Going to college, for me, means walking into rooms I was never expected to be in. Every level of my education has come with the quiet awareness that people who look like me are still underrepresented in the spaces I am trying to enter, especially in law. That awareness is not a burden I carry reluctantly. It is the reason I take my education as seriously as I do. Every class I complete, every extra concept I study beyond what is required, is part of proving that representation in these spaces should be the norm, not the exception. Being a minority student at the University of Miami means constantly registering the gap between who has to fight for their place here and who does not. I watch classmates turn down opportunities because they can afford to be selective, while I have never had that luxury. That difference is not abstract to me. It shapes how hard I have had to work just to stand where I stand, and it has shaped what I want to do with the degree I am working toward. I am pursuing pre-law because the legal system, more than almost any other institution, has historically been built by and for people who do not look like me. Low-income and minority families are disproportionately the ones who cannot afford legal protection, who do not understand contracts written to confuse them, and who are left to navigate systems designed without them in mind. I have already had a preview of that reality myself. During my first year, I was incorrectly charged for tuition my Bright Futures scholarship should have covered, and correcting it meant building my own documented case against a university that offered policy excuses instead of straight answers. I had no lawyer and no one guiding me. I taught myself how to hold an institution accountable using research, documentation, and precise language, and that experience made clear exactly why representation matters, not just in courtrooms, but in every institution that assumes the people it affects will not push back. That is what I am trying to accomplish through my education: becoming a lawyer who ensures other people from communities like mine are never left to fight institutions alone the way I had to. I have taken that responsibility seriously beyond the classroom as well, having been selected as a First-Year Fellow, where I mentor incoming freshmen, many of them first-generation or minority students themselves, through the same uncertainty I once faced navigating college on my own. College, to me, means becoming the kind of representation I did not always see growing up, someone who made it into rooms not built with people like her in mind, and who used that position to hold the door open rather than let it close behind her. A degree is not the finish line. It is the tool that lets me walk back into the communities I come from and make sure the next person does not have to fight quite as hard, or as alone, as I did.

I am a first-year pre-law student at the University of Miami working toward a career representing low-income families who cannot otherwise afford legal protection. That goal is not abstract to me. My father works in transplant healthcare, and I grew up watching him help families who had nothing left but need, without ever asking what they could afford. I watched him sit across from people in the worst moments of their lives and give them his full attention regardless of their ability to pay him back in any way beyond gratitude. That example shaped how I think about service, and it shaped what I want to do with my own career. I want to do the same thing through law: fight for people who are told, implicitly or explicitly, that justice has a price tag they cannot meet. Academically, I have built a strong foundation for that path. I have completed coursework in Business Law and mathematics while beginning to study contract law concepts typically reserved for law school, including the UCC, third-party beneficiaries, assignment and delegation, and equitable remedies. Working through material at that level as a freshman required a discipline I had to build quickly, since it meant holding myself to a standard beyond what my coursework technically required. I was also selected as a First-Year Fellow, a role in which I mentor incoming freshmen academically, helping them adjust to college-level coursework, manage their time, and navigate the uncertainty that comes with a first year away from home. Being trusted with that responsibility as a first-year student myself reflects both my academic standing and my ability to guide others through challenges I have only just worked through. I have also taken the initiative to build professional relationships outside the classroom, reaching out to practicing attorneys to learn what legal work actually looks like day to day, beyond what any course description can capture. Beyond academics, I bring a background as a competitive cheer athlete, where I learned discipline and work ethic long before college. That sport demanded precision, repetition, and the ability to perform under pressure, all of which prepared me for the intensity of college coursework more than I expected. I have continued that mindset even after spinal fusion surgery required me to rebuild how I train and move, adapting my approach rather than abandoning my standards. That adjustment taught me patience with a process that did not go the way I originally planned, a lesson that has carried directly into how I handle setbacks in school. I have also explored entrepreneurial work, including fashion content creation and affiliate work, to help support myself financially while in school and to build skills in communication and self-direction that I expect to use throughout my career. Beyond the classroom, one experience tested me more than any exam ever has. During my first year at the University of Miami, I was incorrectly charged for tuition that my Bright Futures scholarship should have covered. What should have been a simple correction became a prolonged dispute with the university's financial aid office, which repeatedly cited policy explanations that did not match the state's own written confirmation that no funds were owed. I spent months going back and forth with administrators who offered vague justifications instead of direct answers, and I quickly realized that resolving this would require more than persistence. It would require building an actual case. Rather than accept the charge or let the matter drop, I gathered the state's written confirmation, organized my documentation, and drafted formal correspondence to administrators that was firm, precise, and impossible to dismiss. I learned to write in a way that did not concede ground it had not earned, and I learned how to hold an institution accountable to its own stated rules rather than the excuses it offered instead. I had to teach myself, in real time, how large institutions communicate and where their justifications tend to break down under scrutiny. That experience taught me more about advocacy than any classroom could. It showed me what it actually feels like to be an ordinary person up against a system that assumes you will not push back, and it confirmed exactly why I want to spend my career representing people in that same position. I did not have a lawyer fighting that battle for me. I fought it myself, using research, documentation, and language as my only tools. I plan to be the person who fights that fight for others, the way my father has spent his career doing for his patients, without hesitation and without calculation.

From childhood, I've watched how money determines opportunity. I've seen families struggle while others move through life with ease, their paths paved by privilege. I've observed these inequalities my whole life. The gap between those with options and those without is real. But college showed me exactly how this plays out. At the University of Miami, I'm surrounded by peers who don't have to work as hard because money already did the work for them. They can turn down opportunities. They can afford to be selective. I couldn't. Watching that difference, seeing who gets to coast and who has to fight, made me understand what I need to do about it. My father inspires me. He works in transplant healthcare, and I've watched countless low-income families tell him how he changed their lives. They come to him with nothing but need, and he meets that need without hesitation. He doesn't ask if they can afford it. He doesn't calculate their worth based on their bank account. He helps them. The families he serves tell him it changed everything, from their survival to their entire futures. That's what I want to do through law. I'm studying pre-law at the University of Miami to learn how to fight the systems that trap low-income families in disadvantage. Right now, the playing field is rigged by design. Low-income families can't afford lawyers when they need legal protection. They don't understand contracts meant to confuse them. They're fighting systems designed by people who had every advantage, and they're fighting alone. My vision is to change that. Through my legal education, I will learn to dismantle these systems. I strive to become a lawyer who helps low-income families access justice they couldn't otherwise afford by learning to dismantle the systems that keep them trapped. I want to be someone who fights for families the way my father fights for his patients. Without hesitation. Without calculation. Just because it's right. The change I'm determined to create is clear: a legal system that doesn't punish people for being poor. A system where low-income families have representation, where they understand their rights, where they have someone in their corner fighting for them. I've watched families fight alone against systems designed to keep them down. I've seen my father show what it looks like to help without hesitation. Now I'm going to be the lawyer in the room who doesn't calculate worth based on a bank account, who doesn't ask if they can afford representation. Low-income families deserve to have someone fighting for them. I’m going to be that someone.

Within my first week at the University of Miami, I realized I was playing a different game than everyone around me. I chose UM for my pre-law studies because it was the right program and the right path to law school. However, as I walked across campus, I understood what I’d actually chosen: a place where my peers casually discussed private planes and trust funds while I was doing the math on whether I could afford books and a meal plan. My faith and my community have always taught me that we are called to see justice and care for those who are struggling. Those values took on a different meaning when I could see them play out in real time. My classmates could afford to turn down unpaid internships. They had the luxury of being selective about opportunities that I didn't. The gap shaped the start of my college experience. Between those with options and those without was a fundamental divide. So I worked harder. Not because I'm more resilient or ambitious than anyone else, but because I literally had to outpace the advantage that money gives. I prioritized every hour and said yes to opportunities that mattered. I learned to be strategic about my time in a way that my wealthier peers never had to consider. Somewhere in those late nights between homework and prepping for exams, I realized something: the unfairness I was experiencing in college is built into the system itself. People without money don't work harder in school; they work harder for everything. They can't afford lawyers. They don't understand the contracts that are meant to confuse and trap them. They're fighting systems that were designed by people who had every advantage, and they're fighting alone. Someone working two jobs doesn't have time to research legal options. Someone working paycheck to paycheck can't afford to challenge unfair agreements. The playing field was never level; it was rigged from the start. That's why I want to be a lawyer, not to succeed in spite of my circumstances, but to change the circumstances themselves. I want to understand the systems that protect wealth and power, and I want to know how to dismantle them. I want to be someone who levels the playing field for people who never had the option to work harder and expect fairness. That's what my faith calls me to do. I've learned what inequality looks like when you're living it. The law will teach me what to do about it, and that's exactly where I'm headed.

The city of Plantation is known for its greenery, tree-lined streets, and numerous parks that create a scenic and welcoming environment. The city’s dedication to preserving its natural beauty makes it a unique and appealing place to live and visit. While Florida is known for its warm and sunny weather, during hurricane season unpredictable winds and storms are common. The abundance of trees in Plantation can quickly become a hazard. High winds and heavy rain often uproot trees, break branches, and turn debris into dangerous projectiles. This can lead to power outages, blocked roads, and structural damage to homes and local businesses. To ensure the safety of residents and preserve the city's beauty, Plantation should implement a tree-securement initiative for hurricane preparedness. This could include regular inspections of trees to identify unfit trees that are likely to fall during a storm. Also, trimming overhanging branches near power lines and structures would reduce the risk of damage. The city could also educate residents about proper tree care and encourage them to secure their own trees by offering free workshops, educational pamphlets, or discounted tree services. Additionally, planting hurricane-resistant trees, such as Sand Live Oaks or Southern Magnolias in public spaces would ensure that Plantation remains green and beautiful while minimizing storm-related risks. By proactively managing the city’s trees, Plantation can balance its commitment to nature with the safety of its residents. Another initiative that would greatly benefit Plantation is the expansion of free Wi-Fi in its many parks. With numerous parks spread across the city, Plantation offers countless opportunities for recreation, relaxation, and outdoor activities. However, in today’s digital world, people often look for spaces where they can stay connected while enjoying their surroundings. By providing free Wi-Fi in all parks, the city could attract more visitors, including students, remote workers, and families. Free Wi-Fi would make parks more versatile, transforming them into ideal spots for working, studying, or simply staying connected while outdoors. Parents could supervise their children at the playground while staying online, and students could work on assignments in a natural setting. Remote workers could escape from their home offices and retreat to a change of scenery while staying productive. Expanding free Wi-Fi would not only increase park visitation and strengthen the sense of community in Plantation but also enhance the park experience for visitors. Initiatives like securing trees for hurricane preparedness and expanding free Wi-Fi in parks would enhance the city’s safety, beauty, and comfort while ensuring that Plantation continues to thrive.