My name is Marwa Habbal, and I am a student who has walked through darkness and found purpose on the other side. I attended high school at Heritage High School and La Vida Charter School. I’ve also completed college units at Mt. San Jacinto College (MSJC), and I plan to continue my education there as I work toward becoming an elementary school teacher, Insha’Allah. My lived experience with mental health challenges has shaped not only who I am today, but also how I plan to make a difference in college and beyond. Throughout my teenage years, I struggled deeply with my mental health. At around fourteen years old, I began isolating myself and started self-harming in various ways. Over time, my depression grew worse, developing into an eating disorder and leading to several suicide attempts. Within one year, I was hospitalized in five different mental institutions. I overdosed twice, and during one of those episodes, I experienced a seizure and serious medical complications. I truly believed I might die. But by the mercy of Allah, I survived. Alhamdulillah, I was given a second chance—and I intend to make the most of it. In college, I am committed to raising awareness for mental health and supporting others who may be struggling in silence. One of the first things I plan to do is join or establish a student-led mental health club on campus. This club would provide a safe space for open conversations, support groups, and events that promote emotional well-being. I want to help normalize discussions around mental illness so that no student feels alone or ashamed of what they’re going through. Additionally, I hope to partner with the campus counseling center to host events, workshops, and mental health awareness campaigns. These programs would cover important topics such as coping with stress, recognizing signs of depression and anxiety, and how to access help. I would also be willing to share my personal story at these events, not for sympathy, but to give hope to others who are struggling. If someone hears my journey and realizes that healing is possible, then I’ve done something meaningful. Because I am pursuing a career in teaching, I also want to connect mental health awareness with education. As a future elementary school teacher, I want to be someone my students feel safe with—someone who listens, notices, and supports them emotionally. In college, I will seek out opportunities to study child psychology and trauma-informed teaching practices so I can better serve the next generation with both academic and emotional tools. My experiences have given me deep empathy for others, and I believe college is not just a place for learning, but for leading. I plan to lead with compassion, with courage, and with the belief that mental health matters. Through clubs, community outreach, workshops, and personal mentorship, I will do everything I can to raise awareness, support healing, and create a culture of care on campus. Thank you for considering me for this opportunity. I am excited to grow, to give back, and to help others find light in the darkness—just as I have.

My name is Marwa Habbal, and I have struggled with mental health for as long as I can remember. Things took a serious turn when I was 14. What began as sadness grew into deep isolation. I started self-harming—at first by hitting myself and creating blood clots, then by pressing pens and pencils into my skin until I bled, and eventually using serrated kitchen knives. My depression consumed me. It turned into an eating disorder, fueled by a deep hatred for myself and a desperate desire to feel something close to happiness. While other students chased diplomas and awards, I felt like I was stuck in place. I knew I had the potential to do well in school, but I couldn’t find the motivation or energy. Watching others succeed while I remained frozen in my pain only deepened my sadness. I felt like life was moving on without me—and I was just a ghost watching it happen. In one year, I was hospitalized in five different mental health institutions. I overdosed twice and experienced seizures and life-threatening complications. At one point, I genuinely believed I was going to die. But by the mercy of Allah, I survived. Alhamdulillah—God gave me a second chance, and I am so grateful for it. I no longer want to waste the life I’ve been given. I know now that I have a purpose. These experiences have completely reshaped my goals, relationships, and understanding of the world. I used to feel hopeless and broken, but now I realize that my pain wasn’t the end of my story—it was the beginning. It opened my eyes to the struggles so many people quietly carry. I now view the world with more empathy and compassion. I no longer look at others with envy; I look at them with love, knowing that every person is fighting a battle we might not see. My relationships have deepened as a result. I’ve learned the importance of honesty and vulnerability. I’ve also become more protective of my own peace. I know how important it is to surround myself with people who uplift me, understand me, and support my healing journey. As for my goals, they are no longer driven by perfection or comparison—they’re driven by purpose. I want to become a teacher so I can support the next generation, especially the ones who feel left out or unseen. I want to be the adult I wish I had when I was younger: someone who notices the quiet pain in a student’s eyes and reminds them that their life matters. I still have hard days, but now I face them with faith and strength. I’ve come a long way, and I know I still have a long way to go—but I’m not afraid anymore. My mental health journey didn’t ruin my life—it revealed the strength and resilience I didn’t know I had. It showed me that even the darkest nights eventually give way to light. Thank you for considering me for this scholarship. It would not just help me afford an education—it would help me continue on the path of healing, growth, and giving back.

Growing up as a Muslim woman in California, I have always been taught that life is sacred and a gift from God. My faith plays a foundational role in my pro-life beliefs, particularly the Quranic teachings that emphasize the value and dignity of every human soul. As someone who has struggled deeply with mental health and suicidal thoughts in the past, I’ve come to understand the fragile nature of life, and just how much every single life—born or unborn—matters. These experiences have not only shaped my worldview, but they’ve strengthened my commitment to defending the vulnerable, especially the unborn. I know what it feels like to feel unwanted, invisible, or like a burden. During the darkest points in my life, I questioned whether my existence had any meaning. But it was through the support of my faith, my family, and my healing journey that I realized my life does have purpose. This realization made me think even more about those who don’t have a voice, especially babies in the womb. If someone had ended my life before I was given the chance to heal or to grow into who I am becoming today, all the potential inside me would’ve been lost. I believe the same is true for every unborn child. My mom, who is a teacher, has always modeled compassion, care, and respect for every life. She inspired me to follow in her footsteps and become an elementary school teacher. I want to work with children and be part of their growth and development from the earliest years. But even before a child is born, I believe they deserve that same level of love and advocacy. That’s why I view my future in education as not just a career, but a calling—a way to protect, nurture, and empower every child, starting from the womb. To promote the value of life, I use my voice in my community and on social media to challenge harmful narratives that devalue the unborn. I also write and speak openly about mental health and the importance of human dignity. I believe that when we create a culture that supports struggling mothers, uplifts people with depression, and gives hope to those in crisis, we naturally foster a society that values life at every stage. I may not have a large platform yet, but I believe that change starts with consistent, compassionate conversations—especially in the classroom, at home, and online. I also hope to one day start a support group for young women, especially within the Muslim community, to talk about motherhood, mental health, and pro-life values from a place of empathy and faith. Being pro-life to me isn’t just about opposing abortion; it’s about building a culture where life is protected, supported, and honored in all forms. My lived experiences—through pain, healing, and hope—have led me to this truth, and I will continue to stand for the dignity of every human being, born and unborn.

Over coffee, I’d tell you this: I want to use cybersecurity knowledge to protect people—especially women and kids—from online threats like harassment, stalking, and exploitation. The internet is powerful, but it’s also dangerous, and too many people don’t know how to protect themselves. I want to be the kind of person who stands between everyday users and those who mean them harm. With the right tools and education, I believe I can create real change in my local community. Cybersecurity isn’t just about tech—it’s about justice, safety, and giving people peace of mind. Growing up, I’ve always felt a strong need to protect others—especially the most vulnerable. As someone who wants to become a teacher, I care deeply about kids, their futures, and the kind of world they’re growing up in. And honestly, that world can be terrifying. Young people face serious threats online—from predators on social media to identity theft, cyberbullying, and even manipulation from strangers. And girls, in particular, are often targeted in horrifying ways that most people don’t want to talk about. But I want to talk about it. More than that—I want to fight it. If I had the skills and knowledge in cybersecurity, I wouldn’t just keep that information to myself. I would use it to host free community workshops and school presentations to help people—especially young women—understand how to stay safe online. I’d teach them how to use privacy settings, recognize red flags, avoid dangerous situations, and report predators. I'd also work with schools and local organizations to make sure families and educators know how to protect kids in this digital age. No one should feel powerless online—and if I can do something to change that, I will. Cybersecurity can feel intimidating, like it’s only for people who code all day in dark rooms. But that’s not true. Cybersecurity can be a way for everyday people—especially women and girls like me—to take their power back. I want to show people that protecting themselves online isn’t impossible. It just takes knowledge, confidence, and someone willing to break it down in a way that makes sense. That someone could be me. This scholarship would support me in becoming both a teacher and a protector—someone who doesn’t just teach ABCs and 123s, but real-world lessons that save lives and restore voices. I don’t want to just be in front of a classroom—I want to be out in my community, using my voice, my skills, and my heart to make a difference. Whether it’s in a school, a rec center, or a church basement, I’ll show up with what I’ve learned and help others feel safe in the world—both physically and digitally. Because everyone deserves to feel safe. And I believe cybersecurity knowledge can make that possible.

If I could create one class that every student from kindergarten through 12th grade would be required to take, it would be a course on Personal Safety, Consent, and Empowerment—a class that teaches children and teenagers how to protect themselves, respect others, and speak up when something is wrong. The truth is, our world is not always safe—especially for young women. Many grow up learning how to shrink themselves to avoid danger, how to stay quiet so they won’t be targeted, and how to live in fear of being followed, touched, or harmed. This is not the kind of future I want for any child, especially not the kind I will one day teach. I believe that education can be a powerful tool for change—not just for academic success, but for survival, justice, and healing. This class would begin early, with age-appropriate lessons for younger children about bodily autonomy, trusted adults, and the importance of saying “no.” As students grow older, the course would deepen into conversations around consent, self-defense, red flags in relationships, online safety, and how to seek help when something feels wrong. It would be inclusive of all genders—because protecting our communities from sexual violence is not just a women’s issue. It’s a human issue. We must raise boys to understand consent, empathy, and boundaries just as much as we must empower girls to speak up and protect themselves. We would teach students how to use safety tools, like pepper spray, and how to defend themselves if necessary—but more importantly, we would teach them that they have the right to be safe, respected, and heard. We would also create space for survivors—those who may have experienced assault or harassment—to feel supported and not silenced. Because too often, victims are blamed, while perpetrators walk free. This cycle needs to end. The impact of this class would be profound. It would help prevent abuse before it begins, empower young people to speak up and protect others, and ultimately reshape the culture around violence, silence, and accountability. Imagine a generation where survivors don’t have to hide their pain. Imagine a world where no child grows up thinking their voice doesn’t matter. Imagine if we raised boys and girls alike to value respect over control, consent over entitlement, and courage over silence. This issue is deeply personal to me. I’ve seen and felt the fear that so many girls carry with them, simply for existing in a world that doesn’t always protect them. I want to change that. I want to give young women their voices back—and make sure they never lose them again. And I want to hold those who harm others accountable—not with excuses, but with justice. Creating a class like this won’t erase all the pain in the world, but it will plant seeds of change. It will teach children that they are powerful, that their bodies are their own, and that they deserve to live without fear. And that, I believe, is an education worth fighting for.

“I have learned that the purpose of teaching is to bring the student to his or her sense of his or her own presence.” – Professor Harold Bloom, Possessed by Memory This quote by Professor Harold Bloom holds within it a quiet power. To bring a student to a sense of their own presence means to awaken them—not just to the material they are learning, but to themselves. It means guiding a student to discover their worth, their individuality, and their unique role in the world. For a special education teacher, this mission is not only profound—it is sacred. Growing up, I was lucky to witness this kind of teaching in action. My mother, a dedicated and compassionate educator, lit up every classroom she entered. I saw her interact with children who needed extra time, extra support, or simply extra kindness. I saw how she made them feel safe, understood, and capable. She wasn’t just teaching lessons—she was teaching children. And each one walked away feeling a little more seen and a little more whole. My own path into education began with small steps—helping in my mother’s classroom, grading papers, and sitting beside students who struggled. I didn’t see them as “behind” or “less than.” I saw them as kids with stories, kids with hearts, and kids who were capable of growing if only someone believed in them. And I knew, deeply and without doubt, that I wanted to be that someone. What truly solidified my passion was becoming an aunt. My nephews Kareem and Zane changed my life in ways I never expected. Watching them develop—seeing their bright eyes, hearing their questions, and feeling their joy—reminded me that every child, no matter their learning style or challenges, deserves the chance to thrive. If one of them ever needed special education support, I would want them to be surrounded by love, patience, and unwavering belief. I want to be that advocate and guide for all children. Defining My Mission To bring a special needs student to a sense of their own presence means giving them the tools to see that their voice matters. It’s helping a nonverbal child communicate joy with a smile. It’s guiding a student with ADHD to focus not by silencing them, but by helping them direct their energy. It’s empowering a child with autism to see their sensitivity as strength. It’s letting every child know: You belong. You matter. You are more than enough. My mission as a special education teacher is to create a classroom rooted in acceptance, understanding, and individualized care. I want to be a mirror that reflects each student’s potential back to them, even when they can’t see it yet. I want to advocate for inclusive education where differences are not hidden—they are celebrated. My classroom will be a space where children are encouraged to dream, where setbacks are met with support, and where learning is always infused with love. A Fairy Tale: “Marwa and the Hidden Stars” Once upon a time, in a quiet village under a dim sky, there lived a young woman named Marwa. The village elders spoke of stars that used to light the night—brilliant, dazzling stars that had vanished. The children had never seen a true night sky; all they knew was darkness and dull gray. Marwa, however, believed the stars were not gone—they were simply hidden. One day, she heard of a hill where the veil of darkness was thinnest. She set out with nothing but a lantern, her heart, and a whispered promise to the children: “I’ll find the light.” Along her journey, she met travelers—each unique, each carrying a different kind of glow. One child whispered but did not speak. Another danced when others stood still. Some walked slowly, others ran in spirals. Each time she met them, Marwa didn’t change them—she met them exactly as they were. She listened. She waited. She learned their rhythm. Together, they reached the hill. And when they held their lights up high—not perfect lights, not loud ones, but real ones—the veil cracked. The stars came back. And the children saw, maybe for the first time, not just the sky—but themselves. Each of them had carried a star inside. They just needed someone to help them see it. I see myself in that tale. Not as a savior, but as a guide. As someone who believes that children—especially those with special needs—don’t lack potential. They lack people willing to see it. I want to be the teacher who looks at a struggling reader and sees a storyteller. Who hears a stutter and hears a song. Who sees behaviors not as problems, but as unspoken messages asking for patience, connection, and compassion. Professor Bloom said the purpose of teaching is to bring the student to a sense of their own presence. My goal is to bring each student not just into the lesson, but into the light of their own being. To show them that learning is not just about grades or rules—but about growth, expression, and love. Receiving this scholarship would help me complete my education and allow me to serve the students who need voices like mine in the classroom. Students who are often overlooked. Students who are different—but never deficient. And as long as I’m in the classroom, I will keep searching for hidden stars—because I know they’re out there, waiting to shine.

Ever since I was young, I knew that I wanted to make a difference in the world—but I never quite knew how. It wasn’t until I stepped into a classroom with my mother, a devoted and passionate teacher, that everything clicked. Watching her face light up as she taught, seeing the energy she brought to each lesson, and witnessing the connection she had with her students inspired me deeply. She wasn’t just teaching—she was shaping young minds, guiding them with compassion, and leaving a lasting impact. And the best part? She loved every second of it. That’s when I realized: I wanted to do the same. I began helping in her classroom, grading assignments, supporting students one-on-one, and stepping into the role of a teacher’s aide. It wasn’t just a task—it became a calling. I found joy in helping struggling students find confidence, in watching them discover something new, and in being a small part of their learning journey. There was something magical about the way young children approached the world with curiosity and wonder, and I knew I wanted to be part of that magic every day for the rest of my life. My love for children goes far beyond the classroom. Becoming an aunt to my two nephews, Kareem and Zane, has been the greatest joy of my life. Watching them grow, laugh, and explore the world has only deepened my commitment to early childhood development. Their giggles, their questions, their boundless energy—those moments fill my heart in ways I can’t even explain. They’ve shown me the power of love, patience, and presence in a child’s life. I want to bring that same energy into every classroom I step into. Early childhood is a critical time in a person’s life. It’s when children begin to understand themselves, form relationships, and build the foundation for their future learning. As a future educator, I plan to support early child development by creating a safe, welcoming, and nurturing environment where every child feels seen, heard, and valued. I want to encourage their creativity, foster their social-emotional growth, and help them develop a lifelong love of learning. I believe in meeting each child where they are and helping them rise with kindness, consistency, and care. Choosing this field wasn’t a random decision—it was a journey led by inspiration, experience, and a deep love for children. I’ve seen firsthand the difference a passionate educator can make, and I’m ready to step into that role with heart and purpose. Teaching isn’t just a job to me—it’s my mission, my joy, and my way of giving back to the world. Receiving this scholarship would not only help me financially as I pursue my degree in elementary teacher education, but it would also be an investment in the countless lives I hope to impact in the future. I am committed to making a difference—one child, one classroom, and one day at a time.

From a young age, I knew I wanted to become a teacher. Growing up, my biggest inspiration was right in front of me—my mom. She is a teacher, and watching her over the years planted the seed of passion for education in my heart. I’ve seen firsthand the joy and peace she brings into the lives of her students. I’ve watched them light up when they understand something because of how she explains it. I’ve seen them come into her classroom feeling safe, comfortable, and at home. That feeling—of warmth, understanding, and support—is exactly what I hope to give one day as an educator. I come from a large family of 11 and we’ve always had to work hard to get by. Financial struggles and limited resources were just part of our daily life, but the love and values my family gave me were more than enough to keep me grounded. Even though life has been tough, my mother’s strength and dedication to her students never wavered. She balanced teaching and caring for her family with so much grace, and that taught me more than any textbook ever could. Her example showed me what it means to lead with compassion, to serve others, and to make a difference, even in the smallest ways. What makes my story unique is that I never had a teacher who made a deep personal impact on me—but instead of seeing that as a loss, I see it as a purpose. I want to be the teacher I never had. I want to be the safe space for a student who feels unseen. I want to be the encouragement someone needs when they’re going through a hard time. Even if I can’t change a student’s circumstances, I want to be a steady and kind presence in their life, just like my mom has been for so many of her students. Teaching is so much more than just delivering lessons. It’s about building relationships, creating a community, and giving students the confidence to believe in themselves. I believe every child deserves to feel valued, to feel heard, and to feel like their dreams matter. As a future teacher, that’s the environment I want to create. Now, as a 19-year-old college student attending Mount San Jacinto College and studying elementary education, I’m more determined than ever. I carry with me the lessons I’ve learned from my family, especially my mom, and I hope to pour that same love and dedication into every student I meet. Teaching is my calling—not because I had a teacher who changed my life, but because I want to be that person for someone else.

When people ask me why I chose to pursue a career in education, I always give the same answer: my mother. She is not only my role model, but the person who planted the first seeds of love and passion for teaching deep within me. Growing up, I watched her transform lives every day—not just through textbooks and lesson plans, but through compassion, patience, and purpose. Watching her in action made me realize that teaching is not just a profession; it's a calling. And she answered that call with grace, strength, and a heart full of love. Because of her, I hope to do the same. My mother has been a teacher for as long as I can remember. While many people see teaching as a job, she always treated it as a mission. I’ve seen her stay up late at night preparing lesson plans, grading papers, or thinking about how to help a struggling student. I’ve watched her buy school supplies with her own money just to make sure every child in her class had what they needed. I’ve seen her break down in tears over students who were going through things no child should have to face—poverty, abuse, neglect—and then wake up the next morning and go to work with a smile on her face because she refused to give up on them. She taught me that being an educator means being a healer, a leader, and sometimes even a lifeline. As a child, I used to sit quietly in the back of her classroom during teacher workdays or after school. I’d watch how she spoke to her students—not as if they were “just kids,” but as if they mattered deeply. I saw how she celebrated even the smallest victories, like when a shy student raised their hand or when a struggling reader finally finished a book. Her students adored her, not because she was easy on them, but because she believed in them. I remember one boy who was constantly getting into trouble. Most people had given up on him, but not my mom. She found out he loved drawing and started incorporating art into his assignments. Slowly, he began participating, his grades improved, and he started smiling more. That’s when I knew: I wanted to do what she did. I wanted to help kids see their worth. What made her influence even more powerful was how she carried those same values at home. My mom didn’t just teach in a classroom—she taught through her actions every day. When I struggled with depression, self-worth, and the pressure of school, she never made me feel ashamed. Instead, she held space for me. She reminded me that I was smart, capable, and deserving of a bright future. She encouraged me to get help when I needed it and supported me every step of the way. Her strength during my darkest moments helped me find my own strength. She never gave up on me, and because of her, I refused to give up on myself. One of the most significant lessons my mother taught me was the power of empathy in education. Teachers aren’t just there to transfer information—they are there to connect. She taught me that every student carries invisible burdens, and that the best teachers are the ones who see beyond the surface. That belief is now a core part of who I am and how I plan to teach one day. I want to create a classroom where students feel safe, understood, and supported. I want to be the kind of teacher who notices the quiet kid in the back, who cheers on every small success, and who helps children find their voices. Another reason my mom’s impact is so profound is because she showed me that teaching is a form of legacy. The knowledge and care you give to students ripples out into their lives, their families, and even their communities. I’ve seen former students run up to her in grocery stores, years later, telling her how she changed their lives. Some of them became teachers too, inspired by the example she set. I hope that one day, my students will say the same about me. Now, as I pursue my degree in elementary teacher education, I carry her influence with me in everything I do. When I feel overwhelmed by coursework or self-doubt, I remember how she pushed through even when things got tough. When I think about the kind of teacher I want to be, I think about her classroom—the laughter, the learning, the love. And when I imagine my future students, I imagine giving them the same sense of hope, encouragement, and belief that my mom gave to me. My mother didn’t just inspire me to become a teacher—she gave me the blueprint for what a great teacher looks like. She showed me that education is not just about academics; it’s about helping children become the best versions of themselves. It's about creating a space where every child is seen and valued. Her legacy lives through me, and I am proud to follow in her footsteps. If I can impact just one student the way she’s impacted so many, I’ll know I’ve made her proud. And that, more than anything, is why I’m becoming a teacher.