#3 To me, ensuring “everyone has a voice” means creating an environment where people feel heard, valued, and comfortable sharing their perspectives. I believe leadership is not about being the loudest person in the room, but about making sure others have the confidence and opportunity to speak. Some of the best ideas come from people who simply need someone willing to listen. I strive to practice this philosophy in every leadership position I hold. As Class President and Vice President of the National Honor Society, I regularly gather feedback from classmates before planning events or bringing ideas to advisors. During my National Honor Society campaign, I promised to create additional opportunities to recognize students whose hard work often goes unnoticed. Although Student of the Month honors only a handful of students each year, I worked with advisors and fellow student leaders to create a recognition initiative highlighting deserving seniors on our Class of 2026 social media page. To me, leadership means ensuring that every student feels seen and appreciated. This belief has also guided my work as President of the Make-A-Wish Greater Pennsylvania and West Virginia Youth Leadership Council, the largest Youth Leadership Council in the nation. Rather than leading by directing others, I focus on encouraging collaboration and making sure every member has the opportunity to contribute ideas. Through that approach, our council raised more than $37,000, exceeding our annual fundraising goal by over $4,000 while helping grant wishes for children facing critical illnesses. That accomplishment was not the result of one leader, but of a team that felt empowered to contribute their talents toward a shared purpose. Speech & Debate has reinforced these values as well. As a four-time state qualifier, co-captain, the first member of my school’s team to qualify to Senate in history, and a recipient of the NSDA “Academic All American Award” rewarded to fewer than 1% to 2% of all the 141,000 active members, I have learned that productive conversations begin with listening. Whether mentoring younger competitors or collaborating with teammates, I have found that understanding different perspectives is just as important as expressing my own. My participation in the Bridge the Pond program further reinforced the importance of ensuring everyone has a voice. Through discussions with students from different countries, I learned how culture, government, and economic opportunities shape people’s perspectives and daily lives. Although our experiences were different, I found that meaningful conversations were best when we were willing to listen. That experience taught me that leadership is strengthened by listening to viewpoints beyond your own, a lesson I continue to apply and carry with me as I start a new chapter of life. This fall, I will attend George Washington University in Washington, D.C., a politically active university in the heart of our nation’s government. I look forward to joining a community where civic engagement, public policy, and respectful dialogue are central to campus life. I hope to continue creating spaces where people with different experiences and viewpoints feel comfortable contributing. Lasting leadership is not measured by titles, but by whether others leave believing their voices mattered because someone chose to listen. Leadership, Civic, Mediation, and Policy-Related Roles -Class President, Trinity High School Student Council (2024-2026) -Vice President, National Honor Society (2025–2026) -President, Make-A-Wish Greater Pennsylvania & West Virginia Youth Leadership Council (2025–2026) -Founder & President, Trinity High School Make-A-Wish Club (2024–2026) -Student Delegate, Bridge the Pond Forum & Interaction Program -Vice President, Trinity Leadership Committee (2024–2026) -Vice President, Political Debate Club (2025–2026) -Co-Captain, Trinity Speech & Debate Team (2025–2026) School Principal: zzebrasky@trinityhillers.net

When I was younger, my favorite book was “Where’s Waldo?”, where I could spend hours searching for that little striped man. Similarly, I have often tried to find where I fit within a larger picture. As I prepare to enter higher education, I have found my fit by aligning my plans with my ultimate career goal: serving as a foreign policy advisor or economic analyst within the federal government. To achieve this, I will major in International Business at George Washington University; however, I recognize that effective global policy must be inclusive. Therefore, I will also pursue a minor in Disability Studies, a choice inspired by my daily work with my classmate, Hailey, in the Life Skills & Autistic Support Program at Trinity High School. Every day after school, I stay for an hour to aid Hailey with her tasks. Together, we handle administrative duties like organizing checks, filing field trip forms, and processing student employment papers. In the student-run Hiller Cafe, I manage her workspace as she wipes counters, puts away coffee, labels beverage cups, and cleans sticky syrup bottles. Supporting Hailey has deeply influenced my career vision. It has taught me that impactful leadership requires understanding diverse operational and human needs. By combining a Disability Studies minor with an International Business major, my career goal is to bring a framework of human accessibility into international trade and development policies, ensuring global economic frameworks account for marginalized populations. Attending George Washington University is a direct stepping stone toward these career milestones. Being located in Washington, D.C. provides a unique ecosystem where I can bridge the gap between classroom theory and federal application. My immediate professional objective is to secure internships within federal institutions, embassies, or international entities. Because my career goals rely heavily on understanding how global markets and national governance intersect, living and studying in the nation's capital offers unmatched exposure to the policy-making world.Furthermore, my leadership with Make-A-Wish and my inclusion initiatives with Hailey have proven that global collaboration requires immense cultural and social awareness. My career path depends on the ability to look at macroeconomic problems through a compassionate, human-centric lens. This scholarship will be a critical catalyst in moving me toward these career ambitions. By reducing the financial burden of tuition, it removes the necessity of part-time employment outside my field. This financial freedom will allow me to dedicate my energy entirely to my rigorous coursework, international policy research, and competitive, unpaid federal internships in D.C. Access to these professional networks is essential for launching a post-graduate career in government affairs. Ultimately, my goal is to use my education to build a career in government focused on foreign policy or economic analysis. This scholarship will directly support both my academic and career goals by giving me the ability to fully engage in my education and take advantage of the opportunities around me. It will allow me to move from simply searching for my place to actively contributing to a larger global impact.

The first time something broke and there was no one around to fix it, I realized what it really meant to grow up in a rural community. There was no quick phone call, no service that could arrive within the hour. Instead, there was just time, responsibility, and the expectation that we would figure it out ourselves. On a farm, problems don’t wait, and neither can you. Living in a rural area has meant learning independence early, but that independence often comes with challenges that people in more connected areas don’t see. Access to resources is limited, whether that’s reliable help, opportunities, or even exposure to different career paths. At times, it felt like I was expected to navigate important decisions about my future without the same guidance or access that others might have. Balancing those uncertainties while keeping up with school and responsibilities at home pushed me to become more self-reliant, but it also forced me to think critically about what kind of leader I wanted to become. Instead of seeing these limitations as setbacks, I began to treat them as opportunities to step up. I took on leadership roles in my community, eventually serving as president of a youth council dedicated to supporting Make-A-Wish. Leading nearly 50 members, I organized events, coordinated with local businesses, and helped raise over $36,000 to grant wishes for children facing critical illnesses. Planning a Halloween event for Make-A-Wish families required the same kind of problem-solving I had learned growing up—working with limited resources, adapting quickly, and making sure every detail came together despite challenges. At the same time, growing up with a father who has served in the Navy for over 20 years shaped my understanding of leadership in a different way. His deployments meant long periods of absence, which placed more responsibility on my family and required resilience from all of us. Watching his commitment to service, combined with my own experiences stepping into leadership roles at home and in my community, has inspired my interest in structured, service-driven leadership. I am drawn to paths that emphasize discipline, accountability, and leading others through uncertainty. These experiences have guided my academic and career goals, particularly my interest in studying business and public affairs. I want to develop the skills to lead organizations, create opportunities, and bring resources to communities that often feel overlooked. Growing up in a rural environment has shown me both the strength and the gaps within these communities, and I am motivated to be part of the solution. This scholarship would provide more than financial support. It would help bridge the gap between where I come from and where I hope to go. It would allow me to fully pursue my education and leadership development without the constant barrier of financial strain, giving me the opportunity to focus on building the skills I need to make a meaningful impact. The challenges I’ve faced growing up in a rural community have shaped how I approach problems: with persistence, adaptability, and a willingness to lead when no one else can. What once felt like limitations have become the foundation for my goals, and even more, is the reason I am determined to reach them.

Marco Polo is known to be one of the most renowned world-travelers; however, when I think of my father, it appears Marco Polo only walked to the corner store at the end of the street. My father has served as a US Navy sailor and has been travelling across the world since before I was born. Though it is rare to see him for more than a month of the year, he is where I learned how strength can carry you to new waters. Because he isn't always physically with me, I like to imagine a part of him is with me in every gift he brings. My favorite is a hat from Panama. My dad is often stationed in countries much nicer than the gray which overlays Pittsburgh; when I wear that hat, I imagine shielding myself from the hot sun in which my father is probably getting burnt on the other side of the world. I am grateful that while my "Marco Polo" voyages the seas, I can follow along beside him with special gifts. My dad also enjoys having some of my belongings. Though I am eighteen, he is home so little that he still imagines me as a second grader. He continues to hold precious small things I gave him when I was younger. One thing he has is my Barney snuggle pillow that I slept with from preschool to first grade. Military racks are not comfortable; yet, my dad has used my worn-down Barney pillow for over ten years. It’s the little things like that which help me remember he still loves me as much as when we were living together. Though I hate to admit it, I used to heavily envy my father for his service. It got to a point where I wished for him to never come home because it was easier on my emotions than only having him a few weeks of the year. What caused that switch from frustration to understanding was the death of my uncle, Staff Sgt. John Mariana. He was twenty-nine when he was paired with Bronco, a German Shepherd. They only had thirty days together when they were deployed to Afghanistan for Operation Enduring Freedom. Despite this short period, they were the dream team. On that mission, an enemy combatant aimed an AK-47 right at my uncle. He should have died, but Bronco jumped in front and took the bullet. After six surgeries, Bronco pulled through. I thought they were indestructible; however, on Thanksgiving Day after Uncle John returned from deployment, he suddenly lost his life to a laced drink. The loss of my uncle, who just months prior had writers publishing success stories for his and Bronco’s triumphant survival, showed me how fragile life could be. I began to think of my dad, who I had been wishing I could forget because he was never home. I realized that having some of him was better than having none of him, even if it was difficult. While the distance remains a challenge, I have traded my envy for a deeper appreciation of the time we are given. I no longer wish for his absence to be permanent to avoid the pain of goodbye; instead, I hold onto the Panama hats and the Barney pillows as proof of a bond that spans oceans. My father’s voyages may keep him away, but they have taught me that love isn't measured by presence, but rather by the strength of what we carry for one another until the next return.

I never thought of myself as the type to get scared, but cancer forced me to grasp what true helplessness actually feels like. When my mom was diagnosed with breast cancer the winter of my sophomore year, cancer was no longer just something I heard in passing conversations. It became part of everything: our house, our schedule, and my inner thoughts. After I first heard the news, I just remember sitting on the kitchen floor trying to think about anything else, so much so that I tuned into tiny details like the hum of the refrigerator or the pile of dishes in the sink waiting for me to clean them. You don’t realize it until it happens to someone you love, but the word cancer holds extreme weight, with the actual illness holding even more. As I went through the journey with my mother as she navigated surgery and radiation, my definition of strength transformed. In movies, it always seems that the bravest person is always getting the most attention; yet, when it came to my mom, it was the complete opposite. For her, bravery wasn't dramatic or loud. Only our closest circle knew about what she was going through because she didn’t want, as she said, “special treatment.” Even with a lack of outer support, she maintained a consistency of showing up for our family even when she didn’t feel her best. I, a young woman, seeing her handle that fear without letting it control her affected me deeply. My mom was the one facing true struggle, yet it seemed like I was the one moping. With that, I realized that sitting in my own fear wasn't helping anyone, and Ineeded to convert that emotion into initiative. This led me to join the Make-A-Wish Youth Leadership Council and the Trinity Leadership Committee. Whether I was raising $36,000 for wish kids or expanding our "silent disco" for students with sensory needs to ten times its original size, I was learning a vital lesson: meaningful inclusion requires a woman’s touch of empathy paired with decisive action. Seeing students with autism finally laugh and dance because we gave them control over their environment proved to me that inclusion isn't a grand gesture—it's an intentional choice. These initiatives shaped what some may call my“Pie-In-The-Sky” goal. Make-A-Wish opened my eyes to the power of a wish in making the seemingly impossible come true, and the Silent Discos showed me that small goals can lead to massive impact. One day, I want to found a national nonprofit organization dedicated to creating inclusive experiences for children with sensory needs. I envision a future where I gain funds to support silent discos in schools in each region of my state, then to all states in the US, and finally internationally, even where sensory-friendly events are not currently supported. I want to create partnerships with schools like Trinity to redesign traditional milestones so accessibility is built in from the start, rather than added as an afterthought. My dream is to build this organization with leaders ensuring no child ever feels like they are watching life from the sidelines. Watching my mother confront cancer showed me what steady courage looks like, and my work in leadership has shown me that I don't have to wait for the future to start building it. My goal is ambitious, but it’s rooted in the belief that when a woman turns her empathy into initiative, she can change the whole world.

Cancer is a word I first remember hearing in kindergarten, and as the years went on, I only listened to the word being used more and more by others; however, even though "cancer" and its definition were registered like the dictionary description in my mind, it was not until a few years later that I realized it was impossible to describe the struggle that came with it. I had never had a personal experience with the disease, as I never had close relationships with others fighting battles with the illness, making me unaware of the emotional toll it took on everyone involved. It was during the winter of my sophomore year that I felt the weight of cancer, rather than just seeing it. My mother had visited the doctor's office to get her annual mammogram, and that was when the screening revealed that she had breast cancer. We later found out that it was in Stage 2, and though it wasn't intense, just thinking about the fact that my mother was battling this illness was enough to bring tears to my eyes. Her fight seemed like it was lasting an eternity; however, a little over a year later, following surgery and radiation therapy, my mom has gone into complete remission and now only has to take chemo pills to lower the chance of return as close to zero as possible. Though my mother's journey was ending, the emotional impact led me to make one of the greatest decisions of my life. I struggled immensely just looking at my mother's condition, and it made me wonder how much more difficult it must be to be my age but actually living the battle, not just observing it. This sparked something in me, and I began researching childhood cancer initiatives. That is when I discovered that Make-A-Wish Greater Pennsylvania and West Virginia was restarting their Youth Leadership Council for the first time since 2019. I immediately signed up, and I was honored to be selected as a member of the council and later earn the title of president. It was empowering to connect with individuals like myself who were passionate about turning empathy into action. While the Chapter Council was rewarding, raising over $34,500 through personal fundraising and group initiatives at events like the Pittsburgh Pierogie Festival, I realized that my own school community was an untapped resource of compassion.  During the spring of my junior year, I founded the Trinity High School Make-A-Wish “Stars” Club; however, I wanted to do more than simply raise money. Rather, I wanted to start something that would leave a lasting impact by engaging my Trinity community through shared initiatives. We first hosted a "Wish Week" that encouraged student engagement through spirit, and we later began selling funky sodas at sporting events and garnering generous donations locally, leading to $1,000 in donations to make critically ill children's dreams come true. Not only did this bridge my community for good, but it also led to official recognition of THS's Wish-Partner title by Make-A-Wish, an extreme honor.  Initially, my mother's cancer only brought upon trepidation; now, it has formed a powerful community for years to come that will forever fight to ensure no child ever walks alone.

My boyfriend's dad told me my lobster was tiny and disgusting to look at. No, not that type of lobster. That would be wrong on so many levels. I am a shy person. Not the type of shy where I can't have functional conversations with people- I'm captain of the school Debate Team so I kind of have to be a good speaker- but the type where I can't talk to *people.* By this, I mean that when it comes to conversing with people whose personal opinions actually matter, I forget all public speaking skills. I was freakishly shy with my boyfriend, Isaac's, parents. I still am, to be honest-- I can't even acknowledge them by name because I'm nervous for them thinking I lack respect, so I just go with what's safe, saying "Heyyy" until they look in my direction. Anyways, this all started when we did a couple's painting trend from TikTok. The way it worked was there were two canvases, with each of us starting with one to paint whatever we wanted. After two minutes, we switch canvases and add on to the other person's painting. We repeated this "switch and paint" motion five times, and when I say our creations were beautiful, they really were. Well, to us they were. I painted a pond on my starting canvas, and what I wanted the end product to look like (which Isaac was supposed to magically know) were princess and prince frogs sitting on lily pads and water lilies; however, he didn't get the memo, and by the end my pond turned into an ocean and a steam boat floating in the calm waters. Honestly, it was nicer than I imagined it to look. His starting canvas was just three stripes-- orange, white, and blue-- so naturally, I knew I had to make it prettier. I blended the stripes to a sunset, and the end product looked a lot like the Thunderbirds flying in the sky. We were really proud of our creations. We weren't ready to stop painting-- we were on a roll with high egos from the last pieces' results-- so we decided to take it a step up by painting lobsters. I don't even know why we chose to paint lobsters of all things, my boyfriend is deathly allergic to them. Anyways, we were confident and ready to make an even better creation. On a shared 9x11 canvas we split in half, we started painting to see whose would turn out better. It started off well for both of us, with my side looking like a unique Picasso style piece and his looking meticulously detailed; however, I got too carried away with the abstract, and my red lobster transformed to a black roly-poly. I got mad and quit, but he worked on. By the end, our lobsters were looking like David and Goliath. He was really proud of himself and wanted to show off to his family, but I was too embarrassed of my side. He compensated by swearing that he wouldn't tell his family whose was whose. That was a dirty lie. I look like a naturally artsy person, so when we showed his parents the lobsters, his dad looked at the mud-colored one, assumed it was Isaac's, and threw out every insult in the book to poke fun at him: horrendous, unbearable, you name it. I was shy and terrified, but that's when Isaac broke his promise and revealed who made which. His dad felt horrible, but the damage was done. We still paint, but I will always remember that wretched day.

I met my very first love when I was 3 years old. His name was Waldo. As a child, I could get lost in Where’s Waldo? books for hours upon hours, searching for my favorite red and white striped man hidden in a sea of crowds. Every flip of a page presented a unique scene; however, one thing always stayed the same. Somewhere in the chaos, Waldo was always hiding, waiting to be found. It seemed that no matter how hard I looked, he always blended in so perfectly that I wondered if he was even there. For most of my life, I felt just like Waldo, as if I was part of a crowd, yet somehow unseen. Growing up felt as if I was being flipped through pages of a Where’s Waldo book. Being the daughter of a U.S. Navy sailor meant living in constant inconsistency and motion. By the time I was 14, I had moved eight times, having to say goodbye and start over each time. As a result of the moves, I had to learn to adapt to new schools; however, I only felt even more ostracized as I went from school to school and noticed one common trend: I was always the only Japanese girl. Every class photo brought a reflection of my favorite book to reality: oceans of blondes and brunettes and me, standing out but not belonging. Some things were inevitably difficult. The Father-Daughter dances came and went, and I would sit silently while the other girls talked about what a great time they had. The trend followed as festivities like holiday-weekend barbeques, Father’s Day, and camping trips rolled around. The hard part was that I couldn’t fit in with the friends who had absent fathers, either. My father wanted to be home, but was restricted by his duty to serve our country. I was always wishing that there would be just one other classmate who had the same military-parent situation, but it was to no avail, and every circumstance just reinforced the idea in my mind that I did not quite fit. At the end of a "Waldo" book, there is a page, "The Land of the Waldos." After Waldo's journey across the pages, it is here that he finally realizes he is not as alone as he thought he was, getting lost in a sea of other Waldos. The summer before eighth grade, I was packing my bags to go to Northbay Adventure Camp in Maryland with my brother. When I asked my mother how we could afford this, I learned that donors through Operation Purple Camp by the National Military Family Association covered all costs. This act of kindness made me feel less ostracized, as this was one of the first times I felt recognized for my struggles of being a "military kid." Once I got to camp, I realized that it was solely other military children in attendance, and I finally got to share experiences of what it was like living in this duty. At camp, we were praised with the phrase that "Military Kids Serve, Too," and that's when other kids and I finally realized that we reached "The Land of the Waldos," as we collectively fought the same battle. Having a military parent made me feel ostracized, and all I wanted to do was belong; however, after camping with other military kids, I realized that I don't have to blend in. Waldo wouldn't be the same if he blended in with others, and I am proud to stand out with other military children because we serve, too.

Cancer is a word I first remember hearing in kindergarten, and as the years went on, I only listened to the word being used more and more by others; however, even though "cancer" and its definition were registered like the dictionary description in my mind, it was not until a few years later that I realized it was impossible to describe the struggle that came with it. I had never had a personal experience with the disease, as I never had close relationships with others fighting battles with the illness, making me unaware of the emotional toll it took on everyone involved. It was during the winter of my sophomore year that I felt the weight of cancer, rather than just seeing it. My mother had visited the doctor's office to get her annual mammogram, and that was when the screening revealed that she had breast cancer. We later found out that it was in Stage 2, and though it wasn't intense, just thinking about the fact that my mother was battling this illness was enough to bring tears to my eyes. Her fight seemed like it was lasting an eternity; however, a little over a year later, following surgery and radiation therapy, my mom has gone into complete remission and now only has to take chemo pills to lower the chance of return as close to zero as possible. Though my mother's journey was ending, the emotional impact led me to make one of the greatest decisions of my life. I struggled immensely just looking at my mother's condition, and it made me wonder how much more difficult it must be to be my age but actually living the battle, not just observing it. This sparked something in me, and I began researching childhood cancer initiatives. That is when I discovered that Make-A-Wish Greater Pennsylvania and West Virginia was restarting their Youth Leadership Council for the first time since 2019. I immediately signed up, and I was honored to be selected as a member of the council and later earn the title of president. This responsibility was challenging, as I contributed hours of work, promotion, and service to reach my goals; however, It was empowering to connect with individuals like myself who were passionate about turning empathy into action, making all the difficulty worth it. While the Chapter Council was rewarding, raising over $34,500 through personal fundraising and group initiatives at events like the Pittsburgh Pierogie Festival, I realized that my own school community was an untapped resource of compassion. During the spring of my junior year, I founded the Trinity High School Make-A-Wish “Stars” Club; however, I wanted to do more than simply raise money. Rather, I wanted to start something that would leave a lasting impact by engaging my Trinity community through shared initiatives. We first hosted a "Wish Week" that encouraged student engagement through spirit, and we later began selling funky sodas at sporting events and garnering generous donations locally, leading to $1,000 in donations to make critically ill children's dreams come true. Not only did this bridge my community for good, but it also led to official recognition of THS's Wish-Partner title by Make-A-Wish, an extreme honor. Initially, my mother's cancer only brought upon trepidation; now, it has formed a powerful community for years to come that will forever fight to ensure no child ever walks alone.