“Maybe you’re the one who started COVID,” the boy said with a great dominating smile as he pointed at the clueless 12-year-old girl. Four years later, she would discover the racial separations between herself and the world that stemmed from these “jokes.” I am the eldest daughter, and the only people to guide me were my parents. My parents are all I wish to be. They’re intelligent, logical, responsible, reliable, and everything a parent should be for their children; however, throughout their preparation for me to live in this world, they didn’t prepare me for the racial differences I’d face. I especially wasn’t prepared for the racism of Covid. I grew up in a white-majority town as a Hmong American. In my high school, there was only a 1% Asian demographic, and I was the only Hmong person. Looking back, as a young girl, I never saw any differences between me and my peers. I knew I was a different race; however, I felt equally the same as my friends and seventh-grade students. But in the final weeks of school, before COVID-19 had shut down the world, I was targeted racially by the peers I saw as equal. They easily belittled me for “eating bats” and “having Covid,” and no one dared to explain to the unknowing and innocent girl that she was different because she wasn’t white. The racial comments worsened as I and my peers grew. Through each “joke,” a separation built between me and my white majority community. I felt powerless and submitted to such comments as I realized I couldn’t change the people I saw daily. So, I changed the people I saw. I joined as many cultural clubs as possible, such as the International Club, the Korean Club, and the Dear Asian Youth Organization Club to seek an environment where I could fit in. However, after I became a member of these extracurricular activities, I didn’t feel the need to fit in to feel comfortable. I experienced multiple traditions and cultures, addressed different stigmas, and created solutions to the same problems I had to face alone. Throughout all these experiences, I was the happiest to be me--a persevering, diligent, and hard-working young Hmong woman. I connected culturally to other Asian American students while exploring other interesting and unique cultures similar and different to mine. Now, I am confident in my identity and social skills, embracing what I felt most insecure about. I want to make a difference in the finance field. The Finance major comprises over 70% of males, and 8.4% are Asian, including men and women. I want to diversify the field because I have experienced racial differences, and I'd like to expand the inclusion of the field for people of color and women. As part of my preparation, I co-opted at Dow Credit Union in the accounting and finance department. The hands-on work experience from co-oping improved my skills extremely, as well as my understanding of the processes of accounting and the basics of finance. With this, I bring my knowledge to where I work now, the Saginaw Valley State University Foundation Office, and apply it behind-the-scenes throughout the many generous donations we receive. Despite all the barriers I have faced with my identity, I have always found solutions to overcome them. I want to further my education and make an inclusive and welcoming community for all to embrace themselves, unlike the hesitancy I had to go through as a daughter clueless about the world.

POV: you’re 12 years old and crying underneath the blankets, praying to be born white in the next life. Except, it isn’t a POV. It was my life. As a little girl beginning the next twelve years of education, I knew I was different from my peers. Unlike the other girls I befriended, I didn’t have blonde hair. Mine was black. I didn’t have bright blue or green eyes. Mine were “black” or to say correctly, dark brown. And my eyes weren’t big and innocent like a doe’s. My eyes were smaller and thinner than theirs. But I think out of everyone in those days, I was the most innocent for thinking that I was equal to my white friends. Up until 2019, I thought that despite being Hmong American, I could keep up with my white majority classmates. No one ever spoke to me about my race, either as a joke or as a pure statement. I was blinded by a world where I was safe by the innocence of childhood. Then, on a random Christmas Eve, my mom read out loud to me and my family about the outbreak of a sickness named the Coronavirus. And then, on a random day in March in my seventh-grade science class, a boy came up to me, poked my shoulder, and said, “Maybe you started Covid.” Ever since then, I realized that I would never be equal to the town I once called home. I grew into a depression of prayers wishing to be everything I was not, and once those wishes didn’t come true in my life, I moved on to the next life. I prayed every night to be a skinny, white, blonde, blue-eyed girl with rich parents, a big house, and friends who I was equal. These thoughts happened for three years and the only solace I found in school was my academics. I took IB, honors, and advanced courses, and even dabbled into volunteer service and co-op for a credit union, but it wasn’t until recently I found a place I could belong. In my senior year, a Korean girl the same age as I asked if I wanted to join their International Club. It was the first time anyone directly invited me to be a part of something throughout my three years of high school, so I couldn’t help but take the chance. That was my first step as I quickly began to join other clubs where I could savor this feeling of equality, going so far as to drive to our rival school where I joined their Korean Club and Asian Club. However, joining the Dear Asian Youth Organization Club, our first meeting was about the one thing no one talked about: Asian stigmas and how to stop them. Ever since, I was inspired by my other Asian peers who could express their culture with such pride, and I quickly began to see the good in my being. Although I regret not stepping out of my comfort hole sooner, I truly understand the cliché saying, “Better late than never.” Now, as I am stepping physically out of my comfort zone to attend Saginaw Valley State University to pursue finance, I can honor the hopes of the little girl who cried in bed, praying for what she couldn’t be: to be accepted. With acceptance comes a new beginning, and this new beginning will be the grand wish-come-true for me and the little girl I hold safe in the precious of my heart.

POV: you’re 12 years old and crying underneath the blankets, praying to be born white in the next life. Except, it isn’t a POV. It was my life. As a little girl beginning the next twelve years of education, I knew I was different from my peers. Unlike the other girls I befriended, I didn’t have blonde hair. Mine was black. I didn’t have bright blue or green eyes. Mine were “black” or to say correctly, dark brown. And my eyes weren’t big and innocent like a doe’s. My eyes were smaller and thinner than theirs. But I think out of everyone in those days, I was the most innocent for thinking that I was equal to my white friends. Up until 2019, I thought that despite being Hmong American, I could keep up with my white majority classmates. No one ever spoke to me about my race, either as a joke or as a pure statement. I was blinded by a world where I was safe by the innocence of childhood. Then, on a random Christmas Eve, my mom read out loud to me and my family about the outbreak of a sickness named the Coronavirus. And then, on a random day in March in my seventh-grade science class, a boy came up to me, poked my shoulder, and said, “Maybe you started Covid.” Ever since then, I realized that I would never be equal to the town I once called home. I grew into a depression of prayers wishing to be everything I was not, and once those wishes didn’t come true in my life, I moved on to the next life. I prayed every night to be a skinny, white, blonde, blue-eyed girl with rich parents, a big house, and friends who I was equal. These thoughts happened for three years and the only solace I found in school was my academics. I took IB, honors, and advanced courses, and even dabbled into volunteer service and co-op for a credit union, but it wasn’t until recently I found a place I could belong. In my senior year, a Korean girl the same age as I asked if I wanted to join their International Club. It was the first time anyone directly invited me to be a part of something throughout my three years of high school, so I couldn’t help but take the chance. That was my first step as I quickly began to join other clubs where I could savor this feeling of equality, going so far as to drive to our rival school where I joined their Korean Club and Asian Club. However, joining the Dear Asian Youth Organization Club, our first meeting was about the one thing no one talked about: Asian stigmas and how to stop them. Ever since I was inspired by my other Asian peers who could express their culture with such pride, and I quickly began to see the good in my being. Although I regret not stepping out of my comfort hole sooner, I truly understand the cliché saying “Better late than never.”  Now, as I am stepping physically out of my comfort zone to attend Saginaw Valley State University to pursue finance, I once again need a pull. This scholarship would be the key to piecing the hopes of the little girl who cried in bed, praying for what she couldn’t be: to be accepted. However, with acceptance comes a new beginning. The Jorian Kuran Harris (Shugg) Helping Heart Foundation Scholarship would be the first to my new beginning.

I waited patiently for my mom to push the cart to the register, taking out our carton of eggs and lifting the milk jug with a heavy huff. With every item that made a beeping scan, I would glance at the screen of the pin pad to see how these two or three dollars added up to make over two hundred. A dread would drown out my heart into the acid of my stomach as I would eye my mom, begging her, “We can’t afford this.” We lived in a two-bedroom, bricked duplex for more than ten years. The four of us-- my mom, dad, younger brother, and I --were outgrowing the size of our home, and we weren’t the only ones who knew. Being born in a Hmong family living an American lifestyle, money was power. My six-year-old cousins easily belittled me and my brother as “the poorest.” We didn’t have a luxurious three-story house with white-picket fences and the newest TV models in every room; however, my parents could still afford to buy Christmas presents at our gatherings. My mom cooked Thanksgiving dinner, and my dad gifted me teddy bears for Valentine’s Day, all while returning with exhausted, tired eyes from their eight-hour shifts. I had no choice but to sit and watch this ruthless world, where money bought everything, even groceries and children's happiness. I looked at my mom as she raised her card to the skimmer, my hands tightening around the plastic bag that held our eggs. She smiled at me. Her smile was unforgettable, a memory stained in the comforts of my mind, as her eyes told mine, “It’ll be okay.” For 16 years, I witnessed the financial struggles of my family; however, the one value that always stuck with me while growing up with the differences in monetary status, racial inequality, and gender inequality was incredible persistence. My parents introduced me to a world where diligence was the only way to get what I wanted, and it couldn’t be truer. I focused on my academics, taking IB and advanced courses to grow mentally; I volunteered for community service to grow spiritually; I joined clubs to grow emotionally, and I achieved an accounting co-op position at a credit union to grow in experience. Every choice I made was to piece the dream of the little girl I hold precious in the safe of my heart: to make my mom and dad smile the biggest and brightest without any eyebags of worry or regret. I am lucky to have grasped that money holds power. I have seen all that it can give and all that can come without, but different from my parents, I have also seen the control behind it: finance. My accounting class gave me a sense of control over the one thing I never thought could be controlled and I dug into business with a newfound curiosity. I want to use its organized structure to guide my adulthood. Majoring in finance will help me face the same problems my family and countless other families have struggled through, becoming a part of the solution. Although I still have yet to fulfill the little girl in my heart’s dream, a new one has been made along the way. I want to provide the financial relief and stability that I didn’t have so parents like mine can buy Christmas presents, Thanksgiving turkeys, and teddy bears for their daughter who won’t have to worry about how much groceries cost.

As the eldest child raised by Hmong American parents, solitude was my only company. My community was largely white-dominated, and I grew up being the only Hmong American throughout my whole education. Overall, I felt useless because of the racial separation between me and my peers. Two years ago, I had to get ten hours of community service for a school grade. I was horrified. I knew I had a strong work ethic, and enough social skills to get me through a five-minute conversation; however, I didn’t have the same eye shape, the same blonde or brown hair, or the same bright blue or green eyes. The racial differences I’ve experienced affected every aspect of my life, discouraging all motivation to experience the things my peers had the chance to do with joy. I chose to volunteer at the Chippewa Nature Center for their annual Nature Art Show. My job was to welcome and count people who attended the event. It was my first time volunteering, and I was a nervous wreck. However, when I came to the front desk to start my shift, I was met with a lady who was also another volunteer. Throughout the hours of volunteering, we had pleasant conversations. However, the simplicity of the conversation was just what I needed to calm my nerves. The entire work was simple in terms of its interaction with others that I realized the joy of serving my community. I felt proud of the small part I could play in my community that I felt separate from. I found a way to contribute to my society. In the two years since, I’ve grown a long record of community service, and I continue to lengthen it. In my society, I’m a positive force because of all that I try to give despite being racially different. I will forever continue to face such differences in my journey to support my community, which helped me realize the importance of my identity as a young Hmong woman. Being the only Hmong American, I educate my white-majority town to understand and appreciate the Hmong culture, and volunteering is one of the best ways to allow such opportunities. The social norms of racial stereotypes and lack of knowledge shape my ideas and perspective of how I see my volunteering. Through these social norms, I can create my difference. My impact. My positive force in society.

I waited patiently for my mom to push the cart to the register, taking out our carton of eggs and lifting the milk jug with a heavy huff. With every item that made a beeping scan, I would glance at the screen of the pin pad to see how these two or three dollars added up to make over two hundred. A dread would drown out my heart into the acid of my stomach as I would eye my mom, begging her, “We can’t afford this.” We lived in a two-bedroom, bricked duplex for more than ten years. The four of us-- my mom, dad, younger brother, and I --were outgrowing the size of our home, and we weren’t the only ones who knew. Being born in a Hmong family living an American lifestyle, money was power. My six-year-old cousins easily belittled me and my brother as “the poorest.” We didn’t have a luxurious three-story house with white-picket fences and the newest TV models in every room; however, my parents could still afford to buy Christmas presents at our gatherings. My mom cooked Thanksgiving dinner, and my dad gifted me teddy bears for Valentine’s Day, all while returning with exhausted, tired eyes from their eight-hour shifts. I had no choice but to sit and watch this ruthless world, where money bought everything, even groceries and children's happiness. I looked at my mom as she raised her card to the skimmer, my hands tightening around the plastic bag that held our eggs. She smiled at me. Her smile was unforgettable, a memory stained in the comforts of my mind, as her eyes told mine, “It’ll be okay.” For 16 years, I witnessed the financial struggles of my family; however, the one value that always stuck with me while growing up with the differences in monetary status, racial inequality, and gender inequality was incredible persistence. My parents introduced me to a world where diligence was the only way to get what I wanted, and it couldn’t be truer. I focused on my academics, taking IB and advanced courses to grow mentally; I volunteered for community service to grow spiritually; I joined clubs to grow emotionally, and I achieved an accounting co-op position at a credit union to grow in experience. Every choice I made was to piece the dream of the little girl I hold precious in the safe of my heart: to make my mom and dad smile the biggest and brightest without any eyebags of worry or regret. I am lucky to have grasped that money holds power. I have seen all that it can give and all that can come without, but different from my parents, I have also seen the control behind it: finance. My accounting class gave me a sense of control over the one thing I never thought could be controlled and I dug into business with a newfound curiosity. I want to use its organized structure to guide my adulthood. Majoring in finance will help me face the same problems my family and countless other families have struggled through, becoming a part of the solution. Although I still have yet to fulfill the little girl in my heart’s dream, a new one has been made along the way. I want to provide the financial relief and stability that I didn’t have so parents like mine can buy Christmas presents, Thanksgiving turkeys, and teddy bears for their daughter who won’t have to worry about how much groceries cost.

As the eldest child raised by two Hmong American parents, solitude was my only company. My community was largely white-dominated, and I grew up being the only Hmong American throughout my whole education. Overall, I felt useless because of the racial separation between me and my peers.  Two years ago, I had to get ten hours of community service for a school grade. I was horrified. I knew I had a strong work ethic, and enough social skills to get me through a solid five-minute conversation; however, I didn’t have the same eye shape, the same blonde or brown hair, or the same bright blue or green eyes. The racial differences I’ve experienced affected every aspect of my life, discouraging all motivation to experience the things my peers had the chance to do with joy.  I chose to volunteer at the Chippewa Nature Center for their annual Nature Art Show. My job was to welcome and count the people who attended the event. It was my first time volunteering, and I was a nervous wreck. However, when I came to the front desk to start my shift, I was met with a lady who was also another volunteer. We had the change together. Throughout the hours of volunteering, we had together, we had pleasant conversations. However, the simplicity of the conversation was just what I needed to calm my nerves. The entire work was so simple in terms of its interaction with others that I realized the joy of serving my community. I felt proud of the small part I could play in my community that I felt separate from. I found a way to contribute to my society. In the two years since, I’ve grown a long record of community service, and I continue to lengthen it. In my society, I’m a positive force because of all that I try to give despite being racially different. I will forever continue to face such differences in my journey to support my community, which helped me realize the importance of my identity in society as a young Hmong woman. Being the only Hmong American, I educate my white-majority town to understand and appreciate the Hmong culture, and volunteering is one of the best ways to allow such opportunities. The social norms of racial stereotypes and lack of knowledge shape my ideas and perspective of how I see my volunteering. Through these social norms, I can create my difference. My impact. My positive force in society.

A year ago, I took an accounting course that changed my motives, my values, and the future of my life. Since I was a child, I knew that I wanted to help others, and leading up to my junior year of high school, I wanted to pursue a career in the medical field. However, I was lucky to have parents who didn’t care for the typical Asian expectations of becoming a doctor. My family's financial health was more of a concerning problem than any health issue. Playing the role of the eldest daughter in a Hmong American household, I became aware of my parent's impending doom of loans, rent, and taxes. It terrified me how uncontrollable the monster of money was that not even the two most profound people I know, my mom and dad, could not handle its burden. Thus, my parents suggested I take an accounting class to learn how to manage and organize money, a flaw that they had made in their lives. However, after learning about the accounting process, I realized it’s about gaining financial balance, which I lacked in my childhood. The class allowed me to find relief in finding control over the monster I feared no one could protect me from. Sharing my experiences, I realize how financial stability affects almost everybody. By furthering my education in finance, I want to help those struggling with their financial health through the mutual understanding I have experienced in my life of how weak financial management can impact families, children, and the mental state of others. Also, I want to share my relief when I took my accounting class to show people the control we could gain over one of the most substantial global issues with a patient and open-minded approach. To accomplish this, I've been working my way to becoming a better person, spiritually, emotionally, and mentally through volunteer service to connect with others socially, stepping out of my comfort bubble by joining clubs, achieving an accounting and finance co-op position at Dow Credit Union, and shaping myself into someone who can be a reliable figure for others to depend on when it comes to any problems, financial or not. When I look back on myself a year ago, the girl I was then had no idea what career she wanted and believed she would never find anything she could be passionate about. I wouldn't have thought that the finance field was where I would fit in, and I believed that I could never catch up to my expenses like my hard-working parents. However, I am grateful and appreciative of my accounting class for allowing me to overcome my fear of facing my monster. The monster was my passion: to help others through unhealthy financial stability and struggles like I have experienced.

“Maybe you’re the one who started COVID,” the boy said with a great dominating smile as he pointed at the innocent 12-year-old girl. Four years later, she would discover the racial separations between herself and the small world that stemmed from these “jokes.” I was raised in a small, white-majority town as a Hmong family of four. I was the eldest daughter, and the only people to guide me were my parents. My parents are everything I wish to be. They’re intelligent, logical, responsible, reliable, and everything a parent should be for their children; however, throughout all their preparation for me to live in this world, they didn’t prepare me for the racial differences I had to face. Thus, I wasn’t prepared for the racism of Covid. As a young girl, I never saw any differences between me and my peers. I knew I was a different race; however, I felt equally the same as all my other friends and seventh-grade students. But in the final weeks of school, before Covid had shut down the world, I was targeted heavily by the peers I saw as equal, yet I never grasped its meaning from my race. My seventh-grade friends easily belittled me for “eating bats” and “having Covid,” and no one dared to explain to the unknowing and innocent girl she was different because she wasn’t white. The racial comments grew far worse as me and my peers grew. I realized through each “joke” there would forever be a separation between me and the world. I felt powerless and easily submitted to such comments as I quickly realized I could not change the people I saw every day. So, I changed the people I saw. I joined as many cultural clubs as possible, such as the International Club, the Korean Club, and the Dear Asian Youth Organization Club, to seek an environment where I could fit in. However, at the end of the day, I realized I didn’t need to fit in to feel comfortable. I got to experience multiple traditions and cultures, address different stigmas, and create solutions to the same problems I had to face by myself. Joining these clubs helped me gain confidence in my presence and ability in situations, allowing me to embrace what I felt most insecure about. The Anthony B. Davis Scholarship will greatly help me make a difference in the finance field. The Finance major is made up of over 70% of males, and 8.4% are Asian, including men and women. Diversifying the majority of this field is important to me because I have experienced racial differences, and I'd like to expand the inclusion in the field for people of color and women. To further prepare myself, I'm co-oping at Dow Credit Union in the accounting and finance department. The hands-on work experience from co-oping has improved my skills extremely, as well as my understanding of the processes of accounting and the basics of finance. Overall, improving the field to be more diverse can help people, companies, banks, etc. to build personal understandings of their consumer's financial situations, and it first begins by embracing one's identity. My first step starts with this scholarship.

As the eldest daughter of a Hmong family, I noticed the instability of our financial situation when I was six or seven. I had no one to guide me except my parents, and they taught me the cruelty of the negative impacts on a beginning family with the distress of financial issues. I was surrounded by rent, taxes, and the cost of groceries more than TV shows like Dora or My Little Pony. Throughout my life, I sacrificed precious moments to focus on the one thing that a little girl like me could do to help her deserving parents be just a little bit happier: academics. My mom and dad were hard workers, and as the eldest daughter, I saw all of it. My mom graduated with a bachelor’s degree just months after my grandmother passed away, and my dad gave up college to support my mom and his parents. Up until now, their persistence to provide for us has never withered, and their unrecognized but deserving work is what made me determined to make them happier.  Through my studies to find a way out of financial hardships, I took an accounting class that changed the direction of my life. Instead of running away from the instability that raised me, I want to face it head-on in my finance career. Understanding the control over what I feared since I was a child has led me to success in overcoming it, along with success in finding solutions to other problems in my life, such as my future plans. I want to make a difference in others' lives, whether it be through a corporate company, a bank, or providing reassurance to someone, I want to be the person that my family didn’t have but needed. Even now, I am trying to lighten someone’s life just a little bit by volunteering for public events, advocating for diversity, and tutoring other students. Overall, I plan to make a difference by being reliable through my trustworthiness, diligence, and, on a personal level, my further education in finance.  Unfortunately, I can’t reach this goal on my own. Finding financial help for minorities is becoming increasingly harsh, especially for those like myself who come from a small and unknown ethnicity such as Hmong. This scholarship will help me greatly in changing others' lives, including my own. By taking this opportunity, I’m becoming one step closer to achieving the dream I used to helplessly pray for every night: to make my parents just a little bit happier by finally making a change.

I waited patiently for my mom to push the cart to the register, taking out our carton of eggs and lifting the milk jug with a heavy huff. With every item that made a beeping scan, I would glance at the screen of the pin pad to see how these two or three dollars added up to make over two hundred. A dread would drown my heart into the acid of my stomach as I eyed my mom, begging her, “We can’t afford this.” We lived in a two-bedroom, bricked duplex for more than ten years. The four of us-- my mom, dad, younger brother, and I --were outgrowing the size of our home, and we weren’t the only ones who knew. Being born from a family of first-generation Hmong Lao immigrants, money was power. My six-year-old cousins easily belittled me and my brother as “the poorest.” We didn’t have a luxurious three-story house with the finest televisions and fireplaces; however, my cousins got their Christmas presents, and my parents bought them. My mom cooked Thanksgiving dinner and my dad would give me a teddy bear for Valentine’s Day, all while returning with exhausted, tired eyes from their eight-hour shifts. As I had no choice but to sit and watch, I sunk into a ruthless world: money bought everything, groceries and children's happiness. I looked at my mom as she raised her card to the skimmer, my hands tightening around the plastic bag that held our eggs. She smiled at me. Her smile was unforgettable, a memory stained in the comforts of my mind, as her eyes told mine, “It’ll be okay.” For 16 years, I witnessed the financial struggles of my family; however, the one value that always stuck with me while growing up with the differences in monetary status and racial inequality was an incredible persistence. I focused on my academics, taking IB and advanced courses to grow mentally; I volunteered for community service to grow spiritually and socially; I joined clubs to grow emotionally, and I achieved an accounting co-op position at a credit union. Embracing my determination, I’m piecing the dream of the little girl I hold precious in the safe of my heart: to make my mom and dad smile the biggest and brightest without any eyebags of worry or regret. As I am stepping into adulthood, I am lucky to have realized that money holds power. I have seen all that it can give and all that can come without, and different from my parents, I have also seen the control behind it: finance. My accounting class gave me a sense of control over the one thing I never thought could be controlled and I dug into business with a newfound curiosity. I want to use its organized structure to guide my adulthood. Majoring in finance will help me with the same problems my family and countless other families have faced, and I want to be part of the solution. Although I have yet to fulfill the little girl in my heart’s dream, a new one has been made along the way. I want to provide the financial relief and stability that I didn’t have so parents like mine can buy Christmas presents, Thanksgiving turkeys, and teddy bears, for their daughter who won’t have to worry about how much groceries cost. My dream all begins with this scholarship.

A year ago, I took an accounting course that changed my motives, my values, and the future of my life. Since I was a child, I knew that I wanted to help others, and leading up to my junior year of high school, I wanted to pursue a career in the medical field. However, I was lucky to have parents who didn’t care for the typical Asian expectations of becoming a doctor. My family's financial health was more of a concerning problem than any health issue. Playing the role of the eldest daughter in a Hmong American household, I became aware of my parent's impending doom of loans, rent, and taxes. It terrified me how uncontrollable the monster of money was that not even the two most profound people I know, my mom and dad, could not handle its burden. Thus, my parents suggested I take an accounting class to learn how to manage and organize money, a flaw that they had made in their lives. However, after learning about the accounting process, I realized it’s about gaining financial balance, which I lacked in my childhood. The class allowed me to find relief in finding control over the monster I feared no one could protect me from. Sharing my experiences, I realize how financial stability affects almost everybody. By furthering my education in finance, I want to help those struggling with their financial health through the mutual understanding I have experienced in my life of how weak financial management can impact families, children, and the mental state of others. Also, I want to share my relief when I took my accounting class to show people the control we could gain over one of the most substantial global issues with a patient and open-minded approach. To accomplish this, I've been working my way to becoming a better person, spiritually, emotionally, and mentally through volunteer service to connect with others socially, stepping out of my comfort bubble by joining clubs, being interviewed for an accounting and finance co-op position at a credit union, and shaping myself into someone who can be a reliable figure for others to depend on when it comes to any problems, financial or not. When I look back on myself a year ago, the girl I was then had no idea what career she wanted and believed she would never find anything she could be passionate about. I wouldn't have thought that the finance field was where I would fit in, and I believed that I could never catch up to my expenses like my hard-working parents. However, I am grateful and appreciative of my accounting class for allowing me to overcome my fear of facing my monster. The monster was my passion: to help others through unhealthy financial stability and struggles like I have experienced.

“Isn’t it lovely, all alone?” I spent three years of high school alone. Being the eldest daughter of a Hmong American family, independence was the only thing I could rely on with no one to guide me. As scared as I was of how others would see me as the lonely, weird, quiet Asian girl, I found peace in my solidarity. I could focus on what I wanted to do, and what things I liked, and reflect on myself to grow. However, this idea stemmed from a song I heard when I was just in fifth grade: “Lovely” by Billie Eilish. Over the years, I’ve learned of the real meaning behind the song and its lyrics of loneliness, but I’ve always found the line of the main chorus, “Isn’t it lovely, all alone?” to be one that filled me with pride. I found it all lovely as someone who would sit alone for lunch, be the odd number out of the class, and do my partner presentations alone. I was blooming all by myself without anyone to help or guide me. My solidarity was lovely, like Billie’s song. “I don’t want to be you anymore.” Although this song doesn’t resonate with me anymore, it once did. When I was thirteen, I had very low self-esteem. I would watch for hours on end the music video of Billie Eilish’s “Idontwannabeyouanymore” and yearn in my dreams to be someone different. I would dream of a flatter stomach, a brighter personality, an intelligent mind, and almost anything and everything a teenage girl could and did wish for. However, now that I am 16, I think of this song as a fever memory. It is a memory that I look back on and wish to take back so that I didn’t want those kinds of things anymore because she’d grow up to be someone who loved herself for every part of her. This song takes me back to those moments. “But there’s a part of me that recognizes you. Do you feel it too?” Since this song was released, it is my favorite from Billie. It’s inspired by one of my most loved movies, Spirited Away, and it connects deeply to me and I, as a human, feel absolute pity for Chihiro, the main character, for losing Haku, her love interest. These kinds of stories are closely related to my own experiences in romance, and I find comfort in being able to emotionally resonate with such feelings with others, movies, and even songs such as CHIHIRIO. All these songs by Billie Eilish resonate with me because they all connect to a part of my life, whether I enjoyed that moment or not. She has provided me with a sense of comfort in my experiences and the person I am today because of her songs, and I don’t believe there will be another singer who has given me such peace as Billie did for me growing up into the strong and determined woman I am today. I can proudly say that she has shaped my life and who I am through the acceptance of her songs.

To be blunt, I never imagined having a future because I was a coward. I didn’t like thinking about having a job because my parents would come home with dragging faces and frowns. I didn’t like thinking about driving a car because my mom would cry about the many accidents that scarred her physically and mentally. I didn’t like thinking about paying for loans because my dad would come worrying to me about his own. To put things simply, I was deathly afraid to become all that my parents regret in their own lives. I was lost with my identity, especially being the eldest daughter with no one to look up to. Being Hmong, I faced many racial inequalities, and coming from a family that didn’t have financial stability, I faced the truth of how financial status does affect the way others treated me. So, I started playing the safe game like how a coward would. However, I wasn’t only a coward. I was a dreamer. I dreamed of worlds where I could make so much money that my parents would never have to work. I dreamed of wearing poofy princess dresses. I dreamed of even becoming president to make a place for those who didn’t have one like myself. The battle between cowardliness and desires was a losing one, or so I thought. I have my dad’s cautious mind and my mom’s dreaming heart. “Let your eyes learn first before your head,” spoke my dad’s observation. “I hope you become a better person than me,” whispered my mom’s wishes. Cradled in the precious of my memories, I have always had one goal ever since I was a little girl: make mom and dad happy. As I am maturing into a 16-year-old woman, applying to colleges and universities, participating in community service, joining clubs to spread awareness of diversity, and a co-op at Dow Credit Union in the accounting and finance department, I am sitting here writing this realizing that I was never a coward. If I were a coward, I wouldn’t be a dreamer. Along with the seven-year-old dreams of being a princess or a president, there are 16-year-old dreams of making a change in my and others' lives. I want to continue my education in finance to help others through the financial struggles and complexities that my family fought. Using such knowledge will help me to provide reliable stability to a business or a family member or even for myself as I will be facing such “adult” finances. Simply put, I want to provide the one stability in my life that my family didn’t have, so my children won’t have to face the cruelty of status and power through the means of green paper bills like I had to. I refuse to be a coward of a daughter, a mother, and a Hmong woman. The future I never thought about, I am living in it. I am striding through it.

I waited patiently for my mom to push the cart to the register, taking out our carton of eggs and lifting the milk jug with a heavy huff. With every item that made a beeping scan, I would glance at the screen of the pin pad to see how these two or three dollars added up to make over two hundred. A dread would drown out my heart into the acid of my stomach as I would eye my mom, begging her, “We can’t afford this.” We lived in a two-bedroom, bricked duplex for more than ten years. The four of us-- my mom, dad, younger brother, and I --were outgrowing the size of our home, and we weren’t the only ones who knew. Being born from a family of first-generation Hmong-Lao immigrants, money was power. My six-year-old cousins easily belittled me and my brother as “the poorest.” We didn’t have a luxurious three-story house with the finest televisions and fireplaces; however, my cousins got their Christmas presents, and my parents bought them. My mom cooked Thanksgiving dinner and my dad would give me a teddy bear for Valentine’s Day, all while returning with exhausted, tired eyes from their eight-hour shifts. As I had no choice but to sit and watch, I sunk into a ruthless world: money bought everything, even groceries and children's happiness. I looked at my mom as she raised her card to the skimmer, my hands tightening around the plastic bag that held our eggs. She smiled at me. Her smile was unforgettable, a memory stained in the comforts of my mind, as her eyes told mine, “It’ll be okay.” For 16 years, I witnessed the financial struggles of my family; however, the one value that always stuck with me while growing up with the differences in monetary status, racial inequality, and gender inequality was incredible persistence. My parents introduced me to a world where diligence was the only way to get what I wanted, and it couldn’t be truer. I focused on my academics, taking IB and advanced courses to grow mentally; I volunteered for community service to grow spiritually; I joined clubs to grow emotionally, and I achieved an accounting co-op position at a credit union to grow in experience. Every choice I made was to piece the dream of the little girl I hold precious in the safe of my heart: to make my mom and dad smile the biggest and brightest without any eyebags of worry or regret. As I am stepping into adulthood, I am lucky to have realized that money holds power. I have seen all that it can give and all that can come without, and different from my parents, I have also seen the control behind it: finance. My accounting class gave me a sense of control over the one thing I never thought could be controlled and I dug into business with a newfound curiosity. I want to use its organized structure to guide my adulthood. Majoring in finance will help me with the same problems my family and countless other families have faced, and I want to be part of the solution. Although I still have yet to fulfill the little girl in my heart’s dream, a new one has been made along the way. I want to provide the financial relief and stability that I didn’t have so parents like mine can buy Christmas presents, Thanksgiving turkeys, and teddy bears, for their daughter who won’t have to worry about how much groceries cost.