I learned early on that nice things came to those who waited–and saved. The day that wait ended stands out vividly–from the discovery to the purchase. I carried the lightweight plastic to the cashier with the dexterity of someone holding glass. I grew giddy as I ripped the flimsy corded earbuds out of the pack and placed them in my ears. A Dollar store earbuds may not sound like an eight year old’s dream purchase (one may expect that to be pristine Barbie dolls or sporty remote-controlled cars), but for me, those headphones were everything. They served as a gateway to unleashing the power of sound. With this new tool, I had a quiet companion waiting to be called upon when the world became too overwhelming. I cherished the ability to disconnect from the outer world by turning toward the inner self. Those earbuds probably didn’t last a month, a consequence of their dollar-store quality and my consistent usage at unreasonable decibels. However, they sparked something bigger. In my moments of stress and anguish, music became my refuge. It wasn’t just background noise, but morphed itself into an intentional space that helped me reconnect with myself. While my headphones offered me a personal sanctuary in the comfort of my own home, school was a stark contrast. There, headphones were viewed as sonic barriers to learning. As sharply as I remember buying my first earbuds, I still feel the sting of the deprecatory and disapproving comments from teachers about how headphones would lead to “disengagement” and “poor academic performance”. Without my headphones, I felt powerless. I am not a confrontational person, but I wanted to scream at every person who told me I could not wear them. Without them, I ironically became the very student teachers feared I’d be with them — distracted, lost in my imagination, and disconnected from the classroom. As a student who always loved learning, mingling, and engaging in classroom settings, I soon realized that being without my headphones made the word so much louder and so much harder to focus. At first, I thought the problem was simple: I needed my headphones to concentrate. However, as the constant distractions became too overwhelming I realized that being tethered to my headphones was only a symptom of a deeper need. Headphones acted as a stand in for structure in a world that often felt too loud, too chaotic, and impossible to navigate. The challenges that I faced in the classroom were aspects of my learning difficulties I had not conceptualized. Today, I celebrate the young child who innovatively crafted a solution to meet my unique learning style. Now living proudly with this part of my identity, I push to help others who are struggling as I once did — who live without the outlets and opportunities I have utilized. This scholarship would have a significant impact on my career goals, allowing me to continue working toward creating spaces for those in need of resources and support, just as I once did. My ambitions have spawned from prioritizing the methods of questioning and contextualizing complex issues has been impactful, both internally and externally. I am deeply committed to making a meaningful difference in my community and beyond. My biggest goal in relation to my career is to help those who, like me, have faced challenges in accessing the tools and environments they need to thrive. By molding opportunities for others, especially those from marginalized communities, I want to create inclusive spaces where people can feel supported, empowered, and understood as they pursue their own paths to success.

I learned early on that nice things came to those who waited–and saved. The day that wait ended stands out vividly–from the discovery to the purchase. I carried the lightweight plastic to the cashier with the dexterity of someone holding glass. I grew giddy as I ripped the flimsy corded earbuds out of the pack and placed them in my ears. A Dollar store earbuds may not sound like an eight year old’s dream purchase (one may expect that to be pristine Barbie dolls or sporty remote-controlled cars), but for me, those headphones were everything. They served as a gateway to unleashing the power of sound. With this new tool, I had a quiet companion waiting to be called upon when the world became too overwhelming. I cherished the ability to disconnect from the outer world by turning toward the inner self. Those earbuds probably didn’t last a month, a consequence of their dollar-store quality and my consistent usage at unreasonable decibels. However, they sparked something bigger. In my moments of stress and anguish, music became my refuge. It wasn’t just background noise, but morphed itself into an intentional space that helped me reconnect with myself. While my headphones offered me a personal sanctuary in the comfort of my own home, school was a stark contrast. There, headphones were viewed as sonic barriers to learning. As sharply as I remember buying my first earbuds, I still feel the sting of the deprecatory and disapproving comments from teachers about how headphones would lead to “disengagement” and “poor academic performance”. Without my headphones, I felt powerless. I am not a confrontational person, but I wanted to scream at every person who told me I could not wear them.Without them, I ironically became the very student teachers feared I’d be with them — distracted, lost in my imagination, and disconnected from the classroom. As a student who always loved learning, mingling, and engaging in classroom settings, I soon realized that being without my headphones made the word so much louder and so much harder to focus. The snaps and aggressive chewing of gum, the steady thuds of a foot tapping, and the hushed conversations from behind constantly grabbed my attention. To drown out the noise, I often resorted to “sound searching,” most notably self-soothing in the middle of a lesson by closing my eyes and trying my best to “hear” my favorite songs. Without my headphones, I couldn’t focus; I also did not reach out to anyone out of fear of being misunderstood or judged for needing additional support to focus. The challenges that I faced in the classroom were aspects of my learning difficulties I had not conceptualized. Resiliently, my young mind learned to cope with my social and learning disabilities.. Today, I celebrate the young child who innovatively crafted a solution to meet my unique learning style. Now living proudly with this part of my identity, I have been able to create adequate solutions to manage my focus and channel my energy productively. I realized too young that we need to shift the narrative from expecting students to conform to traditional structures to creating learning spaces that meet their unique needs. I aspire to advocate for people with diverse learning needs and help them find the tools and spaces that allow them to thrive. Just as I once turned to music for refuge, I now aim to create environments where students feel empowered to express what helps them learn.

The question I wish I had been asked more often as a child is, “What helps you feel calm and focused?” The absence of this question has deeply shaped my understanding of myself, my learning needs, and the ways I now advocate for others with similar challenges. Growing up, I learned early on that nice things came to those who waited–and saved. The day that wait ended stands out vividly–from the discovery to the purchase. I carried the lightweight plastic to the cashier with the dexterity of someone holding glass. I grew giddy as I ripped the flimsy corded earbuds out of the pack and placed them in my ears. A Dollar store earbuds may not sound like an eight year old’s dream purchase (one may expect that to be pristine Barbie dolls or sporty remote-controlled cars), but for me, those headphones were everything. They served as a gateway to unleashing the power of sound. With this new tool, I had a quiet companion waiting to be called upon when the world became too overwhelming. I cherished the ability to disconnect from the outer world by turning toward the inner self. Those earbuds probably didn’t last a month, a consequence of their dollar-store quality and my consistent usage at unreasonable decibels. However, they sparked something bigger. In my moments of stress and anguish, music became my refuge. It wasn’t just background noise, but morphed itself into an intentional space that helped me reconnect with myself. While my headphones offered me a personal sanctuary in the comfort of my own home, school was a stark contrast. There, headphones were viewed as sonic barriers to learning. As sharply as I remember buying my first earbuds, I still feel the sting of the deprecatory and disapproving comments from teachers about how headphones would lead to “disengagement” and “poor academic performance”. Without my headphones, I felt powerless. I am not a confrontational person, but I wanted to scream at every person who told me I could not wear them. Without them, I ironically became the very student teachers feared I’d be with — distracted, lost in my imagination, and disconnected from the classroom. As a student who always loved learning, mingling, and engaging in classroom settings, I soon realized that being without my headphones made the word so much louder and so much harder to focus. The absence of this question has motivated me to prioritize the methods of questioning and contextualizing complex issues that have been impactful, both internally and externally. I realized too young that we need to shift the narrative from expecting students to conform to traditional structures to creating learning spaces that meet their unique needs. I aspire to advocate for people with diverse learning needs and help them find the tools and spaces that allow them to thrive. Just as I once turned to music for refuge, I now aim to create environments where students feel empowered to express what helps them learn.