their ketchup.” Too many see leadership simply: someone leads, and others follow. I see it as setting the foundations for others to step outside their box, engage and flourish. I have utilized my planning and leadership abilities to give that same opportunity to my school and community. The events I’ve planned have done just that: unfamiliar hands in the crowd eagerly waved to be class representatives at pep rallies, peers who never thought a prom ticket would show up on their purchase history came to see their artwork displayed at our “Night at the Gallery” themed dance, and students who rarely raised their hands in class passionately spoke at our gun violence awareness demonstration. I've noticed the same pattern in the volunteer organizations I am involved in as well. For instance, as the financial analyst for Education First, we work by raising money to provide college scholarships to low-income youth. As a board member for My Girlfriend's Closet, we collect gently used donations and create a boutique where disadvantaged young women are able to "shop" for clothing, accessories and products. Whether it's scholarships or bags full of clothes, providing "ketchup" opportunities empowers those around you, and in turn, makes the world a better place. Once others recognized how my initiatives led my peers to shine, they began offering “the ketchup” to me. I was one of two students my principal selected for the Superintendent’s Student Advisory Committee, where I represented my school’s voice while contributing to district-wide projects. This position has allowed me to work with my principal to increase knowledge of career pathway courses and revise our dress policy to be more equitable. The following year, the district Superintendent invited me to be one of two student representatives to give perspective on the District Library Book Reconsideration Committee. Here, I consistently advocate for literary material to be available to all communities, as all our books under complaint have LGBTQIA+ themes. There is great potential within communities, and by empowering the individuals that make up communities, real change occurs. Leadership comes in many forms, but for me, it’s about encouraging others to “get their ketchup.”

Covid created time–time that could be wasted. That didn’t sit right with me, so I started picking up random hobbies: piano, cooking, and jewelry-making. And then I started making more jewelry, and more, and more. Images of new designs would meet me in my dreams; the first thing I’d do before logging onto class would be bending wire and arranging beads, creating variations of the design that came to me in my sleep. As many supportive parents whose main concern was the mental health of their children during the pandemic, my mom and dad definitely took perhaps an exaggerated awe in these creations. But when my 13 year old sister–who’s never admitted anything about me was “cool”–asked me to make her a ring, it was my greatest compliment. I started posting my latest projects to my private Snapchat story, and had an overwhelming amount of people swipe up asking if they could purchase what I posted. I thought, well, if I’m going to do this, I might as well go big and create a company. The two consecutive all-nighters dedicated to building my website, endless trial and error when creating new designs, and weekends solely dedicated to making inventory didn’t feel like work, but rather passion. After selling a significant amount online and creating a multi-media following, I inquired about having a booth at local farmer’s markets. Every weekend I didn’t have a soccer tournament, I looked forward to meeting new people, teaching interested customers how to make my favorite pieces with materials I brought, and giving 20 minute tours of my 10x10 booth to excited young girls. This journey through what started as daydreams solidified what I was meant to do: entrepreneurship. My dad questioned what I’d innovate down the line; my immediate response was, “I’m not sure yet. But whatever it is, it’s gonna be a big deal.” Although I don’t foresee myself selling handmade jewelry the rest of my life, at age 16 I discovered something incredible: I could create something out of nothing that had an impact and following far bigger than myself. This scholarship would allow me to begin my journey toward following those dreams. I plan to study entrepreneurship at a four-year university and would be incredibly grateful for any assistance toward reaching that goal. I am eager to deepen my understanding of how to successfully operate a company on a large scale, and strive to make a difference in the world around me.

I have always wanted to make change, but as a kid, sometimes lacked the courage. My dad recognized this, and would purposely push me. My first recollection was at McDonald’s when he gave me, a shy five year old, the most daunting challenge: going to the counter and asking for ketchup. As years passed, he continually encouraged me to put myself out there until I began doing so myself. Now our family motto, “getting the ketchup” refers to pushing oneself out of their box in order to make their mark. Similar to what my dad did for me, my four years elected as class president allowed me to make my mark: creating opportunities for those around me to “get their ketchup.” Too many see leadership simply: someone leads, and others follow. I see it as setting the foundations for others to step outside their box, engage and flourish. The events I’ve planned have done just that: unfamiliar hands in the crowd eagerly waved to be class representatives at pep rallies, peers who never thought a prom ticket would show up on their purchase history came to see their artwork displayed at our “Night at the Gallery” themed dance, and students who rarely raised their hands in class passionately spoke at our gun violence awareness demonstration. Once others recognized how my initiatives led my peers to shine, they began offering “the ketchup” to me. I was one of two students my principal selected for the Superintendent’s Student Advisory Committee, where I represented my school’s voice while contributing to district wide projects. This position has allowed me to work with my principal to increase knowledge of career pathway courses and revise our dress policy to be more equitable. The following year, the district Superintendent invited me to be one of two student representatives to give perspective on the District Library Book Reconsideration Committee. Here, I consistently advocate for literary material to be available to all communities, as all our books under complaint have LGBTQIA+ themes. Leadership comes in many forms, but for me, it’s about encouraging others to “get their ketchup.” If everyone were to feel empowered enough to put themselves out there, and make their mark, our world would be an incredible environment. It's important everyone discovers their "why." For me, I found it's making a difference. When people can grasp what their "why" is, our world becomes a more productive space. I plan to get this idea across in every experience I'm able to land. I value the power of working together and believe our society would be at a better place if we understood and accepted one another for their worth. Changing the world is a big task, but possible with a ripple effect.

Learning the Lyrics I couldn’t keep blaming the emotional rollercoasters from just one glimpse at him, or the fact that scrubbing the crust that bled from the corners of my eyes became an addition to my morning routine on AP tests, class president election week, organizing a community gun violence demonstration, and planning prom. My best friend of two years, my boyfriend for nine months, raped me. For three months I had been suppressing that sentence. He threatened he would kill himself if I told anyone. I hear you Lily. Well, sort of. It was like listening to a new song in a foreign language: you hear the lyrics, but no matter how hard you try, the message remains hidden beneath your ignorance of the language. Something had to be done, but what? Do I report this; and possibly face the torturous humiliation that so many endure when their offender gets off with community service? Or seek therapy to desperately try to take back what was stolen from me: my confidence, ability to trust, femininity, independence, and sanity? But why should I be the one working to “get over” what happened? He did this to me. I started by listening. Mindlessly letting seconds go by, allowing foreign words to enter my mind, and acknowledging how the rhythm affects me. Five weeks of traveling abroad solo and living with a family who only spoke Spanish allowed me to do just that, by taking me to the place I needed: far away from the questions that I myself couldn’t answer, settings that would stir traumatic memories, and my mirror that had recently only reflected a stranger. After listening on repeat, I sought to learn more about the language as a whole. It was painful to digest that adolescents aged 14‐17 were most likely to be sexually victimized, 95% of all adolescent victims knew their attacker, and only eight states and Washington D.C. require students learn about consent. Although I felt no one understood what I was going through, I almost wanted to remain alone; the thought of anyone having to live with a similar situation made me sick. I’ve taken it all in. I’ve listened, processed, learned, and most importantly: discovered. I’ve discovered that in order to fully heal, I want to make a difference. A difference that’s not in the form of providing services for victims, but rather tackling the exasperating lack of abuse education for youth. There’s a lot more than “no” that means “no,” and I strongly believe that change relies on story-sharing from relatable figures. In the recent months, I’ve been working towards bringing a vision to life. As we speak, I’m drafting presentations that allow me to not only educate about healthy relationships, red flags, and consent, but also share my story. I’d present to middle and high schoolers during their sex education units. Doing so would foster an empathetic connection while spreading awareness in order to prevent abuse amongst their relationships. I plan to create a community of young adults with a story to share and a passion for change who could give those same presentations all over the world. A journey of navigating a song that made me so frustrated that I wished I never heard it, brought my mind in tune with my emotions. Of course I have not transcribed the whole song, nor completely understand the context of the words I do know, but I’ve discovered what the lyrics mean to me.

Learning the Lyrics The emotional rollercoasters from just one glimpse at him and the fact that scrubbing the crust that bled from the corners of my eyes became an addition to my morning routine, were my body’s way of screaming at me—louder than ever before—that I needed help. I couldn’t keep blaming these newfound panic attacks on AP tests, class president election week, organizing a community gun violence demonstration, and planning prom. My best friend of two years, boyfriend for nine months, raped me. For three months I had been suppressing that sentence. He threatened he would kill himself if I told anyone. I hear you Lily. Well, sort of. It was like listening to a new song in a foreign language: you hear the lyrics, but no matter how hard you try, the message remains hidden beneath your ignorance of the language. Something had to be done, but what? Do I report this; and possibly face the torturous humiliation that so many endure when their offender gets off with community service? Or seek therapy to desperately try to take back what was stolen from me: my confidence, ability to trust, femininity, independence, and sanity? But why should I be the one working to “get over” what happened? He did this to me. I started by listening. Mindlessly letting seconds go by, allowing foreign words to enter my mind, and acknowledging how the rhythm affects me. Five weeks of traveling abroad solo and living with a family who only spoke Spanish allowed me to do just that, by taking me to the place I needed: far away from the questions that I myself couldn’t answer, settings that would stir traumatic memories, and my mirror that had recently only reflected a stranger. After listening on repeat, I sought to learn more about the language as a whole. It was painful to digest that adolescents aged 14‐17 were most likely to be sexually victimized, 95% of all adolescent victims knew their attacker, and only eight states and Washington D.C. require students learn about consent. Although I felt no one understood what I was going through, I almost wanted to remain alone; the thought of anyone having to live with a similar situation made me sick. I’ve taken it all in. I’ve listened, processed, learned, and most importantly: discovered. I’ve discovered that in order to fully heal, I want to make a difference. A difference that’s not in the form of providing services for victims, but rather tackling the exasperating lack of abuse education for youth. There’s a lot more than “no” that means “no,” and I strongly believe that change relies on story-sharing from relatable figures. In the recent months, I’ve been working towards bringing a vision to life. As we speak, I’m drafting presentations that allow me to not only educate about healthy relationships, red flags, and consent, but also share my story. I’d present to middle and high schoolers during their sex education units. Doing so would foster an empathetic connection while spreading awareness to prevent abuse amongst their relationships. I plan to create a community of young adults with a story to share and a passion for change who could give those same presentations all over the world. A journey of navigating a song that made me so frustrated that I wished I never heard it, brought my mind in tune with my emotions. Of course I have not transcribed the whole song, nor completely understand the context of the words I do know, but I’ve discovered what the lyrics mean to me.