School has always been a source of inspiration for me. There's one word that can explain this: Teachers. From my earliest experiences in the classroom, teachers have been there for me and shown me the endless possibilities in the world. Throughout my adolescence, I decided I wanted to do just the same. As I have embarked on this journey, I haven't regretted my choice, although my family doesn't fully support my choice to pursue a career as an educator, as many have remarked that "anyone can be a teacher." I believe that not everyone can be a great and inspirational teacher. A teacher's job requires a lot of work, experience, and passion. I am a sophomore in college, and I am majoring in English Education. My goal is to teach English to non-native English speakers, as it's always been one of my passions. Ever since I was a little girl, I would teach English to my family members and friends who arrived from Cuba as much as I could. I would take what I learned from school and apply it to those who were close to me. Once I started high school, I would tutor students in what they had trouble with at school. I would dedicate time before the lesson to prep and make sure that I can explain to them the best way that I can. It means so much to me knowing that I can help someone understand something as I often struggled in elementary and middle school, but in 8th grade, I received tutoring from my math and English teacher, and it gave me the boost that I needed. I appreciated them immensely, and with that, my journey and passion came back to help people learn. I want my future students to know they can do anything if they work hard. I want them to instill a love for learning and embrace their curiosities. I want to build a positive student-teacher relationship with my students so they feel comfortable. Often, I would be afraid of a teacher, which would inhibit my learning, as I would not ask questions and feel anxious for the entirety of class time. I want my students to confide in me and know that I am there for them to support them. Students are our future, and teachers are the ones who inspire students to make a difference in their lives and in what career goals inspire them. I want to expose my students to different resources so they learn more about the world and make their own opinions. My ultimate goal is to teach students that they have a voice that they can use to improve society.

School has always been a source of inspiration for me. There's one word that can explain this: Teachers. From my earliest experiences in the classroom, teachers have been there for me and shown me the endless possibilities in the world. Throughout my adolescence, I decided I wanted to do just the same. As I have embarked on this journey, I haven't regretted my choice, although my family doesn't fully support my choice to pursue a career as an educator, as many have remarked that "anyone can be a teacher." I believe that not everyone can be a great and inspirational teacher. A teacher's job requires a lot of work, experience, and passion. I am a sophomore in college, and I am majoring in English Education. My goal is to teach English to non-native English speakers, as it's always been one of my passions. Ever since I was a little girl, I would teach English to my family members and friends who arrived from Cuba as much as I could. I would take what I learned from school and apply it to those who were close to me. I want my future students to know they can do anything if they work hard. I want them to instill a love for learning and embrace their curiosities. I want to build a positive student-teacher relationship with my students so they feel comfortable. Often, I would be afraid of a teacher, which would inhibit my learning, as I would not ask questions and feel anxious for the entirety of class time. I want my students to confide in me and know that I am there for them to support them. Students are our future, and teachers are the ones who inspire students to make a difference in their lives and in what career goals inspire them. I want to expose my students to different resources so they learn more about the world and make their own opinions. My ultimate goal is to teach students that they have a voice that they can use to improve society.

It was Friday - so it goes. I wasn't at school. Well, my mind was not at school; Instead, I was glued to the words on the page and what my imagination would create. Blue heathered fields, light as a feather posed with an ever seemingly taste of ambiguity...I, lulling behind the bridge where my reflection ripples into an evermore of ghostly figures: "I am a being of nature"...so it goes. I pausingly hear the words, "Melanie stop daydreaming", floating from my fourth-grade English teacher's vocal cords. She exclaimed this to me as she had her hand engraved where she left off in the book. She had a little chuckle, as she understood what it is like to be in a daydreaming daze. I am now brought into the present at school again. It was 12:03 p.m. and I was wearing the colorful sweater that I both hated and loved - for reasons I am not sure of. My cheeks were red; red were they as they became more resemblance to the apple on my teacher's desk. I looked down feeling the red tones on my cheeks for a reason: I felt humiliated. I never accepted the feeling of being called out by a teacher: I felt exposed. Exposed and humiliated I had become. Her name: is Ms. Creoli - my fourth-grade teacher - she is the teacher in question here. Truth is I admire her. She is the reason I am pursuing a career in English education. She loved colors. There wasn't a class that went by where splatters of colors weren't engraved into the conversation; I admired her for that. She would tell us about the books she was reading Immersing us in how beautiful it is to read. She would let us borrow the books she was reading after she was done, and it made, us, the students feel special. She was almost the same height as me but her personality stood tall as one can hear her laugh from the next end of the building. This laugh of hers was known as a "witch laugh" by mutual classmates, because of its uncanny resemblance to the laughs of witches we would hear in the movies. She was full of personality. You see, I pondered more about getting caught daydreaming and realized I needed to put my creative thoughts into the paper instead of keeping them in my head. I was no longer humiliated and exposed: I was inspired; Inspired I had become. It was Ms. Creoli's stories and encouragement for writing that pushed me to take writing seriously. My classmates would see our writing assignments as just mere assignments to get done and get the grade. To me it was deeper than that, I put my all tenacity into them. I was new to this form and found a passion for this. Ms. Creoli would scream with delight every time she read my papers. She would get so proud of me and I truly saw how she dearly loved her profession. I saw myself in her.. it was the future version of me, I hoped. Our state writing test was coming up and we were sending letters for students for a week-long Bootcamp after school. I was so sure that I wasn't going to receive one. I was wrong. Wrong was I. The letter came in a pink parceled envelope with the words, "your child is selected for our writing Bootcamp." I thought I was better than attending Bootcamp. I always had a negative connotation to that word for reasons I can not remember. I was too shy to ask why I was selected. I decided to just show up. In Bootcamp I was: I was mad. I did not want to be there. It was now 3:30 p.m. and I found myself enjoying the experience. Ms. Creoli was making this experience so immersive and shared with us so many writing tips. I created new short stories and she would be so joyous every time I finished reading them. On the last day after I had just presented what I had worked on, she hugged me and told me I was going to score a six on the test. I felt seen. And so it went... I received the highest grade on the state creative writing exam from my class, "Thank you, Ms. Creoli." As it was, Ms. Creoli's class taught me that moments of getting caught daydreaming and Bootcamp further pushed me to become a better writer: the writer I aspired to be. Teachers like Ms. Creoli - that go the extra mile - are the reasons I am on my path to becoming a teacher. Moments will be stuck with me forever, no matter how simple they seem; they leave an everlasting impact on us.

I had just finished signing the last letter and marking it with my favorite satin stamp of flowers dancing in a field: this pile of letters was for a homeless shelter in Miami that I had been gathering volunteers to write as well. This has been a project that I have been embarking on since my sophomore year of high school. I was a bored and an alone 16-year-old, stuck at an abysmal site of depression with the new pandemic that had stricken the world. I longed for that feeling of connectivity and friendships more than ever. I had always been fascinated by the concept of letters. I liked how personal they can be and how they can be a source of encouragement. I had recently stumbled upon the Luzuriaga foundation which had a mission for teens to write letters to children in homeless shelters. I was shy at first, “will my letters be encouraging for them?” “Will it be enough?” I remembered how much I enjoyed receiving my PenPal letters and how it felt like opening a gift on Christmas day. Not knowing what day exactly it’s going to arrive, what the stories in the letters will be, and the person’s own pictorial touch to the letter made the experience worthwhile! I began with writing 10 letters at first, but it grew to 20, then 30, and then 50! It filled my head with ideas on what to say and how to decorate it for them. I wanted to create the warmth of doodles covering the letters and enrich it with love. I liked the concept of this foundation because it provided community hours for high-school students and a way to encourage them to give back to their community, the country, and the world. I sought to do the same and encouraged my friends to write letters to teens in homeless shelters in our community and make friendships with people. They had told their friends about it, and it became a growing shared space where we wrote to different shelters from our community, and country to different continents. Writing to other people also helps us broaden our perspective and learn about different points of view! It’s a way to reach more empathy and find out about the different ways people live their lives. Communicating with people with different backgrounds, and economic situations, helps us learn how we can do better to help people that are in the same situation. Thus, it is why I am an enthusiastic advocate for writing letters to seek change in our society. Building connections is a major part of it! From my sophomore year in high school to my current year as a college freshman, I continue to encourage teens to write letters to teens from different backgrounds as part of community hours. I would love to see this flourish as it is what we need as a community: everlasting love and support.

Since I was a little girl my father would tell me, "Melanie tienes que ir a la Universidad” (Melanie you must go to university.) I always questioned his sternness to this viewpoint. The concept of college did not hit me at this age. Of course, I was five. My sister, friends, and I would talk about careers as it was a magical castaway. Yesterday, I wanted to be a teacher; no today, I want to be a ballerina, and tomorrow I would want to be a chef. We would excitedly play dress up and grab the career costumes. “No, I want the ballerina costume, my sister would say. “You can have it tomorrow”, I would shout as I couldn’t wait to dance my cerography for my stuffed animals to watch. As I grew older, and the stacks of the career wardrobe didn’t fit me anymore, I would ponder more of my time on what was it I really wanted to do. “Will I go to college and make my family proud? Is this even for me, or for them?” Throughout my time in High school, however, I craved reaching a higher education. It is when my love for teaching blossomed. I saw myself becoming a teacher and felt enthusiastic about it. I realized how much I enjoyed learning new concepts and discovering things about the world for the first time. Thus, reaching a higher education no longer felt as it was a task I had to achieve for my family; it felt as it is truly for me and my own personal journey. I see teaching as the job that would lead me to pursue a higher education, as I want to focus on reaching my bachelor’s, master’s, and respectively a PHD. It is a job that will keep me challenged: It is something I see myself growing in. Not only will I learn English concepts, but it is also an occupation that can challenge me in another academic and personal ways. For example, I am shy, and I generally have a hard time expressing my opinion or answers when teachers call on me. Thus, I want to pursue gaining skills in public speaking and bettering my confidence to teach. Teaching English Education is also a career choice that can aid me in being a writer and pursue that career choice in the future or as a side project. I value this career path as it will guide me in learning about pursuing other English pursuits, screenplay writing, author journalist, etc. Thus, having a background in different topics. The concept of seeking higher education, is a valuable one to me as I am lucky to be given this opportunity that many people In my family did not have. I also have fallen in love with learning. I adore the feeling when I hear or read about something for the first time, and then research about it. Just as I enjoy when someone explains something to me--that freshness of feeling more connected to the world is what keeps me curious.

The glistening yellow light was illuminating the kitchen and I could hear the early faint sounds of a thunderstorm emerge. The instruments of the kitchen were in their full potential awaiting to be loved with the nourishment of food on their base. Mi abu (my grandma), was at our house planting her notorious pure de vegetales (mashed vegetables) dish. She shaped and formed her pure with coloring vegetables. She would exclaim how humble she was that we were being fed rich in nutrients. “Zanahoria, pepino, ajo, lechuga, pimiento, brócoli, tomate”, (Carrot, cucumber, onion, lettuce, pepper, broccoli, and tomato) my Abu would say. "Gracias por la comida abu" (Thanks for the food, Abu). I would then go and speak to my sis, "Meli, food esta lista" (Meli, food is ready). Welcome, this is a typical experience at the Burgos household, where spanglish and code-switiching among English/Spanish is our form of communication. I am a first-generation American. My Mother is an immigrant like my father. She arrived in the U.S. when she was five; my father when he was 24. My mom was able to learn English fluently in school. In contrasting experiences, my dad had no relatives in the U.S., and had to find a job as soon as he arrived to be able to live in the “land of the dreams.” When my parents met they would communicate with each other in Spanish, and when they had my sister and I, they taught us Spanish. Spanish was the first language for I to love. I would tell my mom when I was little, “Como me encanta el español, el inglés se suena tan raro.” (How I love Spanish, English sounds so strange.) She would smile at me proudly. The more years of school, the weaker my Spanish became: and the more I distanced myself from it slowly. I never grew any flickering resentment for it. I adored its phonetic sound and its harmonic softness. It is a language that brings me nostalgia. Growing up in Miami, Florida I am embedded with the rich culture of Hispanics. I hear Spanish when I walk the streets of my neighborhood more than I hear the whispers of the English language. In school and in presentations, I hear people switch to Spanish. My relationship with my Spanish side has been a search for love. In my early teens, I found myself speaking it less as I hung out with my friends more. I can see how this affected my family as I would have this internal and external conflict. I found myself having a hard time with my cuban side and feel as I wasn't cuban enough. My dad told my sister and I one spring of 8th grade year, that we were going to fo to Cuba! I took this as an opportunity to improve my Spanish, because no one in my family knew a single word of English. It was also the first time meeting my dad’s side of the family that lives in Cuba. I wanted them to have a good first impression of their granddaughter, niece, and cousin. This is why improving my Spanish was essential for me: I wanted to form closer bonds with this part of my family and did not want language to be a constraint.. It was a cathartic experience for me. Although there were times where I got stuck with my words, I was able to learn the words I had forgotten. I built strong relationships with my family there that I never expected and immersing myself in the culture showed me how much I really do admire the Spanish language. When I got back to the U.S, I would write emails to one of my cousins I met for the first time. We would email every other day and I would write paragraphs to her. I was joyful to be immersed in the language and culture again. I felt like a part of my culture rejoiced in me. Being a first generation American is something I am so thankful to be a part of. I look at my parents and grandparents and I want to make them proud of me. I am grateful to be a part of Miami where lights from my culture are entwined in everyday life. I look at this as an opportunity to put so much work in what I do, just like my parents have done. With that I celebrate "que rico, I'm going to drink un cafecito. "(How yummy, I'm going to have some coffee), as my Abu would say.

What do you want to be when you grow up? The phonetic sounds of the word stuck to me what-do-you-want-to-be-when-you-grow-up.... the meaning of this sentence lingered on me for days: "Melanie, what do you really want to be when you grow up"... I was beginning the quest of flourishing into a young adult, "where am I going to plant my leaves in this world? How can I blossom beautifully?" I thought of my memories in school, how they were almost over upon the days leading to my high school graduation. School was always an outlet for me to grow and filled me with answers about the world. I always saw myself learning so much in a day, and I feared life as an adult would be an ever more pity of somber, mundane tasks. I thought about the excitement of walking into school, and being guided by the teacher. The way they explained concepts, and made it easier for us to understand it. I want to be that light for students. I've always seen teaching as a valuable job. Not only am I teaching students, I am also, learning through the students. To me this is the great beauty of teaching. Students have imaginative perspectives for concepts and life; and seeing the world through their point of view is key to being an educator. Doing this, I can create lesson plans that are understandable, and helpful for students to retain the information I am teaching. I cherish this way of learning, because it keeps me informed and I can look at the ways that future generations think. It would be an everlasting learning process for me that I would take with pride. Teaching is also a way to challenge me. I am shy and wouldn't share my opinions when teachers ask for a question in class. My hand stayed shut to the ground... trying to be invisible "no, no, no, no…don’t pick me." I don't want inquiring minds to think "well...Melanie...hmmm...just maybe teaching...well isn't exactly for you." But this is brutally false for me. You see that defeats the point, because I want to teach. Teaching would be way for me to gain confidence and improve my public speaking skills. Through my job, I will learn how to use these skills to create lectures and be a more confident individual in what I do. When I think of learning, I think of it like the trees that we walk by each day in the glistening sun. They grow tall when they are nourished through sun and rain, and their branches and leaves grow. I want my branches to flourish and gain leaves just like the trees. The students would be the soil in which I would help them plant their seeds. Thus, their path to blooming learning begins just like it continues for me.

Storybooks were a way to see the world through a more vibrant colored lens. I loved the way reading made me feel something. It connected me to fictional worlds and people whom I could relate to and find solace in. My love for reading came with the children's book my mom bought me. I would look forward to her reading them for me before bed, and beg her those nights she didn't want to. When I was old enough to start reading on my own, I would spend my time reading and looking forward to trips to the library. It wasn't until the 4th grade when I had the teacher that would let me unlock my imagination into the world it wanted to be. She stood 5ft tall, always wore the deepest shades, and had a vibrant personality. She had a love for creative writing and wanted the class to experience this love for it. I have to confess that I was nervous and frightened about this. It was hard to imagine turning in a paper for the school where I had creative freedom and never at that, would I have thought that even my ideas had a chance to be worthy. I wanted it to be perfect and gave it my all. I wasn't entirely confident in it but when I got to class, it was received so well; she had the brightest smile on her face. She hugged me and told me how proud she was. This moment was the first time I ever felt content with my work. We kept writing more creative stories throughout the year, and it had become easier for me to write them and each time they were better than the last. I loved this new way of writing for school; it made it exciting and I felt like I was getting the most out of school. Now in the 12th grade, I've had many English teachers, but none have been comparable to my 4th-grade teacher. She made the dullest of subjects interesting, she was passionate about what she taught, and related everything to moments in her life. This was the most I’ve ever gotten from an educator, and I hope that I can be as inspiring of a teacher as she was to me. As a first-generation student, college is one of the biggest accomplishments to achieve. I want to do this for my parents and show them that their efforts were worth it. All the restless nights when they would come home from work exhausted, they would do it all for my sister and I to have an education. I want to see the smile on their face and thank them for the difference they made in my life. Indeed If it wasn't for the hard work that they've endured, I wouldn’t have put as much effort into my school work as I do now. They give me a reason to work hard and mark my place in this strange world.