1. When did you find TXT? I found TXT in early 2023 when “Sugar Rush Ride” came out. I remember hearing it for the first time and then going down a rabbit hole watching their performances and content. I didn’t expect much at first, but they ended up sticking with me. 2. What do you think is one of the most important characteristics of a MOA? I think one of the most important characteristics of a MOA is growing together. TXT’s message is about going through life and figuring things out, and MOAs reflect that. We support TXT, but we also support each other. It’s not just about being a fan, it’s about being part of a community where people understand that growth isn’t perfect, but we keep moving forward together. 3. Do you have a TXT bias, and if so, why did you choose them? My bias is Taehyun. I chose him because of how real and thoughtful he is. The way he carries himself feels grounded, and you can tell he puts intention into what he does. I respect how honest he is and how he stays true to himself. 4. Who is your ult bias, if any, of any group? My ult bias is also Taehyun. He represents consistency and growth. He doesn’t try to seem perfect, but focuses on improving and staying disciplined, which motivates me. 5. What is your favorite TXT song, and why? My favorite TXT song is “Sugar Rush Ride.” It introduced me to them, so it means a lot to me. It reminds me of that time in my life and how their music helped me stay motivated. 6. Have you had a chance to see TXT live in concert before? No, I haven’t had the chance yet, but I hope to one day. Watching their performances online already shows how much energy and connection they have with fans. 7. What was your favorite album concept, and why? My favorite album concept is The Name Chapter: TEMPTATION. It’s the era I found TXT, and the concept stood out to me. It captures the feeling of being pulled between comfort and growth, which I relate to. 8. How are you currently paying for school? Right now, I am paying for school out of pocket. I do not qualify for any more federal financial aid, and I did not receive enough scholarships from my university to cover everything, so I have to pay the remaining balance myself. 9. How will the scholarship help you? What gaps can it fill? This scholarship would help cover my current tuition balance for this semester. Right now, I don’t know how I will be able to pay it without additional funding. It would allow me to stay enrolled, finish my degree this year, and move forward into my career. 10. How has TXT influenced you for good? TXT has influenced me by reminding me that growth is not always clear or easy, and that’s okay. Their music talks about feeling lost or unsure, which I’ve experienced in my own life. During times when I felt stuck or overwhelmed, their songs helped me step back and realize that not having everything figured out doesn’t mean I’m not moving forward. They’ve helped me stay motivated, be more patient with myself, and keep going even when things feel uncertain. 11. How will you use your education to do good in the world? I am working toward a degree in education and psychology, and my goal is to become a school counselor. I want to help students, especially those who feel overlooked or struggle to express themselves, feel seen and supported. I’ve worked with students who need extra support, and I’ve seen how much it matters when someone takes the time to understand them. I want to continue doing that and help students build confidence and find their voice, because sometimes having just one person who listens can make all the difference.

The moment I understood why I wanted to become a special education teacher came from a student who needed time to be heard. I was working with a student who struggled to communicate clearly. At first, it was easy to assume she did not understand or did not have much to say. But instead of rushing past her, I slowed down. I paid attention. Eventually, she found a way to express herself. It was not perfect, but it was real. That moment changed how I see teaching. Not all voices are heard with ears. My passion for special education comes from understanding that many students are not lacking ability, but are often misunderstood. Too often, they are defined by what they cannot do instead of supported for what they can become. I want to be the kind of teacher who sees beyond that. To me, “bringing a student to their sense of presence” means helping them recognize that they matter. It is the moment a student realizes they belong, that they have a voice, and that who they are is enough. Presence is not about volume, but recognition. Some students are not silent, they are simply unheard. To guide my students toward this sense of presence, I will lead with patience. I will give them time, space, and support to express themselves in ways that feel natural to them. I will build trust so they feel safe enough to try. Most importantly, I will notice what others overlook. To teach is to notice what others overlook. This belief is at the center of how I see my role as an educator, and it is reflected in the story I imagine when I think about the kind of teacher I want to be. ~The Voice Beneath the Silence~ In a small village nestled between the mountains and the ocean, where the wind carried the scent of salt and earth, there lived a group of children who were taught to speak quickly, answer clearly, and be heard without hesitation. In this village, voices were valued, but only certain kinds. There was one child who did not fit that expectation. When the other children spoke, their words came fast and confident. But this child’s words moved slowly, as if they had to travel a longer path to be understood. Sometimes, the words did not come at all. The pauses grew longer, and the silence around the child grew heavier. The villagers began to believe the child had nothing to say. So they stopped asking. They spoke around the child instead of to them. They made decisions for them instead of with them. Over time, the child’s silence was no longer just a way of communicating. It became something the village accepted as truth. But the child was always watching. They watched the ocean waves roll in and out, never rushing, always returning. They watched the trees bend in the wind without breaking. They watched the mountains stand firm, unmoving, grounded. One day, a new kumu (teacher) arrived in the village. This kumu did not begin by asking questions. They did not rush the child or try to fill the silence. Instead, they sat beside the child and listened, even when there were no words. Days passed, and still, the kumu waited. They noticed the way the child’s hands moved when they were thinking. The way their eyes followed patterns in the sand. The way their body shifted when they wanted to speak but could not find the words. The kumu understood something the others did not. Not all voices are heard with ears. One evening, as the sun lowered and the sky turned deep shades of orange and gold, the kumu spoke softly of Kū, a Hawaiian deity known for strength, protection, and the ability to stand firm and grounded. They spoke of how Kū stands strong not through loudness, but through presence. Kū does not need to shout to be known. His strength is in his stillness, in his ability to remain unshaken. The kumu explained that true strength is not always something you hear. Sometimes, it is something you feel. The child listened closely. The next day, the kumu placed a small stick into the child’s hand and drew a simple line in the sand. The child watched for a long time. Then, slowly, they moved their hand and added their own line beside it. The line was hesitant at first, but it was theirs. The kumu smiled, not because the line was perfect, but because it was a beginning. Day after day, they returned to the shore. The kumu would draw, and the child would respond. Sometimes with lines, sometimes with shapes, sometimes with nothing at all. But the kumu never rushed them. They waited, just as the ocean waits for the tide to return. Over time, the child’s movements grew more confident. Their lines became clearer, their expressions more intentional. What once looked like silence began to take form. The villagers began to notice. At first, they were confused. They had believed the child had nothing to offer. But now, they saw something different. They saw effort, meaning, and expression where they once saw emptiness. The kumu gathered the villagers and spoke. “Some students are not silent,” they said. “They are simply unheard.” The village began to change. People started to wait longer. They listened more carefully. They watched for meaning beyond words. They learned that presence is not about volume, but recognition. The child, who was once overlooked, began to stand taller. Not because their voice suddenly became louder, but because it was finally seen. Like Kū, the child stood grounded, strong in their own way, no longer defined by what others expected them to be. They had always had a voice. The village had simply learned how to listen. ~That is the kind of teacher I strive to be. Someone who listens with patience, who sees beyond what is obvious, and who helps students recognize that their voice has always been there. In special education, this means ensuring that every student, no matter how they communicate, is given the time, support, and respect needed to be seen, heard, and valued for who they are.

I grew up hearing stories about the akua, especially Kū, the god of strength, responsibility, and action. Kū is often associated with war, but what stayed with me was something deeper. Kū represents doing what must be done to protect and provide for your people. I did not fully understand that as a child, but I came to live it. When I was young, my family went through a period where we lost our home. My mom never told us we were homeless. Instead, she told us we were going camping. She made it feel like an adventure, using her creativity and strength to protect us from the reality of what we were going through. But as the oldest, I understood more than my younger brother. I could see the stress, the uncertainty, and the weight she was carrying. In that moment, I stepped into a role I was not asked to take, but knew I had to. I chose to play along. I did not question her or break the world she created for us. I acted like everything was okay because I understood that she was doing everything she could to hold us together. At the same time, I felt a responsibility to help in any way I could. Around 12 years old, I started delivering newspapers and mowing lawns. I did not have much to offer, but I wanted to contribute. I wanted to ease the burden, even if only a little. Looking back, that was the moment I began to understand what Kū truly meant. It was not about fighting in a physical sense, but about stepping up when your family needs you most. It was about quiet leadership, sacrifice, and responsibility. It was about doing what needed to be done, even when you are young, unsure, and still learning yourself. That experience shaped who I am today. As someone with Native Hawaiian roots, I carry the understanding that we are deeply connected to our families and our communities. We do not move through life alone. What we do reflects not only on ourselves, but on those who came before us and those who will come after. That belief continues to guide how I approach my goals and my future. I am currently majoring in Psychology while also pursuing a path toward education, because I want to serve my community in a meaningful way. I have seen how challenges like financial hardship, instability, and emotional stress can affect families and young people. I want to be someone who understands those experiences and can support others through them. Whether in a classroom or a mental health setting, my goal is to create spaces where people feel seen, supported, and capable of growth. The story of Kū reminds me that strength is not always loud. Sometimes it looks like showing up, staying steady, and carrying responsibility without recognition. It looks like protecting others, even when you are still figuring things out yourself. That lesson continues to shape how I move forward. I approach my future with resilience, a strong sense of responsibility, and a commitment to giving back. I want to use my education not just to build a career, but to uplift others and strengthen the communities I come from. Like Kū, I strive to take action where it is needed most.

I am interested in pursuing a career in teaching because I have experienced firsthand how much of a difference one teacher can make. For me, teaching is not just about delivering lessons, it is about showing up for students, building their confidence, and helping them see their own potential. In high school, my Algebra 2 and Trigonometry teacher had a lasting impact on me. Math did not come easy to me, and there were times where I felt frustrated and unsure of myself. I remember thinking that I just was not “good at math.” But she never accepted that mindset. She was patient, consistent, and took the time to make sure I understood, even when it meant explaining things in different ways. More importantly, she believed in me when I did not believe in myself. That belief changed how I saw my abilities. She taught me that growth is possible with the right support, and that lesson stayed with me far beyond the classroom. That experience is a big part of why I want to become a teacher. I want to be that person for someone else. I want to help students who feel stuck, discouraged, or overlooked realize that they are capable. I know what it feels like to struggle and question yourself, and I want to create a classroom where students feel supported, not judged. Another major influence in my decision is my wife, who is currently a teacher. Watching her has shown me what teaching really looks like beyond the classroom. I see the effort, the patience, and the emotional investment it takes to truly care for students. Even on the hardest days, she continues to show up because she knows her presence matters. Seeing that has strengthened my commitment to this path. It has shown me that teaching is not just a profession, it is a form of service. I am currently majoring in Psychology while also pursuing a path toward education because I believe both areas are deeply connected. Understanding students on a psychological and emotional level is just as important as teaching academic content. Many students come into the classroom carrying challenges that are not always visible. I want to be a teacher who understands that and responds with empathy, patience, and support. My background has also shaped my passion for this work. As someone who is Hawaiian, Fijian, African, and has Samoan ancestry, I understand the importance of representation and cultural connection. I want my future students to feel seen and valued for who they are. I want to create a classroom where their identities are respected and where they feel like they belong. Teaching, to me, is about more than helping students pass a class. It is about helping them build confidence, develop a sense of purpose, and believe in their future. I want to be part of shaping that foundation, especially for students who may not always feel supported. The teacher who changed my life did not just teach me math. She taught me that I was capable. That is the kind of impact I want to have. That is why I am pursuing a career in teaching.

I grew up understanding that nothing I do is just for me. I remember being surrounded by family, hearing stories about sacrifice, faith, and doing whatever it takes so the next generation can have more opportunities. Those moments stayed with me. They shaped how I see education, not as something personal, but as something shared. That is what it means to me to be a Pacific Islander attending college. I am Hawaiian, Fijian, African, and have Samoan ancestry, and each part of my identity reminds me that I come from people who value family, service, and resilience. In our communities, success is not individual, it is collective. When one of us moves forward, we bring others with us. Because of that, my journey in college has always been about more than just earning a degree. It is about honoring my family and creating opportunities for those who come after me. Family is at the center of everything I do. I think about the sacrifices made before me and the responsibility I have to carry that forward. Being in college means turning those sacrifices into something meaningful. It means using what I learn to uplift not just my immediate family, but my community as a whole. That sense of responsibility pushes me to keep going, even when things get difficult. Faith also plays a major role in my life. It has been my foundation during challenging times, especially when financial stress, job instability, and family responsibilities made continuing school feel overwhelming. Through my faith, I have stayed grounded and committed, trusting that this path has a purpose. I believe I am meant to use my education in a way that serves others. I am currently working toward becoming an elementary school teacher, with the goal of serving students in my community. I want to create classrooms where students feel seen, valued, and connected to who they are. I have already begun this work through my experience working with students, where I focus on building strong relationships, encouraging confidence, and making learning meaningful. The idea that leadership comes through service strongly reflects how I approach my future. I do not see leadership as a title, but as a responsibility to show up for others. I want to be someone who gives back, who supports the next generation, and who creates spaces where Pacific Islander students feel empowered to succeed. Receiving this scholarship would help ease the financial challenges I am currently facing and allow me to focus more fully on my education. More importantly, it would support someone who is committed to giving back. I am determined to reach my full potential, not just for myself, but for my family and community. Being a Pacific Islander in college means I never walk alone. Everything I do is rooted in where I come from, and everything I achieve is meant to be shared.