In Waipahu, Hawai‘i, where every neighbor feels like family and the scent of garlic rice and grilled meats lingers in the air, I grew up learning that generosity has little to do with wealth. As a Filipino-American immigrant woman raised by a single mother who left the Philippines with more hope than money, I saw what true strength looked like. My mom juggled three jobs, yet somehow still found the time to check in on our neighbors, drop off food to family, and remind me—through her actions—that caring for others isn’t something you do when it’s convenient, it’s something you do because it matters. That lesson became the lens through which I see everything—how I show up for others, how I navigate the world, and why I found my way to landscape architecture. As a kid, I didn’t have the words for it, but I noticed the little things: the sidewalks too broken for my grandma’s walker, the park that turned into a muddy lake every time it rained, the schoolyard having hardly any trees to sit under on hot days. Instead of meeting this unfairness with frustration, my identity taught me to meet that with purpose. As a Filipina in a field where voices like mine are rare, I see design as a way to serve—with the same heart, humility, and hope my mom raised me with. My responsibility is to listen, to uplift, and to build spaces that reflect our stories—that is my kuleana.

I was not like my mother’s first daughter. I was younger and frankly a tad bit braver. I was not like other younger daughters. I bore responsibilities heavier than the older daughter: I was my sister’s parachute and at times, her life vest. Her Attention Deficit Hyperactivity Disorder (ADHD) weighed on her like crazy therefore I took action when she could not bear the responsibilities of an older daughter: I cooked our meals, did the majority of the chores, and constantly encouraged my sister to do her school work. I was an adult at ten years old. At home, I held the fort down while my mother, a single parent, juggled three jobs to make a living. Gradually, as I got older, I learned how to manage my time better and spend our money more wisely. As a result, my ambitions skyrocketed. As did my mother. When my mother finally took a leap and decided to become an insurance broker, we watched her go from having three 9-5 jobs to one flexible job where I no longer had to hold the fort down as much. She had more time on her hands, and it became the same for me. I was able to be more involved in school where I held officer positions for various clubs and honor societies. I even got into dancing as a hobby. Eventually, my hard work in school led me to realize that I was not meant to stay on the island of O‘ahu, Hawai‘i forever. Now, as a student at the University of California - Berkeley, my ambitions intensified. I no longer wanted to just get off the island. I wanted to return and assist in creating homes as an architect for those who never had an actual home growing up like my mother and my sister. Home, to me, is defined as this: a safe haven. A home where one’s boundaries are not constantly crossed, where there is no one to disturb one’s peace and where one can finally be themselves without the feeling of being perceived. A future begins at home. I knew that once we would have a secure place to call home, we would be able to look beyond what we were forced to deal with and start planning for even greater things in the future. The beginning for everything is at home; home represents a new beginning for my family, a secure environment, and a sense of unity. I hope to use this scholarship to help my mother pay the cost of my tuition. By doing so, we would be one step closer to fulfilling our dream of having our own home and will no longer need to rent or rely on others. My mother would not need to worry so much about my schooling and could just focus on finally getting our own house. Moreover, she would co-sign less of my student loans and wouldn't have to stress about my debt. And with money not always having to be a talk at the table, I could spend more quality time with family and create happier memories that we couldn’t get in my childhood. In a way, my mother and I do share similar goals and a strong desire to pursue a variety of interests. I assumed that because she was such a distant figure in my childhood, I wouldn't be so similar to her. But I was mistaken. I am my mother's daughter after all.