The First in My Family When I got accepted to Pace University, my mom and I hugged, cried, and celebrated. Then we looked at each other and laughed because neither of us really knew what came next. No one in my family had ever gone to college before. Being a first-generation college student means taking a path that no one in your family has taken before. It means learning as you go, filling out forms you’ve never seen, asking questions no one at home knows the answer to, and hoping you’re making the right decisions. My mom and I have learned every step of this journey together. Growing up, my life looked a little different from many of my friends’. While they were joining sports teams, going to summer camp, or spending afternoons with friends, I was helping my mom at the Montessori Spanish school she worked so hard to build. I set up classrooms, prepared materials, helped with younger children, cleaned, and did whatever needed to be done. As a kid, I didn’t always understand why my life was so different. Today, I wouldn’t change it for anything. Helping my mom taught me lessons that no classroom ever could. I learned responsibility, patience, and that success is built one small step at a time. My mom raised me on her own, and I honestly don’t know anyone who works harder than she does. She built her school one family at a time, never giving up, even when life became incredibly difficult. Watching her work so hard taught me that you don’t wait for life to get easier—you keep moving forward. Because of her, I’ve always tried to make the most of every opportunity. During high school, I completed the BOCES Licensed Practical Nursing program while balancing my classes, helping at school, and supporting my mom whenever she needed me. That experience confirmed something I had felt for a long time: I want to study Biology at Pace University and become a dermatologist. I want to use science to help people feel healthier, more confident, and cared for. Starting college is exciting, but it also comes with challenges. My mom is working incredibly hard to cover the remaining cost of my education, and seeing everything she continues to do for me makes me want to work even harder. Every scholarship we apply for brings us one step closer to making this dream possible. Receiving this scholarship would mean so much more than financial help. It would give my family a little room to breathe. It would allow me to focus on learning, growing, and becoming the kind of person my mom has always believed I could be. Most importantly, it would remind me that there are people willing to believe in students they’ve never met. That kind of kindness changes lives. One day, I hope I’ll be able to do the same for someone else.

My Education Has Always Been a Family Dream When people think about high school, they usually remember sports, clubs, summer camps, and hanging out with friends. My experience was a little different. Ever since I was little, I spent many afternoons and weekends helping my mom at her Montessori Spanish school. While many of my friends were joining after-school activities or going to summer camps, I was setting up classrooms, preparing materials, helping younger children, or doing whatever needed to be done. Sometimes I wished I could have had those same experiences, but looking back, I wouldn’t trade what I learned. Helping my mom taught me responsibility, patience, and that hard work really does make a difference. My mom has raised me by herself, and I honestly don’t know anyone who works harder than she does. She built her school one family at a time, never giving up, even when things were really difficult. Watching her sacrifice so much for me has shaped the person I am today. She never taught me to feel sorry for myself. She taught me to keep going, even when life isn’t easy. Because of her, I’ve always tried to make the most of every opportunity I had. I completed the BOCES Licensed Practical Nursing program while finishing high school because I knew I wanted to work in healthcare. That experience confirmed what I had been feeling for years—I want to study Biology at Pace University and eventually become a dermatologist. I love science, but what excites me even more is being able to help people feel healthier and more confident. There were times when balancing school, helping my mom, work, and my own personal challenges felt overwhelming. Like many teenagers, I had moments when I struggled with anxiety and wondered if I was doing enough. But those experiences made me stronger. They taught me that success isn’t about having a perfect life. It’s about getting back up every time life asks you to. Mmy mom is working incredibly hard to cover the remaining cost of my education. I see the sacrifices she continues to make every single day because she believes in my future. That makes me want to work even harder so that every sacrifice she’s made has been worth it. This scholarship would do more than help pay for college. It would give my family some much-needed peace of mind and allow me to focus on becoming the best student I can be. More than anything, it would remind me that there are people who believe in students they have never even met, simply because they believe education can change a life. That kind of generosity inspires me. One day, after I’ve reached my own goals, I hope I can do the same for someone else. I want to be the kind of person who opens doors for others, just as people like you are opening doors for students like me.

What Books Have Taught Me About Becoming the Person I Hope to Be Growing up, books were never just something I had to read for school. They became places I could escape to, learn from, and sometimes even find pieces of myself. Every story introduced me to people whose lives were completely different from mine, yet somehow their experiences helped me understand my own. Looking back, I realize that the lessons I have learned from books have shaped not only the person I am today, but also the person I hope to become. One of the books that stayed with me the most was Wonder by R.J. Palacio. It reminded me that every person is fighting battles that we can’t always see. Before reading it, kindness seemed like a simple word. After reading it, I understood that kindness is a choice we make every day, especially when it’s difficult. That idea has stayed with me in school, while volunteering, and in the way I try to treat people around me. It also made me realize that the smallest acts of compassion can change someone’s day—or even their life. Another series that had a surprising impact on me was Binding 13 and Keeping 13. At first, I expected a typical young adult romance. Instead, I found a story about resilience, mental health, family struggles, and the importance of having people who believe in you even when you don’t believe in yourself. The characters reminded me that strength isn’t about pretending everything is okay. Sometimes strength means asking for help, standing back up after disappointment, and continuing to move forward one step at a time. These lessons have become especially meaningful as I prepare for college. I will be studying Biology with the goal of becoming a dermatologist. Science has always fascinated me because it allows us to understand how the human body works, but books have taught me something equally important: every patient has a story. A doctor doesn’t just treat symptoms; they treat people with fears, hopes, families, and experiences that deserve to be heard. Reading has helped me develop empathy, and I believe empathy is just as important as knowledge in medicine. In a world where it is easy to spend hours scrolling through social media, I still enjoy opening a book and getting lost in another person’s world. Books ask us to slow down, to think, and to imagine lives beyond our own. They challenge our opinions, expand our perspectives, and remind us that there is always something new to learn. As a first-generation college student, I know that my journey will not always be easy. There will be difficult classes, long nights studying, and moments when I question myself. But the stories I have read have already shown me that meaningful goals are rarely achieved without perseverance. Every chapter has taught me that growth comes from continuing even when the ending is uncertain. Books have given me much more than entertainment. They have taught me resilience, compassion, curiosity, and hope. Those lessons are the foundation I will carry with me into college, into my future career, and into every life I have the privilege to touch.

I think my experience with mental health started affecting me way before I even had the words to explain it. When I was younger, I didn’t think of anxiety as “mental health.” I just thought I worried too much. I thought maybe I was too emotional or too sensitive compared to other people. Looking back now, I think growing up in a single parent household made me become emotionally aware really early. It was mostly just me and my mom growing up. She worked nonstop trying to support both of us while building her business at the same time. Even when things were stressful, she always kept going, and I admire her a lot for that. But when you grow up watching one person carry almost everything alone, you notice more than adults think you do. I remember nights where she was still working late after I had already gone to my room, and even though she never wanted me to feel responsible for anything, part of me always did anyway. I think that’s part of why I started overthinking so much from a young age. I always felt this pressure to do well, make her proud, and somehow make all her sacrifices worth it. As I got older, anxiety slowly became part of my normal life. I worried about everything constantly. School, college, money, the future, disappointing people, making mistakes, whether life was actually going to work out. Sometimes my mind felt exhausted even during completely normal days. The weird thing about anxiety is that most people can’t really see it. From the outside I probably looked fine most of the time. I still went to school, spent time with friends, helped my mom with her Spanish immersion program, babysat, and made plans for my future like everyone else. But internally, there were periods where my brain never fully relaxed. It felt like my thoughts were always moving. There were also personal situations in my life that affected me deeply emotionally. I think going through abandonment at a young age changes the way you see relationships and even yourself for a while. For a long time, I became someone who tried to handle everything quietly because I didn’t want to become another source of stress for my mom. Going to therapy honestly helped me more than I expected it to. Not in some dramatic movie way where suddenly everything changes overnight, but in smaller ways that slowly added up over time. It helped me understand why I overthink so much and why certain things affect me deeply even when I try to act like they don’t. One thing therapy taught me is that mental health struggles don’t always look obvious. Some people become quieter. Some isolate themselves. Some become perfectionists. Some joke around constantly so nobody notices what’s actually going on. And some people get really good at pretending they are completely okay. Because of my own experiences, I think I became much more aware of other people’s emotions too. Now when someone seems distant, overwhelmed, irritated, or emotionally shut down, I try not to judge them too quickly because I know people are usually carrying things nobody else fully sees. I think this also changed the kind of relationships and friendships I value. I care a lot about feeling emotionally safe around people. I learned that sometimes what helps the most is not advice or solutions. Sometimes people just need someone patient enough to listen without making them feel dramatic or weak. My experiences with mental health also shaped my future goals in a huge way. I want to study biology and eventually become a dermatologist. A lot of people think dermatology is mostly cosmetic, but confidence and mental health are connected more than people realize. The way someone feels about themselves can affect every part of their life, especially teenagers and young adults. I want my future patients to feel comfortable around me, especially people who already feel insecure, anxious, or embarrassed. Since I grew up bilingual and around many immigrant families through my mom’s program, I also understand how isolating it can feel when people struggle communicating or feel uncomfortable asking questions. I still have anxious moments sometimes. I still overthink things more than I probably should. But I understand myself much better now than I used to. I also think my struggles made me softer in a way. More empathetic. More patient. More aware of what other people may be silently dealing with. Honestly, if I never struggled with my mental health, I don’t think I would understand people the same way I do now. And I think that understanding will matter just as much in my future career as anything I learn in college.

I don’t think faith has helped me in one huge dramatic moment. I think it helped me more in small everyday moments where I felt stressed, anxious, or honestly just tired of trying to figure everything out. Growing up, it was mostly just me and my mom. She worked really hard building her business while also trying to support me and give me opportunities she never had herself. Watching that from a young age shaped me a lot. There were definitely moments where I worried about money, college, or the future more than most people my age probably do. Sometimes I still do. I think faith became important to me because it gave me a sense that hard moments are not permanent, even when they feel endless at the time. There were nights where I would overthink everything and feel overwhelmed, and praying honestly helped calm me down more than anything else. Not because suddenly all my problems disappeared, but because it reminded me I didn’t have to carry every fear alone. My faith also affects the way I treat people. I try really hard not to judge others too quickly because everyone is dealing with things nobody else fully sees. I learned that especially from helping my mom with her Spanish immersion program for kids. I’ve been around so many families over the years, and you realize very quickly that every person has struggles, stress, insecurities, or things happening behind closed doors. In the future I want to work in medicine and become a dermatologist. I know people usually think dermatology is mostly cosmetic stuff, but confidence and mental health are deeply connected to the way people feel about themselves. I want patients to feel comfortable around me, especially people who feel embarrassed, nervous, or have language barriers. Since I grew up bilingual and around immigrant families, I know how uncomfortable it can feel when you don’t fully understand what’s happening around you. I think my faith will help me in my career because it keeps me grounded and reminds me what kind of person I want to be. I want to work hard and be successful, obviously, but I never want success to turn me into someone cold or disconnected from people. At the end of the day, I think being kind, honest, and making people feel seen matters just as much as any degree or career title.

If I could make a new Love Island challenge, I would honestly do something completely different from the usual super flirty games. I would call it “The Parents Challenge.” Basically, the couples would have to spend an entire day pretending they are stressed parents in real life instead of just hot people relaxing in a villa all day. Every couple would get a fake baby that randomly cries at the worst moments possible, a budget they can’t go over, and a bunch of annoying tasks they have to do together. They would have to grocery shop, cook dinner, deal with fake “in laws,” and even build IKEA furniture with confusing instructions (which honestly already destroys relationships in real life lol). The funny part is that the challenge would probably start a lot of real arguments because some people are good at flirting and looking cute near the pool, but not everyone knows how to work together once things become stressful. I think some couples would completely fall apart and others would actually become stronger. I also think viewers would love it because it would be messy, awkward, funny, and way more realistic than some of the challenges they already do. Imagine someone trying to have a romantic conversation while their fake baby won’t stop screaming and their partner is mad because they spent too much fake money on snacks. I feel like this challenge would show who actually has real chemistry outside of physical attraction. And honestly, I would 100% watch that episode.

When I first watched Taylor Swift’s Tiny Desk Concert from 2019, I honestly didn’t expect it to affect me that much. It wasn’t a huge stadium performance with fireworks or dancers or dramatic visuals. It was actually really simple. Just Taylor sitting in a small room with musicians, talking normally and singing. But I think that’s exactly why it stayed with me. The performance that moved me the most during that concert was “Death By A Thousand Cuts.” There was something about the way she sang it that felt very real and unfiltered. She wasn’t trying to look perfect every second. She looked like an actual person instead of “Taylor Swift the celebrity.” I think sometimes people forget famous artists are still human beings with feelings, pressure, insecurities, and exhaustion just like everybody else. One thing that really stood out to me was how calm but emotional she seemed at the same time. She joked around and smiled, but you could also feel this quiet tiredness underneath everything. Not in a bad way, just in the way people get when they’ve carried pressure for a long time. I think a lot of young people understand that feeling, even if our lives look completely different from hers. As an 18 year old girl, I feel like there’s already so much pressure to be perfect all the time. Social media makes everybody feel watched constantly. People judge how you look, what you wear, what you post, how successful you are, and even how happy you seem. So when I watched that performance, I think I connected to the idea of somebody continuing to show up creatively even while the whole world has opinions about them all the time. I also loved how intimate the performance felt. It almost reminded me of sitting in someone’s kitchen listening to stories while music played in the background. Nothing felt overly rehearsed or fake. And honestly, I think that’s rare now. A lot of things online feel so edited and polished that people forget how powerful simple moments can be. I think I connected emotionally to that performance because of the way I grew up too. My mom raised me mostly on her own after coming to this country from Argentina, and I’ve watched her continue showing up for people even during stressful times. She teaches, helps families, supports students, and keeps going even when she’s tired. Watching Taylor in that Tiny Desk performance reminded me of that kind of quiet strength. The kind where somebody keeps giving parts of themselves to others while still carrying their own emotions privately. What moved me most about the performance was not the vocals or the fame or even the song itself. It was the vulnerability. For a few minutes, she didn’t feel unreachable or larger than life. She just felt human. And I think that’s something people really need right now. In a world where everybody is trying so hard to look perfect, seeing someone simply be real can actually mean a lot.

When people hear the words “a life of service,” I think they imagine someone doing something huge or extraordinary. But for me, service has always looked more normal and quiet. It looks like helping my mom after school, translating for families who feel lost, helping a child feel comfortable, or simply noticing when someone needs help even if they don’t ask for it. I grew up watching my mom do that every single day. She came to the United States from Argentina and raised me mostly by herself. We don’t really have family here, so for a long time it was just the two of us figuring things out together. Because of that, I learned early that community matters a lot. Sometimes the people around you become your family. My mom owns a Spanish immersion school, and since I was younger I’ve helped her with classes and with families, especially parents who only speak Spanish. A lot of them come in nervous because they’re trying to navigate school, paperwork, schedules, or just life in another language. Even though I’m young, I noticed how much it means to people when somebody is patient with them and makes them feel understood instead of embarrassed. I think that’s one of the reasons I want to work in healthcare in the future. Another thing that really changed me was volunteering at my school pantry. At first I honestly thought I was just helping organize food and supplies, but after some time I realized how many people quietly struggle. Some students go home worried about normal teenage things, while others are worried about helping their parents pay bills or whether there will be enough food at home. Being around that made me more compassionate and also more grateful. One experience that stays with me a lot is helping care for a little boy named Grayson on weekends. His mom has been dealing with depression, and my mom and I wanted to help however we could. Since my mom is also a single mother, I think I naturally understood how overwhelming life can become when someone feels alone and exhausted all the time. I never saw helping them as a chore or community service hours. It just felt like something you do when people need support. During the winter, my mom and I also prepare little bags with things like gloves, hand warmers, snacks, and hygiene products to give to homeless people we see outside. Sometimes we can include a few dollars too. Those moments have honestly impacted me more than I expected because they remind me how easy it is to overlook people. My mom always says that kindness matters, even when it seems small. In college, I plan to study Biology on a pre-med track because I want to become a dermatologist one day. I want to help people, especially Hispanic families who feel uncomfortable or intimidated in medical environments because of language barriers. I’ve seen firsthand how stressful it is when someone cannot fully communicate with doctors or understand important information about their health. I don’t think I’m changing the world in some giant way right now. But I do think service is built little by little through consistency, empathy, and showing up for people when you can. That’s the kind of person I hope my education will help me continue becoming.

When I read about this scholarship and the person it honors, it honestly made me emotional because it reminded me so much of the way my mom raised me. She always taught me that being a good person is not about having a lot of money or doing huge things so people notice you. It’s about caring for others in small moments, especially when nobody is looking. I’m 18 years old and I grew up in a single parent household with my mom, who immigrated from Argentina. We don’t have a big family here in the United States, so for most of my life it’s really just been the two of us figuring things out together. Even during hard financial times, my mom always found ways to help other people, and I think that became part of who I am too. At my high school, I volunteer in the school pantry for community service. A lot of students quietly depend on it more than people realize. Some students come in trying to act normal, but you can kind of see the embarrassment or stress on their face sometimes. I understand that feeling more than people think. So I try my best to make everyone feel comfortable and respected. I help organize food, stock shelves, carry boxes, and prepare items for students and families. But honestly I think the most important thing is treating people with kindness and making them feel seen instead of ashamed. One of the biggest things that shaped me is something my mom and I do every winter together. We prepare little ziplock bags to keep in the car for people who might need help during the cold months. We usually put gloves, scarves, hats, instant soup packets, hand warmers and feet warmers that we buy at Home Depot, and also a five dollar bill inside each bag. My mom says that when someone is cold, hungry, or struggling, even something small can make them feel human again. There were many nights where we were driving home exhausted after work, school, or long days, and we would see someone standing outside in freezing weather near a corner or parking lot. Instead of just passing by, we stop and give them one of the bags. Some people immediately smile. Some people look shocked that somebody even noticed them. I remember one man looking at the hand warmers and quietly saying thank you over and over again because his hands were freezing. Moments like that stay in my heart for a really long time. I like calm moments, spending time with my mom, helping kids in my mom’s Spanish school, and being there for people I care about. I don’t think of myself as extraordinary, but I do try very hard to be thoughtful and kind every day. I think community service is not only about volunteer hours. It’s about the way you move through life and how you treat people when they have nothing to offer you back. In the future, I hope to study Biology and become a dermatologist. As a bilingual student, I also want to help Spanish-speaking patients feel comfortable and understood because I’ve seen how intimidating healthcare can feel when there is a language barrier. Receiving this scholarship would truly mean so much to me and my mom. College feels exciting, but also financially overwhelming sometimes. This scholarship would help me continue my education while also reminding me that kindness and compassion still matter in the world. I hope to carry those values with me for the rest of my life.

Mental health is important to me because I grew up understanding that if your mind is not okay, nothing else truly feels okay either. My mom always tells me, “hay que cuidar la cabecita,” and honestly, that sentence became something very important in our lives. Therapy has never been seen as something embarrassing or something “only for people with problems” in my house. For my mom and me, therapy is healthcare. It is as important as going to the doctor when you are physically sick. My family is very small. When I say “my family,” I really mean my mom and me. Sometimes people hear that and feel sorry for us, but the truth is that we became a very strong team. We have gone through difficult situations that affected both of us emotionally in ways I don’t even know how to fully explain. There were moments where anxiety completely took over my life. Some months I could barely sleep correctly. Other times I did not want to eat or be around people. I felt exhausted all the time, even after doing almost nothing. The hardest part was not always what was happening around me, but what was happening inside my own mind. I became my own enemy. I would say horrible things to myself that I would never say to another person. I constantly doubted myself, compared myself to others, and convinced myself that I was not enough. Anxiety made me feel trapped inside my own thoughts. But therapy slowly changed that for me. Therapy became my safe place, almost like something sacred. It was the one place where I learned that I did not have to pretend I was okay all the time. I learned how to understand myself instead of attacking myself. Little by little, I became friends with that inner voice that used to destroy me every day. I learned that healing is not something magical that happens overnight. Sometimes healing looks like getting out of bed when your mind tells you not to. Sometimes it looks like crying during a session and finally saying things out loud that you kept inside for years. One thing I admire deeply about my mom is that she never ignored mental health, even during financial struggles or stressful moments in our lives. Even when things were hard, she always made therapy a priority for both of us because she understood something many people still don’t: untreated emotional pain can affect every part of your life. She taught me that asking for help is not weakness. It actually takes courage. Because of my own experiences, I also became more compassionate toward other people. I understand now that you never really know what someone is carrying inside. Some people look perfectly fine while silently fighting anxiety, depression, loneliness, or fear. That understanding changed the way I treat others. I know I am still growing and healing, and honestly, I probably always will be. But now I understand that taking care of your mind is not something to feel ashamed of. Just like my mom always says, “hay que cuidar la cabecita.” And I truly believe more people would feel less alone if we talked about mental health with more honesty, kindness, and humanity.

Never in my life did I think I would feel emotional talking about calculus. Honestly, for years I suffered through math classes thinking I would never need all those “x’s,” “y’s,” squared numbers, formulas, and values I had to memorize. Everything felt abstract and useless to me. I used to sit in class wondering, “When am I ever going to use this in real life?” and sometimes I felt frustrated because I wanted to understand it, but my brain just didn’t connect with it yet. But growing up with a Montessori mom changed the way I see learning. My mom has always believed that nothing should stay abstract forever. She always says that if you can touch something, visualize it, build it, or somehow connect it to real life, then your brain stops being afraid of it. Little by little, she helped me see math in a different way. Instead of random symbols on paper, I started seeing patterns, relationships, movement, logic, and honestly… beauty. I know it sounds weird to call calculus beautiful, but that’s really how it started feeling to me. At some point, all those numbers, symbols, letters, parentheses, and equations stopped looking like enemies. It started feeling like they were all having some kind of organized party together where every piece belongs exactly where it’s supposed to be. Suddenly, solving a problem felt satisfying instead of painful. When I finally understand a difficult equation, it almost feels like closing a perfect circle. Everything clicks. Everything makes sense. It feels exact, clear, and complete. Calculus taught me something much bigger than math itself. It taught me discipline and patience with myself. It taught me that understanding usually comes after confusion, frustration, mistakes, and trying again even when you feel mentally tired. There were moments I wanted to give up because I thought maybe I just “wasn’t a math person.” But every time I solved something I thought I couldn’t solve before, I gained a little more confidence, not only in math but in myself too. I want to study Biology on a pre-med track because I hope one day to work in healthcare and help people, especially families who struggle with language barriers like many Hispanic families do. And now I can finally understand why calculus matters in STEM. Medicine, science, technology, engineering… they all depend on precision. The human body itself is full of calculations happening every second: heart rates, blood flow, medication dosages, chemical reactions, growth, timing, patterns. Math is literally everywhere even when we don’t notice it. What surprised me the most is that calculus made my brain feel organized. I know that sounds funny, but it’s true. When I solve a problem correctly, I feel calm. Clear. Like if I can understand something this difficult, maybe I really can understand anything I put my mind to. Calculus stopped being just numbers to me. It became proof that growth is possible. And honestly, I never thought I would say this… but now I think there is something almost exquisite about exactness. About reaching the correct answer after working so hard for it. In a world that often feels messy and uncertain, calculus reminds me that some things really do connect perfectly in the end.

Before writing this essay, I became really curious about Patricia Lindsey Jackson and Eva Mae Jackson, so I spent some time reading more about their lives and the values behind this scholarship. Honestly, it made me happy to read about women who dedicated themselves to education, helping others, and leading with integrity. Sometimes scholarships can feel very impersonal, but this one felt different to me because you can tell it was created with genuine love and purpose behind it. Faith has played a quiet but important role in my life. For me, faith is not only about religion. It is also about believing that difficult situations can still lead somewhere beautiful. There were moments in my life where things felt uncertain financially and emotionally, especially growing up in a single-parent household, but somehow my mom always found a way to keep moving forward. Watching her survive difficult moments without losing her kindness shaped the kind of person I want to become. My mom immigrated from Argentina alone and built a small Montessori Spanish immersion program from the ground up. Through her work, I’ve had the opportunity to help many Latino families who cannot speak English fluently and who come to my mom because they trust her. A lot of the time they need more than just language support. Sometimes they need someone to explain documents, make them feel understood, or simply not make them feel embarrassed for struggling with English. My mom is always willing to help people, even when she is exhausted herself, and I honestly love being part of everything she does. Growing up around that environment taught me that service does not always have to be something huge or dramatic. Sometimes helping someone means translating something for them, calming their fears, listening to them, or making them feel less alone. Those experiences made me realize how much I care about helping others and why I want to work in healthcare one day. I plan to study Biology on the pre-med track and eventually become a dermatologist. I know many people think dermatology is only cosmetic, but confidence and self-esteem affect people deeply, and I want to help patients feel cared for and comfortable, especially people who struggle with language barriers in medical settings. One thing my mom and I do together every winter is prepare Ziploc bags with essential items for homeless people we may meet while driving or walking around. We include things like hygiene products, gloves, foot warmers, snacks, and when we can, a few dollars too. We keep them in the car because my mom says you never know who may need kindness that day. Some people may think those are small gestures, but I’ve learned that small acts of love can matter a lot more than we realize. My mom always tells me, “Everything you give with love and from the heart comes back to you multiplied.” That sentence has stayed with me for years. I think it explains the kind of faith I try to carry with me every day. Not perfect faith, but hopeful faith. Faith that kindness matters. Faith that education changes lives. Faith that people who struggle today can still create beautiful futures tomorrow. So as I finish this essay, I want to say thank you. I truly hope God and the universe multiply the kindness and generosity of the people offering this scholarship because opportunities like this genuinely change students’ lives. And I hope I can be one of the students lucky enough to receive this blessing.

When I read Alicia’s story, I honestly had to stop for a second because it felt really personal to me. The part about her mom working so hard at the same college her daughter attended touched me a lot because my mom has actually sent her résumé to Pace University, the school I hope to attend this fall. She told me she would gladly work there in any position if it helped me afford to go there and become a dermatologist someday. Reading that made me realize how similar our stories feel in certain ways. Sometimes a parent’s love shows up in sacrifices that people outside your family never even notice. My mom immigrated from Argentina completely alone and built a life here from scratch. She created a small Montessori Spanish immersion program and spent years teaching children while also trying to give me opportunities she never had herself. There were moments where I know she was exhausted emotionally, physically, and financially, but somehow she still kept going. Looking back now, I honestly don’t know how she managed to carry so much by herself for so many years. Growing up in a low-income single-parent household shaped me in ways I’m still understanding. Money was always stressful, even when my mom tried hard not to show it. I learned early that sometimes children notice more than adults think they do. I could tell when she was worried, tired, or overwhelmed, even when she smiled and acted like everything was okay. Still, she never stopped making me feel loved or supported. What I admire most about my mom is that she never allowed dificult experiences to turn her into a bitter person. Instead, she became stronger, kinder, and more determined. Watching her survive hard moments taught me resilience in a way no classroom ever could. She showed me what it means to continue moving forward even when life feels unfair.Because of her example, I’ve tried to become someone who helps others too. Throughout high school, I helped my mom with her Spanish program, worked with children, babysat, and tried to be dependable for the people around me. Working with kids taught me patience, empathy, and how important it is to make people feel safe and understood. I plan to study Biology on the pre-med track because I want to become a dermatologist in the future. To me, this degree means more than just a profession. It means stability for my family. It means finally being able to give back to the woman who sacrificed so much for me. I also hope to help people who struggle to access healthcare because of language barriers, especially Hispanic families who sometimes feel unheard or uncomfortable in medical environments. Being a first-generation college student is exciting, but honestly, it’s also scary sometimes because there is no roadmap in front of us. My mom and I are figuring things out as we go. Scholarships like this matter so much because they help students like me continue pursuing an education without feeling like the financial pressure is impossible to overcome. Everything I accomplish in college will belong to both of us. My future is connected to every sacrifice my mom made so that I could have opportunities she never had. And I hope one day she gets to see that every hard moment was worth it.

When I read the description for this scholarship, I had to stop for a moment because it felt painfully familiar. I know what it feels like to grow up in a single-parent household and to quietly carry a kind of grief that people do not always recognize. Some children lose a parent to death. In my case, my father chose to leave and build another family only a few minutes away from our home. He is alive, but for many years it felt as if I had disappeared from his life completely. That kind of loss is difficult to explain because people expect you to “move on” when the person is still somewhere out there living their life. I remember watching my mother try to survive emotionally while also protecting me from everything collapsing around us. I was still young, but I could see the exhaustion in her face. I could see how broken her heart was even when she tried to smile. At the same time, she became the strongest person I have ever known. She worked constantly to keep us in the same rented house so I would not have to leave my school, my friends, or the little stability I still had left. Looking back now, I honestly do not know how she did it. She somehow found the strength to do everything she could for me, and sometimes even things that seemed impossible. What affected me the most was that she never allowed bitterness to define her. Little by little, I watched my mom rebuild herself. She became happy again. Not because life suddenly became easy, but because she refused to let pain destroy her future. She showed me that strength is not about never falling apart. Real strength is continuing even when you feel like the weakest person in the world. During those years, I tried very hard not to let my mother see how sad I was. I knew she was already carrying so much. There were nights when I would cry quietly and wonder why I was not enough for my father to stay connected to me. Even now, part of me still hopes that one day I will see his number appear on my phone and hear him say that he still thinks about me. That feeling never fully leaves you. It becomes something you learn to carry while continuing to grow. Because of my experiences, I feel deeply connected to children who grow up with this kind of emotional absence. I understand the silent pain behind it. I understand the feeling of watching one parent carry the entire weight of a family alone. More importantly, I understand how life-changing it is to have even one person who refuses to give up on you. My mother’s support shaped every part of who I am today. She taught me resilience, empathy, and determination without ever sitting me down to lecture me about those things. I learned by watching her survive. I honor her by continuing to work hard in school, by helping other people whenever I can, and by pursuing my dream of becoming a dermatologist so I can someday help others feel cared for, seen, and understood. I want my future to be proof that her sacrifices mattered.

“‘Cause girls your age know better.” — Olivia Rodrigo, “drivers license” I know this is probably not the lyric most people would choose, but it’s honestly the one that stuck with me the most. At first it sounds like just a line about another girl in a relationship, but I think it connects to something bigger. Sometimes it feels like people expect teenagers to already know how to deal with life, emotions, pressure, school, family problems, and the future, even when we’re still trying to understand ourselves. I grew up mostly with my mom after my dad left when I was younger. She immigrated from Argentina and built a life for us here basically from zero. We don’t really have family in the United States, so for a long time it felt like it was just us trying to figure things out together. I watched her work constantly, worry about money, take care of everything alone, and still somehow make me feel loved and safe. I think because of that I became independent pretty young. I helped with my mom’s Spanish immersion program, babysat, and spent a lot of time around younger kids and families. Sometimes I felt older than other people my age, but at the same time I was still just a teenager dealing with normal insecurities and anxiety and trying to figure out who I wanted to become. That lyric reminds me of that pressure to “know better” all the time. Like you’re expected to already have the answers when honestly most of us are just learning as we go. One thing that really shaped me was growing up bilingual. Working with children through Spanish Around the World made me realize how much I enjoy helping people feel comfortable, understood, and supported. A lot of families feel nervous when there’s a language barrier, especially in important situations, and I think that’s part of why I want to study biology and eventually become a dermatologist. I want people to feel cared for, not judged or misunderstood. What I like about Olivia Rodrigo’s music is that it doesn’t try too hard to sound perfect. It sounds emotional and messy sometimes, which is probably why so many people relate to it. Life at this age can feel like that too. I definitely don’t have everything figured out yet. But I’ve learned that growing up is not about pretending you know everything already. It’s about continuing to learn, making mistakes, helping the people you love, and becoming stronger little by little.

For most of my life, I watched my mother carry responsibilities that should have never belonged to only one person. She immigrated from Argentina alone, without family in the United States, and built a life from the ground up while raising me at the same time. I grew up seeing exhaustion, sacrifice, fear, resilience, and love all existing together in the same woman. Even as a child, I understood that education was not simply “important” in our household. It was survival, hope, and the possibility of changing the direction of our future. As a first-generation college student, pursuing higher education means much more to me than earning a degree. It represents every silent sacrifice my mother made when nobody was watching. It represents long days of work, moments of uncertainty, and the courage it took for her to continue moving forward even when life became overwhelming. There were periods in our lives shaped not only by financial hardship, but also by emotional instability within our family. Watching my mother eventually choose peace, therapy, and healing instead of continuing unhealthy cycles completely changed the way I understand strength. She taught me that resilience is not pretending everything is okay. Real resilience is continuing to grow despite pain. Because of our financial circumstances, I was not able to participate in many extracurricular activities that other students often include in college applications. Instead, I spent much of my teenage years helping my mother with her Spanish immersion program for children and babysitting to help support our lives. At first, I sometimes worried that I was “missing out.” Now I realize those experiences shaped me in ways a club or title never could. Working with children and families allowed me to develop patience, empathy, and responsibility very early in life. One experience especially changed me deeply. For the past eighteen months, I have helped care for a young child named Grayson on weekends in order to support his mother, who struggles with severe depression as a single mother. Watching another woman silently carry emotional pain reminded me so much of my own mother. That experience helped me understand how many women suffer quietly while still trying to be strong for their children. It also taught me the importance of showing up for others with compassion instead of judgment. These experiences are a large part of why I want to pursue a career in medicine and eventually become a dermatologist. As a bilingual Latina student, I hope to help people who often feel unseen or unheard within the healthcare system, especially patients facing language barriers. I know what it feels like to navigate systems that were not designed with families like mine in mind. I want my future career to combine science, empathy, and human connection. Education, to me, is not only personal achievement. It is generational change. I hope the legacy I leave is one where the women who come after me understand that their circumstances do not define the limits of their future. I want to show younger girls, especially daughters of immigrants and single mothers, that difficult beginnings do not prevent meaningful success. My mother built the foundation for my dreams through sacrifice and determination. Now I hope to honor that sacrifice by building a future where I can not only support myself and my family, but also create a positive impact in the lives of others.

For the past eighteen months, every weekend has become more than just time away from school. It has become a commitment to a relationship that has deeply shaped who I am. I began taking care of Grayson, a young child whose mother has been struggling with severe depression. She is a single mother, like my own mom, and from the beginning, I could see how overwhelmed she felt. There were moments when even the smallest tasks seemed heavy for her, and although she rarely said it out loud, her need for support was clear. Over time, what started as helping with childcare turned into something much more meaningful. Every weekend, I spend time with Grayson so his mom can rest, take care of herself, or simply have a moment to breathe. Through this, I built a quiet but powerful relationship with her — one based on trust, understanding, and unspoken empathy. This relationship has shaped me because it reflects something very personal. Growing up, I watched my own mother carry the weight of being a single parent. She worked hard, stayed strong, and did everything she could for me, but I also saw the moments no one else did — the moments when she felt exhausted, when she cried quietly, thinking I wouldn’t notice. But I did. Because of that, I don’t just see Grayson’s mom as someone I help. I see her as someone I understand. This experience has changed the way I build connections with others. I have learned to pay attention beyond words, to recognize when someone is struggling even if they don’t say it directly. I’ve learned that real connection isn’t always loud or obvious — sometimes it’s quiet, consistent, and built over time through presence and care. It has also taught me that relationships are not only about shared moments of happiness, but also about showing up during difficult ones. Being there for someone in their lowest moments creates a deeper kind of trust, one that goes beyond surface-level interaction. Because of this relationship, I now approach people with more patience, empathy, and awareness. I understand that everyone carries something we may not see, and that small acts of support can have a meaningful impact. This connection has also influenced my future goals. As someone who hopes to work in healthcare, I want to build relationships with patients that go beyond treatment. I want to create trust, especially for those who feel unseen or unheard, including members of the Hispanic community who often face language and cultural barriers. In the end, my relationship with Grayson’s mom has taught me that meaningful human connection is built through consistency, empathy, and presence. It has shaped not only how I see others, but also the kind of person I want to become: someone who understands, who connects, and who shows up when it matters most. What I have learned through this experience is something I carry with me every day: people don’t always ask for help in obvious ways, but that doesn’t mean they don’t need it. This relationship has taught me to be more present, more aware, and more intentional in how I show up for others. It has also shown me that even as a young person, I have the ability to make a real difference in someone’s life. That realization has given me a sense of responsibility, but also purpose. I want to continue building connections like this, where people feel supported, seen, and less alone — because sometimes, that can change everything.

For the past eighteen months, every weekend has meant something more to me than just time off from school. It has meant showing up for someone who truly needs it. About a year and a half ago, I started helping take care of Grayson, a young child whose mom has been struggling with severe depression. She is a single mother, just like my mom, and I could see how overwhelmed she was. There were days when even simple things felt impossible for her. Without saying it directly, it was clear she needed help. So I stepped in. Every weekend, I spend time with Grayson so his mom can rest, take care of herself, or just have a moment to breathe. Sometimes we play, sometimes we read, sometimes we just sit quietly. It may seem like something small, but I know it gives her space to recover in ways that matter more than people realize. What made this experience so meaningful to me is how much I could relate to her situation. Growing up, I watched my own mom go through very hard moments. As a single mother, she carried everything on her shoulders, often without help. There were times when she cried quietly, thinking I didn’t notice, but I did. I saw her strength, but I also saw how heavy life could be for her. Because of that, helping Grayson’s mom feels personal. I’m not just helping with childcare. I’m helping another woman who reminds me of my mom. I’m helping someone who is trying to stay strong for her child even when she feels like she’s falling apart inside. And being there for her has changed the way I see what it means to support others. This experience has taught me that helping someone doesn’t always mean doing something big or dramatic. Sometimes it means being consistent. It means showing up, even when no one is watching. It means understanding what someone might be going through, even if they don’t say it out loud. It has also made me more aware of the silent struggles many people face, especially single mothers. There is so much strength in them, but also so much that goes unseen. Being able to help in this way has made me feel more connected to my purpose. I want to continue supporting others, especially those who feel alone in their struggles. I want to be someone who creates space for others to breathe, just like I try to do every weekend. In the end, helping Grayson and his mom has not only made a difference in their lives, but it has also shaped who I am becoming: someone who listens, who understands, and who shows up when it matters most.

Growing up with a single mother has shaped almost every part of who I am today. For most of my life, it has been just the two of us. My mom came to this country from Argentina on her own, without family nearby, and had to build everything from the ground up. I didn’t fully understand it when I was younger, but now I see how much strength, courage, and sacrifice that required. There were moments that felt uncertain. I watched my mom carry all the responsibility—financial, emotional, everything—often without any help. As a child, I thought that was just normal. It wasn’t until I got older that I realized how much she was holding together on her own. There were times when things were not easy, especially after my father left when I was 13. That was a turning point for both of us. It forced us to grow, to adapt, and to rely even more on each other. Even though we didn’t have extended family here, my mom created something just as meaningful. She built a community. Friends, coworkers, and the families from her Spanish program became part of our lives in a real way. They supported us, and we supported them. That taught me that family isn’t only about blood—it’s about connection, consistency, and showing up for one another. Being raised this way made me independent at a young age. I learned how to manage my time, take responsibility, and step in when needed. Instead of extracurricular activities, I spent a lot of my time helping my mom with her work, assisting in her classes, and supporting her however I could. At the time, I didn’t think of it as a sacrifice—it was just what we did. Looking back, I realize it gave me real-life skills and a sense of purpose that I carry with me today. It also shaped the kind of person I want to become. I plan to study Biology on a pre-med track and become a dermatologist. One of the reasons behind this goal is personal. I’ve seen how difficult it can be for Spanish-speaking families to navigate the healthcare system when there is a language barrier. Being bilingual, I want to be able to connect with patients in a way that makes them feel understood and respected. I want to be someone who not only treats people, but truly sees them. More than anything, growing up with a single mother has taught me resilience. It taught me that even when life feels unstable, you can still move forward. It taught me empathy, because I’ve seen struggle up close. And it taught me gratitude—for every opportunity, every person who has helped us, and especially for my mom. Everything I am working toward is not just for me, but for her too. I want to make her proud, and I want to give back the stability and support that she has always given me.

I grew up in a house where it was just my mom and me. For a long time, I didn’t really think about it that much. It was just normal for us. It wasn’t until I got older that I started to realize how different it actually was, and how much my mom was really carrying on her own. She came to the U.S. from Argentina without family here, and everything she built, she built from scratch. I remember seeing her work long hours, figuring things out as she went, sometimes stressed but still showing up for me no matter what. There wasn’t anyone else to fall back on. It was just her, trying to make things work, and somehow she always did. Because of that, I think I grew up a little faster than I expected to. After school, I usually didn’t go to sports or clubs like a lot of other students. Instead, I would go to my mom’s program and help her out. I did a little bit of everything—setting up materials, helping younger kids, cleaning up, organizing. At the time, I won’t lie, there were moments where I wished I had something different, like a more “typical” high school experience. But now I see those moments in a completely different way. They taught me how to be responsible, even when I didn’t feel like it. And also how to care about other people, not just myself. I also volunteered at Tenacs, a charter school in Brooklyn, where I helped teachers prepare classroom materials. Most of the time I was cutting papers, organizing them, and putting together packets for students. It sounds simple, and it kind of is, but it made me realize how much effort goes into things that people don’t usually see. It gave me a different kind of respect for teachers and for education in general. Growing up with a single parent also meant being aware of things like money at a younger age. Even when my mom didn’t say it directly, I could feel when things were tight or stressful. There were times where I could tell she was worried, even if she tried to hide it. And I think that made me more aware, maybe more mature in some ways. But at the same time, it also made me really grateful. Everything my mom did, she did so I could have more opportunities. And I don’t take that lightly. It’s a big reason why I want to keep going and do something meaningful with my life. I plan to study biology and eventually become a dermatologist. At first, I was interested in science because I liked understanding how the body works. But over time, it became more personal. I’ve seen how hard it can be for people, especially in Hispanic communities, to feel comfortable in medical spaces when there’s a language barrier. I want to be someone who makes that easier. Someone who can explain things in a way that makes sense, who listens, and who makes patients feel like they’re actually being understood. Being raised by a single mom didn’t make things easy, but I don’t think it was supposed to. It taught me things I wouldn’t have learned otherwise. How to keep going when things feel uncertain. How to help. How to be patient. I’m still figuring things out, honestly. But I know where I’m coming from, and I know why I’m doing this. And I think that matters.

I didn’t grow up thinking I would go into STEM. It wasn’t something that felt “close” to me at first. What I did grow up with was watching my mom work every single day to build something from nothing. She came to this country from Argentina alone, without family, and created a small education program where I spent most of my afternoons after school. While other students were doing sports or clubs, I was there helping her. I didn’t always love it in the moment, if I’m being honest. Sometimes I wished I had more time to just be a normal teenager. But now I see that those afternoons shaped me more than anything else. I learned how to be responsible early. I learned how to help people. And I learned how much education can change someone’s confidence. One of the things that impacted me the most was seeing how language can either open or close doors for people. I watched families who were smart, hardworking, and capable, but who struggled to communicate in English. I saw how that affected their ability to ask questions, to advocate for themselves, even to feel respected. That stayed with me. I also had the opportunity to volunteer at Tenacs, a charter school in Brooklyn, where I helped teachers prepare materials for their classrooms. I would spend hours cutting, organizing, and putting together packets for each student. It wasn’t something that stood out on a resume, but it taught me something important: small work matters. Behind every lesson, there is preparation. Behind every successful classroom, there are people making sure things run smoothly. Over time, I started to realize that I was drawn to science, especially biology, because it gave me a way to understand the human body in a real, practical way. But what made me want to pursue it as a career was more personal. I want to become a dermatologist. For me, it’s not just about medicine. It’s about access and understanding. In many Hispanic communities, people don’t always feel comfortable going to the doctor, especially when there is a language barrier. I want to be someone who can bridge that gap. Someone who can explain things clearly, who can listen without judgment, and who can make patients feel seen. Being a woman in STEM also means something to me. I didn’t grow up surrounded by women in these fields, so choosing this path feels like stepping into something new, not just for me but for my family. I want to show that it’s possible, even if your path doesn’t look like everyone else’s. When I read about Julie Adams and the way she dedicated her life to her students, it reminded me of my mom. That same commitment, that same belief that education can change a person’s future. I carry that with me. I don’t think passion always looks loud or obvious. Sometimes it looks like showing up, even when you’re tired. Sometimes it looks like doing small tasks that no one notices. But those are the things that build who you are. For me, pursuing a degree in biology is not just about becoming a doctor. It’s about becoming someone who can give back in a meaningful way. Someone who understands where people come from and meets them there. And I think that’s where my passion really comes from. Another thing that has shaped the way I see my future is understanding what it feels like to carry responsibility at a young age. Growing up in a single-parent household meant that I wasn’t just focused on myself. I was always aware of what my mom was going through, even when she didn’t say it out loud. I saw the long hours, the stress, and the constant effort to make sure I had everything I needed. That made me more observant, and in a way, more empathetic. I think that empathy is something that connects deeply with my interest in biology and healthcare. Science, for me, is not just about memorizing facts or passing exams. It’s about understanding people. Every system in the human body tells a story, and every patient carries their own story too. I want to be the kind of doctor who pays attention to both. There were moments when I doubted myself, especially in subjects that didn’t come easily to me. Math, for example, has always been a challenge. I had to work harder than others to understand certain concepts, and that sometimes made me feel like I didn’t fully belong in a STEM path. But instead of walking away from that challenge, I stayed with it. I asked for help, I practiced more, and I kept going even when it felt frustrating. That experience taught me something important: being passionate about something doesn’t mean it’s always easy. It means you’re willing to stay committed even when it’s difficult. And I think that’s something Julie Adams understood as a teacher. She didn’t just teach students who found everything easy. She supported the ones who needed extra time, extra patience, and someone who believed in them. In many ways, I see my future self doing the same, but through a different role. As a dermatologist, I won’t just be treating skin conditions. I’ll be helping people feel confident in their own bodies. Skin is something everyone sees, and it can affect how a person feels about themselves. For someone who already feels out of place because of language or culture, that impact can be even stronger. I also think about how important representation is. Growing up, I didn’t always see people who looked like me or shared my background in medical spaces. That can make a difference, even if it’s something small. Sometimes just hearing your language or seeing someone who understands your culture can change the entire experience. My goal is not just to succeed for myself. It’s to create a different experience for others. I want patients to feel comfortable asking questions, even if they think they’re simple. I want them to feel respected, no matter where they come from. And I want them to leave feeling like they were truly heard. I know that the path ahead won’t be easy. Medical school, training, and everything that comes with it will require a lot of time, discipline, and sacrifice. But I’m not afraid of that. I’ve already learned what it means to work through challenges and to keep going even when things feel uncertain. If anything, those experiences have made me more prepared. I also carry a strong sense of gratitude. I know that not everyone has the same opportunities, and I don’t take mine for granted. Every class I take, every step I move forward, is something I value deeply because I know what it took to get here. When I think about Julie Adams and the legacy she left behind, I don’t just think about her as a teacher. I think about the impact she had on her students’ lives, the way she encouraged them, and the opportunities she created for them to believe in themselves. That kind of impact doesn’t disappear. It continues through the people she inspired. That’s the kind of impact I hope to have, even if it looks different. At the end of the day, my passion for pursuing a degree in biology comes from a mix of personal experience, challenges, and a clear sense of purpose. It’s not something that happened overnight. It grew over time, through everything I’ve lived and everything I’ve seen. And I know that this is just the beginning.

Sometimes I think about what it means to be a “positive force,” and I don’t picture something big or perfect. I picture small, consistent actions. The kind that no one really sees, but that slowly change things. I grew up watching my mom build a life from nothing. She came to this country from Argentina without family, without a safety net, just with the belief that things could be better for me. Because of that, I learned early that being a positive force isn’t about having power or money. It’s about showing up, even when it’s hard. After school, instead of joining clubs or sports like many of my classmates, I would go to my mom’s Spanish program and help. At first, it was simple things—organizing materials, helping younger kids, setting up activities. But over time, I realized that what we were doing mattered. We were helping children feel confident, seen, and connected to another language and culture. Sometimes a child would say a full sentence in Spanish for the first time, and their face would light up. Moments like that stayed with me. I also volunteered at Tenacs, a charter school in Brooklyn, where I helped teachers prepare educational materials. I spent hours cutting, organizing, and separating packets for each student. It wasn’t glamorous work, and honestly, sometimes it felt repetitive. But I understood why it mattered. When a classroom runs smoothly, when a teacher has what they need, students can focus on learning. Being a positive force, for me, meant supporting that process quietly. Social norms have shaped the way I see my role in the world. There is often this expectation that success looks a certain way—busy schedules, achievements that can be listed, things that are visible. But my experience has been different. I had to prioritize helping my family. I had to grow up understanding responsibility earlier than some of my peers. At times, I felt like I was missing out. But now I see that those experiences shaped my character in ways that matter more than appearances. As a Latina and the daughter of an immigrant mother, I also see how systems don’t always work equally for everyone. I’ve seen how language can become a barrier, especially in healthcare. That is one of the reasons I want to study biology and become a dermatologist. I want to be able to serve Spanish-speaking patients who often feel unheard or misunderstood. I want them to feel comfortable asking questions, explaining their concerns, and trusting the person in front of them. In the future, I don’t see myself as someone who changes the world overnight. I see myself continuing to do what I’ve been doing—helping where I can, building trust, and creating spaces where people feel understood. If I can make even one person’s experience easier, clearer, or more human, then I know I’m on the right path. Being a positive force, to me, is not about being the loudest voice in the room. It’s about being present, being consistent, and choosing, every day, to contribute something good—even in small ways.

I don’t think of helping others as something extraordinary. It’s just been a part of my life for as long as I can remember. I grew up watching my mom build her own Spanish immersion program from the ground up. As she worked, I was always there with her—after school, on weekends, helping with whatever needed to be done. At first, it was small things, like organizing materials or assisting younger children. Over time, it became more than that. I started noticing how the kids looked up to me, how some of them felt shy at first, and how, little by little, they became more confident. Working with them taught me patience, but also something deeper. I began to understand that showing up for others doesn’t always mean doing something big. Sometimes it’s just being present, listening, or helping someone feel comfortable in a space that’s new to them. Many of the families we work with are navigating a second language, a new culture, or simply trying to give their children more opportunities. Being able to support them, even in small ways, made me realize how powerful connection can be. There were times when I wished I had more time for myself or could participate in other activities, but I also knew that what I was doing mattered. It gave me a sense of purpose. It showed me that even at a young age, I could make a difference in someone else’s day. These experiences are a big part of why I want to pursue a career in healthcare. I want to continue helping people, especially those who feel overlooked or misunderstood. As someone who is bilingual, I hope to create a space where patients feel heard and respected, regardless of their background. To me, being selfless doesn’t mean ignoring your own needs. It means understanding that we are all connected, and that even small actions can have a lasting impact. Everything I’ve learned so far has come from simply being there, showing up, and caring. And that’s something I will carry with me wherever I go. As I move forward, I want to keep growing in that same direction—learning how to serve others in more meaningful and impactful ways. College is not just the next step for me, it’s a tool that will allow me to expand what I’ve already started. I want to take what I’ve learned through real experiences and turn it into something that can reach more people, especially those who need it most.

Going to college means something deeper to me than just getting a degree. It represents everything my mom and I have been working toward for years, even when it didn’t always feel possible. I grew up in a single-parent household. My mom came to this country from Argentina with no family here, just the hope of building a better life. She worked long hours, took risks, and created her own business from the ground up. Because of that, I grew up not only watching her work, but working alongside her. After school, instead of joining clubs or sports, I would help her with her Spanish program—organizing materials, helping younger kids, doing whatever was needed. At times, I felt like I was missing out, but at the same time, I knew I was part of something important. Those experiences shaped me. They taught me responsibility early on, but also empathy. I saw how hard things can be when you don’t fully understand the language or the system around you. I saw how my mom had to figure everything out on her own, and how much strength that takes. That’s a big reason why I want to study Biology and eventually become a dermatologist. I want to be able to help people, especially in the Hispanic community, who often feel unheard or misunderstood when they go to the doctor. Being bilingual is not just a skill for me—it’s a way to connect and make people feel seen. College, for me, is also about breaking a cycle. I will be one of the first in my family to pursue higher education in the United States. That matters to me not just for my future, but for what it represents. It shows that all the sacrifices my mom made were not in vain. It shows that something good can grow from difficult beginnings. I don’t think of myself as someone who had everything figured out or someone who had it easy. But I do know that I’ve learned how to keep going, even when things feel uncertain. I’ve learned how to adapt, how to support others, and how to stay focused on what matters. What I hope to accomplish through my education is not just personal success. I want to create a life where I can give back, where I can make healthcare more accessible and less intimidating for people like my family. I want to be someone who understands both sides—the struggle and the possibility. Going to college is not just my dream. It’s something I carry for both of us.

There are things you don’t choose as a child, but they still shape who you become. I grew up in a single-parent home with my mom, watching her work long hours just to keep everything together. After school, I didn’t go to practices or clubs—I went to help her. At the time, it felt like I was missing out. Now I understand I was being prepared. When my father left when I was 13, it created a silence that stayed with me for a long time. It wasn’t just his absence, it was the questions, the emotions, and the weight of trying to understand something that didn’t make sense. I had to learn how to process pain while still showing up every day. Therapy became a turning point for me. It helped me find my voice and realize that feeling deeply is not a weakness—it’s part of my strength. School hasn’t always been easy, especially subjects like math. But I never stopped trying. I kept showing up, even on the days I felt discouraged, because I knew giving up wasn’t an option for me. These experiences didn’t break me—they shaped my purpose. I want to study Biology and become a dermatologist so I can help people, especially in the Hispanic community, who struggle to be understood in healthcare. I know what it feels like to not feel seen, and I want to change that for others. Everything I’ve been through has taught me how to keep going. And that is exactly what I will continue to do.

There was a time in my life when everything felt uncertain, even if from the outside it didn’t always look that way. I grew up in a single-parent household with my mom, who worked long hours building her own business. After school, instead of going to sports or clubs, I would go help her. At times, I felt like I was missing out on what other teenagers were experiencing. I would hear my friends talk about their activities, and I didn’t always know what to say. But at the same time, I knew I was learning something different. When my father left when I was 13, it changed a lot for me. It wasn’t just about him not being there—it was the emotional impact that followed. There were moments when I felt confused and hurt, and I didn’t fully understand how to process those feelings. I also saw how hard my mom had to work to keep everything going, and that made me grow up faster in some ways. One of the hardest challenges for me has been balancing my emotions, my responsibilities, and school. Academically, things don’t always come easily to me, especially in subjects like math. I’ve had to put in extra effort, ask for help, and push myself even when I felt frustrated. Sometimes I wanted to give up, but I didn’t. I kept going, even when it wasn’t perfect. A big turning point for me was starting therapy. At first, I didn’t really know what to expect, but over time it helped me understand myself better. I learned how to express what I feel, how to process difficult emotions, and how to not carry everything inside. That experience helped me grow emotionally in a way that I know will stay with me for the rest of my life. Helping my mom has also shaped who I am. While other students were participating in extracurricular activities, I was supporting her work and spending time with her. Even though I sometimes wished things were different, I now see how that experience made me more responsible, more aware, and more connected to my family. It also taught me the value of effort and perseverance. Through all of these challenges, I have developed a strong sense of purpose. I want to study Biology and become a dermatologist. As someone who is bilingual, I want to help people in the Hispanic community who often struggle to communicate in healthcare settings. I have seen how difficult it can be when language becomes a barrier, and I want to be part of changing that. Looking back, I realize that the hardships I faced didn’t hold me back—they helped shape me into who I am today. I am still learning, still growing, and still working on myself, but I am proud of how far I’ve come. My journey hasn’t been perfect, but it has been real, and it has taught me resilience, empathy, and the importance of continuing forward, even when things feel difficult.

I didn’t grow up thinking I would go into science. For a long time, it felt like something far from me, something for people who understood things faster or had more confidence than I did. But little by little, that changed. I am a first-generation Latina student, raised by my mom, who built her own business while raising me on her own. Since I was young, I’ve spent a lot of time helping her in her Spanish immersion program, working with kids and being around families. At times, I felt like I was missing out on things other students were doing after school, and that was hard. But being there also taught me things I wouldn’t have learned anywhere else. I learned how to be responsible. I learned how to talk to different people, and how important it is to make others feel comfortable. I saw how much it matters when someone feels understood, especially when there’s a language barrier. Those experiences stayed with me. That’s a big part of why I want to study Biology and become a dermatologist. I don’t just see it as a career. I see it as a way to help people feel more at ease when they need care. I’ve seen how confusing and stressful it can be for families who don’t feel fully understood in medical settings. I want to be someone who can change that, even if it’s just one patient at a time. One of my biggest challenges has been believing in myself academically, especially in subjects like math. Things don’t always come easily to me, and there were moments when I felt frustrated and questioned if I was capable of pursuing something in STEM. But instead of giving up, I kept trying. I asked for help, I practiced more, and I learned that progress doesn’t always look perfect. I think what makes me different is that I don’t give up easily. Even when I feel unsure, I keep going. I’ve learned that you don’t have to have everything figured out to move forward. In my community, I’ve contributed by helping in my mom’s program, supporting children as they learn and grow, and being someone they can rely on. It may seem like something small, but those moments matter. Being present matters. I’m still figuring out my path, but I know I want to build a future where I can help others feel seen and understood. For me, STEM is not just about science. It’s about people.

I didn’t always love reading. When I was younger, it felt like something I had to do for school. But at home, it was different. My mom always made time for it. No matter how busy she was, she would sit with me and read, even if it was just for a few minutes. It wasn’t forced. It just became part of our day. She showed me that reading mattered more than being on a phone or watching TV, and over time, that stayed with me. As I got older, reading started to feel more personal. I connected with stories about people trying to find their place or figure things out. It helped me understand that it’s okay not to have everything clear right away, as long as you keep going. I am a first-generation Latina student, raised by a single mother who built her own business from the ground up. Since I was young, I’ve spent my afternoons helping her in her Spanish immersion program, working with children and assisting in classes. There were times I felt like I was missing out on after-school activities, and that was hard. But looking back, those experiences shaped who I am. I learned responsibility early. I learned how to communicate with different people and how language can connect others. I’ve seen children feel proud when they learn something new, and I’ve seen parents feel more comfortable when they are understood. Those moments made me realize how important communication and care are. I plan to study Biology and become a dermatologist. For me, this is not just a career. It’s about helping people who often feel unheard, especially in Spanish-speaking communities. I want patients to feel understood and respected when they seek care. One challenge I’ve faced is struggling in subjects like math. I had to work harder than others, and it was frustrating. There were times I wanted to give up, but I didn’t. I learned that effort matters more than being naturally good at something. I learned to ask for help and keep trying. Mentorship has also shaped me. My mom has been my biggest example through her actions. I’ve also had teachers who believed in me when I doubted myself. Those moments made a difference. I believe what makes me unique is my ability to keep going, even when things are uncertain. I come from a background where nothing has been handed to me, but I’ve learned to move forward anyway. In my community, I’ve contributed by helping in a space that supports children and families. It may seem small, but I’ve learned that impact comes from consistency. I’m still figuring things out, but I know I want to build a future where I can help others and give back to my community. Education is how I plan to get there. Thank you for reading me.

Growing up, I didn’t really think of my life as difficult. I just thought it was normal. It was always my mom and me. She worked long hours, trying to build her own business from nothing, and at the same time she was always there for me. I didn’t question it. I didn’t realize how much she was carrying by herself. My dad left when I was younger, and for a long time I didn’t fully understand what that meant. I just knew that things felt different. As I got older, I started to see more clearly. I saw the emotional weight my mom was dealing with, and also the financial stress. I learned later that what she went through wasn’t just difficult, it was unfair. But what stayed with me the most is that she chose to walk away from something that was hurting her, even when it made life harder. That showed me what real strength looks like. Because of our situation, I didn’t have the typical high school experience. I didn’t join sports teams or clubs after school. Instead, I spent most afternoons helping my mom with her Spanish immersion program. At times I wished I could do what other students were doing, but at the same time, being there taught me things I don’t think I would’ve learned anywhere else. I worked with kids, helped families, and saw how much people needed a space where they felt understood and welcomed. Being bilingual has also opened my eyes in a different way. I’ve seen how hard it can be for Spanish-speaking families to communicate, especially in places like doctor’s offices. Something as simple as explaining how you feel can become really stressful when there’s a language barrier. That’s something that has stayed with me. It’s a big reason why I want to study biology and eventually become a dermatologist. I want to be able to help people who feel unheard or uncomfortable, and make them feel safe and understood. Reading about John F. Rowe really connected with me. His life wasn’t easy either. He worked from a young age and had to find his own path, but he still chose a life of service. That really inspired me. It made me feel like even if your path isn’t perfect, you can still turn it into something meaningful. I see a lot of that in my own life. Being the first in my family to go to college here in the United States means everything to me. It’s not just about getting a degree. It’s about everything my mom has sacrificed so I could have opportunities she never had. I want to make her proud, but also show her that everything she went through was worth it. My life hasn’t been easy, but it has made me who I am. I’ve learned how to be responsible, how to care for others, and how to keep going even when things feel uncertain. I’m not perfect, and I’m still learning, but I know I have the drive and the heart to keep moving forward and to build a future where I can truly help others.

Some of my earliest experiences with care didn’t happen in a hospital or a clinic. They happened at home, watching my mom take care of everything—and everyone—even when she was exhausted. My name is Mia Lobos, and I am a high school senior who plans to study biology and become a dermatologist. I am a first-generation Latina student, raised by a single mother who taught me what strength, compassion, and perseverance look like through her actions every day. Growing up, I didn’t always understand the challenges we were facing. My mom carried the full responsibility of our home, both emotionally and financially, after leaving a relationship that was not healthy for us. There were many moments of uncertainty, but she always found a way to move forward. Watching her taught me that caring for others often means putting their well-being first, even when it is difficult. As I got older, I became more involved in her work. She built her own Spanish immersion program, and I spent many afternoons helping with children and families. At first, it just felt like helping my mom. But over time, I realized I was learning something much deeper—how to connect with people, how to listen, and how to make others feel safe and understood. Being bilingual allowed me to support families who felt more comfortable speaking Spanish. I saw how something as simple as communication could change someone’s entire experience. It made me realize how many people feel unheard, especially in important spaces like education and healthcare. That realization is a big part of why I want to pursue a career in healthcare. I want to become a dermatologist not only to treat skin conditions, but to serve communities that are often overlooked. Many Spanish-speaking patients struggle to communicate their needs or feel misunderstood in medical settings. I want to change that. I want to create an environment where patients feel respected, comfortable, and truly cared for. My journey has not been easy. As a low-income, first-generation student, pursuing higher education can feel overwhelming at times. There have been moments where I questioned if I would be able to reach my goals. But I have learned to keep going, even when things are uncertain. One of the most important things my mom has taught me is to move forward with faith. She always reminds me, “Dios tiene un plan perfecto para nosotras.” That belief has helped me stay grounded and hopeful, even in difficult moments. Healthcare is more than a career to me. It is an opportunity to give back in a meaningful way. It is a chance to provide comfort, build trust, and make people feel seen in moments when they need it most. Receiving this scholarship would help me continue my education and move closer to that goal. More importantly, it would allow me to continue growing into the kind of person who not only succeeds professionally, but also makes a difference in the lives of others. I am committed to using my education to create a positive impact, especially in communities that often feel invisible. And I am ready to take that next step—with determination, compassion, and a deep sense of purpose.

Sometimes, being part of an immigrant family means growing up understanding things without anyone having to explain them to you. My name is Mia Lobos, and I am a high school senior and a first-generation Latina student. Even though I grew up in the United States, my life has always been shaped by my mom’s journey as an immigrant and everything she had to overcome to build a life here. My mom came to this country looking for a better future, without a clear path and without the support of extended family. It has always been just the two of us. From a young age, I understood that nothing we had came easily. I watched her work long hours, solve problems on her own, and keep going even when things felt uncertain. Because of that, I grew up a little differently than many people my age. After school, instead of just focusing on my own routine, I would help my mom in her Spanish immersion program. I worked with children, supported families, and learned how to take responsibility early in life. At the time, I didn’t think of it as something important. It was just what needed to be done. But now I see that those experiences shaped me in a deeper way. Being part of an immigrant family also means living between two worlds. Spanish is not just a language to me—it is a connection. I have seen how much it matters for people to feel understood, especially when they are in a place where everything already feels unfamiliar. I have watched families feel more comfortable simply because someone spoke to them in their own language, and that stayed with me. At the same time, there have been challenges that are harder to see from the outside. Financial stress has always been present, and planning for college has felt overwhelming at times. There were moments when I questioned how everything would work out. But if there is one thing my mom has always taught me, it is to keep moving forward, even when you don’t have all the answers. She always reminds me, “Dios tiene un plan perfecto para nosotras.” And even when things feel uncertain, I hold onto that. My goal is to pursue a degree in biology and eventually become a dermatologist. I want to work with underserved communities, especially Spanish-speaking patients who often face barriers in healthcare. I want to create a space where people feel comfortable, respected, and truly understood. For me, education is not just about building a career. It is about creating stability, breaking cycles, and giving back to the same types of communities that shaped me. Receiving this scholarship would help make that possible. It would ease the financial burden on my family and allow me to focus on my education and my future. But more than that, it would represent an opportunity—one that my mom worked so hard to create for me. I carry her story with me in everything I do. And I am ready to continue that journey, with determination, gratitude, and the desire to build something meaningful from everything we have been through.

Some of the hardest things to understand as a child are the ones you grow up thinking are normal. My name is Mia Lobos, and I am a high school senior who plans to pursue a degree in biology and eventually become a dermatologist. I am also a first-generation Latina, raised by a mother whose strength has shaped the way I see the world, even before I fully understood what we were going through. For a long time, I didn’t realize that what was happening in my home wasn’t normal. I grew up watching my mom carry the full weight of our lives—emotionally and financially—while also being in a relationship that slowly drained her. There was no clear moment where everything changed. It was more quiet than that. There were patterns: control, financial pressure, and situations that didn’t feel right, even if I didn’t have the words for them at the time. I saw my mom being taken advantage of. I saw money disappear, responsibilities shift unfairly, and a constant sense of stress that filled our home. But as a child, I assumed this was just how families worked. I didn’t yet understand that this, too, was a form of violence—one that doesn’t always leave visible marks, but still affects you deeply. Everything began to change when my mom made the decision to leave. That decision was not easy, but it was one of the most important moments of my life. It showed me what courage really looks like—not loud or dramatic, but steady and firm. She chose to protect our peace, even when it meant starting over. And in doing that, she gave me something even more valuable than stability: she gave me awareness. Through therapy, I began to understand what I had lived through. I learned that love should not feel like pressure, control, or fear. I learned that we are allowed to set boundaries, to walk away, and to break patterns that have been repeated for generations. That process helped me not only understand my past, but also redefine what I want for my future. At the same time, life didn’t slow down. It became just the two of us, and I stepped into a more active role in supporting my mom and her work. She built her own Spanish immersion program, and I spent many afternoons helping with children and families. In that space, I found something meaningful. I learned how to care for others, how to listen, and how to create a sense of comfort for people who needed it. Those experiences shaped my goals. I want to become a dermatologist and work with underserved communities, especially Spanish-speaking patients. I want to create spaces where people feel safe, respected, and understood—because I know how much that matters. Receiving this scholarship would mean more than financial support. It would represent recognition of a journey that has not always been easy, but has been full of growth. It would allow me to continue my education without placing additional stress on my mom, who has already sacrificed so much to give me opportunities she didn’t have. Most importantly, it would help me continue breaking cycles. What I once thought was normal, I now understand was something I have the power to change. And that is exactly what I plan to do—with my education, with my career, and with the way I choose to live my life.

Some people think that creating impact means doing something big or extraordinary. For me, it started in a much simpler way—by showing up. My name is Mia Lobos, and I am a high school senior, a first-generation Latina student, and someone who has been learning to build her own path from a young age. When I read the idea of “not following a path, but creating one,” I felt connected to it, because my life has never really followed a clear or easy direction. When my dad left when I was thirteen, everything changed. It became just my mom and me, without family around us in this country. There were moments that felt confusing and painful, especially during birthdays or holidays that suddenly felt incomplete. But instead of letting that define us, my mom chose to keep moving forward—and I learned to do the same. She built her own Spanish immersion program from nothing. I grew up there, not as a student, but as someone helping behind the scenes. After school, I would assist with children, help organize activities, and support families. At the time, it didn’t feel like a “project” or something innovative. It was just part of my life. But looking back, I realize that what we created together became something meaningful. Many of the families we worked with felt more comfortable speaking Spanish, and sometimes all they needed was someone who understood them. Being bilingual allowed me to connect with them in a way that felt natural. I wasn’t just helping with activities—I was helping create a space where people felt seen, included, and respected. That experience showed me that impact doesn’t always come from having resources—it comes from paying attention to what people need and doing something about it, even in small ways. At the same time, balancing school and responsibilities wasn’t easy. There were days I felt overwhelmed, or different from other students my age who didn’t carry the same responsibilities. But those challenges taught me independence, resilience, and how to keep going even when things feel uncertain. In many ways, my journey has been about learning how to move forward without a clear map. My mom always reminds me, “Dios tiene un plan perfecto para nosotras,” and even when I don’t fully understand what that plan looks like, I trust it. That belief has given me the courage to keep building my path, step by step. I plan to pursue a degree in biology and become a dermatologist, with the goal of working in underserved communities. I want to continue what I started—helping people feel understood and cared for, especially in environments where they might otherwise feel invisible. If I have learned anything, it is that being a “trailblazer” doesn’t always mean doing something loud or visible. Sometimes it means continuing forward despite uncertainty, creating opportunities where there were none, and helping others along the way. Receiving this scholarship would not only support my education, but also validate the path I have been building—one that may not be traditional, but is deeply meaningful to me. I may still be figuring things out, but I know one thing for sure: I am not afraid to create my own path. And I will continue to use it to make space for others as I move forward.

When I read about Jesus Baez-Santos, what stood out to me the most was not only his generosity, but the way he made people feel. The description of his contagious laugh and how he always showed up for others reminded me of something very familiar—my mom. My name is Mia Lobos, and I am a first-generation Latina high school senior in New York. When I think about leadership and the kind of person I want to become, I don’t think about titles. I think about everyday actions—the quiet, consistent ways someone shows up for others. That is what I have learned at home. When my dad left when I was thirteen, my life changed in ways I wasn’t prepared for. It became just my mom and me, without extended family around us. There were moments that felt empty, moments where I wished things were different. But even then, my mom chose to respond with strength, faith, and generosity. She built her own Spanish immersion program from the ground up, not just to create a business, but to create a space where families felt welcomed and supported. I grew up there. After school, I would help with children, talk to parents, and do whatever needed to be done. At the time, I didn’t see it as leadership or service—I just saw it as helping my mom. I saw how she treated every family with patience and care, even when she was tired. I saw how she gave more than what was expected of her, simply because she believed in helping others. And I saw how those small acts of kindness made people feel safe, seen, and understood. That changed the way I see the world. Like Jesus Baez-Santos, whose life was defined by lifting others up, I have learned that the most meaningful impact comes from how you show up for people, not from what you gain in return. I have tried to carry that with me in my own way. Being bilingual has allowed me to connect with families who feel more comfortable speaking Spanish, and I have seen how something as simple as understanding someone can change their entire experience. At the same time, my journey has not been easy. Growing up without my father, balancing responsibilities, and dealing with my own emotions forced me to grow up quickly. There were times when I felt overwhelmed or unsure of myself. But in those moments, my mom would remind me, “Dios tiene un plan perfecto para nosotras.” We would pray together and trust that even the difficult parts of our story had a purpose. That faith has shaped how I move forward. I plan to pursue a degree in biology and become a dermatologist. I want to create a space where people feel comfortable, respected, and understood, especially those who struggle to communicate in healthcare settings. I want to bring not only knowledge, but also compassion into my work. The legacy I want to build is one rooted in the same values that defined Jesus Baez-Santos: generosity, resilience, and a commitment to others. I may not always have the resources to give in big ways, but I have learned that even small actions—being present, listening, caring—can leave a lasting impact. Receiving this scholarship would help me continue my education, but more importantly, it would allow me to carry forward a message that I already live by: that no matter what you go through, you can still choose to uplift others. And that is the kind of leader I am working to become.

Some of the most meaningful ways I have contributed to my community didn’t start as something planned. They started as simply helping my mom. My name is Mia Lobos, and I am a high school senior in New York who plans to pursue a degree in biology and become a dermatologist. But long before I fully understood what “community involvement” meant, I was already part of it. My mom built her own Spanish immersion program from the ground up, and I grew up right alongside it. After school, I would go there and help however I could—setting up activities, working with children, and supporting families. At first, it didn’t feel like volunteering. It was just part of my life. But over time, I started to see how much those moments mattered. Many of the children and families we worked with felt more comfortable speaking Spanish. Being bilingual allowed me to connect with them in a way that made them feel safe and understood. I remember seeing how a child would open up more when spoken to in their own language, or how a parent would feel relieved just being able to communicate clearly. Those small moments showed me how powerful connection can be. What motivated me to continue wasn’t just responsibility—it was that feeling of knowing I was helping someone feel seen. At the same time, contributing to my community wasn’t always easy. There were days when I felt overwhelmed. When my dad left when I was thirteen, my life changed in ways I wasn’t ready for. I was balancing school, emotions I didn’t always know how to express, and responsibilities that felt bigger than my age. Sometimes I felt tired, and sometimes I felt different from other students. But those challenges also shaped me. They taught me how to show up even when things aren’t perfect. They taught me patience, empathy, and the importance of being there for others. I learned that helping your community isn’t about doing something big once—it’s about being consistent, even in small ways. Through these experiences, I also began to understand what kind of impact I want to make in the future. I want to become a dermatologist who works with underserved communities, especially Spanish-speaking patients. I’ve seen how difficult it can be when people cannot communicate their needs, especially in healthcare settings. I want to be someone who not only provides treatment, but also creates trust. Someone who makes people feel comfortable, respected, and understood. Looking back, what started as simply helping my mom became something much bigger. It became a part of who I am. I didn’t realize at the time that I was contributing to my community—I just knew I was showing up. But now I understand that those moments shaped my purpose. And moving forward, I plan to continue doing exactly that: showing up, helping others, and making a difference in the ways I know how.

There was a time when learning didn’t come easily to me, even though I wanted it to. My name is Mia Lobos, and I am a high school senior from Suffolk County, New York. Today, I am preparing to pursue a degree in biology, but my journey through education hasn’t always been simple or smooth. When I was younger, especially in elementary and middle school, I struggled more than people could see from the outside. I would sit in class trying to focus, but my mind often felt overwhelmed. At the same time, things at home were changing. When my dad left when I was thirteen, it affected me in ways I didn’t fully understand at the time. I carried a lot of emotions quietly, and that made it even harder to stay focused in school. There were moments when I felt frustrated with myself. I knew I was trying, but sometimes it didn’t feel like enough. What made the difference for me was not suddenly understanding everything—it was the people who didn’t give up on me. I had teachers who were patient, who took the time to explain things in a different way, and who reminded me that struggling didn’t mean I wasn’t capable. But more than anyone, my mom became my biggest support. She would sit with me, encourage me, and remind me that learning is not about being perfect—it is about continuing, even when it feels difficult. Over time, I began to see things differently. I realized that needing help did not make me weak. It meant I was trying. I learned to be patient with myself, to ask questions, and to keep going even when something didn’t come easily the first time. Those experiences shaped the way I approach education today. I no longer see challenges as something that stops me. I see them as part of the process. They have made me more determined, more understanding, and more aware of how important support can be in someone’s life. This has also influenced my future goals. I plan to study biology and become a dermatologist, and I want to work with underserved communities. I know what it feels like to struggle quietly, and I want to be someone who helps others feel seen, understood, and supported—whether in a classroom or in a healthcare setting. Looking back, I am grateful that learning didn’t always come easily to me. It taught me resilience, patience, and the value of having people who believe in you. And because of that, I have become someone who believes in myself too.

Some of the most meaningful lessons in my life have come from watching how my mom cares for others. My name is Mia Lobos, and I am a high school senior who plans to pursue a degree in biology and become a dermatologist. I am also a first-generation Latina student, raised by a mother who has taught me that compassion is not just something you feel—it is something you live every day. Growing up, it has always been just the two of us. When my dad left when I was thirteen, everything changed. There were moments that felt empty—birthdays, holidays, and milestones that passed quietly. But even in those moments, my mom made sure I never felt alone. She gave me something stronger than anything we were missing: love, stability, and faith. No matter how difficult things became, she would sit with me and remind me, “Dios tiene un plan perfecto para nosotras.” We prayed together often, sometimes without knowing what to ask for, just trusting that God was guiding us. That belief became part of who I am. It taught me to move forward without fear, even when the future felt uncertain. At the same time, I grew up watching my mom build her own Spanish immersion program from the ground up. I didn’t just observe—I became part of it. I spent many afternoons helping with children, supporting families, and learning how to care for others in a real and consistent way. Those experiences shaped me more than I realized at the time. I learned patience, responsibility, and empathy. I saw how small acts—helping a child feel comfortable, listening to a parent, speaking to someone in their own language—could make a real difference. I learned that compassion is not something you talk about, it is something you show. Being bilingual allowed me to connect with families who sometimes felt overlooked or misunderstood. I saw how much it mattered for people to feel seen and heard, especially when they were far from their own support systems. That stayed with me. This is a big part of why I want to become a dermatologist. I want to work with underserved communities, especially Spanish-speaking patients who often struggle to communicate in healthcare settings. I want to create a space where people feel safe, respected, and understood, not just treated. My journey has not been easy. As a low-income student, I understand how many barriers exist when it comes to education. But I also understand something else: that even in difficult circumstances, you can still choose to show up for others. I believe that compassion is something you build through experience, and I have been building it my whole life—through my relationship with my mom, through our faith, and through the work we have done together. Receiving this scholarship would not only support my education, but it would also allow me to continue living out the values I was raised with: faith, service, and love for others. I don’t just want to succeed for myself. I want to be someone who makes others feel cared for, understood, and less alone—just like my mom has always done for me.

Some of the reasons I want to pursue a STEM education don’t come from a textbook. They come from real moments in my life—moments where I saw how important it is to feel understood, supported, and cared for. My name is Mia Lobos, and I am a high school senior who plans to study biology and become a dermatologist. But more than that, I am a first-generation Latina student who grew up learning about resilience, responsibility, and purpose from my mom. My mom came to this country with very little and built everything from the ground up. She started her own Spanish immersion program, working long hours to create something meaningful while raising me on her own. I didn’t just watch her—I grew up helping her. After school, I would be there with her, working with children and families, setting up activities, and doing whatever needed to be done. At the time, it just felt like part of my routine. But now I see how much those experiences shaped me. I learned how to be patient, how to listen, and how to show up for others, even when I felt tired. I also saw something that stayed with me: how much it matters for people to feel understood. Being bilingual allowed me to connect with families in a deeper way. I saw how a simple conversation in Spanish could make someone feel comfortable and safe. And I also saw how difficult it can be when someone can’t express themselves, especially in important situations like healthcare. That is where my passion for STEM began to take shape. I realized I don’t just want to learn science—I want to use it to help people. I want to become a dermatologist who works with underserved communities, especially Spanish-speaking patients who often struggle to communicate their needs. I want my patients to feel seen, respected, and understood, not just treated. My journey hasn’t been easy. When my dad left when I was thirteen, everything changed. It became just my mom and me, figuring things out together. There were moments that felt heavy, and times when I had to grow up faster than I expected. But through all of that, my mom always reminded me, “Dios tiene un plan perfecto para nosotras.” We would pray together and trust that things would work out, even when we didn’t know how. That faith shaped the way I see my future. It taught me not to be afraid of uncertainty, but to keep moving forward with purpose. As a low-income, first-generation student, I also understand the financial reality of pursuing higher education. College is not just a goal—it is something I have to work hard to make possible. But I see education as the most important investment I can make, not only for my future, but for the people I hope to help one day. Receiving this scholarship would allow me to continue my path with less financial stress and more focus on my studies. But more than that, it would represent something deeper. It would mean that everything my mom and I have worked for—the long days, the sacrifices, the faith—are leading somewhere meaningful. I am not pursuing STEM just for myself. I am doing it so I can give back, so I can create trust where it is missing, and so I can be someone who makes others feel heard in moments that matter most. And that, to me, is what makes this path worth it.

I didn’t learn about money from a textbook. I learned it by watching my mom figure things out on her own, every single day. My name is Mia Lobos, and I am a high school senior who plans to study biology and become a dermatologist. I come from a low-income, first-generation Latina household, where financial decisions were never just numbers—they were real choices that affected our daily lives. Growing up, I became aware very early that we had to be careful with money. There was no extra for activities, no room for unnecessary spending, and every decision had a purpose. My mom worked incredibly hard to build her own business while raising me on her own, and I saw how much responsibility that carried. One thing that has shaped my understanding the most is realizing that my mom did not grow up with access to financial education in the United States. She didn’t know about investment systems, retirement plans, or the financial tools that many people here take for granted. But instead of letting that limit her, she always encouraged me to learn what she didn’t have the opportunity to learn. She would often tell me that just because we didn’t know something yet didn’t mean we couldn’t understand it. That mindset changed the way I see the world. It made me curious, responsible, and aware that knowledge is something we can build over time. I began to understand that financial literacy is not just about saving money—it’s about being prepared. It’s about making informed decisions, creating stability, and building a future with intention. Watching my mom navigate challenges without that knowledge showed me how important it is to have access to it. At the same time, I learned that education itself is the most powerful investment we can make. For me, pursuing higher education is not just about earning a degree. It is about creating opportunities that did not exist before, both for myself and for my family. In the future, I plan to use my education not only to build a stable career in medicine, but also to make smarter financial decisions and create long-term security. I want to understand how to manage money, invest wisely, and plan for the future in a way that my mom did not have the chance to do when she first arrived in this country. More importantly, I want to break that cycle. I want to be part of a generation that is informed, prepared, and able to make decisions with confidence instead of uncertainty. My financial experiences have taught me discipline, awareness, and gratitude. They have shown me that even when resources are limited, the desire to learn can open doors. And they have taught me that growth comes not from what you are given, but from what you choose to do with what you have. I truly believe that education is the best investment I can make—not only for my future, but for the future of my family. It is the foundation that will allow me to grow, give back, and create opportunities for others. Receiving this scholarship would help me continue that path. It would not only support my education, but also represent an investment in someone who is determined to learn, grow, and build a better future—one decision at a time.

The achievement I am most proud of is not something that can be measured with a grade or a title. It is the person I have become through everything my mom and I have faced together. My name is Mia Lobos, and I am a high school senior preparing to pursue a degree in biology with the goal of becoming a dermatologist. But long before I knew what I wanted to study, I was already learning some of the most important lessons of my life outside of school. When I was thirteen, my dad left. From that moment on, it was just my mom and me. No extended family nearby, no extra support system—just the two of us trying to figure things out as we went. There were birthdays, holidays, and milestones that passed without hearing from him. That absence was something I had to learn to carry, even when I didn’t fully understand how. At the same time, I watched my mom continue to move forward no matter how hard things got. She built her own Spanish immersion program from the ground up, working long hours and facing challenges that most people never saw. I didn’t just watch her—I became part of it. I spent my afternoons helping with children, setting up activities, and supporting families. I didn’t think of it as an achievement at the time. It was just what needed to be done. But now I understand that choosing to show up every day, even when things feel heavy, is something to be proud of. Balancing school, responsibilities at home, and helping my mom was not always easy. There were moments when I felt overwhelmed or different from others my age. But instead of letting that define me, I learned how to adapt. I became more disciplined, more patient, and more aware of the needs of others. One of the most meaningful parts of this experience has been working with children and families from different backgrounds. Being bilingual allowed me to connect with them in a deeper way. I saw how much it mattered for someone to feel understood, especially in their own language. I also saw how easily people can feel lost when they don’t have that connection. That understanding shaped not only who I am, but who I want to become. My goal is to become a dermatologist and work with underserved communities, especially Spanish-speaking patients. I want to create an environment where people feel comfortable, respected, and truly heard. I don’t just want to treat conditions—I want to build trust. If I had to define my greatest achievement, it would be this: I learned how to keep going with love, even in difficult circumstances. I learned how to support others while still growing myself. And I learned that strength is not about having a perfect life, but about continuing forward despite the challenges. Everything I have experienced has impacted my life in a lasting way. It has given me a sense of purpose that guides my decisions and motivates me to keep moving forward. I carry those lessons with me into everything I do, especially as I take the next step toward higher education. I am proud of the resilience I have built, the empathy I have developed, and the person I am becoming. And I know that this is only the beginning of the impact I hope to make.

Some of the most important lessons in my life didn’t happen in a classroom. They happened at home, in quiet moments with my mom, when things felt uncertain and we didn’t have clear answers—but we still chose to believe everything would be okay. My name is Mia Lobos, and I am a high school senior who hopes to study biology and one day become a dermatologist. I am also a first-generation Latina student, raised by a mother who has shown me what faith, strength, and love look like in real life. When my dad left when I was thirteen, my world changed in a way I wasn’t ready for. There were birthdays, holidays, and important moments that passed without a call or a visit. It hurt more than I knew how to express. But even in those moments, my mom never let me feel alone. It has always been just the two of us, without family in the United States, learning everything together as we went. Something has always held us together is our faith. No matter how hard things got, my mom would sit with me and remind me, “Dios tiene un plan perfecto para nosotras.” We would pray together, sometimes not even knowing what to say, just trusting that somehow things would fall into place. That belief gave me peace. It taught me not to live in fear of the future, but to trust that I am being guided, even when I don’t understand how. As I grew up, I became part of my mom’s work. She built her Spanish immersion program from nothing, and I spent many afternoons helping her with children and families. At the time, it just felt like part of my life. But now I see how much it shaped me. I learned how to be patient, how to listen, and how to care for others, even on days when I felt tired or overwhelmed. Working with those children and families also showed me something I will never forget: how powerful it is to feel understood. Being bilingual allowed me to connect with people in a deeper way, especially those who felt more comfortable speaking Spanish. I saw how a simple conversation in someone’s own language could make them feel safe, seen, and valued. That is a big part of why I want to become a dermatologist. I want to work with underserved communities, especially Spanish-speaking patients who often struggle to communicate in healthcare settings. My journey has not been easy. As a low-income, first-generation student, college sometimes feels like a big question mark. I have balanced school with responsibilities at home and work, and there were times I felt different from others my age. But I wouldn’t change my story. It has given me strength, perspective, and a clear sense of who I want to be. What I’ve learned is that faith doesn’t mean having everything figured out. It means continuing forward anyway. It means believing there is something bigger guiding you, even on the hardest days. I truly believe God has a plan for my life, and I am trying to follow it with an open heart. I want to use my education not only to build a future for myself, but to give back in the same way my mom has always given to others. Receiving this scholarship would help me continue that path. It would mean that everything we have been through, every prayer, every sacrifice, is leading somewhere meaningful. And I am ready to keep going—with faith, with purpose, and with the hope of making a difference.

Some of my most important lessons didn’t happen in a classroom. They happened after school, in a small room filled with children, voices in Spanish, and my mom trying to make everything work. My name is Mia Lobos, and I am a high school senior, a first-generation Latina student, and the daughter of an immigrant who showed me what resilience really means. I grew up watching my mom build her life from the ground up in a country where everything felt unfamiliar—language, paperwork, even simple conversations. I still remember her telling me, “No importa lo difícil que sea, seguimos adelante.” No matter how hard it is, we keep going. That became something I carried with me without even realizing it. When she opened her Spanish immersion program, I didn’t just watch—I became part of it. I spent many afternoons helping with children, setting up activities, and supporting families. At the time, it didn’t feel like anything special. It was just part of my routine. But looking back, those moments shaped me in ways I understand now more than ever. Working with children and families from different backgrounds taught me patience, but more importantly, it taught me how powerful it is to make someone feel understood. Being bilingual allowed me to connect with people in a deeper way. I saw how a simple conversation in Spanish could change a child’s confidence or bring relief to a parent. I also saw how hard it can be when someone cannot express themselves, especially in important situations. Growing up between cultures has shaped my perspective. At school, I was one version of myself, and at home or at my mom’s program, I was another. At times, that felt confusing. I sometimes felt like I didn’t fully belong in one place or the other. But over time, I realized that this experience was actually a strength. It made me more adaptable, more aware, and more empathetic toward others. Balancing school with responsibilities at home was not always easy. There were days when I felt overwhelmed or even a little behind compared to other students who had more time to focus only on school. But those challenges taught me discipline, time management, and how to keep going even when I felt tired. More than anything, they taught me that growth doesn’t always look perfect. These experiences are what shaped my sense of purpose. I plan to pursue a degree in biology and eventually become a dermatologist. I want to work with underserved communities, especially Spanish-speaking patients who often face barriers in healthcare. I don’t just want to treat conditions—I want to create trust. I want my patients to feel comfortable, respected, and understood in a way that I saw was often missing. Receiving this scholarship would mean more than financial support. As a low-income, first-generation student, the cost of college is something my family and I think about every day. This opportunity would help me continue my education without adding more pressure to my mom, who has already given so much to help me get here. But more than that, it would be a step forward in a journey that started long before I understood what college even meant. A journey built on sacrifice, quiet strength, and the belief that a better future is possible. My story is not just about overcoming challenges. It’s about carrying those experiences forward and turning them into something meaningful. Everything I’ve learned is what I hope to bring into my future, not just as a student, but as someone who wants to make a difference in the lives of others.

Some of my most important lessons didn’t happen in a classroom. They happened after school, in a small space filled with children, voices in Spanish, and my mom trying to make everything work. My name is Mia Lobos, and I am a high school senior who plans to pursue a degree in biology and eventually become a dermatologist. For me, higher education is not just a goal—it feels like the next step in a story that started long before I even understood what college was. I grew up watching my mom build her life from the ground up. She came to this country with so many unknowns—language barriers, financial stress, and no clear path—but she never let that stop her. Instead, she created something of her own: a Spanish immersion program that slowly became not just her work, but a space where families felt supported. I didn’t just grow up watching her—I grew up inside that world. Some of my clearest memories are of being there after school, helping however I could. Setting things up, cleaning, sitting with children, sometimes just being present. At the time, I didn’t think of it as anything special. It was just part of my day, part of helping my mom. But now I understand that those moments were quietly shaping who I was becoming. Balancing school with those responsibilities wasn’t always easy. There were days when I felt exhausted, or when I noticed how different my routine looked compared to other students my age. While my friends had more time to themselves, I was learning how to manage responsibilities that felt much bigger. And honestly, there were moments when that felt hard. But over time, something shifted. I began to realize that those experiences weren’t taking something away from me—they were giving me something deeper. They taught me discipline, patience, and how to show up for others even when I didn’t feel fully ready. Most importantly, they taught me how much it matters to feel understood. Being bilingual allowed me to see that in a very real way. I watched children become more confident the moment they were spoken to in Spanish. I saw parents relax when they didn’t have to struggle to explain themselves. And I also saw the opposite—the frustration and discomfort that comes when someone can’t fully express what they feel, especially in important moments. Those experiences stayed with me. They are the reason I want to become a dermatologist—not just to treat conditions, but to help people feel comfortable in their own skin, both physically and emotionally. I want to work with underserved communities, especially Spanish-speaking patients who often face barriers in healthcare. I want to be someone who listens, who understands, and who creates a space where people don’t feel rushed, ignored, or invisible. Higher education will allow me to turn these experiences into something more. It will give me the tools to take what I’ve learned in real life and apply it in a way that creates real impact. I don’t just want to succeed for myself—I want to use what I learn to help others in meaningful ways. At the same time, the financial reality of college is something my family and I think about every day. As a low-income student, pursuing higher education comes with a lot of uncertainty. Receiving this scholarship would make a real difference. It would allow me to focus on my future without adding more pressure to my mom, who has already given so much for me to be where I am today. What motivates me is simple. I want to build a life where I can give back in the same way I was shown growing up—with patience, care, and understanding. My journey may not look like everyone else’s, but it has given me something I truly value: a sense of direction and a strong understanding of who I want to become. And I’m ready to keep going.

Some of my earliest memories are not of playgrounds or after-school activities, but of small classrooms filled with children, soft voices in Spanish, and my mom moving from one task to another, trying to hold everything together. My name is Mia Lobos, and I am a high school senior who plans to study biology and become a dermatologist. But that goal didn’t come from a textbook or a class—it grew from watching my mother build a life from nothing, and from growing up inside that process. My mom came to this country without a clear path, facing language barriers and constant uncertainty. What she did have was determination. I watched her create her own business step by step, often working long hours, solving problems as they came, and never allowing herself to stop. Even on the hardest days, she would say, “No importa lo difícil que sea, seguimos adelante.” I didn’t just grow up watching her—I grew up helping her. While other teenagers spent their afternoons focused only on school or friends, I was often in her Spanish immersion program, assisting with children and supporting families. At times, it felt like I was living in two worlds: one where I was just a student, and another where I carried responsibilities that felt much more adult. There were moments when I questioned it, when I wondered if I was missing out on a more typical experience. But over time, I began to see things differently. Those experiences didn’t take something away from me—they gave me something most people don’t learn so early. They taught me how to be present, how to be patient when things don’t go as planned, and how to communicate with people of different ages and backgrounds. Most importantly, they showed me how much it matters to feel understood. Being bilingual allowed me to witness something powerful. I saw children become more confident the moment they were spoken to in Spanish. I saw parents feel relief when they didn’t have to struggle to explain themselves. And I also saw the opposite—the frustration that comes when someone cannot fully express what they feel. Those moments stayed with me. They are the reason I want to become a dermatologist—not just to treat conditions, but to serve people who often feel overlooked, especially Spanish-speaking patients. I want to create a space where people feel comfortable, where they are not rushed, not misunderstood, and not invisible. Being a first-generation Latina student has shaped how I see my education. For me, this is not just about earning a degree—it is about continuing something my mother started and honoring her sacrifices. At the same time, being a low-income student is a reality I cannot ignore. College is not just a dream; it is also a financial challenge. Receiving this scholarship would allow me to continue my education without placing an even greater burden on my mother. I don’t take opportunities lightly. My journey has not been typical, but it has given me resilience, clarity, and purpose. If I am given the chance to continue my education, I will use it not only to succeed, but to give back. Just like my mother did for me, I hope to become someone who helps others feel seen, supported, and understood.

My sense of purpose didn’t come from one single moment—it grew from watching my mother rebuild her life with strength and determination. As a first-generation Latina student, I learned early that opportunities are not always given; sometimes, you have to create them. My mom came to this country facing language barriers and uncertainty, yet she built her own business from the ground up. I grew up watching her work long hours and still make sure I felt supported. She would always say, “No importa lo difícil que sea, seguimos adelante.” That mindset became part of who I am. I spent many afternoons helping in her Spanish immersion program, working with children and families. At times, I felt different from other teenagers, balancing responsibilities that felt more adult. But those experiences taught me patience, empathy, and the importance of showing up for others. Being bilingual allowed me to see how powerful it is to feel understood. I saw children open up when they heard Spanish and parents feel relief when they could communicate clearly. Those moments shaped my purpose. I plan to pursue a career in biology and become a dermatologist, working with underserved communities, especially Spanish-speaking patients. I want to build trust and create a space where people feel seen and heard. My journey may not be typical, but it has given me resilience, direction, and a deep commitment to helping others move forward.

My name is Mia Lobos, and I am a high school senior with a strong desire to pursue a degree in biology and eventually become a dermatologist. As a first-generation Latina student in the United States, my journey has been shaped not only by challenges, but by the quiet strength I have witnessed at home every day. Those experiences have given me a clear sense of purpose and a deep motivation to move forward. Growing up, I watched my mother build her life from the ground up in a country that was not originally hers. She worked long hours, often while navigating a language that was still new to her, all while making sure I never felt like I was missing anything. I didn’t just see her work hard—I saw her keep going even when things were uncertain. She always tells me, “No importa lo difícil que sea, seguimos adelante.” That mindset became part of who I am. From a young age, I became part of that journey. I helped in her Spanish immersion program, spending afternoons working with children, assisting with activities, and interacting with families from different backgrounds. At times, it felt like I was growing up faster than others my age, but those moments shaped me in ways I now deeply value. I learned how to communicate with people of different ages, how to be patient, and how to show up for others even on busy or overwhelming days. Being bilingual has also been a big part of who I am. I have seen how something as simple as language can either connect people or make them feel completely alone. I’ve watched children open up when they hear their native language, and I’ve seen adults struggle to express something important because they don’t feel understood. Those moments stayed with me. They made me realize how important it is to create spaces where people feel safe, heard, and respected. That is a big reason why I want to become a dermatologist. I don’t just want to treat skin conditions—I want to help people feel comfortable in their own skin, both physically and emotionally. I want to work with communities that are often underserved, especially Spanish-speaking patients who may hesitate to seek care because of language barriers or lack of trust. I want to be someone who listens first, and treats second. My path has not always looked like the typical high school experience. Balancing school, responsibilities at home, and work has not always been easy. There were times when I felt like I was missing out. But over time, I began to understand that those experiences were not holding me back—they were preparing me. They taught me discipline, time management, and most importantly, perspective. Through my future career in STEM, I hope to be part of a healthcare system that feels more human and more accessible. I want to provide care that goes beyond treatment—care that recognizes each person’s story. I believe that small acts of understanding can create real change, and that is something I want to carry with me into my future. Receiving this scholarship would not only support my education, but it would also honor the journey that brought me here. I am committed to continuing to grow, to work hard, and to use everything I have learned to give back to others in meaningful ways.

One of the most meaningful ways I have helped others while managing my own responsibilities has been through supporting my mom’s Spanish immersion program. As a high school student, balancing my academic workload with my responsibilities at home has not always been easy, but it has shaped who I am in powerful ways. While many of my classmates spend their afternoons focusing only on school or extracurricular activities, I often spend mine assisting with young children, helping guide activities, and creating a safe and caring environment for them to learn. At times, this has been challenging. There are days when I feel overwhelmed trying to complete my own schoolwork while also being present, patient, and attentive to the needs of the children. However, I have learned that showing up consistently matters. What motivates me is knowing that my presence makes a difference in someone else’s day. Many of the children I work with come from diverse backgrounds, and some are navigating emotional or language barriers. Being bilingual has allowed me to connect with them in a deeper way, especially with Spanish-speaking children who may feel more comfortable expressing themselves in their native language. I have learned to be patient, empathetic, and understanding, recognizing that even small actions—like listening or offering encouragement—can have a meaningful impact. This experience has shaped how I approach both my education and my role in my community. It has taught me discipline, time management, and the importance of balancing personal goals with helping others. More importantly, it has shown me that meaningful change often begins in small, everyday moments. As I plan to pursue a career in biology and eventually become a dermatologist, I carry these lessons with me. I hope to continue helping others, especially in underserved communities where language and access to care can be barriers. My experiences have shown me that being present, understanding, and willing to help—no matter how busy life becomes—is what truly creates impact.In many ways, balancing my own responsibilities while helping others has defined who I am today. It has taught me that growth does not come from choosing between my own goals and supporting others, but from learning how to do both with intention and care. These experiences have strengthened my sense of purpose and have prepared me to continue giving back to my community as I move forward in my education. I am proud of the person I am becoming, and I am committed to using my experiences, my voice, and my education to create opportunities and understanding for others.

My “awkward” thing has never been something obvious, like the way I speak or dress. It has always been the way I live. While many of my classmates spend their afternoons in sports or hanging out with friends, I spend mine helping my mom run her Spanish immersion program. From a young age, I have been surrounded by children, lesson plans, and responsibilities that most teenagers don’t usually have. Sometimes it has felt different, even isolating, watching others have a more typical high school experience while I step into a role that feels much more adult. For a long time, I saw this difference as something awkward. I didn’t always know how to explain my daily life to others, and sometimes I felt like I was missing out. But over time, I realized that what made me feel “different” was actually shaping who I am. Being part of my mom’s journey as a business owner has taught me resilience, patience, and responsibility. I’ve learned how to communicate with people of different ages, how to lead by example, and how to care for others in a meaningful way. As a bilingual Latina and a first-generation student, I also understand what it means to move between cultures and support my family while building my own future. What once felt awkward is now what makes me stand out. It has given me a strong sense of purpose and a deep connection to my community. I plan to carry these experiences with me as I pursue a career in biology and dermatology, where I hope to make a difference in underserved communities, especially among Spanish-speaking patients who often struggle to feel understood in healthcare settings. My life may not look typical, but it has given me something much more valuable: direction, strength, and a clear sense of who I want to become.One thing that has also made me different is how early I learned to balance responsibility with personal growth. Being involved in my mom’s program has not only shaped my work ethic, but also my sense of empathy. I have worked with children from different backgrounds, learning how to be patient, attentive, and understanding of their needs. These experiences have helped me grow not just academically, but as a person. While it may not be the typical teenage experience, it has given me a deeper sense of purpose and a clearer vision of how I want to use my education to help others in the future.