Separated by the blockade in Gaza, my visits with my second mother, Khalto Mahasen, were cruelly stolen from me at a young age. What once were joyful, frequent gatherings became impossible, replaced only by WhatsApp calls and rare summer visits that served as fragile lifelines across the distance. Despite the physical separation, Khalto Mahasen has always been the person who understood me best, offering unwavering warmth, wisdom, and strength even as war slowly chipped away at the world she called home. Every war brings new heartbreak for my family, but this last conflict has been unbearable. Still, across oceans and through screens, my aunt taught me what it truly means to be part of a community. She urged me to continue my engineering program and dedicate my skills to serving others, especially those enduring the hardships she faces daily. At my lowest moments, when hope felt thin, I recalled her words. From that pain and encouragement, I designed something I am incredibly proud of, a project rooted not only in engineering but in empathy and resilience. As a director for Touch a Life, I led the creation of mock shopping-center-style “bazaars” designed to serve hundreds of refugee families in Northern California. I organized over a thousand donations and built systems to distribute them with care and dignity. Yet, the real achievement wasn’t just in the donations themselves. It was in the design. Using my engineering skills, I structured the bazaars to provide scheduling access to tutors, job recruiters, landlords, and free transportation services. I applied technical problem-solving to meet human needs, engineering experiences that restored autonomy and hope to families who had lost everything. In those moments, engineering became more than circuitry or code, it became a vessel for healing. The systems I built were not just efficient; they were personal and purposeful. These weren’t abstract achievements from a classroom; they were real solutions helping real people rebuild their lives with dignity. And yet, even as my community work grew, the war in Gaza did not stop. A few weeks ago, I received the most soul-crushing image of my life: my aunt, once radiant and full of life, reduced to a fragile silhouette. And still, in her weakened state, she comforted me, telling me to keep going, to keep building. Designing the bazaars was more than an act of service; it was an act of love, resilience, and resistance. It taught me that even when everything feels broken, we can still create something that helps others stand. That is the achievement I carry closest to my heart.

I used to substitute my hijab for a hoodie with my hair visibly showing. Going to school would bring me loads and loads of anxiety, as I was the only Muslim girl in my entire grade. At one point, I would have said that my religion negatively influenced my academic and carer goals because it limited me and gave me too much stress. However, over time I have realized that being a Muslim student is something to be proud of. I started to wear my hijab confidently and did not allow it to limit me from achieving my goals. I went on to compete at Speech and Debate Nationals with it worn the correct way, and it made me feel very empowered. This feeling of fulfillment did not come easy to me. It took months of consistent prayer, watching Islamic lectures, reading the Quran, and challenging myself to go outside with it on correctly. As much as this period of self-improvement was difficult, I thank Allah (SWT) daily for getting me to where I am now. Islam has shaped my academic goals in all sorts of ways. When looking for colleges to apply to, I consider the Muslim community there, the accommodations made for Muslim students, and the educational strength of that school. In Islam, we are encouraged and even obligated to seek knowledge, which is why my academic goals are high. I aim to study software engineering and business administration. In high school, I take both the business and engineering pathways and thrive in them. I owe my success in high school to Allah (SWT). The semester where my hijab was lousy and my prayers were inconsistent. I got my first-ever and last-ever B. Even though my parents suggest otherwise, I wholeheartedly believe that was a sign and wake-up call from God to get my act together. As the only Muslima in my grade, I must prove myself to my school. I represent Islam in my actions and my words. Although this way of thinking is not always the best, I can't help but know that my hijab makes my religion very apparent. Meaning my character should positively reflect Islam. I am the captain of my speech and debate team, a varsity soccer player, and club founder, and have over 100 hours of community service. I am proof to my school AND myself that the hijab and Islam generally do not limit one's achievements. It only helps make the journey easier and keeps my morals in check. Alhamdulilah, for all that God has helped me overcome and for all he has planned for me.