Loneliness. I used to think that lonely means physically being alone, but I’ve learned that some of the loneliest people are sitting in crowded rooms. My younger sister has special needs and struggles with depression and suicidal thoughts. Growing up, my mom was strict about screen time and really intentional about making us spend time with what she calls “face-to-face friends.” There’s a history of suicide in our circle, and my mom believes technology has made isolation even worse. When I was younger, I thought her rules were annoying and overprotective. Now I am starting to understand why they mattered so much. I see isolation in my sister all the time, even when people are around her. Most people just don’t know what to say to someone who communicates differently or struggles socially. Conversations keep moving around her while she sits quietly on the outside of them or walks away completely. After a while, that kind of loneliness changes people. When someone constantly feels unseen or left out, they start believing they don’t matter. Watching that happen over the years has shaped the way I see people like her. Because of my sister, I notice the people on the fringe, unnoticed. I notice the person sitting alone, the one nobody talks to, the one awkwardly standing at the edge of the group. Instead of waiting for someone else to include them, I try to be the person who does. I start conversations, make eye contact, and try to make people feel seen because I know how important that is. I met one of my friendships people because of this habit. At my church, there’s a monthly seniors group called Sojourners where people eat together, talk, and listen to teaching. That’s where I met Ms. Pat. She’s loud, sassy, says exactly what she’s thinking, and honestly doesn’t seem to own a comb. I love her. Even with a room full of seniors, she usually sat alone at a table in the back unless every other seat was taken first. The first time I noticed it, it genuinely hurt my heart. So my family sat with her. We’ve sat there ever since. Every month now, she smiles so bright when we walk through the doors. That smile means more to me than I can explain. At the Sojourners meeting, my family helps serve food to people who are too unsteady to carry plates themselves. My mom has always taught me that serving people makes both the community and the person serving better. I think she's right. What surprised me most was how much Ms. Pat changed me too. At first, I sat with her because I didn’t want her to feel alone. But over time she became one of my favorite people in the world. She’s funny, honest, and full of stories I never would have heard if I had stayed in my own comfortable circle. Ms. Pat was a single mom to a special needs son. She gets my life in ways most people can't understand. The struggle, the issues with money all the time. Plus, she gets my sister and makes her laugh. What's not to love! Honestly, if I had grown up in a neurotypical household, I probably wouldn’t even notice people like Ms. Pat. Loving my sister taught me what it looks like to feel unseen, and it made me want to fight against that for other people too. That doesn’t mean it’s always easy. People who have been left out for a long time don’t trust quickly. Sometimes it takes extra patience and energy when I already feel tired myself. But it’s always worth it. Through it all, I’ve learned that small things matter more than people realize. Sitting at someone’s table matters. Starting a conversation matters. Making room in your circle matters. Feeling seen can change someone’s entire day, and sometimes maybe even more than that. My sister taught me to recognize loneliness. Ms. Pat taught me how much joy can come from helping someone feel less alone. Real relationships matter.

First impressions make all the difference in any relationship. I can still remember the day I met Sabrina Carpenter. Our family was breaking apart. There was so much left unsaid inside the walls of our home—so many things we couldn’t talk about and couldn’t fix. One day, my mom, trying to help us process hard things without directly talking about our own situation, turned on the TV show Girl Meets World. At first, I didn’t get it. Riley’s life and family felt nothing like mine. Her world seemed stable, loving, safe—everything I wished ours could be. Then I met Maya Hart. Maya was abandoned by her father. Her single mother worked every shift she could just to pay rent and keep food on the table, even if it meant missing moments in Maya’s life. Their apartment was falling apart. Their life was messy. But Maya was still deeply loved. For the first time, I felt seen and understood. Yes, I know Maya Hart was only a character. But when I later listened to Sabrina Carpenter’s music and learned more about her career, I saw someone who understood perseverance and emotional honesty. Sabrina did not become successful overnight. She spent years working, growing, and pushing through criticism before finally achieving major success in music and acting. That persistence resonated with me. Watching Maya Hart’s story unfold created something unexpected in me: determination. Maya often acted like dreaming was pointless because disappointment felt inevitable. I understood that mindset more than I wanted to admit. But instead of letting hardship convince me to give up, I decided I wanted something different for my future. I have worked tirelessly to complete an accelerated high school program and graduate a year early. Education became more than academics to me—it became opportunity. By going to college, I will have opportunities my mom never had. I want the ability to build stability for my future family and to have choices instead of constantly living in survival mode. If I ever become a mother, I do not want financial hardship to steal every moment from my children’s lives. More importantly, I want my education to help others. My experiences have created a deep interest in history and criminal justice because I have seen how destructive cycles repeat themselves across generations. Abuse, abandonment, poverty, and instability often continue because people never stop to examine the patterns behind them. I want to study those patterns so I can help people recognize them, interrupt them, and ultimately find hope and healing. Sabrina Carpenter’s career impacted me because it introduced me to a character—and later an artist—who helped me realize that difficult beginnings do not have to determine the rest of your life. You can come from hardship and still build something meaningful. You can acknowledge pain without becoming defined by it. That realization changed the way I saw my future. And because of that, I refuse to let go of my dreams.

I was thirteen when I realized my life didn’t look like most other kids my age—and honestly, I was okay with that. I was volunteering with a senior group at church, helping serve food, when it hit me. I usually helped Ms. Pat get her plate since she wasn’t steady enough to carry it herself. Somewhere between walking her back to her seat and exchanging sarcastic comments—we have very similar humor—I realized I was learning something most people my age weren’t. I was learning how to care about the people most will never see. That didn’t start with volunteering. It started at home. My mom has always made serving others a normal part of life. As a second-generation homeschooler, I didn’t just stay home and do schoolwork. I spent years serving at Vacation Bible School, volunteering with seniors, and helping at church—whether that was running cameras, lights, or stepping in wherever I was needed. Because of that, I learned responsibility, but more importantly, I learned to see that there are needs all around me that are bigger than my own. There are needs God created me to meet. Working with people like Ms. Pat made that real for me. She’s not someone most people would notice right away. She moves slowly, needs help with simple things, and could easily be overlooked. But taking the time to walk with her, talk with her, and listen showed me something important: compassion isn’t about big moments—it’s about small, consistent choices. It’s choosing to stop when it would be easier to keep going. It’s choosing to notice when it would be easier to ignore. It’s choosing to care, even when no one else does. I’ve also seen the opposite—how easy it is for people to look past others or assume someone else will step in. That’s not who I want to be. The compassion I’ve learned through my church, my family, and my experiences has shaped the way I see my future. I want an education that allows me to continue serving others in meaningful ways. My interest in history, people, and generational cycles of hardship has given me a growing passion to service, advocacy, and helping others build better futures for themselves. I have seen firsthand how difficult circumstances can repeat through generations when no one steps in to help. That has made me determined to become someone who does step in. Whether through my future career, volunteer work, or everyday life, I want to continue helping people who feel overlooked, unheard, or stuck in difficult situations. Pursuing higher education is incredibly important to me, but coming from a single-parent home, it will also be financially difficult. Receiving scholarship support would not only help relieve that burden, but also allow me to focus more fully on my education and the opportunities it will give me to serve others well. As I’ve gotten older, I’ve tried to live out compassion more intentionally. Whether it’s volunteering, helping someone who needs it, or simply taking the time to really listen, I want to be someone who shows up. In the future, that won’t change. Wherever I go—in college, my career, or my community—I want to continue looking for the people who are often overlooked. I want to willingly, intentionally step in. Compassion isn’t something you choose once. It’s something you choose over and over again until it shapes who you are.

The walls were thinner than my mom realized. I could hear what he said. I could hear what he did. In a home where abuse is alive and walking around on two legs, you learn how to cope—how to hide in plain sight. I remember the first time it went from something I heard to something I experienced. I wasn’t quiet enough, fast enough, clean enough—or invisible enough that day. I left a small mess on the counter. Childish. Unintentional. It didn’t matter that I was five years old. The words still ring in my ears. I can still feel his hands shoving me, his shoe as it made contact. Get small. Hide. Don’t make him feel wrong. Moments like that change you. You don’t decide to shrink or disappear—it just happens. For me, it also meant protecting my younger sister, who has special needs. If his attention stayed on me, maybe he would leave her alone. That becomes your normal. Abuse changes how you see the world. It dulls things. It makes it hard to relate when other kids talk about how “bad” their lives are, knowing they’re going home to a place where they can just be kids. Safe. Unafraid. I won’t pretend it didn’t shape me in hard ways. It’s where my sarcasm comes from. My cynicism. My instinct to keep people at a distance. But it also shaped something else. It taught me to see people. I notice the ones who are left out. The ones who are quiet, withdrawn, or trying to disappear. The ones carrying more than they should have to. I recognize them because I’ve been them. And I refuse to let them feel invisible. Whether it’s inviting someone to sit with me, including them in a group, or just paying attention, I try to create space where people feel seen. Compassion, to me, isn’t a big moment—it’s choosing to notice and act in small ways, over and over again. It also shaped my love of history and criminal justice.  When I started looking at my own family, I realized it wasn't just our home - it was a pattern. My mom grew up in an abusive home. So did her mom and her grandmother. Who knows when it began! We have to learn from the patterns of the past so we stop them from repeating. Today, my home is safe. He is gone. But the impact of those years hasn’t disappeared. Instead, it has pushed me forward. I accelerated my education and will graduate at 16 because I want to build something different for my future. For me, higher education isn’t just the next step—it represents independence, stability, and the chance to grow into who I’m meant to be. I want a life that is not defined by fear. A space where I can be loud, imperfect, and still feel safe. A future where I can help others who have walked through similar experiences. College will give me the opportunity to continue growing—not just academically, but personally. It will allow me to build a stable foundation, develop my voice, and create a future where I am no longer surviving, but living with a purpose. What I went through does not define me—but it has shaped me. It made me aware. It made me compassionate. And it made me determined to build something better. That is the future I’m working toward.

I was thirteen when I realized my life didn’t look like most other kids my age—and honestly, I was okay with that. I was volunteering with a senior group at church, helping serve food, when it hit me. I usually helped Ms. Pat get her plate since she wasn’t steady enough to carry it herself. Somewhere between walking her back to her seat and exchanging sarcastic comments (we have very similar humor), I realized I was learning something most people my age weren’t. I was learning how to care about people. Not in a general, “be nice to everyone” kind of way, but in a real, everyday way—showing up, paying attention, and noticing when someone needs help without being asked. That didn’t start with volunteering. It started at home. My mom has always made serving others a normal part of life. As a second-generation homeschooler, I didn’t just stay home and do schoolwork. I spent years serving at Vacation Bible School, volunteering with seniors, and helping at church—whether that was running cameras, lights, or stepping in wherever I was needed. Because of that, I learned responsibility, but more importantly, I learned to see that there are needs all around that are bigger than my own. Working with people like Ms. Pat made that real for me. She’s not someone most people would notice right away. She moves slowly, needs help with simple things, and could easily be overlooked. But taking the time to walk with her, talk with her, and listen showed me something important: compassion isn’t about big moments—it’s about small, consistent choices. It’s choosing to stop when it would be easier to keep going. It’s choosing to notice when it would be easier to ignore. It’s choosing to care, even when no one else does. I’ve also seen the opposite—how easy it is for people to look past others or assume someone else will step in. That’s not who I want to be. The compassion I’ve learned isn’t about recognition or doing something impressive. It’s about paying attention and treating people like they matter, even in the smallest moments. As I’ve gotten older, I’ve tried to live that out more intentionally. Whether it’s volunteering, helping someone who needs it, or just taking the time to really listen, I want to be someone who shows up. In the future, that won’t change. Wherever I go—college, my career, or my community—I want to continue looking for the people who are often overlooked. I want to willingly, intentionally step in. Compassion isn’t something you learn or choose in one program, one day. It’s something you choose, over and over again, until it shapes who you are, as a person, and who others are around you. I learned that by watching my mom. And it’s something I’m choosing for myself.

My financial story didn’t start with a class. It started at home. I grew up in a household that didn’t always value money or use it the way it should have been, so I learned early what not to do. My family experienced extreme poverty when I was younger, and because of that, my mom made it a priority to teach me about money so I could have a better future. She took Financial Peace from Dave Ramsey when I was little, paid off about $20,000 in debt, and has been living on a budget ever since. We don't eat out or go on vacation, but we have food and clothes, and all of our needs are met - minus the stress of debt! I didn’t fully understand it at the time, but I saw the results. Because of the choices she made, we didn’t lose our home during difficult seasons. As a single mom raising a child on the spectrum, she made decisions that kept our family stable when it could have gone a very different way. I guess I just grew up thinking that was normal. Apparently, it’s not. When I started my first job, I began to notice how other teens handled money. Most of them spent it right away—on food or things that wouldn’t last. Meanwhile, I’ve been saving for a car and my first year of college. There are three things I've learned by watching my mom: avoid debt like your life depends on it (which is why this scholarship would help), spend less than you make, and be generous—but wise. Those aren’t just lessons to me; they’re goals I plan to live by. Many people my age think debt is normal—especially college debt. Credit cards, student loans, and car payments are just expected. I don’t see it that way. To me, debt means stress, pressure, and fewer options. I’ve seen how financial stress can affect a family, and I don’t want that for my future. My idea of money is simple: it’s a tool. It can control you, or you can use it wisely. I’ve seen both sides, and I know which one I want. I want to make choices that give me freedom, not ones that take it away. I’ve already started putting this into practice. Since I was 13, I’ve been saving my birthday money so I can pay cash for my first car. It won't be fast or flashy, but it will be mine. As I think about my future, I plan to use what I’ve learned to build something better. I want to go to college without taking on unnecessary debt, live on less than I make, and make decisions that protect my future instead of limiting it. I also want to be in a position to help others, because I’ve seen how much a stable financial foundation can change a family’s direction. This isn’t just something I was taught growing up. It’s something I understand now. And it’s something I plan to build my future on.

Ms. Dibble is my high school history teacher, and she has honestly shaped the way I think about school, learning, and even how I show up in my everyday life. What impressed me first about Ms. Dibble was how passionate she is about history. I’ve always loved studying history, but it felt rare to meet a teacher who didn’t just teach it because it was her job, but because she genuinely loves it. She gets excited about details most people would skip over, and that made the subject feel alive instead of just something in a textbook. I think that was the first time I realized a teacher could actually influence how much you enjoy learning. My admiration for Ms. Dibble goes way beyond the classroom, though. She has grandchildren, but she looks younger than my mom. I remember thinking that was not even possible. It stood out to me because she clearly takes care of herself, not in a shallow way, but in a disciplined, intentional way. She seems to understand that her health matters because it allows her to keep showing up for the people she loves. That made me start thinking differently about how I take care of myself too, not just for today, but for my future. In the classroom, Ms. Dibble is the kind of teacher who believes in her students even when they don’t fully believe in themselves yet. When I first met her, I had been exclusively homeschooled. I didn’t really know how to manage deadlines or pace myself in a dual credit class. I was honestly overwhelmed at first. But Ms. Dibble never made me feel behind or stupid for asking questions. She was patient with me in a way that made it feel safe to learn, even when I was struggling to keep up. That kind of patience is rare, and it made a huge difference for me. Over time, she also helped me overcome my fear of presenting in class and speaking in groups. She never just pushed me into situations that would make me panic. Instead, she gave me practical tools and step-by-step encouragement so I could grow without having panic attacks. Because of that, I started to actually believe I could improve instead of just avoiding things I was afraid of. One of the biggest moments for me was our first presentation. We had to choose a historical topic, and of course, I picked ancient Egypt because I’ve always loved it. I practiced for weeks and kept going back to Ms. Dibble for advice. She didn’t just say “good job” and send me on my way—she actually helped me refine it until it was strong. On presentation day, I ended up going over my time, and she quietly gave me cues so I could wrap it up without losing too many points. I remember looking out, and the class seemed kind of bored, but Ms. Dibble looked genuinely interested. That mattered to me more than anything. I think what changed me the most is realizing what it looks like when someone is both knowledgeable and kind. Ms. Dibble didn’t just teach me history. She taught me how to try, how to grow, and how to believe I can get better even when I’m not there yet.

My interest in history has always been a part of who I am. It has consistently been my favorite subject in school, and I often find myself researching historical topics in my free time—not because I have to, but because I genuinely enjoy it. I believe that not knowing the history of something is like setting yourself up for failure before you even begin. When people ignore the past, they miss the patterns, lessons, and warnings that could help them make better decisions in the present. One of the areas that fascinates me most is ancient Egypt, which is why I plan to pursue a degree in anthropology. There is something incredible about studying ancient civilizations—their daily lives, beliefs, and innovations—that draws me in in a way I can hardly explain. It amazes me that people built entire cultures thousands of years ago, and we are still learning from them today. The feeling I get when I study the ancient world is similar to reaching the top of a mountain after a long hike and watching the sunrise: a mix of excitement, peace, and awe. As for my future career, I am still exploring where my passion for history will take me. One path I am strongly considering is becoming an archaeologist and studying ancient civilizations firsthand. The idea of uncovering artifacts and piecing together stories from the past is both challenging and exciting to me. At the same time, I am also interested in applying my knowledge of history to fields like social justice or politics. History is not just about the past—it directly shapes how people think, lead, and make decisions today. As a homeschooled student, I have seen how important a strong understanding of history really is. In many cases, history is rushed through or not explored deeply enough. Because of that, people often form strong opinions based only on current events without fully understanding the background behind them. I have seen how quickly perspectives can change when someone takes the time to study what has happened before. In the future, I hope to use my passion for history to make a meaningful impact—whether through research, education, or public service. I want to help people think more critically, ask deeper questions, and develop a better understanding of the world around them. History is more than just something to study—it shapes who we are and where we are going. By learning from the past, I hope to help build a wiser and more informed future.

The Movie That Changed How I See My Future The movie that has had the greatest impact on my life is Harry Potter and the Sorcerer’s Stone. I didn’t just watch it—I related to it. I grew up in a home that looked normal from the outside, but inside, it was filled with control, fear, and abuse. Nothing ever felt like it was enough. We were never quiet enough, clean enough, fast enough, or mature enough. At the time, I didn’t fully understand what was happening. I just knew it didn’t feel safe. That’s why the opening scenes of Harry Potter stayed with me. Watching him get left on a doorstep and raised in a home where he was unwanted and mistreated felt familiar. People often think abusive homes have no love at all, but that’s not always true. That’s what makes it confusing. There can be love, but it doesn’t make the situation healthy—or safe. What impacted me most wasn’t just what Harry went through, but what he did next. Harry Potter is a story about an outcast—someone who carries pain that others around him don’t fully understand. But it’s also a story about hope and light. About being given a chance to step into a different life. When Harry goes to Hogwarts, it’s more than just a school—it’s freedom. It’s the beginning of something new. That idea stayed with me. It’s one of the reasons I pushed myself to complete accelerated courses and graduate high school at sixteen with a 3.8 GPA. Education became more than schoolwork to me—it became a path forward. A way to build a life that looks different from where I started. Even though Harry Potter is a fantasy, its themes are real. There is always a choice between light and darkness. Between repeating what we’ve lived through or creating something better. I’ve learned that I don’t have to be defined by my past. I don’t have to repeat it either. I can choose something different. My mom has played a huge role in that. As she has worked to get us out of that environment, she has also encouraged me to pursue my future—even when it means I’ll eventually leave home. That’s what real love looks like. Like Harry, I want to build a life marked by safety, growth, and light—not fear. That’s why this story matters to me. Because it didn’t just entertain me—it helped me believe that my future could be different from my past.

Creating Connection Most of my life, I felt like an outcast—someone people didn’t really notice, someone who got left out more than included. I was tall for my age, homeschooled, and usually had my special needs younger sister with me. That combination didn’t exactly make fitting in easy. People weren’t always kind. But instead of making me bitter, it changed how I see people. When you’ve been on the outside, you start to notice the others standing there too. The ones who don’t fit what people expect. The ones who get overlooked. I don’t think I would have seen them the same way if I hadn’t been there myself. So now, instead of focusing on being left out, I look for the other people who are. I sit with them. I talk to them. I choose them. That’s something my mom has always modeled—serving others, especially people who are often ignored. Through that, I’ve had opportunities to volunteer and spend time with seniors and people with special needs. In ninth grade, I met Ms. Pat. At our church senior group, she’s the one no one really sits with. I don’t know why. People just don’t. But the first time I chose her table, her face lit up in a way I won’t forget. She’s over ninety, needs help fixing her plate, and doesn’t always brush her hair—but she’s also hilarious. Her sarcastic comments catch me off guard and make me laugh every time. Now, when I walk in, she looks for me, and I make sure she never sits alone. She even started bringing salt packets because I mentioned that the food was bland. What an amazing woman! Sitting with her didn’t seem like a big deal to me—but to her, it clearly was. Moments like that have taught me something important: kindness doesn’t have to be big or impressive to matter. Sometimes it’s as simple as noticing someone and choosing not to walk past them. It’s choosing to stay, to listen, and to make space for someone who might otherwise be invisible. Being an outcast gave me something I wouldn’t trade—the ability to see people others miss. Most of them are amazing, and I am more blessed than they are! And when you choose to see people, you help them feel seen. That changes them. And it changes you too. We need more kindness like that in the world.

I was thirteen when I realized my life didn’t look like most kids my age—and I was honestly okay with that. Growing up homeschooled, my education didn’t stop at books or worksheets. My mom pushed me into the real world—serving, helping, and paying attention to people. One of my favorite parts of that has been volunteering with the senior group at my church. I often help Ms. Pat get her plate at lunch because she isn’t steady enough to carry it herself. Somewhere between walking her back to her seat and trading sarcastic comments (we have the same sense of humor), I realized that serving people teaches you things a textbook never will—like patience, perspective, and the ability to change things no matter your age. I’ve also served in Vacation Bible School for several years, helping with crafts, photography, and leading activities. Since middle school, I've volunteered in the production team at church. I started out running cameras during services and eventually took on more responsibility running ProPresenter and lights. Those experiences have taught me how to step up, work with a team, and stay calm when things don’t go as planned (because technology never behaves when you need it to). Archery has been another huge part of my life. I started in 10th grade, and it’s taught me focus, patience, and how to keep going even when I want to throw my bow across the room. It isn’t a typical team sport, but our team depends on each other—we push each other to improve, stay consistent, and keep showing up. Archery forces me to be disciplined, block out distractions, and trust the work I’ve put in. Academically, I’ve maintained above a 3.5 GPA while balancing school, volunteering, and extracurriculars. Homeschooling has taught me independence, discipline, and how to manage my own learning without someone constantly checking over my shoulder. I’ve had to learn how to stay motivated and hold myself accountable, and that’s something I know will help me in college. I plan to study history with a focus on anthropology and criminal justice. I’ve always been fascinated by how cultures develop, how laws shape behavior, and how history tends to repeat itself when we don’t pay attention. Understanding people—why they act the way they do and how societies function—is something I care deeply about. My experiences in service, athletics, and academics have shaped the person I’m becoming. I’ve learned discipline, empathy, and independence, and I’ve learned to look at the bigger picture instead of just what’s in front of me. I’m ready to take those lessons into college and use them to make a real impact.

I was thirteen when I realized my life didn’t look like most other kids my age—and honestly, I was okay with that. I was volunteering with a senior group at church, helping serve food, when it hit me. I usually helped Ms. Pat get her plate since she wasn’t steady enough to carry it herself. Somewhere between walking her back to her seat and exchanging sarcastic comments (we have very similar humor), I realized I was learning things most people my age weren’t. While I was learning how to show up, pay attention, and care about people, a lot of kids my age seemed focused on things that probably won’t matter much in a few years. It wasn’t that they were bad—it just made me realize I’d been raised to think a little differently. Homeschooling runs in my family. As a second-generation homeschooler, my mom made sure I didn’t just stay home and do assignments. I’ve spent years serving at Vacation Bible School, volunteering with seniors, and helping with production at church—running cameras, lights, and ProPresenter. Because of that, I’ve learned how to be responsible, work with a team, and stay aware of what’s going on around me. Around that same time, I fell in love with history. What started as early American history turned into something much bigger when I began connecting it to ancient civilizations. I started noticing patterns—how societies rise, fall, and then repeat the same mistakes. It made me realize that a lot of what feels “new” today really isn’t new at all. That changed how I see things. Instead of just going along with whatever is happening, I tend to ask why. Where did this come from? Has it happened before? What were the results? That way of thinking has stuck with me, and it’s a big reason I want to study history. I plan to study history with a focus on anthropology and an emphasis in criminal justice. I’m especially interested in how culture and history shape behavior and how that connects to laws and justice systems. If we don’t understand the past, it’s hard to fix anything in the present. Homeschooling has prepared me for this in ways that go beyond academics. I’ve learned how to manage my time, stay motivated, and take responsibility for my education. I’ve also had the freedom to go deeper into subjects that interest me instead of just memorizing information for a test (though mom made sure we did that as well). More importantly, I’ve had real-world experience through service. Working with people like Ms. Pat has taught me how to slow down, pay attention, and value individuals—not just ideas. Those experiences have helped me see beyond my own perspective, which is especially important in the field I want to go into. I know my path isn’t typical, but I believe it’s prepared me well. I’ve learned how to think critically, stay grounded, and look at the bigger picture—and I’m ready to take that into college and my future career.