Giving back is not something I postpone for the future; it is something I practice in the present, even in small and often invisible ways. Currently, I give back by showing up consistently for my community—offering my time, attention, and care where it is needed most. Whether that means mentoring younger students, volunteering in community spaces, or supporting peers who are navigating academic or personal challenges, I try to lead with presence rather than performance. I have learned that people do not always need answers; they need someone willing to listen without judgment and stand beside them. In these moments of service, I have come to understand that giving back often requires emotional labor and vulnerability. There are times when supporting others means setting aside my own stress, fatigue, or uncertainty to make room for someone else’s needs. I have stayed late to help a classmate who felt defeated, offered reassurance to someone questioning their worth, and stepped into leadership roles when no one else was willing. These experiences have taught me that service is not always convenient or comfortable, but it is always meaningful when it is rooted in empathy and commitment. One of the most important ways I give back is by creating spaces where others feel seen and supported. I check in on classmates who are struggling, help others prepare for exams or applications, and advocate when I see inequities that could easily be ignored. These actions may seem small, but I believe impact begins with consistency. Trust is built when people know you will not disappear once the moment becomes inconvenient. Looking toward the future, I plan to positively impact the world by combining service with education and leadership. Higher education will give me the tools to understand systemic issues rather than only their symptoms. I want to use that knowledge to address inequality at its roots—whether through policy, community-based work, education, or advocacy. My goal is not to speak over others, but to amplify voices that are too often dismissed or silenced. I also plan to lead with integrity, guided by the belief that progress must be inclusive and compassionate to be meaningful. I want to build initiatives and institutions that center dignity, access, and opportunity. This means remaining accountable to the communities I serve and resisting the temptation to pursue success at the expense of others. True impact, I believe, requires humility as much as ambition. Ultimately, the world I hope to help create is one where people feel valued, supported, and empowered to thrive. Giving back has taught me that change does not always arrive through dramatic moments—it grows through sustained effort, ethical leadership, and a willingness to care deeply. I intend to carry this commitment forward, using my education and experiences not only to advance myself, but to contribute to a future shaped by equity, service, and shared responsibility.

I am someone who believes that service begins with showing up consistently, especially when the work is unglamorous and unseen. I learned this through my time volunteering at a local community center that served families facing food insecurity and housing instability. What began as a requirement to complete service hours quickly became one of the most formative experiences of my life. Each week, I assisted with after-school programming for elementary-aged children whose parents worked long or unpredictable hours. My responsibilities were simple on paper: help with homework, distribute snacks, and supervise activities. In practice, the role demanded far more. Many of the children arrived tired, frustrated, or withdrawn. Homework was often the least of what they needed. They needed patience when reading felt overwhelming, encouragement when math problems felt impossible, and reassurance when they were convinced they were “bad at school.” One child in particular stands out to me. She rarely spoke and often hid her work rather than turn it in unfinished. Instead of correcting her immediately, I began sitting beside her each day, working through problems slowly and celebrating progress rather than perfection. Over time, she began raising her hand, reading aloud, and staying after to show me completed assignments. Watching her confidence grow reminded me that service is not about authority—it is about trust. Beyond working with the children, I helped organize food distribution nights for families in the community. This involved packing boxes, coordinating donations, and assisting parents who were often embarrassed to ask for help. I learned to greet each person with respect, eye contact, and kindness, understanding that dignity matters just as much as assistance. Many families began to recognize me, stopping to share updates or simply say thank you. Those moments reinforced that consistency builds community. This experience reshaped how I understand leadership and servitude. I realized that meaningful impact does not come from being the loudest voice in the room, but from being reliable. Showing up week after week—on days when I was tired or overwhelmed—taught me responsibility and humility. I was not there to save anyone; I was there to support them as they moved forward on their own terms. Through this service, I gained a deeper awareness of inequality and the ways small interventions can make lasting differences. I also discovered my ability to lead through empathy and action. I carry these lessons with me as I pursue higher education, committed to using my time, education, and opportunities to continue serving communities with compassion, respect, and intention. Service is no longer something I do—it is a part of who I am. If you’d like, I can tighten this to exactly 500 words, adjust the tone to be more emotional or more professional, or customize it to match a specific scholarship’s mission statement.

I am a fan of Wicked because it taught me at a young age, what it feels like to be misunderstood—and what it means to keep choosing integrity anyway. Elphaba’s story is not just about magic or rebellion, it is about being labeled “wrong” before you are ever known. Watching her stand alone, vilified for refusing to conform, gave language to feelings I did not yet know how to express in my own life. Wicked showed me that goodness is not always rewarded with love or applause. Sometimes it is met with isolation. Elphaba’s decision to do what is right, even when it costs her friendship, safety and belonging, reshaped how I understand courage. It taught me that character is revealed not when choices are easy, but when they demand sacrifice. As someone who has often felt pressure to shrink, to stay quiet, or to accept versions of myself that others find more comfortable, Wicked reminded me that being different is not a flaw, it is a responsibility. Elphaba’s refusal to abandon her values mirrors my own determination to pursue education and leadership even when the path feels lonely or uncertain. Most of all, Wicked is heartbreaking because it is honest. It tells us that the world does not always recognize goodness in real time, and that justice is not guaranteed. Yet it also insists that choosing truth still matters. That lesson has stayed with me, guiding how I face adversity, advocate for myself and others and imagine the kind of impact I hope to have. Wicked did not just entertain me, it shaped me. It gave me the courage to be seen, even when being seen comes at a cost.

There was a time in my life when I did not understand the gravity of what Taylor Swift was writing. When albums like 1989 were released I was too young and oblivious to truly grasp and relate to her music. Though it may sound like a cliche my favorite song on her 1989 album is Bad Blood. When analyzing the lyrics there are clear connections to Taylor Swift having a complicated and competitive relationship with someone perhaps within the industry. When I listen to the song though, I connect with it differently. The only "Bad Blood" I have is with myself. I’ve always been a quiet and reserved person, always insecure physically and emotionally. In shorter terms, I have always felt like I was never good enough. In my life, I have always felt overlooked, judged, unathletic, not pretty, too fat, and would never be able to reach greatness like how the people around me have. Any problem or sadness that I felt, I kept to myself. I have always shied away and tried to avoid problems, but no matter how I did that I still felt like there was a war that I call my life around me, and I couldn't understand why. When going down a Taylor Swift rabbit hole, I came across this song and realized that my biggest enemy has always been myself. This insecurity has impacted every single aspect of my life like, "scars on my back from your knife". But Life T Swift said, "Band-aids don't fix bullet holes", and now especially I've learned to prioritize myself. My insecurity has been shaped by experiences that I have been through in the past, but I do not want to spend the rest of my life living "with ghosts". The ghosts are all the times I have had to battle with myself to be happy or content with the life I have. All my flaws and fears have convinced me to limit myself to doing extraordinary things, but I won't allow it anymore. I choose to embrace my flaws and use those limitations in the future. I've always wondered why I couldn't see myself the way others viewed me, and I come to find out that I need to view myself in a more positive life first, and the only exception I need is from myself. All in all, how does my experience relate to Bad Blood? The lyrics describe my inner battle while the beat and tempo of the music represent myself coming to terms with this insecurity and trying to mend the ties in a happier and lighter opinion. Since coming to this realization I have been able to connect with Taylors' music and it has impacted me in ways I never thought it would. It has helped me discover parts of myself that I needed to work on and has become a sene of therapy when I do need it.

Back in 2017, I had the best year of my life - I was going to be an older sister to 2 new babies. I never experienced true love until I met my younger sister and brother. I imagined taking them to the park, school and extracurricular activities. About a year later my life took a 360, my brother was diagnosed with SMA. First off, what is SMA? Spinal Muscular Atrophy is an extremely rare genetic disorder that starts in the central nervous system and affects all muscles in the body. 6,000 to 10,000 children in the United States are born with SMA-an autosomal recessive genetic disease. Out of the “positive” benchmark, each child had a 1 in 4 chance of having the disease; in shorter terms, a 25% chance. He lost all strength in his body; he wasn't able to hold himself up. How could the universe or whatever supreme power there is put this upon an innocent child? So how did a small 25% statistic affect 100% of my life? The numbers don’t seem to add up. I’ve always been a quiet and reserved person. Always insecure physically and emotionally, yet I'm privileged enough to walk. My little brother does not yet comprehend the nature of his disability, and being the stubborn little boy he is, cries when he cannot get up from his wheelchair to kick a soccer ball, throw a basketball, or catch a football. How dare I be insecure of my perfectly able body when my little brother will never be able to experience the feeling of the sand on his feet when he's running on the beach or the feeling of the concrete on the ground when he's chasing the ice cream truck. All my flaws and fears have convinced me to limit myself in doing extraordinary things, but I won't allow it anymore. I choose to embrace my flaws and use those limitations in the future. I've always wondered why I couldn't see myself the way others viewed me. My little brother, Tristen taught me where real beauty and strength comes from. It's not just how people see you on the outside that matters in life, but what you do with what you were gifted on the inside. His passion, stubbornness, and courage to fight something so difficult inspires me in ways I can't even comprehend. He inspires me to better myself, and better others around me. A woman in science is the person who diagnosed and is beginning to change Tristen's life. Because of her, my brother is able to move his feet, arms, and keep his body up. Just like how his doctor is changing his life, I want to be able to change another person's life as well. A woman in STEM is a stimulating adventure, and just because there are adversities in it doesn't mean I can't overcome it. The joy I have from watching other people strive to succeed truly excites me, and I want to begin on my journey as well. This passion began at home. I took something that I thought would negatively impact me, yet I see the beauty in it. Watching someone you love suffer truly sucks, SMA sucks, being insecure sucks, and somehow I've managed to allow those things to inspire me. So, how did that 25% statistic change 100% of my life? Well, it made me want to be a better person for my little sister who looks up to me, for my parents who think so greatly of me, for Tristen, and to prove all the insecure feelings about myself wrong.

“The only way to fail is to quit” is the quote from that I have heard over 1000 times from my 10 years of doing karate. He discipline and determination I’ve learned from my experience in the martial arts lives on and shows itself in my academic success. I always say that my education is my life and it is something I have always been determined and prideful to commit to. But the only place that has taught me the true discipline of succeeding was barefoot on a mat. I never understood when I was younger why we had to memorize certain quotes, why we had to clean up our gym, why we did certain tasks that were outside of what is known as karate. Once I was promoted to black belt I realized that karate is not just self defense abs combat but discipline and hard work. There have been times where I failed when it came to academics but the lessons that I learned from martial helps healed me realized that the only way I would fail is if it quit, and with this lesson I have been able to succeed in tasks because I didn’t quit. Though it may sound cliche, the most important lesson I’ve learned was to try and if I truly do the real success was in my effort not the prize.

Back in 2017, I had the best year of my life - I was going to be an older sister to 2 new babies. I never experienced true love until I met my younger sister and brother. I imagined taking them to the park, school and extracurricular activities. About a year later my life took a 360, my brother was diagnosed with SMA. First off, what is SMA? Spinal Muscular Atrophy is an extremely rare genetic disorder that starts in the central nervous system and affects all muscles in the body. 6,000 to 10,000 children in the United States are born with SMA-an autosomal recessive genetic disease. Out of the “positive” benchmark, each child had a 1 in 4 chance of having the disease; in shorter terms, a 25% chance. He lost all strength in his body; he wasn't able to hold himself up. How could the universe or whatever supreme power there is put this upon an innocent child? So how did a small 25% statistic affect 100% of my life? The numbers don’t seem to add up. I’ve always been a quiet and reserved person. Always insecure physically and emotionally, yet I'm privileged enough to walk. My little brother does not yet comprehend the nature of his disability, and being the stubborn little boy he is, cries when he cannot get up from his wheelchair to kick a soccer ball, throw a basketball, or catch a football. How dare I be insecure of my perfectly able body when my little brother will never be able to experience the feeling of the sand on his feet when he's running on the beach or the feeling of the concrete on the ground when he's chasing the ice cream truck. All my flaws and fears have convinced me to limit myself in doing extraordinary things, but I won't allow it anymore. I choose to embrace my flaws and use those limitations in the future. I've always wondered why I couldn't see myself the way others viewed me. My little brother, Tristen taught me where real beauty and strength comes from. It's not just how people see you on the outside that matters in life, but what you do with what you were gifted on the inside. His passion, stubbornness, and courage to fight something so difficult inspires me in ways I can't even comprehend. He inspires me to better myself, and better others around me. A woman in science is the person who diagnosed and is beginning to change Tristen's life. Because of her, my brother is able to move his feet, arms, and keep his body up. Just like how his doctor is changing his life, I want to be able to change another person's life as well. A woman in STEM is a stimulating adventure, and just because there are adversities in it doesn't mean I can't overcome it. The joy I have from watching other people strive to succeed truly excites me, and I want to begin on my journey as well. This passion began at home. I took something that I thought would negatively impact me, yet I see the beauty in it. Watching someone you love suffer truly sucks, SMA sucks, being insecure sucks, and somehow I've managed to allow those things to inspire me. So, how did that 25% statistic change 100% of my life? Well, it made me want to be a better person for my little sister who looks up to me, for my parents who think so greatly of me, for Tristen, and to prove all the insecure feelings about myself wrong.