I’m Angelina Alcantra Pao, a Cybersecurity senior in the Academy of Industrial and Engineering Technology at Waipahu High School. As a Chinese-Filipino woman born and raised in Waipahu, Hawaiʻi, on the island of O’ahu, I carry both my community and heritage with pride while pursuing opportunities as my firsts. Growing up, I learned that uncertainty was not something to fear but something to explore–sometimes you will find comfort in the idea of discomfort. Choosing unfamiliar paths taught me to trust my own curiosity, even before I fully understood where it would lead, and to bet on myself as a moment of courage and confidence. That curiosity pushed me toward technology. I became fascinated with the idea that creation reflects the quiet persistence of what supports the whole. I wanted to know about everyday applications that rely on hidden elements such as accessibility, structure, and flow to shape how users engage, feel included, and navigate. Through exploration, I started experimenting on my own—dismantling toys and technology to examine their hardware while teaching myself code, whether it was in cybersecurity, networking, or programming. This fascination is what drives me to attend the University of California, Irvine in Fall 2026 as a First-Year Informatics Major, specializing in HCI (Human-Computer Interaction). Informatics is a focus that aligns with UX (User Experience) & Human-Computer Interaction, preparing students to understand the relationship between information technology and people, and to assess its influence on society and culture. These 2 fields, HCI frames how users interact with computer systems, while UX translates insights into practical design solutions. I want to study these systems intentionally through higher education and develop tools that serve people more effectively. My objectives in STEM extend beyond academic achievement. I hope to become an IT professional with a primary focus on UX design research or data analysis, with a user-centered design and innovation approach. I also plan to minor in Data Science and eventually pursue an MBA so I can combine interdisciplinary fields for a more inclusive digital experience. I have already begun applying these interests through projects like Fishline Futures, an interactive education app/concept I coded where players act as traditional Hawaiian reef stewards (konohiki), making policy decisions to balance community needs with marine ecosystem protection. The app allows users to simulate real-world challenges such as overfishing and reef degradation while understanding the long-term impact of environmental decisions on an isolated island. Though this app was for a 3-month Programming Competition, it showed me how technology can educate, preserve culture, and encourage critical thinking. As the first person in my family to start and finish a journey my family couldn’t, I graduated from college, though my intent was influenced by me getting a degree for free. Through Waipahu High School’s Early College program, I earned my Associate’s Degree in Liberal Arts through dual enrollment, graduating from Leeward Community College days before finishing high school. Pursuing STEM means continuing a path that was never clearly outlined for me and turning opportunity into something tangible for both myself and my family. The opportunities that shape us are often the ones we do not fully see at first or digest its significance, yet I intend to continue choosing them as I grow.

My favorite part of a mango is the seed. Ever since childhood, I have always been obsessed with a ripe and soft mango. Its yellow flesh, warm in my hands, is sweet with a mischievous tang that lingers before disappearing in a single bite. However, when entirely eaten, the seed—the last remaining part—is what I never toss away. It is where the flavor clings the longest. Though often discarded, it is the heart that holds everything together. The remaining flesh reminded me of how I wanted life to feel: each string of fruit connecting the choices, memories, and mistakes I could replay. Everything intertwined into a story I wouldn’t regret, where mistakes and fear could still connect. A single seed shows me that life isn’t meant to be erased or perfectly edited. It reflects a simple idea of creation: the quiet persistence of what supports the whole. Regardless of how thoroughly the fruit is eaten, there is always flesh left behind, holding on in strings. This same principle is at work behind the design of the everyday applications individuals navigate. These platforms rely on invisible elements such as accessibility, structure, and flow— systems that shape inclusion, how users engage, and navigate. Like a mango seed holding onto the last strands of fruit, good design quietly carries the experience—reducing friction, anticipating user needs, and guiding users without demanding attention. They are interlocked in a way that aligns every detail. This may be one of the reasons why I wanted to pursue STEM. To me, STEM delves into more than a collection of disciplines in science, technology, engineering, or mathematics; it is a way of understanding and shaping the unseen structures that influence how people experience the modern world. My passion lies specifically within two niche fields in technology: Human-Computer Interaction (HCI) and User Experience (UX). HCI examines how users interact with computer systems, while UX translates those insights into practical and accessible design solutions. Together, they allow technology to be designed not only for technical performance or surface-level appeal, but through evidence, intuition, and empathy. My love for technology was vast. By sixth grade, I fell in love with the way a pixel snapped into place — not the ones on gallery walls, but the quiet satisfaction of a digital layout that finally made sense. A button that felt intuitive. A function that left me puzzled. I am unexpectedly drawn to the parts most people overlook–the systems working quietly in the background. So I began experimenting on my own—dismantling old toys and technology to examine their hardware, from motherboards to wires, while teaching myself how to code through numerous online resources. Though I could follow the syntax, I wasn't yet following directions. That curiosity continued when I was about to enroll in High school, specifically leading me to choose my school’s AIET pathway in Cybersecurity. There, I explored the fields I had been experimenting in—networking, programming, and systems. Yet I found myself circling the same questions. Where did I belong within technology? As I grew older, I became more confused about what I wanted to do, feeling rushed to find the exact field to pursue before I graduate, with time running out and the constant stress of finding something I would do for the rest of my life. I often found that each field addressed only parts of what I wanted. Internetworking and data science emphasized technical performance but lacked a focus on people, while GIS emphasized aesthetics, structure, and storytelling without addressing the interaction I was seeking. Until I found that connection in HCI (Human Computer Interaction) and UX (User Experience) design, fields that combine technical components of problem-solving I enjoy with human-centered thinking. Ultimately, my career goal is to work as a UX researcher or data analyst, creating digital tools and analyzing data to improve accessibility and usability for technology-reliant communities. The mango seed showed me to value what remains, what persists, and what quietly holds everything together. Although there are moments when I want to cut out the embarrassment, I have learned that life is not about avoiding uncertainty and thinking about failure but about what I can make of it. STEM gives me the tools to build those kinds of foundations in the real world. It allows me to create things that are not only functional but meaningful—things that acknowledge imperfections, adapt to change, and still support the whole. My path in STEM was shaped by uncertainty, but by curiosity and the willingness to seek comfort in discomfort before feeling fully confident. In learning to embrace discomfort rather than fear it, I discovered that growth often begins before confidence does, and that opportunities capable of changing us are often the ones we least expect ourselves to pursue. Like the seed, the meaningful parts are not always visible, but they are beneath the surface after the visible elements are gone.

“Again, follow anak. Up and down, swirl.” I watch as the paper beneath my hands fills with loops and curves, a mantra I hear every day in Elementary school, sitting beside my grandmother. “Tsk, too big,” she says in her Filipino accent. The drip of ink marks every motion, reminders of her patience as she guides my hand through letters once foreign to me — up, swirling, down — until the curves form into words. A motion of the first telling of wisdom, it isn’t something taught or brought down, but practiced. Those movements became how I wanted my life to feel: each line connecting the choices, memories, and mistakes I could replay. Each line intertwined into a story I wouldn't regret, something fully mine. Every motion reminded me that mistakes and fear could still connect. Through her insistence on learning a nearly extinct penmanship, I learned a lesson disguised from her steady hand — life isn't meant to be erased or perfectly edited. Like cursive, it should flow in a continuous line. An ‘a’ might look like an ‘o’, but it is yours — evidence of your choices, efforts, and control. Every detail matters, yet life is less about perfecting each line and more about reclaiming authorship of your own story rather than allowing a ghost to narrate it for you.​ As a mixed-race Asian and Filipino-American with Chinese blood, I often felt disconnected from both sides of my identity. In school, I hesitated to participate in discussions about culture & history because of peer pressure to “choose” one side, as though I was never fully enough to authentically embody either. I could not speak Ilocoan fluently—only understand it—and I could neither speak nor understand Mandarin, only Chinese through mannerisms & food. These contradictions created distance in parts of my heritage that felt inaccessible, as though they belonged to everyone around me except me. I began to recognize the other traditions not as stereotypes or relics, but as living forms of care, adaptation, and presence. Learning cursive became evidence of dedication to cultivating culture through patience & connection. For me, it became a drag path through the uncertainty of identity. As someone struggling to understand where she belonged in 2 ethnicities, cursive became a bridge to reconcile those contradictions, in turn creating a tangible connection to a pure Filipino side that once felt distant and out of reach. Although I lacked fluency in the languages tied to who I was, the Filipino-taught practice of cursive tied to my heritage allowed me to experience a part of the Philippines that preserves elegance, continuity, and years of a primary sector of education within the fast-paced environment of Western society. Through handwritten recipes and family archives, it offered me a way to experience who I was through writing, connecting to a part of my grandmother I couldn't grasp with words. Her lessons taught me that wisdom deepens when carried forward rather than abandoned for convenience, shaping how I perceive and approach the world through the continuity between who I am now and the person I hope to become. Slowing down isn’t a practice that ends at a page; it extends beyond academic leisure, tabs, and competitions. I want my work to reflect the same care and continuity that my grandmother instilled in my hands and mind through cursive. I hope to build safer digital spaces and use technology to uplift communities like my own, where stories, traditions, and lessons are sometimes at risk of being erased.