What if the greatest betrayal of a survivor wasn't the person who violated them, but the law that refused to acknowledge what happened? As someone who was raped when I was younger by someone I believed I could trust, I know that the deepest wounds are not always visible. They live in the silence that follows, the loss of innocence, and the heartbreaking realization that the person you once felt safest with became the very person who shattered your sense of security. In a single moment, the world no longer felt safe. Like many survivors, I blamed myself before I blamed the person who chose to hurt me. The trauma did not end when the assault did. It followed me into my relationships, my confidence, and the way I viewed myself. It stole pieces of my childhood that I will never get back. It took years for me to realize that what happened to me was never my fault, and that surviving did not make me weak—it made me resilient. When I learned about Samantha Kolesnik and her fight to have rape by fraud and rape by deception recognized under the law, I felt seen in a way I never expected. Her story wasn't just another legal issue, it was deeply personal. It reminded me that countless survivors are dismissed simply because their assault does not fit a narrow legal definition. No survivor should ever have to prove that their pain is "real enough" to deserve justice. Reading Samantha's story made me realize that silence is not justice, and neither is a legal system that refuses to evolve. What affected me most about Samantha's advocacy was that she refused to let injustice have the final word. Instead of allowing unimaginable pain to define her life, she transformed it into a movement for change. Her courage reminded me that laws are written by people, and they can be changed by people who refuse to accept injustice. She gave hope to survivors who believed no one would ever listen. Reading Samantha's story transformed my pain into purpose. It reinforced why I chose to pursue legal studies and why my ultimate goal is to attend law school and become a lawyer. I don't want to simply study the law—I want to change it. I want to advocate for survivors whose voices have been ignored, help draft stronger legislation, and ensure that future generations never have to wonder whether the law recognizes the harm that was done to them. Survivors deserve more than sympathy. They deserve laws that recognize informed consent, acknowledge manipulation and deception as forms of sexual violence, and hold perpetrators accountable regardless of the method they used. My own experience taught me how easily trust can be weaponized. Samantha Kolesnik's advocacy taught me that the law has both the power and the responsibility to protect those whose trust has been exploited. That is why I am committed to becoming a lawyer. I want to help build a legal system where no survivor is left wondering whether their trauma is "serious enough" to deserve justice. Every survivor deserves to be heard. Every survivor deserves to be believed. My story began with betrayal, but it will not end there. It will end in courtrooms, legislative chambers, and every place where I can fight to ensure that no survivor is ever told, "What happened to you doesn't count."

Some people struggle so quietly that the world never knows how much pain they were carrying. Mental health and suicide have impacted me in a way that changed my life forever. I lost my best friend, someone who had been in my life since kindergarten, to suicide when we were in high school. She was not just a friend to me. Losing her felt like losing a sister. We grew up together, shared childhood memories, and went through so many stages of life side by side. She was someone I thought would always be part of my future. One thing she once told me was, “Even when life feels hard, you have to keep going.” At the time, I heard those words as something simple. After losing her, they became words I held onto when I did not know how to keep going myself. When she passed away, I felt broken in a way I had never felt before. I kept replaying every conversation, every memory, and every moment in my head. I wondered if I missed signs. I wondered if I could have said something different or done something more. For a long time, I blamed myself. That guilt became so heavy that it affected my own mental health. I felt lost, depressed, and overwhelmed. At one point, I even felt like I did not want to be here anymore because the pain and guilt felt too hard to carry. Losing her taught me how serious mental health is. It showed me that people can be smiling, laughing, going to school, and still be fighting a battle no one can see. It also taught me that grief is not something you simply get over. It is something you learn to live with. I had to slowly learn that her passing was not my fault, even though my heart wanted someone to blame. One of our dreams was to go to UCLA together. We used to talk about our future and imagine what life would be like if we made it there side by side. This upcoming fall, I will be attending UCLA, but I will be going without her. That is something that hurts deeply. It is a dream coming true, but it does not feel the same because she is not here to experience it with me. I know I will be proud, but I also know I will not be able to enjoy it as much as I would have if she were there with me. This experience changed the way I see people. I try to be more patient, kind, and understanding because I know everyone may be carrying something silently. I know how important it is to check on people, listen without judgment, and remind them that they matter. I am actively working toward my goals by continuing my education, applying for scholarships, and pushing forward even when life feels heavy. I want to become a lawyer, especially in immigration law, so I can help people and families who feel scared, unheard, or unsupported. My best friend’s life, her words, and her loss will always stay with me. I want to honor her by becoming someone who brings compassion, support, and hope to others. I want to use my pain to help others feel less alone.

I am not the type of student who had everything figured out for me. I am the type of student who had to figure it out anyway. As a low-income, first-generation college student and the oldest of four siblings, I learned early that my choices did not only affect me. I knew my younger siblings were watching, my family was depending on me, and my future would require more than just hope. It would require discipline, sacrifice, and the courage to keep going even when the path felt uncertain. Being the oldest has always made me feel a deep sense of responsibility. I wanted to be someone my siblings could look up to, not because my life was perfect, but because I kept trying even when things were difficult. There were times when I felt overwhelmed by school, financial stress, and the pressure of being the first in my family to navigate higher education. I did not always have someone who could explain college applications, financial aid, scholarships, or career planning to me. I had to ask questions, search for answers, and learn through trial and error. That experience made me independent, but it also made me determined to make the path easier for those who come after me. That is why graduating magna cum laude with a 3.85 GPA from Sacramento State means so much to me. It was not just an academic honor. It was proof that I could succeed even while carrying responsibilities outside of the classroom. It showed me that my hard work mattered and that my background did not have to limit my future. Earning a 176 on the LSAT was another major milestone in my journey. That score did not come from luck. It came from long hours of studying, moments of self-doubt, and the decision to keep going even when I felt exhausted. Preparing for the LSAT taught me patience and discipline. It reminded me that big goals are reached through small, consistent steps. This upcoming fall, I will be attending UCLA Law School. For me, UCLA Law represents more than the next step in my education. It represents every late night, every sacrifice, and every moment when I chose not to give up. My goal is to become a lawyer, especially in immigration law, so I can help individuals and families who feel scared, unheard, or unsure about their future. I want to use the law to provide guidance, protection, and hope to people who need someone to stand beside them. My commitment to helping others is not new. Since 2020, I have volunteered with an ALS organization as an ALS Walk member, supporting awareness and families affected by serious illness. This experience taught me that service can bring comfort to people during some of the hardest moments of their lives. Since 2021, I have volunteered at Tierra Buena Sikh Gurdwara through seva, or selfless service. Every Sunday, I help support community needs and gurdwara operations. I have also served as a teacher, teaching Punjabi language and Sikh history to children ages 7 to 14. Teaching children about their language, culture, and history is meaningful to me because I want them to feel proud of who they are and where they come from. Since 2022, I have been involved with Jakara, where I connected with Sikh youth leadership, advocacy, and community engagement. I also began volunteering with Hands of Hope Resources for Homeless Families, which opened my eyes to how many families struggle quietly while still trying their best to move forward. That experience strengthened my compassion and reminded me why support systems matter. Through the Punjabi American Sikh Heritage Society, I have helped support cultural awareness, community events, and service projects. I was part of the Dasvand relief initiative, which helped raise over $51,000 for flood-affected communities in Punjab, India. I also supported the annual Yuba City Mela, assisted with fundraisers and educational seminars, helped with volunteer coordination, and participated in the Highway 99 Adopt-A-Highway program. All of these experiences connect to one purpose, which was wanting to use my education to help others. My academic accomplishments show my drive, but my volunteer work shows my heart. Being low-income taught me resilience. Being first-generation taught me independence. Being the oldest of four taught me responsibility. Serving my community taught me that success means more when it helps others rise too. This scholarship would make a meaningful difference in my ability to continue my education at UCLA Law School. As a low-income, first-generation student, the cost of law school is overwhelming. Tuition is already a major expense, but textbooks, technology, transportation, housing, food, and basic living costs also add up quickly. Even small costs can create stress when there is not much financial support to fall back on. Receiving this scholarship would help reduce that pressure and allow me to focus more fully on my classes, my future legal career, and the opportunities I have worked so hard to earn. This support would mean more than financial help. It would be a reminder that my hard work, my story, and my goals matter. I have worked hard to reach this point by graduating magna cum laude, earning a 176 on the LSAT, serving my community, and preparing to attend UCLA Law School this upcoming fall. I do not want financial hardship to become the reason I cannot fully focus on the future I have spent years building. This scholarship would give me the encouragement and stability I need to keep moving forward. I am a strong candidate for this scholarship because I have not only worked to overcome obstacles but also to turn those obstacles into purpose. Being low-income taught me resilience. Being first-generation taught me independence. Being the oldest of four siblings taught me responsibility. Serving my community taught me compassion. I am not just chasing a dream. I am building a future for myself, setting an example for my younger siblings, and preparing to become the advocate my community needs.

My brand new Love Island challenge would be called “Temptation Temperature.” This challenge would be flirty, dramatic, and full of chemistry, making it perfect for Love Island. The whole point of the game would be to test which couples can keep their cool when the heat gets turned up. For this challenge, the villa would be turned into a tropical “heat lab.” Each Islander would wear a fake heart-rate wristband, and the goal would be to see whose partner can raise their “temperature” the most. One by one, Islanders would perform flirty mini-challenges in front of their partner and the rest of the villa. The challenge would include a slow-motion walk, a cheeky dance, a romantic whisper, and a “temptation card” where they have to complete a bold but playful task, such as giving their partner a compliment, teaching them a dance move, or recreating their first flirty moment in the villa. The twist is that some rounds would involve bombshells or other Islanders. For example, an Islander may have to choose whether they want their partner or someone else to perform the next round. This would bring drama because it would show who feels secure and who gets jealous. After each performance, the fake “temperature” score would appear on the screen, showing how much chemistry each pair has. The objective would be to test attraction, confidence, and trust. Couples who raise each other’s temperature the most would earn points. Couples who get a higher score from someone outside their couple would have to answer a spicy question from the group. The winning couple would get a private candlelit date called “The Cool Down,” with dessert, music, and a chance to talk alone. The couple with the lowest score would have to complete a “Reheat the Romance” task, where they must plan a romantic gesture for each other. “Temptation Temperature” would add excitement because it has everything Love Island fans love: flirting, jealousy, confidence, chemistry, and unexpected drama. It would be hot, fun, and unforgettable while still showing which couples have a real spark.

Growing up, my parents taught me that being successful isn't measured by how much money you make, it's measured by how you treat people. Even when we didn't have much ourselves, they always found ways to help others. Watching them give their time without expecting anything in return taught me what selflessness really means. One of the biggest ways I've learned to serve others is through my local Gurdwara (sikh temple). Since I was young, I've participated in seva, or selfless service. Whether I was helping prepare and serve Langar, cleaning, or volunteering at community events, I learned that no act of kindness is ever too small. You don't have to change the whole world in one day. Sometimes making one person feel seen is enough. Another experience that changed me was volunteering at homeless outreach clinics. Before I started volunteering, I never realized how many people were carrying invisible pain. I met families who had lost everything, people who simply needed someone to listen, and women who had escaped abusive relationships with nowhere else to go. I remember speaking with one woman who shared how she left an abusive home just to keep herself safe. She didn't know where she would sleep that night, but she knew she couldn't go back. Listening to her story broke my heart. In that moment, I realized helping someone isn't always about having the perfect solution. Sometimes people just need someone to treat them with kindness, dignity, and respect. I may not have been able to solve all of her problems, but I could remind her that someone cared. That experience has stayed with me ever since. Those moments are a big reason why I want to become an immigration lawyer. I want to help people who feel scared, unheard, or like they have nowhere else to turn. My goal is to work with immigrant families and survivors of abuse, making sure they understand their rights and have someone fighting beside them. One day, I hope to open my own law firm and offer free or low-cost legal clinics for people who can't afford legal help. Being selfless doesn't mean putting your own dreams aside. To me, it means using your dreams to make someone else's life a little better. That's the kind of life I want to live. As a first-generation college student from a low-income immigrant family, I understand what it feels like to struggle and to rely on the kindness of others. Those experiences have made me more compassionate, more determined, and more grateful. They remind me that every opportunity I receive is also an opportunity to give back. I hope people remember me not because of the career I have, but because of how I treated others. If I can help someone feel less alone, give a family hope, or change even one person's life for the better, then I know I'll be honoring the values my parents raised me with and carrying forward the kind of selflessness that Michael Rudometkin believed in.

Joe Gilroy’s motto, “Plan Your Work, Work Your Plan,” connects deeply with how I view my education and future. I believe dreams are important, but they only become real when there is a clear plan, hard work, and consistency behind them. My goal is to become a lawyer, specifically an immigration lawyer, so I can help immigrant families, women, and people who feel unheard or afraid to ask for help. As a first-generation college student from a low-income immigrant family, my education means more than just earning a degree. It represents stability, opportunity, and a chance to give back to the communities that shaped me. I want to use my future law degree to help families understand their rights, support survivors of abuse, and provide legal guidance to people who may not otherwise be able to afford it. My plan begins with staying focused in school and building a strong academic foundation. In the short term, I will continue completing my coursework, maintaining good grades, and staying organized with weekly study plans and deadlines. I also plan to gain experience through internships, volunteer work, legal clinics, and networking opportunities. These experiences will help me understand the legal field beyond the classroom and connect with mentors who can guide me. My long-term plan is to attend law school, pass the bar exam, and begin practicing immigration law. Eventually, I hope to open my own law firm that also offers free or low-cost legal clinics for immigrant families and survivors of abuse. I want my career to be both successful and meaningful. To reach these goals, I know I need both academic and financial resources. My education requires tuition, books, technology, transportation, housing, food, and other basic living expenses. My estimated yearly budget includes about $8,000 to $10,000 for tuition and fees, $1,000 for books and materials, $1,500 for a reliable laptop and technology, $2,000 for transportation, and around $3,000 for other educational and living costs. Even with scholarships and financial aid, I still expect to borrow approximately $65,000 in student loans to complete my education. Because of this, I am actively applying for scholarships, seeking financial aid, and looking for opportunities that can help reduce my debt. Every scholarship matters because it lowers the amount I will have to borrow and allows me to focus more on school instead of constantly worrying about money. I also understand that plans do not always go perfectly. Financial stress, family responsibilities, and unexpected challenges may come up, but I am prepared to adjust when needed. If one path becomes difficult, I will look for another option, whether that means finding additional scholarships, working part-time, reaching out to mentors, or using campus resources. Joe Gilroy’s story reminds me that success is not random. It comes from planning, discipline, and showing up every day, even when life is hard. I am committed to working my plan because my goals are bigger than myself. I want to make my family proud, create a better future, and use my education to help people who need someone standing beside them.

Growing up, I always knew I wanted a career where I could make a real difference in someone's life. Success has never meant having the biggest paycheck or the fanciest job to me. It's always meant being able to help people who feel like they have nowhere else to turn. One of the biggest reasons I feel this way is because of the people I've met while volunteering. Through my local Gurdwara (sikh temple), I've spent years doing seva, or selfless service. Whether I was helping prepare and serve Langar, cleaning, or volunteering at community events, I learned that even small acts of kindness can make someone feel seen and cared for. I also volunteered at homeless outreach events, and those experiences completely changed my perspective. I met people who had lost everything, including women who had escaped abusive relationships with nowhere to go. Some were scared to ask for help because of financial struggles, language barriers, or their immigration status. Listening to their stories was heartbreaking, but it also opened my eyes to how many people simply need someone to stand beside them. Those experiences made me realize that I don't just want to build a career, I want to build a life centered around helping others. I'm currently pursuing my education, intending to become an immigration lawyer because I want to advocate for immigrant families, survivors of abuse, and underserved communities. While I know lawyers don't always work directly for nonprofits, I hope to spend a large part of my career partnering with nonprofit organizations, legal aid clinics, and community groups to provide free or low-cost legal services for people who otherwise couldn't afford them. One day, I hope to open my own law firm that works closely with nonprofits to host legal clinics, educational workshops, and community events. I want immigrant families to understand their rights, feel safe asking for help, and know they aren't alone. I also want to support women escaping abusive situations by helping them navigate complicated legal systems with compassion instead of fear. What motivates me most is knowing that one conversation, one act of kindness, or one legal victory can completely change someone's future. I've seen firsthand how much hope people gain when someone simply listens to them and believes in them. As a first-generation college student from a low-income immigrant family, I understand how overwhelming it can feel to ask for help. My parents sacrificed everything to give me opportunities they never had, and I want to honor those sacrifices by giving back to others. Their example taught me that serving your community isn't something you do once in a while, it's a lifelong commitment. My goal is to use my education to create opportunities, hope, and justice for people who need it most. If I can help even one family stay together, one survivor find safety, or one person feel like they finally have someone on their side, then I'll know I've chosen the right path. That's the kind of impact I hope to make for the rest of my life.

Before I got sepsis, I had never even heard the word. I had no idea that an infection could become so serious so fast. One minute everything felt normal, and the next, my entire life was turned upside down. Going through sepsis was one of the hardest and scariest things I've ever experienced. I remember feeling terrified because I didn't know what was happening to my body or if I was going to be okay. Seeing my family so scared broke my heart. I could see the fear in their faces, and that was almost harder than what I was going through. No family should have to wonder if someone they love is going to make it. After I survived, nothing felt the same. I stopped taking life for granted because I realized how quickly everything can change. Things that used to seem small—waking up feeling healthy, laughing with my family, spending time with the people I love—suddenly meant everything to me. I was given another chance at life, and I don't ever want to waste it. That experience changed who I am. It made me stronger, but it also made me a lot more compassionate. I know what it feels like to be scared, vulnerable, and completely unsure of what tomorrow will look like. Because of that, I care deeply about helping people who are going through some of the hardest moments of their lives. Today, I'm a first-generation college student working toward my dream of becoming an immigration lawyer. My goal isn't just to have a career—it's to be someone people can turn to when they feel lost or like nobody is listening. I want to help immigrant families, survivors of abuse, and people who feel like they don't have a voice. Everyone deserves someone in their corner. I've also spent time volunteering through my local Gurdwara and at homeless outreach events. Those experiences opened my eyes to how many people are silently carrying pain. I met people who had lost everything but still kept going. They reminded me that you never really know what someone is dealing with, and that even the smallest act of kindness can mean the world. Sepsis could have taken away everything I dreamed about before I even had the chance to chase it. That's something I'll never forget. Whenever school gets hard or life feels overwhelming, I remind myself that I'm lucky to still be here. I get another chance to build a future, help others, and make my family proud. I don't want surviving sepsis to be the thing people remember about me. I want people to remember what I did with the second chance I was given. I want to spend my life making people feel seen, heard, and supported. If my experience can help me bring hope to even one person who's struggling, then everything I went through will have had a purpose.

I am a first-generation college student, the oldest of four siblings, and the daughter of hardworking immigrant parents. My dream is to become an immigration lawyer so I can help people who feel unheard and make a difference in my community. While my parents worked long hours to provide for our family, my grandparents became a huge part of raising me. They helped shape the person I am today and taught me lessons that I will carry with me for the rest of my life. Growing up, my parents were almost always working. My dad spent long days in the fields, and my mom worked night shifts while doing everything she could to support our family. Because of this, my grandparents cared for me for much of my childhood. They weren't just babysitters, they were another set of parents. They made sure I felt loved, safe, and supported even when my parents couldn't always be there because they were sacrificing everything for our future. My grandparents taught me the importance of kindness, respect, humility, and hard work. They always reminded me to stay grateful, treat others with compassion, and never forget where I came from. They showed me that family means showing up for one another, especially during difficult times. Those values became the foundation of who I am. Being raised by my grandparents also helped me become more independent at a young age. I learned how to take responsibility, care for others, and appreciate every opportunity I was given. As the oldest sibling, I naturally became someone my younger brothers and sister could look up to. I wanted to set a good example by working hard in school, volunteering in my community, and never giving up, even when things felt difficult. Watching both my parents and grandparents sacrifice so much made me realize how fortunate I am to have people who believed in me. It also made me want to spend my life helping families who are facing their own struggles. Through volunteering at homeless outreach events and serving my community through my local Gurdwara, I saw how many people simply needed someone to listen, support them, and stand beside them. Those experiences inspired my dream of becoming an immigration lawyer. In the future, I hope to help immigrant families, survivors of abuse, and people who don't know where to turn for legal help. I want to create a place where people feel safe, respected, and understood. My goal isn't just to practice law, it's to give others the same sense of hope and support that my family gave me growing up. Being raised by my grandparents gave me more than extra caregivers. They gave me confidence, strong values, and a reminder that success is never achieved alone. Everything I accomplish is because of the love and sacrifices of my parents and grandparents. I hope to honor everything they have done for me by using my education to serve others and create opportunities for families just like mine.

Growing up, my parents always taught me that helping others isn't something you do when life is easy, it's something you do no matter what. Even when we didn't have much ourselves, every Sunday my family went to our local Gurdwara to do seva, which means selfless service. We helped cook and serve Langar, cleaned the temple, and volunteered wherever we were needed. Watching my parents give their time without expecting anything in return taught me one of the biggest lessons of my life: kindness doesn't cost anything, but it can change someone's day. As I got older, I wanted to continue giving back in my own way. One of the most meaningful experiences I've had was volunteering at homeless outreach clinics. Before I started volunteering, I never truly understood how many people were struggling just to get through the day. I met families who had lost everything, people living on the streets, and women who had escaped abusive relationships with nowhere else to go. Listening to their stories changed the way I see the world. One conversation I had with a woman has stayed with me ever since. She shared how she had left an abusive relationship to protect herself, but doing so meant she no longer had a safe place to live. She was scared, exhausted, and unsure of what would happen next. Hearing her story broke my heart. It made me realize that sometimes the greatest thing you can give someone isn't money it's listening, treating them with dignity, and reminding them they aren't alone. I also enjoy giving back to my Punjabi community whenever I can. Whether it's volunteering at cultural events, helping at the Gurdwara, or simply supporting families in my community, I've learned that small acts of kindness can have a lasting impact. Community isn't just where you live. It's the people who stand beside you when life gets hard. These experiences have shaped the person I am today and inspired my dream of becoming an immigration lawyer. I want to help immigrant families, survivors of abuse, and people who feel like they don't have a voice. I hope to one day open my own law firm and provide free or low-cost legal services for families who can't afford representation because everyone deserves to feel heard and protected. Helping others has never been about checking a box or earning recognition. It's about making someone's life a little easier, even if it's just for one day. My parents showed me what selfless service looks like, and I've carried that lesson with me everywhere I go. As I continue my education, I want to keep serving my community, advocating for those who need support, and creating a future where more people have hope, opportunity, and someone willing to stand beside them.

I came to the United States from India with my mom in 2004 when I was only two years old. My parents came here with one dream: to give my siblings and me a better life than they ever had. Even though I was too young to remember those first years, I grew up hearing stories about everything they sacrificed, and those stories have stayed with me my whole life. When we first came to America, we didn't have much. We shared a small apartment with another family because we couldn't afford a place of our own. My dad worked long days in the fields, and my mom worked night shifts at Wendy's while also taking English classes. She would take me with her to class before going to work because there wasn't anyone else to watch me. Looking back now, I honestly don't know how they did it. They were exhausted, but they never gave up because they believed all their hard work would give us a better future. No matter how hard life got, my parents always made time to give back. Every Sunday, we went to the Gurdwara (sikh temple) to do seva. We helped cook and serve Langar, cleaned, and volunteered however we could. They taught me that even if you don't have much, you can always help someone else. That's something I'll carry with me forever. As the oldest of four siblings and a first-generation college student, I've always felt a responsibility to set a good example. I want my younger siblings to see that where we come from doesn't decide where we can go. I see how hard my parents work every day to support our family while my sister and I chase our dreams, and it motivates me to keep going even when things feel impossible. My dream is to become an immigration lawyer because I know how life-changing the right support can be. While volunteering at homeless outreach events, I met women who had escaped abusive relationships and families who were trying to start over. Some were scared to ask for help because of their immigration status or because they didn't know their rights. Hearing their stories broke my heart. Everyone deserves to feel safe, heard, and protected. One day, I want to open my own law firm that helps immigrant families and survivors of abuse. I also want to create free legal clinics so people who can't afford a lawyer still have someone fighting for them. I want people to walk through my doors feeling scared and leave knowing someone finally believes in them. This scholarship would mean so much more than helping me pay for school. It would take some of the weight off my parents, who have sacrificed everything to get me here. More than anything, it would bring me one step closer to becoming the person my parents came to this country hoping I could be. I want to make them proud, give back to my community, and spend my life helping people who feel like they have no one else to turn to.

I found TOMORROW X TOGETHER (TXT) during quarantine in 2020 when everything felt really isolating and kind of emotionally heavy, and I remember randomly clicking on one of their performances and just getting stuck watching it. It honestly felt like something in me paused. Over time, their music became this place I kept going back to when things felt overwhelming or too quiet in a way that didn’t feel good, and it slowly went from “just music” to something that felt like comfort, like they were putting emotions I couldn’t explain into sound and actually making them make sense. To me, being a MOA is about sincerity not just being there for the hype moments, but actually connecting to TXT and what they’re trying to say. It’s listening with intention, not just casually consuming it, and really respecting the emotion, effort, and vulnerability they put into their music. My TXT bias is Soobin, and it was never really a “decision” it just kind of happened over time. His presence feels super calm, soft, and grounding, like he doesn’t try to take up space but still somehow makes everything feel more stable. On days when I’m overwhelmed, I naturally gravitate toward him because he gives this quiet “you’re okay” energy. My ultimate bias across all groups is also Soobin, because that feeling has stayed consistent for me. I also really respect RM from BTS for how he expresses himself and thinks so deeply, but Soobin is just that emotional comfort I don’t really question. My favorite TXT song is “Run Away,” and it’s one of those songs that just feels like something. It captures that very specific mood of wanting to escape everything, but also wanting somewhere safe to go at the same time. Every time I listen, it hits in a way where it feels like my emotions are being understood without me having to explain anything. I haven’t seen TXT live yet, but I think about it a lot. There were chances, but I had to prioritize my family, which meant letting go of concerts. Still, I literally imagine it all the time, being in a crowd full of MOAs, lightsticks everywhere, everyone singing the same lyrics like it’s one big emotional moment. I feel like I would fully be crying and smiling at the same time because it would just feel unreal, like “wait, this is actually happening right now.” My favorite album concept is The Dream Chapter: MAGIC because it captures that weird in-between stage of growing up, where things still feel a little magical but also more real and confusing at the same time. It feels like hope and uncertainty existing together, which is honestly very real-life. Right now, I’m working two jobs while getting ready for UCLA law school in Fall 2026. I work as a receptionist during the week and also do long warehouse shifts from 7:00 AM to 7:00 PM, so life is pretty nonstop. I’m also helping my family whenever I can because that’s just how things are. Coming from a low-income immigrant family with a single mom, I’ve learned that hard work is basically the default, and my mom has always pushed me to keep going and build something better for us. This scholarship would seriously take a lot of weight off my shoulders by helping with tuition, books, and living expenses, and just giving me a little more breathing room instead of constantly stressing about money in the background of everything. TXT has also been really important emotionally for me during stressful times, helping me feel less alone when I didn’t really have words for what I was feeling. As an immigrant and first-generation student, I want to use my law degree to support immigrant and low-income families who are dealing with fear, pressure, and uncertainty all the time. I want to go into immigration and business law and be someone who actually helps people feel less lost during some of the hardest moments of their lives, turning everything I’ve experienced into something that creates stability, support, and hope for other people trying to build a future from scratch, too.

The impact I want to make is simple: I want people to actually have access to legal help without feeling lost, ignored, or priced out. My goal is to become a lawyer in immigration and business law and use that to create spaces where people can get real help in a way they understand. Right now, a lot of people don’t get legal help early because it feels confusing, expensive, or intimidating. I want to change that. I want to build community legal clinics where people can walk in and actually understand what’s happening with their situation. Not just legal terms and paperwork, but real explanations, real guidance, and real support they can actually use. In immigration law, I want to help families stay together and figure out their status without getting stuck in stress or confusion. A lot of people don’t know what options they have, or they find out too late. I want to step in early and help them understand what’s possible before things get worse. In business law, I want to support small business owners, especially immigrants and first-generation families, building something from nothing. Many work hard but don’t have access to legal help to protect their business, understand contracts, or avoid costly mistakes. I want to make that process clearer and safer. Long term, I don’t just want to work with individual clients. I want to help build community legal clinics with local organizations so people don’t have to figure everything out alone. I want legal help to feel easy to reach, normal to access, and not overwhelming. What pushed me toward this path is seeing how many people struggle not because they don’t care or don’t try, but because they simply don’t know where to go or who to ask. A lot of the time, the biggest barrier isn’t effort, it’s access and information. That’s something I want to change throughout my career. School for me is how I’m building toward this. I recently got into UCLA Law, my dream school, and that moment meant everything to me. It showed me that all the hard work is paying off, but it also made everything feel more real and more serious. While I’m there, I plan to fully take advantage of every opportunity, not just classes, but networking with professors, classmates, and professionals in the field, and sharing my ideas about making legal help more accessible. Every conversation, every experience, and every step I take at UCLA is me getting closer to becoming the kind of lawyer who can actually show up for people in real life, not just in theory. I’m not just trying to earn a degree, I’m building the skills, connections, and vision actually to help people in moments where it matters. This scholarship would take a huge amount of pressure off my shoulders. Right now, financial stress is always there in the background, and it’s something I have to think about while trying to stay focused on school and my goals. Getting this support would let me fully focus on my education and building my future instead of constantly worrying about money. At the end of the day, I just want to use my career to make sure people don’t feel stuck, alone, or confused when they need help the most. I want to be someone who makes legal support feel more human, more reachable, and more fair for everyone.

Being a first-generation student means figuring everything out on my own while trying not to fall behind. It means walking into spaces where I don’t always know what I’m doing, and my family can’t really guide me because they’ve never been through it either. It also means carrying a lot of pressure quietly, because I know I’m doing this for more than just myself. I came to the U.S. from India when I was 2 years old with my mom. It’s always been just her raising my siblings and me. My dad left, so she had to do everything on her own. My mom always told me school is going to be our escape from the life we’re living. She pushed us to work hard, get good jobs, and build a life where we never have to worry about not having enough money. She worked night shifts at Wendy’s and still went to English classes during the day, while also taking care of my siblings, dropping us off at school, and helping us with our schoolwork even when she was exhausted. We didn’t grow up with much stability. There were times we lived in a small apartment where we shared one bedroom me, my mom, my sister. Another family lived in the same apartment and rented out the other rooms. It was crowded, stressful, and there wasn’t really any space to study or even breathe sometimes. But my mom always made sure we stayed in school no matter what. Because of my mom’s sacrifices, I’ve been able to reach a point I never thought was possible. I got into UCLA, my dream school. I know how big that is, and I don’t take it lightly. But I also don’t want financial struggles to be the reason I can’t fully take advantage of this opportunity or the reason I’m constantly stressed while I’m there. That’s why I’m applying for this scholarship. Being first-gen hasn’t been easy. I had to learn everything about college on my own applications, financial aid, classes, deadlines, all of it. A lot of times, I felt lost or like I didn’t belong, but I kept going because stopping was never really an option. My mom is my biggest motivation. Everything she gave up was so I could have a better life. I think about that all the time when things feel hard. My goal is to become a lawyer in business and immigration law, helping families like mine who don’t always understand the system or feel like they don't have a voice. This scholarship would help with tuition and living expenses and take a huge weight off my mind. It would let me focus on school instead of constantly worrying about money and just be fully present at UCLA. I’m not perfect, and my path hasn’t been easy. But I’ve learned how to keep going even when things feel heavy. I’m trying to turn everything my mom went through into something worth it.

Recovery to me is learning how to live with myself again and actually want to. I’ve been clean for 5 years, and I don’t say that lightly. There was a time when I felt like everything in my life was pulling me in different emotional directions, and I didn’t know how to handle it. Grief, stress, and everything I was carrying started to feel like I was getting pulled into a black hole version of myself, slowly drifting away from who I really was. I didn’t have the support or tools to deal with what I was feeling in a healthy way, so I tried to escape it instead of facing it. But that only made things worse, and I ended up losing myself even more. Eventually, I had to be honest with myself and accept that I couldn’t keep living like that if I wanted a future. That moment became my turning point. Recovery started when I reached out for help. I began going to group, talking about things I used to avoid, and slowly learning how to sit with my emotions instead of running from them. Some days were still really hard, and some days I didn’t feel strong at all, but I kept showing up anyway. Now, recovery means peace, not a perfect life, but stability. It means I’m no longer getting pulled into that “black hole” version of myself, and I’m learning how to stay present in my own life.

My experiences with addiction, grief, and mental health have shaped me in ways I’m still unpacking. A lot of people only see the version of me that’s trying to move forward now, but they don’t always see what it took to get here. In high school, I lost my best friend to suicide. We grew up together, in the same childhood, with the same dreams, same conversations about becoming lawyers one day. She was my person. And then she was just gone. I don’t think I knew how to process that kind of pain at that age, and honestly, I don’t think I had the support I needed to deal with it either. On top of that, I was already dealing with bullying, racism, and constantly feeling out of place because of my background and financial situation. I felt like I didn’t fit anywhere. And when everything started piling up, I didn’t know how to sit with it. I didn’t know how to talk about it. So I coped in the wrong way. I turned to drug use to numb everything I was feeling, even if it was only temporary. At the time, it felt like an escape. But looking back, it was really me trying to survive emotions I didn’t have the tools to handle. And eventually, it caught up to me. I realized I was losing myself, not healing anything. That became my turning point. I decided to get help, and that changed everything for me. I started going to group support, actually talking about what I went through, and slowly learning how to deal with life instead of running from it. Now I’m five years sober. And I don’t say that lightly. That version of me feels far away, but I still respect her because she got me here. I’ve done the work, I’ve stayed consistent, and I’ve built support systems that keep me grounded. This is the healthiest I’ve ever been, mentally, emotionally, and honestly just as a person. I’m not perfect, and I don’t pretend to be. But I’ve learned how to sit with my emotions instead of escaping them. I’ve learned how to ask for help instead of shutting down. And I’ve learned how to keep going even when life feels heavy. That’s also why I want to become a health lawyer. I’ve seen how pain, trauma, and lack of support can completely change someone’s life. I want to understand systems that impact real people and be in a space where people who are struggling don’t feel invisible or dismissed. This scholarship would mean a lot because it would take pressure off a life that’s still rebuilding. It would help with school, stability, and give me more room to focus on my education instead of just surviving financially. But more than that, it would feel like proof that change is real, that people can fall, but they can also come back stronger. I’m not my past anymore. I’m the proof that it’s possible to rebuild yourself from it.

As a BIPOC student from a low-income family, student loan debt is something that honestly weighs on me a lot. I’ve seen how money stress doesn’t just affect one person, it affects the whole family. And I really don’t want that pressure to follow me for years after I finish school. Right now, I’m working two jobs and trying to save as much as I can for college. I work Monday through Friday from 8:00 AM to 5:00 PM, and then I also work weekends, two full days from 7:00 AM to 7:00 PM. It’s a really heavy schedule, and some days I feel exhausted, but I still show up because I keep thinking about my future and what I’m working toward. Every paycheck I get goes straight into savings for tuition, housing, and anything I’ll need for school. I come from a low-income family, and I’m planning to go to UCLA for graduate school. That’s been my dream for a long time, but being real, there’s also a lot of stress that comes with it. Even when something good is happening in my life, there’s still this constant worry in the back of my mind about how I’m going to afford it. I don’t want money to be the reason I have to hold myself back or settle for less than what I’ve worked for. Being a BIPOC student makes this even more real for me because I know how often people in my community have to carry debt for years just trying to get an education. I don’t want to be stuck in that cycle. I want my degree to help me move forward in life, not start my life already in stress and debt. At the same time, I’m just trying my best every day. Working long hours and planning for school isn’t easy, and sometimes it feels like a lot. But I keep going because I know I’m building something for myself that I didn’t have growing up, which is stability, opportunity, and options. My goal is honestly just to get through school with as little debt as possible so I can actually breathe after graduation and focus on my career instead of being buried in loans. This scholarship would mean a lot to me. It would take some of that financial weight off my shoulders and let me focus more on school instead of constantly stressing about money. More than anything, it would bring me closer to UCLA without feeling like I’m risking my whole future just to get there.

ALS has impacted my life in a way I still find hard to fully put into words. It has changed my home, my education, and the way I see strength. My stepdad was diagnosed with ALS, and before that, I honestly thought of it as just an illness. But living through it has shown me something completely different. He is the strongest person I know. We live in a small two-bedroom apartment with six people, which includes me, my mom, my stepdad, and my three siblings. Life can feel really tight, both financially and emotionally. But even in all of that, my stepdad has always been there in my life. I still think about the little moments he helped me with school when I didn’t understand something, him joking with us just to make the house feel lighter, or taking small drives with the family, even on hard days. Those memories mean so much more to me now. Even with ALS affecting his body more and more, he never stopped showing up for us. He takes care of my siblings and me in every way he still can. There are days when I look at him and feel amazed at how much love and strength he still gives our family, even when he is the one going through so much. Before, I thought ALS would take away who he was. But it didn’t. It just showed me how strong he already was. At the same time, this has made my educational journey more stressful and uncertain. I’ve worked really hard and I’ve always dreamed of going to UCLA for graduate school. Getting accepted meant everything to me. But now, that dream comes with a lot of fear too. I worry about money all the time. I worry about whether my family can handle the cost. I don’t want financial stress to be the reason I can’t continue my education. This scholarship would change so much for me. It would take pressure off my family in a real way helping with tuition, housing, and basic living expenses. Even with financial aid, UCLA is still expensive, and for a family already struggling, every bit matters. This scholarship would mean I could actually focus on school instead of constantly stressing about bills, rent, and survival. Right now, one of my biggest challenges is just the weight of everything at home. Living in a crowded apartment means there’s always something going on, always something to worry about, and not a lot of space to just breathe. It’s hard sometimes to separate school from home life when everything is connected. I’ve also tried to stay involved in ALS awareness and support in Yuba City, California. I’ve participated in local fundraising and awareness efforts and learned more about organizations like the ALS Association that support families like mine. I’m still learning and growing in this area, but this experience has made me want to stay involved for the long term and give back in any way I can. ALS has taken a lot from my family, but it has also shown me love in a deeper way than I ever understood before. My stepdad has taught me what real strength looks like not just physically, but in how he continues to love and show up for us no matter what. This scholarship wouldn’t just support my education. It would give me a real chance to keep going, to keep my dream alive, and to make it through a path that sometimes feels impossible.

My experiences with mental health have shaped who I am as a person and played a huge role in the goals I have for my future. They have changed the way I see people, the way I build relationships, and the way I understand pain often hidden from others. Growing up was not easy. For most of my childhood and throughout high school, I was bullied. As an Indian American from a low-income family, I was constantly reminded I was different. Many students at my school came from wealthier families and made fun of me for things I had no control over. They laughed at the clothes I wore because they were not name brands and made comments about my family's financial situation. The worst part was when they made fun of my culture. My mom would wake up early every morning to pack my lunch. Instead of appreciating food she worked hard to make, kids would laugh at it. They would say it looked weird or smelled bad. I remember feeling embarrassed every time I opened my lunchbox. Sometimes I would throw food away without eating it because I was scared of being judged. Kids would also tell me I was ugly and that nobody would ever like me. Some even told me to "go back to your country." Hearing those words over and over again as a child hurts in a way hard to explain. I started believing there was something wrong with me. I became insecure about how I looked, where I came from, and who I was. Through all of that, there was one person who always made me feel like I mattered. My best friend and I had been friends since kindergarten. We grew up together and shared almost every important memory. We spent summers riding bikes around the neighborhood, having sleepovers, watching movies, and talking about our lives. She was the first person I would call when something good happened and the first person I turned to when things were falling apart. We both wanted to become lawyers. We loved debating and arguing our points, and everyone around us would joke we were already practicing for law school. But for us, it was bigger than that. We came from immigrant families and saw how hard our parents worked to give us opportunities. We saw family members struggle with language barriers, discrimination, and systems they did not understand. We wanted to help people going through those same struggles because we knew what it felt like to be overlooked. Toward the end of our junior year of high school, I started noticing changes in her. She had gotten a boyfriend and we naturally spent less time together. But the girl I had known my entire life slowly started disappearing. She wasn't as happy anymore. She stopped laughing the way she used to. She seemed tired all the time and lost the confidence that had always been part of who she was. I later found out her boyfriend was emotionally and physically abusive. It broke my heart watching someone I loved become a completely different person. I tried reaching out to her over and over again. I would ask if she was okay, and every single time she would tell me she was fine. Deep down, I knew she wasn't. Her parents were worried and reached out to me because they did not understand what was happening to their daughter. Then in December 2020, my life changed forever. I found out that my best friend had taken her own life. I remember feeling completely numb. It didn't feel real. I kept thinking there had to be some mistake. How could someone who had been part of my life for so many years suddenly be gone? She left behind a letter explaining why she did what she did. Reading it was one of the hardest things I have ever experienced. In the letter, she wrote about feeling trapped and exhausted. She wrote about carrying pain for so long that she no longer knew how to escape it. What hurt the most was realizing how much she had been struggling while telling everyone she was okay. For a long time, I blamed myself. I replayed conversations in my head and wondered if there was something more I could have done. Maybe if I had called one more time. Maybe if I had pushed harder. Maybe if I had known what she was really feeling. Those thoughts stayed with me for years. Losing her taught me that you never truly know what someone is going through. Some people become very good at hiding their pain. They smile, laugh, and tell everyone they're fine while fighting battles nobody else can see. Because of everything I have been through, the bullying, discrimination, and the loss of my best friend, I have become a more compassionate person. I pay attention when someone seems different. I try to be someone who listens because I know how much a kind word can mean when someone is struggling. My best friend and I dreamed about becoming lawyers together. We talked about it for years. Even though she is no longer here, I carry that dream. Every step I take toward a career in law is also toward honoring her memory. I want to help people who feel unheard, misunderstood, or pushed aside because I know what those feelings are like. The experiences I have had with mental health have left scars that will always be part of me, but they have also given me purpose. They have taught me strength, empathy, and the importance of showing up for people when they need it most. Most of all, they have taught me that even small acts of kindness can make a difference in someone's life, something I will carry forever.

My personal experiences have shaped my sense of purpose in a deep and lasting way. I am a first-generation immigrant and the first in my family to pursue higher education. I came to the United States from India with my mother when I was only two years old, while my father worked to build a better life for us. Growing up, I heard often about the sacrifices my parents made to give our family more opportunities, and that shaped who I am today. My mother worked night shifts at Wendy’s while attending English classes, and my father worked long hours in the fields while also caring for me. They carried constant stress about money and stability, but they always protected us from it. I grew up watching them work through hardship with quiet strength and faith. As the oldest of four siblings, I also felt a strong responsibility to make their sacrifices matter. These experiences taught me resilience and showed me how many immigrant families struggle without guidance or support. That understanding has shaped my purpose and led me toward law. I want to become a lawyer to help people who feel unheard or overwhelmed, especially immigrant families navigating difficult systems. I understand what it feels like to live between hardship and hope, and I want to use my education to give others clarity, support, and a voice.

I’m a future UCLA graduate student, and I will be pursuing my Master of Legal Studies with the long-term goal of becoming a lawyer and eventually opening my own law firm. This path means a lot to me because it’s not just about education or a career goal, it’s about purpose. I want to use what I learn to help people who are going through some of the hardest moments in their lives and don’t always have someone standing beside them. Growing up, I was taught that education is something no one can take away from you. That belief has stayed with me and shaped how I approach my future. It reminds me that no matter where I come from or what challenges I face, I can build something meaningful through hard work and persistence. Over time, I realized I don’t just want success for myself, I want to use it to help others who may not have the same opportunities or support. I want to become a lawyer because I care deeply about people who feel unheard or overlooked. Many individuals and families deal with legal problems, financial stress, or personal struggles, and they don’t always understand the system or know where to turn. I want to be someone who listens without judgment, explains things in a way they can understand, and stands by them when everything feels overwhelming. Even having one person who truly cares can make a real difference, and I want to be that person for others. Immigration law is especially meaningful to me. I have deep respect for people who leave everything behind in hopes of building a safer and better life. That takes incredible courage, but the process itself can be stressful, confusing, and emotional. I want to support families and individuals through those moments by guiding them and making sure they don’t feel alone while navigating the system. I want them to feel like someone is truly in their corner, fighting for their future. I also care deeply about supporting women through legal advocacy and women’s clinics. I want to help women who are facing domestic violence, financial hardship, or situations where they feel trapped and unsure of their options. In those moments, people often feel isolated or powerless, and I want to be someone who helps them see that they do have choices and that they deserve safety, respect, and support. I want to help create spaces where women feel heard, protected, and empowered to rebuild their lives. In the future, my goal is to open my own law firm that focuses on helping people who don’t have access to strong legal representation. I don’t want it to just be a business, I want it to feel like a safe place where people are treated with kindness, patience, and respect. A place where clients feel like their story matters and where they are not rushed or ignored, but truly listened to and supported through every step of their case. I know becoming a lawyer takes a lot of hard work, patience, and resilience, but I am ready to put in that effort because I believe in the bigger purpose behind it. Through my time at UCLA and beyond, I want to grow into someone who not only understands the law but also understands people. At the end of the day, success to me is not about titles or status, it’s about knowing I used my education, my voice, and my future law firm to help people feel seen, supported, and not alone when they needed it the most.

The legal profession carries a responsibility that goes far beyond winning cases. The ABA Model Rules of Professional Conduct remind attorneys that true advocacy must be grounded in honesty, fairness, integrity, and respect for the justice system. As someone who plans to dedicate my life to helping vulnerable communities, I understand that being a lawyer is not just about knowing the law, but about being someone people can trust during some of the hardest moments of their lives. Recently, I was accepted into UCLA School of Law, which is one of the most meaningful accomplishments of my life. Coming from a hardworking immigrant family, this moment represents more than academic success. It reflects my parents’ sacrifices and the strength they showed in building a better life for me. Their journey motivates me to use my education with purpose and to help people who feel unheard, powerless, or forgotten. Through my experiences serving my community and gaining over six years of legal experience, I have learned how important integrity is within the legal field. Working in law firms showed me that lawyers carry a responsibility not only to advocate for clients, but also to protect the fairness and credibility of the justice system. These experiences strengthened my belief that honesty, professionalism, and accountability must guide every decision in legal practice. Because of this, I believe zealous advocacy becomes harmful when the desire to win outweighs honesty and fairness. A lawyer should fight strongly for their client, but never by misleading others, hiding the truth, or compromising integrity. Winning should never come at the cost of trust in the legal system. I plan to stay grounded in transparency, respect, and accountability, and to be known as both a strong advocate and a person of character. My commitment to ethics is also connected to my commitment to diversity and service. Growing up in the Sikh community taught me the value of seva, or selfless service, and the importance of helping others regardless of their background. Through my involvement with the Punjabi American Sikh Heritage Society and the Jakara Movement, I helped support cultural programs, youth leadership, and community engagement. These experiences showed me how powerful mentorship and representation can be for young people. In addition, volunteering with Hands of Hope Resources for Homeless Families and serving at my local Sikh Gurdwara allowed me to work directly with underserved individuals in my community. Whether serving meals through Langar or supporting families in need, I learned that small acts of service can make a real difference. As I continue my journey into law school and beyond, I hope to mentor first-generation students, support immigrant communities, and help create a more inclusive legal profession. Ultimately, I want to use the law not only to build a career, but to create meaningful change and ensure that more people feel seen, supported, and protected.

Ever since I was young, I have wanted my life to have a purpose bigger than just being successful for myself. To me, creating a legacy means helping people who feel alone, unheard, or powerless. I want to build something that truly helps others and gives people hope during difficult times. My dream is not only to succeed in my career, but also to make a difference in people’s lives and leave behind something meaningful. I plan to become an immigration lawyer and one day open my own law firm. I want my firm to focus on helping immigrant families, women, and survivors of intimate partner violence. I also hope to open community clinics that support women’s rights and provide free or low-cost legal help for women and families who are struggling. I want these places to feel safe and welcoming, where people can ask for help without feeling scared or judged. My passion for this work grew from volunteering at homeless clinics and community outreach events. Before volunteering, I did not realize how many women and children become homeless because of abuse and domestic violence. I met women who left dangerous homes with almost nothing just to keep themselves and their children safe. Some were afraid because of their immigration status, while others had nowhere else to go. As a woman myself, hearing these stories made me very emotional. It hurt knowing that so many women are forced onto the streets because of violence happening inside their own homes. As a woman, I could not imagine the fear and pain they were going through, and it made me want to dedicate my future to helping women feel safe, supported, and protected. These experiences changed me and helped me understand how important support and legal protection can be. Many survivors are dealing with fear, emotional pain, financial struggles, and legal problems all at once. Some people stay silent because they feel like nobody will listen to them or help them. I realized that even having one person who supports and believes in them can change someone’s life. I believe I shine my light through kindness, hard work, and helping others whenever I can. Volunteering has taught me how important compassion is and how much small acts of support can mean to someone going through a hard time. I also shine my light by staying focused on my goals and continuing to work hard even when things become difficult. Education means a lot to me because I see it as a way to create change. I want to use my education not only to build a better future for myself, but also to help people who feel lost or powerless. My goal is to create a business that stands for hope, safety, and support. For me, success is not just about money or having a career. Real success means helping others and making a positive difference in someone’s life. If I can help even one woman or family feel safe and hopeful again, then I will know I created the kind of legacy I always dreamed of leaving behind.

Growing up, I learned that many people hide their pain and struggles. This is especially true when it comes to intimate partner violence. Many people are scared to speak up because of fear, shame, or simply not knowing where to turn for help. Seeing how deeply abuse can affect someone emotionally and mentally made me realize how important it is to support and protect others. My background and experiences are a big reason why I want to become a lawyer, especially an immigration lawyer. I come from a hardworking family that taught me the importance of helping others and standing up for people who feel unheard. As I got older, I started learning more about the struggles many immigrant families face. Some people stay in abusive relationships because they are scared of being deported, losing financial support, or being separated from their children. Many victims feel trapped and alone because they do not know their rights or are too afraid to ask for help. One experience that truly changed me was volunteering at homeless clinics and community outreach events. Before volunteering, I never realized how many women become homeless because of intimate partner violence. I met women and families who had left abusive homes with nowhere else to go. Some had to leave everything behind just to protect themselves and their children. As a woman myself, hearing these stories broke my heart. It made me so sad knowing that so many women are forced onto the streets because of abuse happening inside their own homes. No woman should ever have to choose between staying in danger and becoming homeless. Those experiences stayed with me because I could see the fear, pain, and exhaustion in so many of these women. Many were not only struggling emotionally, but also financially and legally. Some were scared to ask for help because of their immigration status or because they believed nobody would listen to them. In those moments, I realized how life-changing it can be when someone simply feels supported and understood. Through my education, I have learned more about the organizations and programs that help survivors through shelters, counseling, hotlines, and legal aid. These programs save lives, but there are still many women who cannot easily access help because of language barriers, fear, or lack of information. This is why I want to become an immigration lawyer. I want to help women and families feel safe during some of the hardest moments of their lives. In the future, I hope to open my own law firm that focuses on helping immigrant families and survivors of abuse. I also want to create clinics and community programs that support women’s rights and provide free or affordable legal help for women escaping abusive situations. I want these places to feel welcoming and safe, where women know they will be listened to without judgment. For me, becoming a lawyer is about so much more than having a career. It is about being there for people when they feel lost and hopeless. I want to use my education to give people strength, support, and hope for a better future. If I can help even one woman feel safe, heard, and valued again, then I will know I made a difference.

I am an immigrant and proud of my Indian heritage. I came to the United States from India with my mother in 2004 when I was only two years old. My father married my mother in India before bringing us to America, hoping to give our family a better life and opportunities we would not have had otherwise. Although I was very young, I grew up hearing stories about the sacrifices my parents made when we first arrived here, and those stories have stayed with me my entire life. My mother was adjusting to a completely new country while raising me, working night shifts at Wendy’s, and attending English classes to build a better future for our family. During the day, my father worked long hours in the fields while my mother took me to school and brought me with her to class before heading back to work at night. My parents barely had time to rest, but they continued sacrificing everything because they believed their hard work would give my siblings and me a better future. When we first came to America, we had very little and shared a small apartment with another family because we could not afford a place of our own. Even during difficult times, my parents always put God first. Every Sunday, we went to the Gurdwara as a family to do seva, or selfless service, whether that meant helping in the kitchen, cleaning, serving Langar, or volunteering as Punjabi school teachers. Through their actions, my parents taught me the importance of faith, humility, compassion, and helping others, no matter how little we had ourselves. As the oldest of four siblings, I have always felt a strong responsibility to set an example and help create a better future for my family. I want my younger siblings to see that our struggles do not define us and that education can change our lives. With both my sister and me pursuing college degrees, I see the emotional and financial stress it places on my parents every day as they work tirelessly to afford tuition, bills, groceries, and basic necessities for our family. This scholarship would mean more to me than words can fully express. It would not just help pay for school, it would give my family relief, hope, and reassurance that all of their sacrifices were worth something. It would allow me to continue pursuing my education without constantly feeling guilty about the financial burden placed on my parents. More than anything, I never want money to be the reason I cannot pursue the dreams my parents gave up everything for when they came to this country. Receiving this scholarship would be an opportunity not only for me, but for my entire family and the future we have all worked so hard to build together.