Eight-year-old me, in the house my mom cleaned on weekends, reciting flashcards to questions I did not understand. Really, What IS the supreme law of the land? As far as I was concerned, the green to red card system in my third-grade class was efficient. Her studying made me anxious, as I thought this meant I would be getting my school green card taken away, little did I know it would be immigration and customs taking it away. All I knew was that my mother passing this test meant, citizenship, protection, and opportunity. So, I was happy to keep reciting flashcards, even if it meant it was in exchange for my "green card." I moved to California from Colombia at the age of four, without my father, little family in the states, and many socioeconomic hurdles to overcome. The barrier of language, culture shock, and lack of access to legal resources has compounded my desire to go to law school. I did not understand the legal remedies available to myself and my loved ones until enrolling in a Paralegal program. I never knew civil law existed, law was for movie screens and big murder trials. If I, who had grown up in California since the age of four was unaware of my rights, how many other of my community members continued to be unaware? As a civil litigation paralegal today, I have seen firsthand the success of our legal system when applied. I have been able to work on discrimination cases and deeply troublesome employment disputes. I have been able to see accountability be carried out. However, I know there are thousands of members in my community that believe accountability by means of our legal system does not exist. I reflect on my mother's experience and wonder how different things could be if she had the proper legal assistance advising her seventeen years ago to have been able to attend her sister's funeral back in Colombia without fear of deportation. Through my experience as a paralegal, my intention and career aspirations are heavily emphasized in immigration law. I have sought out volunteer opportunities helping in legal clinics for women and children immigrants in need of assistance. By translating, assisting, and being there, I know the accessibility of the law is being implemented and victims are progressing towards living freely. Being geographically near the border, I am aware of the number of families separated, and the horrible conditions of these camps. The trauma that children of immigrants face warrants the utmost attention from our legal system. Often, these children are left without a proper legal advocate, and their case only further is delayed in the absence of legal intervention. The purpose of my dedication to the law is to be that legal intervention for these families that are forgotten or improperly separated. In my career, I hope to inform and address injustices made by our immigration system. I wholeheartedly believe we are all in need of an advocate and have a right to one. I hope to advocate for those that are confronted with the same barriers my mother and I faced. Facilitating access to the law only further enhances our legal system and allows for proper accountability for injustices carried out. Everyone deserves to have someone rooting for them, through the law, I hope to continue rooting, advocating, and making the law accessible.

I was born in Colombia and emigrated to San Diego at the age of four. My mom was a single mother and our weekends consisted of housekeeping together. My mother worked multiple jobs while learning English to be able to send me to daycare. I still remember the fresh frustration of being introduced to children, my age, yet not being able to understand what they were saying. It was torture not knowing what my teacher was asking me to do. I wanted to fit in, make friends and be good, yet the physical barrier of language exposed me to the reality of the hardships that come with immigration. My mom tells me that six months after starting daycare, she asked me what I wanted for breakfast and I began word-dumping all sorts of breakfast foods in broken English. That was seventeen years ago, yet I know the little girl ranting on about waffles and pancakes, is still the woman I am today that rants on about statutes and federal civil rights. My experience instilled in me that everyone needs an advocate. The power of our words are the training wheels for active change in addressing the social issues our brothers and sisters face today. My experience was the first of many as a first-generation college student. Understanding the socio-economic challenges such as the lack of resources to communities of low income such as mine, has taught me the importance of stamina in the face of adversity. It has taught me to keep going and to keep using my voice. My voice has landed me to be a part of helping on criminal reform cases and earning my paralegal degree when I didn't know of my own rights under our justice system. The frustration of not being able to express myself as a child in daycare is the same as the countless victims who can not express themselves before our court system to receive change. This experience has instilled in me the desire to continue striving towards a career in advocacy and give back to my brothers and sisters that deserve the basic right to be heard.

My road to higher education has been short of a linear track. I moved here from Colombia at the age of four and from an early age, was aware of the impact higher education would have on me to help better serve my community. After High School, I attended community college to become Paralegal certified and begin getting my foot into the legal realm in San Diego. I am now a civil litigation Paralegal working alongside attorneys to advocate for justice. I have been to see, firsthand, how the law can truly make a difference in someone's life when advocated. I am passionate about prison reform as I have read the records, seen the people, and seen the cases that are thrown under a system that claims to protect them. I aim to continue my higher education into law school to one day be able to advocate on behalf of communities. Communities affected by systematic oppression and socio-economic barriers. Further, I hope to use these efforts to give back to Colombia. I am aware of the challenges my people have had in protecting their constitutional rights. There are wars fought within Colombia, and there are loved ones missing by the hands of injustice. This has fueled me to pursue a career in the legal sector, and advocate on behalf of those that are unaware of the rights they possess. I have been able to participate in legal clinics aimed at providing services to marginalized communities by means of the San Diego Paralegal Association. I plan to be involved with my undergraduate pre-law society this upcoming fall where I will center on bringing awareness to prison reform, and social justice today. Further, I run a blog in which resources are shared relating to legal rights, and current events. I truly believe this all ties back to education. The power of education brings about cognizance of one’s rights and I am dedicated in doing my part to share as much as I can. Meanwhile I may not be able to represent my community in a court room just yet, I plan on doing all I can to promote social justice as I continue in my educational career.

In my life, I have overcome the challenges I believed to be impossible: Riding my bike down the hill of my childhood home, felt like Mt. Everest at age six. Making it to the next round of my third grade spelling bee, was life or death. And with every mountain, I knew came another to climb. I did not know my most challenging mountain would be in the shape of the quadratic formula. A foreign language where the trail did not tell me where to go. Where adding meant subtracting and right meant left. I followed the trail map carefully, yet remained lost. With lessons piling upon me like a weighted backpack and my sense of direction in distress, I was fortunate enough to find a skilled hiker to show me the tricks and tips to climbing the algebraic avalanche. Every morning at 6:00 A.M, I would hike my way to his class. Mr. Flannery stressed the importance of practice, and he took the time and effort to create worksheets specifically for the problems I was struggling the most with. I would be timed, and then we would review these problems to correct my mistakes. Mr. Flannery showed me how to read this foreign language so trail signs would not lead to dead ends. He showed me that motivation to practice is not the answer, but discipline is. Showing up at six in the morning and staying at seven in the morning for class, meant two full hours of the subject I dreaded. I am forever grateful for those two hours every morning. Math continues to be a subject that requires my full attention, but thanks to Mr. Flannery, I know it is possible to keep climbing when you feel lost. Mr. Flannery did make me a quadratic formula expert, but more importantly, he showed me what it means to go the extra mile for others. He didn't have to make worksheets for me, he didn't have to come to school at six in the morning. There are a multitude of acts we are not required to do, but will make the biggest difference when done. Mr. Flannery and I were complete opposites, he was serious, I tend to smile for everything. He was from the mid-west, I was born in South America. Despite these differences, the wanting to help, and willingness to learn, bonded us. I would have failed Algebra had it not been for his actions and following algebra, and I often went back to him in my upper division courses for help. Thanks to Mr. Flannery, I intentionally reach out to others whether it be in class, work or in mundane settings in case they need help. Thanks to Mr. Flannery, I create guides for first-generation students interested in the law, because that is my quadratic formula specialty. No act of kindness is too small or insignificant. It can be math, it can be sports, or simply helping a neighbor grocery shop, we all need a Mr. Flannery that will be there when you feel lost. We are all climbing mountains and if you can be a tour guide, it can be the difference between feeling stranded or feeling on top of the world.

6:30 AM I strap on my apple watch first thing in the morning after being woken up to the obnoxious alarm apple decided was a wonderful and not an anxiety-inducing default tone. It is pivotal that I reach all three of my watch goals, of course. I joke to myself that it feels like I am wearing a parole anklet. 7:00 AM I go for a run, my phone in my left hand to ensure I have music and the 5.85 inch tiny glowing screen weighing me down in more ways than physical. 8:30 AM I drive to work, putting my destination on Maps to scope out San Diego traffic. I pass by several accidents and am thankful to make it to work safely. 9:00 AM I switch from one glowing screen to another, absorbing its blue light rays and responding to e-mails. I take breaks in between the two medium glowing screens to view the smaller one, with emojis being sent back to texts unattended to. 5:00 PM I drive back home to where my personal medium sized glowing screen awaits to finish homework. I take breaks in between to view the smaller one, with emojis being sent back to texts unattended to. 11:00 PM I scroll the smaller glowing screen again until I fall asleep. Uncertain if the exhaustion is from the day, or from the eye strain. Smartphones today are used virtually every second of one's free time. Waiting in line at the DMV, taking breaks from e-mails and homework, it is no wonder phones have a driving setting to go against the muscle-memory that is refreshing one's Instagram feed. For me, it has been learning to appreciate all things in moderation and reflecting in the future of technology. I think of how the U.S Court system has been able to operate by electronic means, with firms now going paperless and reducing their carbon footprint. How in the midst of a pandemic, I am still able to work, have an education and stay informed on current events through a 5.85 inch glowing screen. It is there that I stop myself from complaining about Zoom, because what if I didn't have it? If my tiny glowing screens, no longer glistened? Do not be fooled, I indulge in the vast amount of entertainment at my fingertips, and I must say, my color-coordinated posts are quite visually pleasing. Nonetheless, I acknowledge that this digital depiction is merely the surface of what constitutes living. I acknowledge that LinkedIn posts are bragging rights and Instagram stories are edited highlights of the mundane. Living is leaving my phone at home and running without any music to listen to the singing of the wind racing next to me. It is making plans with friends over coffee rather than sending them a five-second snap chat of a blank screen. It is recognizing that my life, and the lives of those around me are more valuable than even that of the latest, fanciest iPhone release. That they are not worth the risk of responding to a text on my commute to work. The future brings technological advancements, meant to innovate, inspire, and efficiently tackle the hurdles we face. I want to be present to live through these innovations with friends and family by my side. In order to do this, I know we all must truly live, not dependent of technology, but symbiotically, to help accomplish a future that is bright from its leaders, rather than its tiny glowing screens.

"I talked to your real grandmother on the phone today." The words were said casually as if they were synonymous with asking me what I would like to eat for dinner. The heavy subjects always went like this. They were placed on display openly, like an exhibit in a museum and you were not to discuss what you thought it meant, you were to only acknowledge the canvas that glared back at you. It was there in a drive-thru line that my mother revealed to me she was adopted. It wasn't until elementary school while arguing with my principal that it was not fair that I couldn't go to the Father-Daughter dance because I lacked one, that I was told about the abuse. Things were never explained until asked and submerging myself in anything to keep me busy, was the coping mechanism to not reflect on the truth in need of emotional processing. My mother and I moved to San Diego when I was four years old from Bogota, Colombia. I did not understand this alien-like language everyone spoke, and my closest friends quickly became the senior citizens my mom cared for. I did not understand why I had to leave my best friend that lived across the street from me, or why my Dad no longer called. All I knew was I was told we were here for better opportunities and I was told to work hard. That was all. End of the museum exhibit, four-year-old opinions were omitted. So, I did my part. I went to 6:30 a.m. free tutoring for geometry and took APs. I was President of the Earth Club and involved in the National Honor Society. I did the things on my to-do list that I had been told to follow by my career counselors. I was deeply unhappy. I knew I wanted to give back to my community. I knew I loved people and secretly was always rooting for the underdog in movies. I became a Paralegal and became exposed to what I knew from my emigration story: there lies injustice rooted in hate and racial prejudice everywhere. It was clear, to help others heal through the law, I needed to work through my own. I cut out any extracurricular I was not passionate about. I started running, journaling, and most importantly, forgiving myself. Since then, my inner-child smiles at the foreshadowing of six-year-old me arguing with my principal. The beginning of standing up for equal treatment and being guided towards a career in the legal sector. Through stories of immigrant warriors, I have healed. I now know that my productivity does not amount to my worth nor does it repay the sacrifices of the generations before us. Today, I recognize the importance of interpreting the art before you. The canvas that comprises me is abstract and a work in progress, yet priceless. I hope to help others recognize their museums of accomplishments and power they hold through the law.

The repetition between the pavement and my shoes giving each other a high-five with every stride taken. My headphones are singing to me "I'm a Survivor" by Destiny's Child. I pay extra attention to the lyric "I'm not gon' stop, I'm gon' work harder." I have always had a terrible sense of navigation, yet I know this is exactly where I am supposed to be. Before slow walking into the realm of leisure running, I was working over forty hours a week as a civil litigation paralegal, while simultaneously being a full-time first-generation college student. My energy levels were dependent exclusively on caffeine, and the anxiety of impending deadlines. I was eating less than 800 calories a day. I was unhappy and too stubborn to admit it. I finally opened my eyes to who I had become. I was weak, my eyes were hollow, and I would bruise the moment anything slightly punctured me. It took fainting after taking my first sick day in two years to make the decision to change the way I was living. I started meal prepping every Sunday to encourage myself to eat. I downloaded my favorite true-crime podcast in the hopes that, if I got scared, I would run faster. It worked, but although decreasing my mile time felt accomplishing, I fell in love with distance running. To be able to zone out and reflect upon the nature surrounding me, and the air going in and out of my lungs. I fell in love with how much our bodies can endure. How our body will show up for us, even when we haven't always rooted it on. It started with one mile, and then two, and then I was taking my tennis shoes with me to work to run after the eight hours of computer-screen staring. I was captivated by it. Running brings out the kid in me. It teleports me to childhood evenings of playing freeze tag with neighborhood friends. It equipped me with the courage to keep going, one step at a time, on my runs and in every other aspect of my life. Staying fit has been the physical reminder and symbol of strength. I learned that strength does not equate to the lack of hours slept and assignments completed. Strength is listening to the inner-child in me asking me to play freeze tag again. Strength has been stopping through the midst of adulthood to listen to my body and take action for it's needs. In turn, my body thanks me, and does not hold a grudge for the years of mistreatment. It continues to love me and root for me during this marathon that is life. Staying fit has been the affirmation that I have run this far, and I can continue on running despite the obstacles that may lay ahead (in this case, incline and shin splints). However, I know through fitness that I am stong and capable of accomplishing any race I set my mind to.

I emigrated to California at four years old, from my native home, Bogota, Colombia. When I arrived to San Diego, I quickly made friends: the older folks my mother would care for, despite not understanding a single word they were saying, and the dogs at the houses we would clean on weekends. It wasn't until kindergarten recess when my first friend who was not above the age of fifty, Emily, with her bright blonde hair, looked at me with confusion when I asked her how many houses she cleaned. I understood then. The off-brand shoes, the miles walked to school, it was not the mundane routine all my classmates faced. It was my routine. It was the product of being raised by a single mother who gave up her career to give me the opportunity to choose my own, in a land where I still needed to learn the language. As I continued to grow and be exposed to the vast economic inequality that surrounded me, two things remained clear: I would work hard, and I would be kind. I graduated High School at the top of my class as President of Earth Club, in which I organized events at low-income elementary schools to plant gardens. It was there that I was profoundly disheartened with how minimal laws and regulations exist to further help our local communities. Many times, it was a never-ending cycle of permits and vague regulations with unproductivity and tired-eyed adults, uneager for change. I decided to dual-enroll to receive my certification as a Paralegal while attending community college as I could not afford to go straight to a four-year university. My focus was, and continues to be helping plaintiffs, many who have been harmed by institutions claiming to protect them. I began volunteering with Appellate Defenders Inc. in which I was able to help imprisoned inmates, appeal their sentences. Through reading, it was evident: inmates are not seen as living people. Inmates are stripped of their rights upon incarceration and tied to an institution that neglects them. I became involved in a class action lawsuit against California prisons for the lack of accommodations made for inmates who are disabled. Many inmates require wheelchairs and medical attention yet are told to sign disability waivers. Unknowingly signing away the limited rights they still possess. This too often reminded me of my childhood, researching at the public library for my mom who only spoke Spanish to ensure she was not being taken advantage of when signing paperwork. This fight continues. In my career, I hope to achieve advocacy and reform. In my life, I hope to be a friendly face and a comfort to the prejudiced, forgotten, and defenseless. I will attend law school regardless of the societal and economical barriers that I face. I will make legal resources attainable, and not something barred by privilege. I am an immigrant, a first-generation college student, a daughter, and a voice for the silenced, asking to be heard.

As a first-generation college student, I learned in the waiting room career center of my community college that the law existed as times new roman text stared at me on a table with other career option pamphlets. I was eighteen years old and that is too many years to not be aware that change is feasible. I immediately enrolled in the Paralegal Studies program after the pamphlet glared at me, telling me, now or never. In the middle of the program, I applied to work at a law firm as an administrative assistant. They gave an eighteen-year-old a shot, and I slowly began taking on more legal centered tasks. I remember desperately googling what in the world a "demurrer" was, or saying "Hocus Pocus" on the phone with the Court of Appeals clerk instead of, "Writ of Habeas Corpus." I quickly was interested in the criminal justice system. Luckily for me, the Partner at the firm was appointed to Appellate Defender's and allowed me to oversee all the appellate cases. I was able to see stories come to life from a reporter's transcript. I saw appellants convicted to high sentences despite a judge stating on the record, "I have doubts about your mental competency." The same way the Paralegal Pamphlet glared at me, I was now seeing the hallowed out histories of appellants wrongfully sentenced, constitutional rights violated. Since that review, I have personally communicated with all appellants and have had the privilege of viewing oral arguments for the 4th District Court of Appeals, Division One. What you don't see in the movies is the reality of appellants that are in wheelchairs, in need of medical attention, special diets, be continuously neglected. The pain in the voice of 94-year-old Dorothy, the mother of an appellate sentenced to five years for petty theft will echo in my memory forever. I remember mailing an appellant's brief five different times, as a result of the guard's throwing out the incoming mail entitled "confidential."It is the very system that harbors institutionalized racism that allows for the incarceration of our neighbors, uncles, and friends that have endured the effects of low socioeconomic conditions. I recently joined the San Diego Paralegal Association to partake in volunteer efforts for inmates that need legal help and guidance in their cases. A guilt plea in exchange for liberty is not justice, it is the flaw in our system yearning for the next generation of advocates to declare change. I am only a piece to the puzzle in the picture that is a restored criminal justice system, but I am certain change is to come. Today, I have taken the initiative to use my voice through blogging in the hopes of providing others access to the law. Through my website, Aboveinteralia.com, I provide a safe space to discuss supreme court cases, imposter syndrome and bring awareness to people like Dorothy. This upcoming year, I will be volunteering with local prisons and partnering with organizations that further support the reconstruction of our current prison system. I will be enrolled full-time at a University of California campus in Fall 2021, intending to graduate in Spring 2023. As I adjust to this new curriculum, my foundation remains the same. Helping those in need through legal accessibility. Prior to LSAT preparation, and in the middle and end of it, I hope to spark the curiosity of the realities of our criminal justice system through my digital voice. After all, Averie's TikTok's provided me with the feeling of a safe community in which discussing the law is acceptable. The law is acceptable, and it is how we transform the lives of those around us, as well as ours individually. As we continue to seek justice in the criminal justice system, the truth is, it is not until a pamphlet in large times new roman text is staring at you in the eyes, that one realizes, change is here, change is now. Change is the future and change is this very moment.