As I enter college to study physical therapy, I'm reminded of the importance of empathetic leadership. It's essential to embody empathy and show softness as visibly as you can towards others; healing relies on a strong foundation of trust and understanding. Effective leadership in this field means collaboration with patients– It's not what I do to a patient to help, it's what we accomplish together. Our bodies carry deep emotions, and acknowledging grief is essential to heal. Through this lens, I aim to inspire others to navigate with resilience and compassion. One of my main goals in high school was to be part of a club where I was genuinely welcomed in with no second thoughts or judgments. I joined the L.O.L. club, the queer alliance on campus. Few students had joined, so I connected with those who shared my struggles growing up queer. Although there were not many members at a predominantly Latino school, I often felt that I was a “percentage” grappling with my internal homophobic thoughts, knowing I was an outsider. Despite struggling, I persevered and found my voice to speak out on issues. When someone expressed being disgusted by the imagination of being gay and barked, “No soy joto,” a derogatory term in Spanish for sissy or faggot, I confronted the comment directly, addressing how unempathetic it was and how it made not only me but my community feel less than. As I progressed through highschool I rejoined the club, stepping up as president as the seniors became overwhelmed with their own responsibilities. I organized learn-ins to educate our members about transgender people in history and how they affect our society. We explored topics ranging from rights like health care to activism against violence and harmful words, including their origins. Beyond school, I remained committed to advocating for LGBTQ rights and remained aware of what had been going on in Palestine, Congo, and Ukraine, etc. I shared information on social media platforms to raise awareness, because these issues crossed fundamental human rights that we all need to access. As club president, I realized how much being inactive was a failure to address core problems and how silence minimizes and invalidates the experience of those being marginalized. To be a peacemaker is to address and speak up, confronting issues of justice. Originally, I applied for a private high school that would've greatly enhanced my education for kinesiology. My sister attended the same high school I'd been dreaming about for years, but money made it difficult for both of us to attend at the same time. My mom showed me the high school I currently attend. I did my best to weigh the pros and cons, but my heart was set on the school of my dreams. There, I would have the opportunity to experience a variety of classes I could choose freely from, rather than being limited to two math-focused options, as I have in my current school. I focused on excelling at my current school to help alleviate my mother's financial burdens before I consider college. Receiving this scholarship would ease the burden of pursuing higher education and allow me to continue my mission of inclusivity in the health field, one patient at a time. I am committed to making a difference in my community and beyond, ensuring that LGBTQ+ patients always have the support and opportunities they deserve.

On September 3rd, 2024, at 6:29 pm, my boyfriend, Rafael, let his last breath into the world. He took his life and had been in the hospital beyond hope for two weeks; now, waiting was over, and it hit me hard. My mother told me she approved of him being in our family before all of this happened. He proposed to me with a promise ring. My hopes, dreams, and branches were cut off. There was no light at the end of the tunnel. If there was, there was an interminable way to go. I became so bare-branched I began to wilt. The clouds flooded me with grief that it weighed as a heartache; that months fit into a week. I had headaches that swelled from crying for hours on end, the thoughts of ¨What if I had done-¨ flooded my mind, making me sick to my stomach. I isolated myself and only spoke when necessary. A part of my future was gone with no way to get back. The guilt of his death tore at me whenever I, for a change, felt happy. My emotions cycled over on repeat. School was the last place I had seen him living, and entering certain classrooms would overwhelm me. Soon, on our anniversary, the funeral came. During the speeches, Nobody recongized my partner as queer; the family had danced around the fact that he was. It was frusterating and I knew that had played a part in why he did what he had done. There was no honest support, only quiet judgment. Now, seeing him, he´s finally resting; his once-warm body is cold as ice as I cupped his face. The bullet wound on his forehead wasn't noticeable, looking like an acne scar. The mortuary makeup had a peculiar look, making his lips his skintone, his long curls shaven off; “Why was he asleep? Why was he cold? He’d get a fever; he needs a blanket.” My voice cried with innocence. This wasnt how it was supposed to be. My beautiful beloved was below me. I kissed him for the last time, hoping he’d wake up, but he would stay like this forever. Soon after Rafael's birthday in the spring, I realized I needed to take control of my life, and I realized waiting any longer would leave me behind my peers. Although I was unprepared, I dug into my academic work and took the initiative to educate myself. I relearned how to express myself and asserted my voice boldly, and soon began to live louder than before. I understood that trailblazing means forging my own path, even with the possibility of loss. I learned how to navigate life without him; through perseverance, I l picked up strength from my culture that I could be happy too on my own because he was still living within me. After all, our souls are infinite. I embraced this truth as it was able to resprout, grasping that I can open up and share my journey of grief; friends and I held a memorial where I opened up about how grief had been treating me and how we shouldn't take death as a “lesson” but as a reminder of the fragility and vulnerability in the body; it challenges us to expand our understanding; how human beings work. It connects us more than anything. Going into college, I'm reminded of the importance of empathetic leadership. It's essential to embody empathy and to wear softness as visibly as you can for people, because healing is built on a strong foundation of trust and understanding.