“What are you?” “Guess.” The answer is always different. Depending on who you ask, I may be Hispanic, Peruvian, Cambodian, Black, Native American, Burmese, or Khmer. That’s because, as a friend of mine put it, I’m ethnically ambiguous. Everyone sees something different, and I take pride in that. Being ethnically ambiguous has taught me the importance of looking beyond appearances, especially when meeting new people, because I know, from experience, that the lines that divide us are not as sharp as they’re often made out to be. That's why I’m proud that I force people to look beyond their neatly organized boxes of race and ethnicity, because those boxes are dangerous. From anti-Asian attacks in the U.S. during COVID to the Rohingya Genocide in Myanmar, the consequences of a single narrative, of stereotypes, are never contained, no matter where you are. So, in the future, I hope to not only look beyond the labels in my everyday life but also encourage others to do the same. In college, through intimate seminars and small discussion groups, I hope to not only examine the connections between information, evidence, and democracy but also listen to and learn from different perspectives, especially those I disagree with. Diversity - in ethnicity, socioeconomic status, and worldview - is a fundamental part of what I want in my college experience because I know that although ignorance may be bliss, it is also very dangerous. But beyond continuing to educate myself both inside and outside the classroom, I also hope to make a positive difference in the world. Being a woman of color and everything that comes with it in today’s world has shaped my aspirations and my worldview, not by making them smaller, but by making them bigger. Now, I not only want to pursue my interests for myself but also for others like me. It is because of my race and my gender that I realize how important it is to have role models and a support system, to look beyond the surface and find the truth in a world stacked against people like me. In the future, I hope to launch a company that will empower the communities that are too often written off and ignored, their complexity and pain reduced to a single headline. I want to understand and approach problems from all angles, from policy to culture to engineering. In a time of rapid innovation and increasing tragedy, I believe we should innovate for the betterment of Earth and humanity, and with the help of this scholarship, I hope to do just that.

To me, Myanmar was dusty mountain roads, a cup of Burmese tea on a rooftop in the ancient temple city of Bagan, laughing and playing tag with other kids, riding a tuk-tuk for the first time through a busy street, military checkpoints, and posters of Aung San Suu Kyi hung in every home we visited. I was 10 years old, and my memories of Myanmar were colored by the fascination of a kid exploring a whole new world. I didn't realize how unstable Myanmar was, with factions still fighting in the countryside and the repressive military regime losing power for the first time in decades. But, now that I'm 16, all the fleeting little things I had noticed but almost forgotten then seem like flashing signs of a coming dystopia to me now. Like the military checkpoint we were stopped at on our way to a remote village. How the kid that was probably younger than I am now, holding a gun behind the barbed wire, may not still be alive. The belated realization that when military factions went village to village demanding rice, money, or sons, the families we met in the mountains often didn’t have a choice but to give up their sons. Now, when I remember him, I think about how he could've just as easily been one of the boys I'd played with; how even if he was still alive, his life was still over, his childhood ripped away. I understand now how lucky I am to be able to ignore the struggles of people half a world away if I wanted to; how easy it is to not think too hard or look too deep. But I still remember their lives and stories, in all its layered complexity, and when I first read about the Rohingya genocide and the 2021 coup, I couldn't look away. Now, when I think of Myanmar, the memories of my 10-year-old self are colored by the thoughts of my 16-year-old brain. I still see the beauty of the country, and the kindness of the people, but I also see their youth stolen and hope crushed. I see their resilience in the face of adversity, and by example, they've taught me the importance of being authentic, and living a life you're proud of. Over the years, I've tried my best to embody the determination and empathy I saw in Myanmar. When my mom volunteered at a dental clinic in Cambodia, I went with her. At 12 years old, there weren't any jobs for me, but I saw the kids waiting, scared and anxious, for their first-ever dentist visit, and I wanted to change that. From singing to drawing contests, I helped entertain and comfort hundreds of kids before and after their appointments. Soon, I was inspired to go further. So, my sisters and I started collecting and selling unwanted items on eBay, eventually raising and donating $2,100 to support those hit hardest by COVID in Cambodia: the elderly. In the future, I want to continue this trend by launching a company that will empower the communities that are too often written off and ignored, their complexity and pain reduced to a single headline. I want to understand and approach problems from all angles, from policy to culture to engineering. I know that in trying to live a life I'm proud of, I'll struggle and even fail, but Myanmar: the goodness of the people, the oppressive circumstances they persist through, and their enduring hope for a better world will always remind me of what's possible when you persevere.