I found TXT in 2020, during one of the hardest and most isolating periods of my life. The world had shut down, routines had collapsed, and I was searching for something that made me feel less alone. I stumbled across the music video for Can't You See Me? and something shifted immediately. This was not polished or glossy - it was raw, emotionally complex, and honest about pain in a way that most music never dares to be. I stayed up until 3am going through every album, every b-side, every performance clip I could find. By morning, I was a MOA. My bias is Yeonjun, and my reasons go far deeper than performance ability. Yeonjun left everything familiar to pursue something uncertain and poured every ounce of himself into becoming great at it. Watching him perform - whether the theatrical intensity of Nightmare or the quiet vulnerability of Wishlist, one of TXT's most under appreciated deep cuts - I see someone who never gives half of himself to anything. That relentless commitment resonates with me personally. I am a first-generation college student from a low-income background, and I know what it feels like to bet on yourself when no one around you has a roadmap for where you are trying to go. Yeonjun reminds me that bet is worth making. As a MOA, I believe the most important characteristic is genuine emotional investment — not just in the music, but in the world TXT builds around it. The most dedicated fans engage with the deeper narrative threading through each era, noticing that the journey from The Dream Chapter to The Chaos Chapter is a coming-of-age story told across years. Songs like Magic Island, Frost, and Dear Sputnik are not the ones dominating streaming charts, but they are the ones true MOAs return to again and again because they carry the emotional weight of the entire universe TXT has constructed. I have seen TXT live multiple times, and every concert confirmed what the music already told me - this group gives everything. The energy, the precision, the genuine connection between the members and the crowd - it is unlike anything else. Standing in that room surrounded by MOAs from every background imaginable, I felt the kind of community TXT always sings about building. It is real, and it matters. Right now I am paying for school through financial aid, personal work, and scholarships. As a first-generation student without a financial safety net, every dollar goes directly toward keeping me enrolled and focused. This scholarship would fill the gaps that financial aid does not cover - textbooks, housing, the daily costs that quietly accumulate and threaten a student's ability to stay the course. TXT taught me that it is okay to sit inside complexity - to be ambitious and afraid at the same time, to be growing and still uncertain. They have shown me that genuine connection between people who choose to show up for each other is one of the most powerful forces in the world. I carry that truth into my studies, my career goals, and the legacy I am building. They taught me to lead with heart and back it up with work. That is exactly what I intend to do.

I am currently studying Economics with an Environmental Science emphasis at Santa Barbara City College, with the goal of transferring to a four-year university and building a career in finance and business consulting. I chose this path because I grew up in a low-income community where financial knowledge was scarce and environmental burdens were heavy. I want to be the person who bridges those two worlds - someone who helps underserved communities build economic stability while advocating for the kind of environmental policies that protect the people who need protection most. My education is not just a personal investment. It is a commitment to the community I came from. Navigating my identity as a member of the LGBTQ+ community has been one of the most deeply personal journeys of my life. Coming to terms with who I am was not always easy, particularly growing up in a low-income environment where conversations about identity were rarely open or affirming. There were moments of confusion, isolation, and self-doubt - moments when I was not sure where I fit or whether I was fully accepted. But working through those questions ultimately made me more self-aware, more empathetic, and more committed to living authentically. My identity is not something I hide or apologize for. It is a part of who I am, and it has shaped the way I see the world and the people in it in ways I am genuinely grateful for. I am someone who gives back - not someday, but now. I lead by example in my community, showing younger people from backgrounds like mine that it is possible to pursue higher education, live authentically, and build something meaningful. I motivate and encourage the people around me because I know how much a single word of genuine belief can change a person's trajectory. In the future, I plan to build a consulting firm that specifically serves underserved communities - people who have never had access to the kind of financial and business guidance that changes lives. Giving back is not a goal I am working toward. It is already who I am. Financially, I am a first-generation college student from a low-income household. My mother worked tirelessly to keep our family stable, and I have worked alongside my studies to support myself as much as possible. There is no family safety net beneath me - no savings account set aside for tuition, no one to call when the bills stack up. Every semester is a careful calculation of what I can afford and what I have to figure out. The Star Farm Scholarship would make a direct and immediate difference in that reality. It would go toward tuition, textbooks, and housing - the basic costs that determine whether a student like me can stay in school and stay focused, or is forced to choose between education and survival. I am applying for this scholarship because I believe in what it stands for - the idea that students who have had to fight harder, navigate more complexity, and carry more weight deserve the same access to opportunity as everyone else. I am that student. I am committed to my education, to my community, and to building a life and a legacy that reflects the values I have fought hard to develop. I do not take this opportunity lightly, and I will not waste it.

For too long, economics and environmentalism have been treated as opposing forces - as if a thriving economy and a healthy planet are mutually exclusive goals. That false choice is one of the most damaging ideas of our time, and it is exactly the kind of thinking I intend to spend my career dismantling. As a student of Economics with an Environmental Science emphasis, I sit at the intersection of these two worlds, and I believe that intersection is where the most important work of the next generation will happen. Sustainability must be a priority in economics because the economy does not exist outside of the natural world - it exists entirely within it. Every supply chain, every financial market, every business decision is ultimately dependent on natural resources, stable ecosystems, and a climate that supports human life and productivity. When we ignore environmental costs in our economic models, we are not being efficient - we are borrowing from the future and leaving the bill for generations that had no say in the matter. The true cost of carbon emissions, deforestation, and resource depletion does not disappear when we leave it off a balance sheet. It simply accumulates silently until it becomes a crisis that is far more expensive to address than it would have been to prevent. My emphasis in Environmental Science has given me the tools to understand those costs in concrete, measurable terms. I have learned how ecosystems function, how human activity disrupts them, and what the downstream economic consequences of that disruption look like. Combined with my training in economics, I can translate environmental data into the language that businesses, investors, and policymakers actually respond to - numbers, risk, and long-term value. That translation is critical. The environmental movement does not lack passion or scientific evidence. What it often lacks is the economic fluency to make the case in rooms where financial decisions are made. I intend to be someone who can walk into those rooms and make that case compellingly. In my future career, I see myself working at the intersection of financial consulting and environmental strategy - helping businesses and communities understand that sustainable practices are not a sacrifice of profit but a protection of it. Companies that ignore their environmental impact are accumulating hidden liabilities. Those that invest in sustainability early are building resilience, reducing long-term costs, and positioning themselves for a market that is rapidly rewarding responsible practices. I want to be the advisor who helps organizations - especially smaller ones in underserved communities - make that shift before they are forced to rather than after. Growing up in a low-income community, I also saw how environmental issues fall hardest on those with the least resources to adapt. Pollution, poor air quality, limited access to green space - these are not abstract policy debates where I come from. They are daily realities. That personal connection drives my commitment to making sustainability not just an elite concern but a universal one. The communities that have contributed least to our environmental crisis are often the ones bearing the greatest burden of it, and any economic framework that ignores that inequity is incomplete. I believe the economists and financial professionals of my generation have a responsibility that previous generations did not fully reckon with - to build systems that create prosperity without destroying the planet that makes prosperity possible. That is the work I am preparing for, and I am committed to bringing both the scientific understanding and the economic expertise to do it well.

This spring break, I lost my brother. Not by blood, but by bond - the kind of friendship that forms over years of shared laughter, loyalty, and life. He went to Mexico with friends looking for the kind of carefree memories that young people are supposed to make. He never came home. He was laced with fentanyl without his knowledge and died there. He was one of the best people I have ever known, and his death left a hole in my life that I carry with me every single day. Fentanyl does not discriminate. It does not target a certain type of person or a certain kind of community. It finds its way into the lives of good people - kind people, people with futures and families and friends who love them deeply. My brother was proof of that. He was not reckless. He was not careless. He was simply a young man who deserved to come home, and the fentanyl crisis stole that from him, from his family, and from everyone who called him a friend. That loss radicalized my sense of purpose in the best possible way. It turned grief into direction. I am changing my major and pursuing my studies with a focus on criminal justice because I refuse to let his death be meaningless. I want to understand the systems - how fentanyl crosses borders, how it infiltrates communities, how law enforcement responds, and where the failures are happening that allow young people to keep dying preventable deaths. The fentanyl crisis is not just a drug problem. It is a policy problem, a border security problem, a public health problem, and a community problem all at once. Addressing it requires people who are educated, motivated, and personally invested in finding real solutions - and I am determined to be one of those people. My goal is to work within the criminal justice system in a capacity that directly addresses the flow of fentanyl into communities like mine. Whether that means working in law enforcement, policy, community outreach, or advocacy, I intend to dedicate a significant part of my career to making sure that fewer families receive the kind of phone call that my brother's family received. I want to build programs that educate young people about the invisible dangers of fentanyl contamination - because most victims, like my brother, never even knew they were at risk. Every time I sit down to study, I think about him. I think about the future he never got to live, the legacy he never got to build, and the people who still miss him every single day. That grief does not paralyze me - it propels me. He deserved better, and so does every other young person whose life has been cut short by this crisis. I am working toward a world where they get it. That is my commitment, and I carry his memory with me as the reason I will never stop.

There is a moment I will never forget. After six years together, my girlfriend and I broke up. Six years of shared memories, shared dreams, and shared faith - and suddenly it was gone. I did not know where to turn. I could not explain it to my family or make sense of it with logic. So I did the only thing I had left. I turned to God. That season of my life, as painful as it was, became the most spiritually formative period I have ever experienced - and it changed everything about how I walk in faith today. Faith has always been a central part of who I am, but that moment forced me to stop treating it as a background presence and start treating it as my foundation. I threw myself into prayer, into church, into honest conversations with God about my pain, my purpose, and my future. I stopped asking why things had fallen apart and started asking what I was supposed to learn. That shift - from confusion to surrender - is where I found peace. And a few months later, through grace and genuine growth on both sides, we found our way back to each other. Today our relationship is stronger, healthier, and more grounded in faith than it has ever been. We are not just a couple - we are a couple with shared values, shared purpose, and a shared commitment to God that now anchors everything we do together. My girlfriend attends Pepperdine University, a school deeply rooted in Christian values, and together we have built a relationship that reflects those values every day. We attend church regularly and hold each other accountable in our walk with God. Our faith is not something we practice in isolation - it is something we live out together, and it shapes the way we treat others, the decisions we make, and the future we are building side by side. This opportunity is meaningful to me because the Jim Maxwell Memorial Scholarship reflects exactly the kind of values I am striving to embody - service, faith, and a genuine commitment to empowering others. As a first-generation college student from a low-income background, the financial support this scholarship provides would make a direct and immediate difference in my ability to continue my education. But beyond the financial relief, being recognized for my faith and my commitment to something greater than myself means more than I can fully express. Going forward, I plan to let my faith guide every step of my journey - through my studies in Business Economics, through the consulting firm I intend to build one day, and through the legacy I am creating for my family and my community. I have learned that God does not remove hardship - He walks through it with you and uses it to shape you into who you are meant to be. That lesson is one I carry into every room I enter, every relationship I invest in, and every goal I pursue. My faith is not a footnote in my story. It is the foundation of it.

My legacy started before I was even born. When my father immigrated to the United States at fourteen years old, something small but permanent happened - his last name and middle name were switched in the records. Because of that, I do not have a middle name. I am, in the most literal sense, the beginning of a new line. That is not a burden I carry with sadness. It is a responsibility I carry with pride. Everything I am building is rooted in that story - the story of a man who arrived in a foreign country as a teenager with nothing but courage, and a son who is determined to make sure that sacrifice echoes for generations to come. Creating a legacy, to me, means leaving an imprint so clear and so full of purpose that when people encounter it, they immediately understand the values behind it. Not just financial success, but integrity. Not just achievement, but abundance and happiness for the people I love and the community I came from. I think about my future children often. I want them to grow up with a name that carries real weight - a name associated with kindness, discipline, generosity, and resilience. I want them to stand tall when someone asks about their father, not just because of what he built, but because of who he was. The business I plan to create is a consulting firm designed specifically to serve individuals, families, and small business owners in underserved communities. Growing up low income, I watched people around me make important financial and business decisions without access to the guidance that could have changed their outcomes entirely. Wealthier communities take strategic advice for granted - my community has rarely had it. My firm will change that. It will be a place where people who grew up like me can walk in, be taken seriously, and receive the same quality of counsel that has historically been reserved for those with more resources. I am not just building a business. I am building a bridge between the opportunities that exist and the people who deserve them most. As for how I shine my light - I do it every single day, long before I have reached any finish line. I lead by example in my community, aware that people are watching, especially younger people trying to figure out if someone with my background can actually make it. I motivate and encourage the people around me because I know from personal experience how transformative a single word of genuine belief can be. I do not wait until I have achieved everything to start giving back. I give what I have right now - my time, my energy, my presence, and my example. Showing up consistently, staying committed publicly, and refusing to quit - that is how I shine my light today. The legacy I am creating is everlasting by design. It is for my children, for my community, and for every person who shares a story like mine. I am the new line in my family, and I intend to make it one worth continuing. I am just getting started.