My mother graduated from Cal State Long Beach with a degree in Psychology with an emphasis in Research. Subconsciously, her love for psychology fostered my eventual love for the unknown. I spent my youth fascinated by space and the ocean, vast frontiers humans will never fully understand, frontiers like the human mind. Psychology grounded her belief that empathy is the guiding force behind good, a value she instilled in me. As I’ve gotten older the complexities of the mind have fully captivated me. I’ve always loved helping people, but like a good portion of the population, medical school absolutely terrifies me. But then, I spent a week in a mental ward following an attempted suicide. I remember being wheeled past the double doors and guided to a room with a bed that touched no walls. I remember waking up and thinking that this was it, this was what my life had amounted to. I spent the first few days sulking, hiding behind books, and refusing to talk to anyone. But then I met a group of kids who sounded like me, who thought like me, and in each other, we learned that there was something better waiting for us outside of that hospital. We reminded each other that our purpose in life is to find meaning. If I could summarize my lessons from that experience, it would be to live unapologetically. I became someone who refused to love in silence or do anything in silence, for that matter. I learned to support other people but, more importantly, to support myself. I saw what can happen when the human mind gives up and I saw what that does to a person’s family. That’s why I swore I would give back to the world that gave me another chance. With the gift I was given, I plan to attend the University of California, Irvine and ultimately get my doctorate in Clinical Psychology. Then enlist in the United States Navy as a Psychologist to help support the mental well-being of sailors who are ship-bound for long deployments. I was given a second chance at life and I refuse to waste it.

I was twelve years old when first told my mom I was transgender. We were shopping at Target and for some reason, I chose that moment to announce to her that I was a boy. Growing up in a world divided on the morality of my existence caused me to blindly chase acceptance. I believed that I had to prove to the world, and to myself, that I was worthy of anything. I thought that I had to justify being alive. I wanted a life that I could be proud of, I wanted to be a man that I would be proud of. I wanted to see myself as a man who was as accomplished as he was happy. I concluded that to do this I had to have a significant measure of success. I believed that to be successful I had to attend a prestigious college. A school like Harvard, or Yale. Then I believed that success was measured through athletic success. So I sacrificed myself in the name of achieving success through wrestling. I gave my blood, sweat, and tears each practice, destroying my body over and over again. I participated in Varsity Wrestling for 4 years, Varsity Flag football for 2 years, was the President of the Gender Sexuality Association at my High School for 2 years, took 12 AP classes, took STEAM-oriented classes, and did over 320 hours of community service. While my actions weren’t necessarily negative they were self-destructive. My friends and family were scared for me, and of me. My mindset became so clouded by my own expectations. I hated my skin, I hated my mind, I hated my situation. I tried to escape it all. That landed me in the mental hospital for a week. When I was released I thought the solution to my perceived downfalls would be working harder. So I did. I believed that if I made fewer mistakes then I would be less of a mistake. It wasn’t until the start of my Junior wrestling season that I was forced to stop. I stood on a wrestling mat across from a girl I’d never met. She’d never meant to hurt me, she’d never meant to grasp my kneecap to the point it dislocated. I knew she didn’t as she stood helplessly watching me push my kneecap back into place. Suddenly, it didn’t matter how hard I wanted to work, I couldn’t walk. I couldn’t keep blindly chasing something I couldn’t name. I was abruptly faced with the realization that I wasn’t everything I wanted to be. I wasn’t happy, not because I wasn’t accomplished, but because I forgot to enjoy the small things. After all the lessons I had learned, I still hadn’t figured out how to let myself be happy. I shifted my focus. I wanted to be accomplished, not to be seen as worthy but to prove that someone like me can be accomplished. To prove that a transgender person can live a happy and fulfilled life. Everything I do, everything I accomplish gives hope to a transgender kid who thinks their dreams can’t be reached, a kid who thinks they’d be better off dead. A kid who thought that they had something to prove. Everything I achieve is a rejection of the idea that my life and the lives of people like me are worth nothing. It’s a reminder that our survival is our rebellion. I’ve found it my responsibility to pave the way for those who come after me. That’s why I’m striving for a higher education. To attend UCI, a school that I love rather than a school that I see as elevated. I want to study clinical psychology because I love it. And because I want to be there for people like the people in the mental hospital were there for me. I can’t fix the world. But I can fix the parts that I touch. That’s why I want to serve in the United States Navy as a Clinical Psychologist to serve those who serve. People don’t willingly sign a paper to go to battle without having fought too many battles in their heads. No person should ever feel too girly, too boyish, too queer, too straight, too young, too old, too little, or too much. I can’t give every person the peace of knowing they are understood, but I hope I can give to a few who really need it.

I was twelve years old walking behind my mom at Target when I first said the words, “I think I’m trans.” Since that moment, that statement has become the most significant challenge of my life. The hardest part has been developing enough self-confidence to become indifferent to the irrelevant opinions of other people. My Mom being the incredible woman she is, immediately got involved with a group called Free Mom Hugs, and had me go with her when she’d volunteered. She wanted me to find people who were like me, to find a support system. Free Mom Hug works to empower the world to celebrate the LBGTQIA+ community simply by showing up. The non-profit goes to different pride events to offer free hugs and support to anyone in attendance. We’ve gone to many pride events with the group, amounting to well over 25 hours of service with them. I’ve met so many people who have told me that the simple hug I gave them helped them. Giving back to people like this helped build my empathy. But, one event in particular fundamentally changed how I saw myself, saw my experiences, and saw the world. When I was volunteering at the Santa Ana OC Pride Celebration I was stationed at a hangout spot called the “Trans Lounge”. It was a collection of chairs with some coolers filled with free drinks. It was meant as a safe place for trans people to talk about their experiences. I was barely out of the closet at this point so I was hesitant to talk to anyone. That’s when an older woman began talking to a young man at one of the tables closest to me. She said, “You’re a strong person, and I know you’re scared, but it’s your job to be strong for them.” And she motioned to me. She didn’t say a word to me, but her message spoke volumes. Growing up in an environment that is still divided on the morality of our existence, it’s made me realize the importance and the impact of the things I accomplish. As I’ve grown, I’ve found it my responsibility to pave the way for those who come after me. In this realization, my motivation was amplified to be the tip of the spear. That’s why I’m striving for a higher education, to attend UCI, to serve in the U.S. Navy as a Clinical Psychologist. Everything I do, everything I accomplish both in sports and in the classroom, gives hope to a transgender kid who thinks their dreams can’t be reached, a kid who thinks they’d be better off dead.

When I was a Sophomore I became consumed with the pursuit of glory. I lost myself and my values trying to prove that I was worthy of being called a wrestler. I drove myself crazy, pushing myself into a downward spiral that ended with me attempting suicide to get out. I remember pacing the hallway in the mental hospital after my Mom told my head wrestling coach where I was. I was terrified of what he would say to me. But when he came to see me, he walked through the double doors, hugged me, and said, “You’re better than this place, you’re a wrestler.” I didn’t fully understand what he meant by that when he said it. I returned in my Junior season with a renewed idea of myself but still defined by the core pursuit of proving myself. At the third tournament of the season, I dislocated my kneecap and ended my season. That one tournament at a little school at the top of a mountain changed my life. Being injured made me stop for once and savor the feeling of not being able to keep moving forward. I was both metaphorically and literally unable to step forward, and it changed my view of everything. Before wrestling, I was an overweight, unathletic, terrified kid who had so many dreams he couldn’t pick one. But wrestling gave me a direction, and guardrails to keep me on track while I was figuring myself out. I can confidently say that I wouldn’t have the pleasure of writing this without wrestling. I wouldn’t be alive without wrestling. Wrestling taught me that adversity is a gift, a reminder that you’re still alive and fighting for something worth fighting for. Wrestling taught me that a person is defined not by their success but by the impact they have on other people. But above all else, wrestling has taught me that life isn’t about what someone can’t do, it’s about their attempt to do it anyway. My family can’t afford to send me to my dream school, UCI, but I’m going to try anyway, with the same determination that wrestling gave me. So now I am pursuing my doctorate in Psychology in hopes of enlisting in the United States Navy to serve those who serve. I strive to create a life that my younger self would envy, to become a person that my younger self would be proud of. Every day I work to be closer to becoming even half the man my head coach is. My goals are ambitious, even crazy, but I know I can do them. I know that I can do anything. As Dan Gable said, “Once you have wrestled, everything else in life is easy.”

My mother graduated from Cal State Long Beach with a Bachelor’s degree in Psychology. My father graduated from Cal State Long Beach with a Bachelor’s degree in Environmental Sciences. The two of them instilled in me the idea that the world is good and empathy is the guiding force behind good. My mother pressed on the importance of mental health. During COVID I became overcome with feelings of anxiety. It was so bad that I couldn’t leave my house without throwing up. I was severely agoraphobic. But I overcame it, and I fought to prove I could overcome anything. And I promised to keep fighting. Somehow when I was 13 I forgot that promise to myself. I believed the world would never accept me. Growing up in a world still divided on the morality of my existence as a trans man will do that. I became addicted to self-harm, convinced there was no way out of the situations I found myself in. I hated everyone and everything. I hated my skin and I hated my parents for giving it to me. I hated my friends for not hating themselves and I hated myself for not being a boy. I strained every relationship I had. I half heartedly attempted suicide 5 times before I turned 14 and fully committed. I walked along an active railroad track before coming to my senses and calling for help. After that, I spent a week in a mental hospital. I convinced myself that there was no way out, that I had dug my grave and it was only a matter of time before I filled it. But I met people who thought like I did. Somehow, we managed to convince ourselves that there was something better waiting for us. After I got released, I was enrolled in a therapy program called 417. It was hard. I had to juggle my sports, Flag Football and Wrestling, and school with my newfound need for extensive therapy. I had to miss practices and hangouts often and that further strained my relationships with my teammates and friends. But during my time at 417, I learned the true importance of mental health. I was put with a group of kids who had problems like mine, who had problems worse than mine. We learned from each other. They re-taught me the importance of self-care and the importance of having empathy. I fixed things with my friends and family, I learned how to use my experiences to help. After everything I’ve been through, I’m more than proud to say I’m over 400 days clean and well on my way to achieving my wildest dreams. Now I work to become a Psychologist in the United States Navy to serve those who serve. I don’t see the world as darkly as I did when I was younger. I understand how I am perceived, and I don’t care. My experiences have made me a deeply introspective and aware person. But that doesn’t scare me like it used to. People fear what they do not understand, I’m not ashamed of who I am or what I have been through. I am a living, breathing, symbol for every queer kid around me. I am the embodiment of the sentiment that survival is rebellion. So to anyone who reads this application, never doubt your ability to overcome. The world is an inherently beautiful place. If you ever forget that, just look at the color of the sunrises, or the love between the animals, or the way nature sighs after the rain. You were meant to overcome, for yourself and everyone around you. Never fear a challenge, for a rainbow only shines after a thunderstorm, as cliche as that sounds.

My mother graduated from Cal State Long Beach with a Bachelor’s degree in Psychology, with an emphasis on Research. Subconsciously, her love for psychology gave me my love for discovery. Since I was a kid, I have been fascinated with the unknown—anything humans don’t fully understand. I dreamed of changing the world with some incredible energy-saving device, finding a lost civilization, or being the first person to walk on Mars. Psychology also grounded her belief that empathy is the guiding force behind good, a value she instilled in me. As I’ve gotten older, specifically the complexities of the mind have fully captivated me. I’ve always loved helping people, but like a good portion of the population, medical school absolutely terrifies me. I started wrestling when I went to High School and in Girl’s Wrestling, I discovered an opportunity to use my empathy. Wrestling is a sport that girls tend to enter when they’re running from something dark in their lives. Unfortunately, this means that a lot of my teammates have been through things that no child should ever go through. My place in their lives has been to remind them that someone cares, that someone is in their corner, and that their lives matter. Seeing the positive impact I’ve had on them has inspired me to keep helping people. I helped them and will help others, in honor of the team at UCI’s Adolescent Psychiatric Inpatient Program, who helped put me back together after my attempted suicide. The staff guided me to see that I mattered and what my life was supposed to be about. I never want someone to feel as hopeless and scared as I felt, and I vowed to ensure that. The dream isn’t as broad as it was when I was a kid. I want to make a positive impact on the world by helping people. I hope to earn this scholarship to help me afford my education to get a degree in Psychology just like my mom. After completing my Master's, I plan to pursue my Doctorate and join the Navy as a Clinical Psychologist, supporting the mental well-being of sailors who are ship-bound for long deployments. I want to help those who are faced with the possibility of giving the ultimate sacrifice. I can’t help everyone, but I can help the people who need me most. I can’t cure world hunger, but I can donate food. I can’t find world peace, but I can help a few people find their peace. And that’s all any of us can do.

Bullying in K-12 will stop when the kids are educated. When ‘different’ becomes something intriguing and celebratory rather than something scary. But that starts with the education of parents. But education can’t fix the damage that bullying has already done. My whole life I’ve been seen as different. First I was too girly for the boys, too boyish for the girls. I was too queer for the straight kids and too straight for the queer kids. I was too young then too old, then too little, and too much. Growing up in a world still divided on the morality of my existence as a trans man made me see things differently. I never understood the severity of some of the things I had experienced. To me it was normal. It was later that I realized a real friend doesn’t hit you when you do something they don’t agree with. It was later that I realized a real coach doesn't tell you that you need saving from God. It was later that I realized some people would never understand who I am. As I’ve grown, I’ve found it my responsibility to pave the way for those who come after me. In this realization, my motivation was amplified to be the tip of the spear. That’s why I’m striving for a higher education, to attend UCI. Everything I do, everything I accomplish gives hope to a transgender kid who thinks their dreams can’t be reached, a kid who thinks they’d be better off dead. Everything I achieve is a rejection of the idea that my life and the lives of people like me are worth nothing. It’s a reminder that our survival is our rebellion. I’ve served as the president of my high school’s GSA club for two years. I wish there was more that I could do, but for now, creating an environment where these kids can feel safe is enough. It breaks my heart to hear things these kids have been through, to look at someone who is barely 14 and see the hurt in their eyes as they speak. This issue is too big for me to solve, it’s bigger than any one person. It’s embedded into our society to hate things that we don’t understand. My hope for the future is that we as people stop viewing each other as different, but I doubt that will happen in my lifetime. So for now I hope I can continue to provide a safe place for queer kids, whether that be through more advocacy groups or by simply living authentically to show them that their survival is their rebellion against hate. I can’t fix the world. But I can fix the parts that I touch. That’s why I want to serve in the United States Navy as a Clinical Psychologist to serve those who serve. People don’t willingly sign a paper to go to battle without having fought too many battles in their heads. No person should ever feel too girly, too boyish, too queer, too straight, too young, too old, too little, or too much. I can’t give every person the peace of knowing they are understood, but I hope I can give to a few who really need it, and in turn, provide their children that peace. Bullying will stop when the world stops believing that different is a threat. But until then, I strive to heal the parts of people that bullying has broken in hopes they heal another.

Joining wrestling was an uphill battle from the beginning. I was a fat, unathletic, trans kid. The boys saw me as weird and the girls saw me as a distraction. But something made me stay. I completed my first year with the girls, bringing home only two medals, one of which was because I was the only one at 170. But I stayed. Our team was a powerhouse. Our program quickly became one of the biggest in Southern California. We completely split from the boys and even got our own wrestling room that I helped build. We brought home trophies from every tournament we went to. But I was young and inexperienced, so I fell into the background. Yes, I was on that team, but I was never really on it. I was there to fill a hole, not to bring home any medals or glory. But I stayed. In my Sophomore year, I met a senior who was determined to go to state. Her older cousin was a legend at our school and she felt she had to be better than him. She would use me as her personal training dummy for most of our practices. I remember coming home covered in scratches and my blood. But I stayed. She pushed me to place first in our league and qualify for CIF. She never got to state. At the start of my Junior year, I was determined to go farther than she did. I had spent so long competing in her shadow and the shadows of that incredible team, how could I not? It felt like, after all my hard work, my time had finally come to prove why I had been on that Varsity team. But I broke my knee in the third tournament of the season, and that was it. But I stayed. I came back my Senior year. Determined to finish what I had started. Determined to prove that what I did in my Sophomore year wasn’t just luck. I had little confidence and was consumed by the fear of reinjuring my knee. But I stayed. After years of struggling to find my place on my team, fighting to feel like I belonged, I had finally proven to everyone, and myself, that I was meant to be here. No scholarship prompt has ever resonated with me more than this one because I really was the underdog. I was in the background of an award-winning team, a groundbreaking era of El Toro High School wrestling. But the team I helped lead during my Senior year broke every record I helped set in my Freshman and Sophomore years. My time in this program may be coming to a close, but wrestling has taught me so many things. Wrestling taught me that no goal is too big and no person is too small. Wrestling taught me that it’s not about if you can do something, it’s about your attempt to do it anyway. The love I’ve felt and the lessons I’ve learned from wrestling push me to challenge the boundaries of the world. I aim now to get my doctorate in clinical psychology and enlist in the United States Navy to serve those who serve. I write this now as one of the six Masters qualifiers competing Friday 2/21 for El Toro High School. I write this as one of the many faces that hang on the wall in our wrestling room, displaying the very best athletes that our program has built. And I write this as living proof that anyone, starting from anywhere, can do anything.

All of my ideas about success have stemmed from the same thought that success was measured by legacy. The idea that when I die I will be remembered for the great things I have done, the idea that my life will be remembered as being worthy. That’s the thing I wanted most as a kid, to be worthy. Being a transgender man and growing up in a world that is still divided on the morality of your existence will do that. Since I was young I believed that success was measured by academic success. Then I believed that to be successful I had to attend a prestigious college. Then I believed that success was measured through athletic success. So I sacrificed myself in the name of achieving success through wrestling. I participated in Varsity Wrestling for 4 years, Varsity Flag football for 2 years, was the President of the Gender Sexuality Association at my High School for 2 years, took 12 AP classes, took STEAM-oriented classes, and did over 320 hours of community service. All of that chasing my preconceived idea of success. It wasn’t until the start of my Junior wrestling season that I was forced to stop. I stood on a wrestling mat across from a girl I’d never met. She’d never meant to hurt me, she’d never meant to grasp my kneecap to the point it dislocated. I knew she didn’t as she stood helplessly watching me push my kneecap back into place. My season may have ended that day, but my passion had just begun. With a crutch under each arm and an annoyingly large knee brace on my right leg, I held my head high and hopped on a bus every weekend with my Varsity and Junior Varsity girls. My greatest success is, and will always be, the positive impact I’ve had on them. I’m proud that I led them in this way, and as time has passed I’ve watched them begin to lead the new beginners in the way I led them. This experience made me realize that legacy isn’t success and that a person cannot be truly represented by their popularized image. Success isn’t measured by being worthy or remembered, it’s measured by impact. Not necessarily a big one, I’m not saying find world peace, but help a few people find their peace. So, I began pursuing my dream school, the University of California, Irvine. There’s no real logistical reason it’s my dream. In the end, I would love the honor of enlisting in the United States Navy as a Clinical Psychologist to help support the mental well-being of sailors who are ship-bound for long deployments. But the success of those goals is dependent on the money from scholarships like this one. But success to me is not achieving my goals. Success is fulfillment. The ultimate goal is to be fulfilled, to find the meaning of life. And the meaning of life is to find meaning, at least that’s my interpretation of it. And to me, that’s helping people, hence the dream to serve those who serve. But my primary goal is to live a life that I am proud of, to be a man that I am proud of. That’s what success is to me. Becoming a man who lives as the embodiment of the sentiment that survival is rebellion. A man who proved to himself that despite being transgender, despite how many hardships he’s faced, still plays video games later than he should, and still talks in a high-pitched voice at cats.

All of my ideas about success have stemmed from the same thought that success was measured by legacy. Legacy. The idea that when I die I will be remembered for the great things I have done, the idea that my life will be remembered as being worthy. That’s the thing I wanted most as a kid, to be worthy. Being a transgender man and growing up in a world that is still divided on the morality of your existence will do that. Since I was young I believed that success was measured by academic success. Then I believed that to be successful I had to attend a prestigious college. A school like Harvard, Yale, or a school that had a world-renowned program for my chosen major of Clinical Psychology. Then I believed that success was measured through athletic success. So I sacrificed myself in the name of achieving success through wrestling. I gave my blood, sweat, and tears each practice, destroying my body over and over again. I participated in Varsity Wrestling for 4 years, Varsity Flag football for 2 years, was the President of the Gender Sexuality Association at my High School for 2 years, took 12 AP classes, took STEAM-oriented classes, and did over 320 hours of community service. All of that chasing my idea preconceived idea of success, that this route would cement my legacy. While my actions weren’t necessarily negative they were self-destructive. My mindset became so clouded by my own expectations. I tried to escape it all. That landed me in the mental hospital for a week. When I was released I thought the solution to my perceived downfalls would be working harder. So I did. I believed that if I made fewer mistakes then I would be less of a mistake. It wasn’t until the start of my Junior wrestling season that I was forced to stop. I stood on a wrestling mat across from a girl I’d never met. She’d never meant to hurt me, she’d never meant to grasp my kneecap to the point it dislocated. I knew she didn’t as she stood helplessly watching me push my kneecap back into place. My season may have ended that day, but my passion had just begun. With a crutch under each arm and an annoyingly large knee brace on my right leg, I held my head high and hopped on a bus every weekend with my Varsity and Junior Varsity girls. Throughout the rest of the season, I spent over ninety hours working with these girls. My greatest success is, and will always be, the positive impact I’ve had on them. So many have told me how I have helped them be better wrestlers, athletes, and people. I’m proud that I led them in this way, and as time has passed I’ve watched them begin to lead the new beginners in the way I led them. This experience made me realize that legacy isn’t success and that a person cannot be truly represented by their popularized image. So my idea of success became less rudimentary than it was when I was a kid. Success isn’t measured by being worthy or remembered, it’s measured by impact. Not necessarily a big one, I’m not saying cure world hunger, but volunteer at a soup kitchen. Not cure cancer, but donate to cancer foundations. Not find world peace, but help a few people find their peace. So I began to pursue my dream school, the University of California, Irvine. There’s no real logistical reason it’s my dream. But something about the campus made me fall in love. In the end, I would love the honor of enlisting in the United States Navy as a Clinical Psychologist to help support the mental well-being of sailors who are ship-bound for long deployments. But that goal’s success is dependent on the funds received from scholarships such as this one. But achieving my goal is not what success is to me. Success is fulfillment. The ultimate goal is to be fulfilled, to find the meaning of life. And the meaning of life is to find meaning, at least that’s my interpretation of it. And to me, that’s helping people, hence the dream to serve those who serve. But my primary goal is to live a life that I am proud of, to be a man that I am proud of. That’s what success is to me. Becoming a man who lives as the embodiment of the sentiment that survival is rebellion. A man who proved to himself that despite being transgender, despite how many hardships he’s faced, he still talks to some of the friends he has now, still plays video games later than he should, and still talks in a high-pitched voice at cats.

I was in PE waiting for the girls' basketball season to start, I’d played basketball since I was 7 it was a no-brainer that I would continue. But we were sitting in the gym, and a large blue square with a white circle covered the basketball court I loved. Then the music started. The ground shook as the wrestling team took the mat. I was mesmerized. I remember walking down those bleachers and shaking the head coach’s hand. I was an overweight and unathletic transgender kid. I asked him which wrestling team I should compete on, and he said, “Whichever one you want.” He said it as if that was a normal thing for someone to ask. As if the situation I had put him in was normal as if I was normal. I signed my name on the girl's sign-up sheet. The next week I walked into the wrestling room and never left. I won’t lie, it’s never been easy. But there is no better feeling than running out into the spotlight while hearing a town behind you. There is nothing better than the rush of adrenaline that follows the clip of the headgear. There is no other sport that harbors a family environment quite like wrestling does, and I played flag football, baseball, and basketball. Wrestling is a sport that girls tend to enter when they are running from something dark in their lives. Unfortunately, this means that a lot of my teammates have been through things that no child should ever go through. But we’ve found solace in each other, peace in the warring of the sport, and comfort in the pain. I had always been academically motivated, having an immigrant mother who sacrificed everything for you tends to do that. But wrestling increased my drive indefinitely. Suddenly I wasn’t trying to succeed for me or my mom, I was trying to succeed for my coach and team. I pushed myself with the ideals he instilled in me. Ideals like hardships are challenges meant to test the boundaries of your determination and every stressor is a reminder of how finite opportunity is. At the start of my junior season, I stood on a wrestling mat across from a girl I’d never met. She’d never meant to hurt me, she’d never meant to grasp my kneecap to the point it dislocated. I knew she didn’t as she stood helplessly watching me push my kneecap back into place. My season may have ended that day, but my passion had just begun. With a crutch under each arm and an annoyingly large knee brace on my right leg, I held my head high and hopped on a bus every weekend with my Varsity and Junior Varsity girls. Throughout the rest of the season, I spent over ninety hours working with these girls. My greatest success is, and will always be, the positive impact I’ve had on them. So many have told me how I have helped them be better wrestlers, athletes, and people. I’m proud that I led them in this way, and as time has passed I’ve watched them begin to lead the new beginners in the way I led them. I used these lessons as I took 12 AP classes and maintained a weighted GPA of 4.12. I take these lessons and this success with me as I pursue a higher education and the honor of serving in the United States Navy. I recommend wrestling to every person because it will change your life. “Once you’ve wrestled everything else in life is easy.” - Dan Gable.

I was twelve years old walking behind my mom at Target when I first said the words, “I think I’m trans.” Since that moment, that statement has become the most significant challenge of my life. I’ve come to learn, however, that my gender identity is not a crutch or a hindrance. It’s simply a fact of life that I do not agree with the gender that I was assigned at birth. The hardest part about this has been developing enough self-confidence to become indifferent to the irrelevant opinions of other people. Growing up in an environment still divided on the morality of my existence made me realize the importance and the impact of the things I accomplish. As I’ve grown, I’ve found it my responsibility to pave the way for those who come after me. In this realization, my motivation was amplified to be the tip of the spear. Everything I do, everything I accomplish both in sports and in the classroom, gives hope to a transgender kid who thinks their dreams can’t be reached, a kid who thinks they’d be better off dead. Everything I achieve is a rejection of the idea that my life and the lives of people like me are worth nothing. It’s a reminder that our survival is our rebellion. But it hasn't been easy. I spent a week in a mental ward following an attempted suicide. I remember being wheeled past the double doors and guided to a room with a bed that touched no walls. I remember waking up and thinking that this was it, this was what my life had amounted to. I spent the first few days sulking, hiding behind books, and refusing to talk to anyone. I remember staring into the mirror and cursing the man I was trying to become. But then I met a group of kids who sounded like me, who thought like me, and in each other, we learned that there was something better waiting for us outside of that hospital. We reminded each other that our purpose in life is to find meaning. If I could summarize my lessons from that experience, it would be to live unapologetically. I became someone who refused to love or do anything in silence, for that matter. I learned to support other people but, more importantly, to support myself. I saw what can happen when the human mind gives up and I saw what that does to a person’s family. That’s why I swore I would give back to the world that gave me another chance. I was given a second chance at life and I refuse to waste it. With the gift I was given, I plan to attend the University of California, Irvine and ultimately get my doctorate in Clinical Psychology. Then enlist in the United States Navy as a Psychologist to help support the mental well-being of ship-bound sailors for long deployments. I hope that I will be given the honor of serving alongside brave men and women and helping them deal with the mental strain of being so far from home because no one deserves to feel misunderstood, weird, crazy, or invisible.