Losing a family member holds a mystique of silence. It quietly creeps on you until one day you realize your loved one is gone. Watching my grandmother live with dementia felt like watching my first candle burn. At first the flame burned brightly, filling the room with energy and warmth. With every passing day, the wax melted away. The candle would keep being relit, but would slowly lose its luster till a faint flicker was all that was left. Dementia did the same thing with my grandmother. It slowly dismantled the woman who helped raise me, not through a single moment. It was through a myriad of small ones that I didn't see for their beauty till it was gone. Throughout my childhood, my grandmother was an integral part of my life. There were many times when she would live with us at my mother's house. It became an everyday routine to see her. Whether we were talking, eating together, or simply sharing the same space, her presence brought me comfort. I never imagined the day when those moments would become a keepsake memory that I wish I could relive. When the dementia first arrived, the changes were subtle. Conversations became repetitive, memories faded together, would call for my grandfather, whom she had been divorced from for years. I didn't comprehend the magnitude of what was happening. I assumed I had time. I thought there would be another visit, another conversation, another chance to reconnect. As the disease progressed, so did I as I was entering high school. I would see her less as life became busy with school, sports, clubs, and eventually college. Looking back now, I fell victim to the pressure of feeling uncomfortable seeing her health decline. This would end up creating this distance between us. There were painful moments when she would forget who I was. I never stopped loving her for it, but I concluded that my absence wouldn't be missed, or to better say remembered. Then this past summer came the day when I visited her while she was on her deathbed. Head shaven, was hooked up with tubes, and I didn't recognize her. The woman who was once so familiar to me lay in this bed as if they were a stranger. Once I stood beside her, I realized dementia had quietly stolen time from our relationship. In that moment, all I could think of was whether she remembered who I was. I was thinking of all those moments where I wasn't just simply being present. It didn't matter if she knew my name; what mattered was that I cherish those last moments I had with her before I went back to college. This realization has been ingrained in me. As of recently, I have discovered that many memories with her and throughout my life, I never took the time to settle and enjoy the atmosphere in the moment. Dementia taught me that love and friendships exist beyond memories. A conversation or a visit doesn't lose its value because it's forgotten and only remembered by one person. Acts of kindness, patience, and genuine intentions matter because they reflect who a person chooses to be. Although I understand this may be simple, it is often so forgotten, and a simple reminder can help anyone. Additionally, her death taught me how dementia affects the entire family. It forces loved ones to grieve someone who is still physically alive. It could even break them down seeing their relative become a husk of themselves. Mentally checking off marks till the final goodbye while continuing to show compassion through each point. It's almost an impossible sensation to describe unless you experience it. I understand I can't change the past, but I can carry the lessons I've learned with me. I have learned not to assume there will always be more time with people I love. I learned that showing up matters, especially in difficult times of discomfort. Most importantly, I learned that love, connections, and jobs all simplify to the fact of remaining present every day through the best and hardest times of life. I have seen myself become much happier with being in the moment, knowing I'm giving my full attention where I am. It gives me the sense of knowing I gave my all with no regrets. Today, when I think of my grandmother, I remember the warmth she once brought into my life and the lessons she left. Dementia may have taken her memories and our relationship, but it left me an understanding of compassion, being present, and the importance of cherishing people before time melts like the wax of a candle.

Being a first-generation college student, it feels like my entire path has involved overcoming challenges. I never had a family member to tell me what classes I should take, how to prepare for college, or what opportunities I should look for. Every decision held the pressure not to mess up. With every setback came another opportunity to learn and grow from. I believe this mindset has cultivated my resilience and strengthened my commitment to a career in STEM. My junior year of high school was quite impactful. During the football playoffs, I suffered a concussion. As a result, I was put into protocol. This meant reduced screen time, not having to take tests, and very soon I found myself mentally checked out. Before I knew it, I found myself with a C+ in English heading into the second semester. I didn't have much of a choice but to put my head down and work. My life became a strict schedule of school, track practice, studying for the ACT and SAT, and working on my reading and comprehension skills. I would find short books, maybe about 150 pages, to read on the side and would write short paragraphs. I broke the process down into steps to mimic the writing process we were taught in school. It was exhausting, and there were many nights when I didn't want to. I reminded myself that my future was in my hands, and this motivated me to stay on the right path. This same year, three suicides occurred. The campus felt devoid of life. We all showed up physically, but you can tell everyone was not there mentally. I was a part of this group. As much as I tried to keep focus, it felt as if the world was doing everything in its power to distract me. However, the concussion brought me to some of the most influential people in my life. Recovering from my concussion meant spending countless hours with the athletic trainers. Originally, I only saw them as people helping me to get back on the field. I began to grow a bond with them, and they became much more significant within my life. They listened when I was frustrated, checked on me beyond my symptoms, and allowed me to speak freely about any topic. They enforced the lesson of how important it is to care for the person beyond their injury. Watching and feeling the support they had given us students opened my eyes to how compassion is equally as important in the healing process. By the end of the year, I found myself in a much better headspace and finished the year with a B+ in English. Those experiences changed my life. They inspired me to pursue physical therapy. I am currently majoring in biology, volunteering in a physical therapy clinic, and will be studying kinesiology abroad in Australia to deepen my understanding of rehabilitation and human movement. My passion extends beyond the clinic. I have also begun designing an AI companion that helps people build healthy habits, manage stress, complete therapeutic exercises, and stay motivated through personalized guidance. I hope to combine healthcare to make support accessible to all. My junior year experience taught me resilience and empathy. Together, they shaped me into a person who uses science to heal the body while never forgetting the mental aspect behind it as well.

When I first started considering a career in healthcare, I didn't strictly choose it for medicine. The deciding factor for me was being able to help people mentally. Throughout my life the most consistent lesson I've learned is having someone willing to listen to and genuinely care can make all the difference. These experiences taught me that treatment begins mentally with making people feel seen, heard, and supported. This realization became vivid during my junior year at Harvard Westlake. After three students died by suicide within the matter of four months, the school felt different. This would only make sense seeing death in a community so tight like ours at such a young age many people didn't know how to accept it. It was hard for me one kid was on track with me and another I had just recently met and was cool with. It felt as me and the entire school were just trying to make it through each day. During this time I was injured pretty often from track and football. I was spending a majority of my time with our athletic trainers while recovering from injuries. They did far more for me than just help me recover. They gave me an outlet to talk, listened to my frustrations, and gave me a reminder my well being mattered just as much as my physical recovery. They helped me to reinstall confidence in myself in all aspects of my life. Seeing the impact they had on students inspired me to pursue a career where I could provide that sense of comfort and support for others. Due to my experiences I hope to work with patients across all stages of life. Whether someone is recovering from surgery, rebuilding strength after an accident, or simply trying to regain confidence in their body and identity. Recovery can be equally exhausting emotionally and physically. I want my patients to feels like they have someone who believes in them every step in the way.I have taken steps into this career path. I am currently a biology major and volunteering in a physical therapy clinic this summer. I have seen firsthand how personalized care can restore both mobility and confidence. In the winter I will be studying kinesiology abroad in Australia to deepen my understanding of movement science and rehabilitation. I hope to learn their healthcare system to broaden my perspective. I intend to bring new approaches back to the communities I serve. Additionally I hope to bring technology deeper into healthcare. I have been developing the concept for an AI companion designed to help individuals build healthier habits, manage stress, practice breathing techniques, complete therapeutic exercises, and stay motivated through personalized guidance. My goal is to extend the support home with a specialized best friend in your phone. For me, healthcare is about regaining confidence, and create hope, and give every patient a safe haven to be heard and understood.

Being a first-generation college student is the greatest competition I have ever entered. It felt as if I was in a race and I started at the start line while those around me started at the midpoint. Many students were born with guidance about college; I was instead blessed with the gift of determination. There was no playbook, coach to guide me, or a family member to tell me what I should do next. Every decision carried this feeling of uncertainty as if I was gambling with every choice. Each milestone achieved, though, felt that much sweeter. There were many stumbles along this path, but I'm thankful for each one. Each step was earned and built through unwavering dedication and faith to keep striving along the unclear path. I grew up in Los Angeles to divorced parents for as long as I can remember. Although it was a loving environment and my parents wanted the best for me, they were not able to afford the education they wanted for me. This put my education in my hands. I had to ask myself at around ten years old what I was willing to do and sacrifice to get the education I wanted. I decided from that moment on I would do everything in my power to get the best education possible. This led to me begging my parents to take me to a tutor to prepare for the ISEE exam to get into Harvard-Westlake. I began preparing for the test in my 6th-grade year to attend the middle school. I fell short, and I remember feeling disappointment and a sense of loss. Since I was young, I always struggled with losing; it would make me angry. Looking at it now, it was the burning desire of competition that pushed me. I accepted the rejection and began to work even harder with the tutor, in the classroom, and on the football field. I was willing to do anything to get in. It ultimately led me to stop playing football for my recreational team my 8th grade year. It was hard for me because my football had been a part of me for as long as I could remember at that point. It paid off, and I gained admission freshman year. In my time at Harvard-Westlake, I picked football up again, and I shined on the football field. I received interest to play football from the IVY League and NESCAC conference in college and even had some division one interest. I had my eyes set on division one school like the Ivy League or staying home and walking on to the UCLA football team. There were many glimpses where it seemed like my dreams were going to come true, but ultimately it didn't come to fruition. Accordingly, I adjusted my college choices to the NESCAC conference. Once again I found myself coming short. I was intending on going to Colby College, but I was told my grades were not good enough. This led to me choosing Bates College. I remember my initial reaction being angry and disappointed. However, I took the time to process this and understand that everything happens for a reason. I met my friends who helped and supported me to find my passion in physical therapy. I noticed my passion began my junior year after three suicides happened. I remember the school felt hollow, like people were there, but were getting by. In all three times when I received the info, I was with the trainers at my school. They were an outlet for me: sitting there and helped through injuries, listened to my daily struggles, and allowed me to speak my mind. I hope to be able to do this for others to help them mentally and physically grow. Currently, I am volunteering at the physical therapy clinic and pursuing a biology degree in hopes of going to PT school after I graduate. I will be studying kinesiology abroad in Australia to broaden my understanding of movement science and rehabilitation, allowing me to bring new perspectives back to the communities I serve. I want to work with people at every stage of life because I believe movement has the power to transform lives. Additionally give people a safe space to speak about whatever they want and make them feel seen and heard. I want to take this to another level. Currently, I have been working on an app that would help with this as well. I've been designing an AI buddy that caters to you and helps you achieve the goals you want through suggestions and games to train skills. It works as a journal, provides stretches and movements for your specified goals, breathing techniques, and challenges to push you to achieve your goals. It is your AI buddy that grows specifically at your pace and recognizes what works for you to help you become the best version of yourself. This scholarship would do so much more than ease the financial challenges of college. It would allow me to devote more time to gaining clinical experience, pursuing research towards my app, and preparing for my career in physical therapy instead of worrying about the financial obstacle that comes with college. I've done my best in earning financial aid towards college through football, and it still wasn't enough. This is why I'm still trying now to gather as much money as possible. More importantly, it would represent an investment in someone who is determined to use every opportunity to create opportunities for others. Competition used to mean driving that I belonged with those around me. It has transformed into helping others believe they belong too. Every challenge I've faced has strengthened my commitment to serving others, and every opportunity I've received has reminded me that success is most meaningful when my full effort creates a path for someone else. With your support, I will continue building that path—one patient, one athlete, and one community at a time.

The fox patiently waited. Every morning, in different parts of the world, his dark brown eyes would blink open on someone's screen. He was never demanding or judgmental about your mistakes. He would simply lie in his digital forest, happily swinging his tail as the glowing fireflies surrounded him. The size of the forest knew no bounds. Every person who downloaded this app shared this realm, but had no clue of the other people who inhabited it as well. Thousands of trails belong to someone carrying a different weight on their shoulders. One path, there was Noah, a high school senior, staring at his NYU rejection letter. His hand shook with rage and disappointment, ready to hurl his phone across the quad. Then a notification came from the fox saying, " Breathe for two minutes to light your path". He almost ignored it, but instead he closed his eyes. When he opened them, a firefly began to glow. In Australia, Maya sat alone in her car, exhausted after a twelve-hour shift. She couldn't remember the last time she had eaten. The fox dropped an apple on her trail with a notification saying" Take five minutes to relax". She smiled, and another firefly began to glow. In Italy, eight-year-old Lily cried, clutching notecards in her hand, dreading her presentation in class tomorrow. She was terrified that everyone was going to laugh at her. Her fox chased a butterfly through the trees until it landed in a stream and told Lily, "Let's practice together". Lily laughed, easing her anxiety. Fireflies grew underwater and illuminated the stream. Marcus strapped his helmet before his first college football practice. He told himself stretching could wait, water could wait, and everything could wait until after practice. Sp is anxious to do well, throwing everything else out the window. His fox blocked his trail and stayed stubborn, waiting until Marcus finished a breathing exercise and stretched his hamstrings. The fox let Marcus continue down his trail. By the end of the day, the forest was infested with fireflies swarming around. Children, teachers, students, parents, athletes, and strangers separated by mountains, oceans, skyscrapers, and years were rebuilding the same first with these small acts nobody takes time to notice. However, one morning, the fireflies and foxes disappeared. There were no more notifications; the glowing trails grew dark. People were stuck telling themselves, "It was just an app", but were feeling the effects without it. Noah spent his day spiraling through rejection letters. Maya found herself on the point of starvation after not getting food on her way home. Lily cried herself to sleep. Marcus skipped recovery and didn't perform to his best abilities. The forest seemed drained of the life it once held. The foxes returned the next morning, none of them were rushing, though. Slowly, people are tapping their screens, listening to the foxes. One breath, one stretch, one glass of water, one quiet moment, trivial choices. The fireflies returned, not due to the foxes, though. It was due to them reminding people that they never had to walk alone in the first place. By night, the first had life breathed into it once more. Somewhere within the forest, the foxes held a campfire, watching over the world with a smile on their faces, knowing people were learning that the smallest action could help a person find their way home.

If there's one thing my family has taught me, it's that no matter what, we show up for each other. My parents have been divorced for as long as I can remember, but they never let that affect my relationship with either of them. Growing up, my dad wasn't just my father. He was one of my football coaches. Some of my favorite memories are riding home after practice, talking about what I did well and what I needed to improve. At the moment, I hated it because I just wanted him to say I was perfect, but I understand now he just wanted the best for me. My mom was the one who always checked in, wanted to know how school was going, what music I was listening to, what type of clothes I liked, and somehow knew when I just needed someone to listen. Then there is my brother, whom I've always idolized without even knowing. He doesn't even know it, but he's helped to shape me so much because I've always wanted to accomplish everything my brother did and more. They've always supported me in different ways, but they've always been there. The best example of that was my freshman year at Bates College. My first college football game happened to fall on my birthday against my brother, and both of my parents flew from California to Maine to watch me play. The next year, my immediate family surprised me by making the trip again. Seeing them in the stands reminded me that distance has never stopped my family from showing up. That's just who we are. That support gave me the confidence to chase opportunities that weren't guaranteed. I started in Catholic school before spending years with tutors to earn admission to Harvard-Westlake. Once I got there, I realized competition didn't stop on the football field. I was surrounded by gifted students, celebrity parent students, and students who were born with more opportunities. Instead of being intimidated, I learned to compete in the classroom, too. This mindset pushed me to get stronger, faster, and better as an athlete, and pushed me to work harder academically. That mentality eventually led me to Bates College, where I earned the opportunity to continue playing football while studying biology. Being a student-athlete has taught me how to balance long days of practice, lifting, travel, labs, and coursework. More importantly, it's taught me that success usually comes down to consistency and finding your support group . The people who improve the most are the ones who keep showing up. This summer, I have been volunteering at a physical therapy clinic to soak in knowledge. This upcoming winter, I'll study abroad in Australia, where I'll study kinesiology and learn about physiotherapy from a different perspective. I want to challenge myself in a new environment and bring those experiences back as I continue working toward becoming a sports physical therapist. As an athlete, I've seen how much of an impact physical therapists have on helping people get back to doing what they love and being in the right mental space. I want to have that same impact on others. When I look back, every opportunity I've had, from Harvard-Westlake to Bates to studying abroad, started with the people who showed up for me first. My family taught me that showing up is about believing in someone before they've accomplished what they're chasing. That's the example they've set for me, and it's the same kind of person I hope to become for others.

"Behold! Human beings living in an underground den, which has a mouth open toward the light and reaching all along the den; here they have been from their childhood, and have their legs and necks chained so that they cannot move, and can only see before them... Behind them a fire is blazing at a distance, and between the fire and the prisoners there is a raised way; and you will see, if you look, a low wall built along the way... and you will see men passing along the wall carrying all sorts of vessels, and statues and figures of animals... which appear over the wall." Most people who have existed don’t really question what they believe or why they believe it. They just accept what they see or are told and move on. In Plato’s Allegory of the Cave, he shows this through prisoners who have been stuck in a cave their whole lives, watching shadows on a wall. To them, that’s just reality because they know nothing else. Through the cave, the chains, and the shadows, Plato points out how people can end up confusing what they experience first with what is actually true. This is especially prevalent when they’ve never been pushed to think beyond it. The detail that stands out to me most is not the cave or even the chains. It is the fact that the prisoners have lived there "from their childhood." At first, this detail seems insignificant, but it is actually the foundation of Plato's argument. If the prisoners had been placed in the cave as adults, they would know that another world existed beyond the darkness. They would remember freedom. Instead, Plato specifically places them there as children. Childhood is when people are at their most innocent and first learn how to navigate the world. This is when values, beliefs, and assumptions begin to take shape in our minds. By saying the prisoners have been in the cave since childhood, Plato is suggesting that many of the things people believe are not conclusions they reached themselves. Instead, they are ideas inherited from parents, communities, schools, society, and from life experiences. The prisoners never question the cave because they have never experienced anything else. In the same way, people often accept ideas simply because they have always been present in their lives. This makes the cave itself a powerful symbol. Most prisons are designed to make people aware that they are imprisoned. The cave functions differently. It does not feel like a prison to those inside it. To the prisoners, it is reality. Plato's choice of a cave rather than a prison cell is important because caves hide things. They block vision. They create darkness. A person standing inside a cave cannot easily see what exists beyond its walls. The cave, therefore, becomes a symbol for limited understanding. Plato is not criticizing people for lacking knowledge. Instead, he is warning readers about the danger of believing they already possess complete knowledge. A person who knows they are ignorant can learn. A person who believes they already understand everything has little reason to seek the truth. The chains reinforce this idea. Plato writes that the prisoners are chained by both their legs and their necks. This detail matters because the chains do more than prevent movement. They prevent perspective as well. The prisoners cannot even turn their heads. They are forced to look in one direction for their entire lives. The image is extreme, but that is precisely why it is effective. Plato is highlighting how difficult it can be to see beyond a single viewpoint. Sometimes, the strongest chains on people are the mental ones they have developed since birth. Pride, fear, tradition, and social pressure can all function as chains. They keep people from considering new ideas because doing so would require them to look in a different direction than they always have. What makes the passage especially relevant today is that Plato does not portray the prisoners as evil or foolish. They are ordinary people like we are today. In many ways, that is the most unsettling part of the allegory. It is easy to read the passage and imagine that the prisoners represent someone else, when in reality, it reflects humans as a whole. Plato seems to suggest the opposite. Every person is vulnerable to living among shadows. Every person has beliefs they have never fully examined. Every generation inherits assumptions from the generation before it. Some of those assumptions are true. Others are not. The challenge is determining the difference. Another symbol that deserves attention is the fire. Fire is traditionally associated with light, warmth, and knowledge. Yet Plato deliberately uses it to create confusion. The fire provides enough light to produce shadows, but not enough light to reveal the truth. This distinction reveals one of the deeper meanings of the passage. False understanding is often more dangerous than complete ignorance. A person who knows nothing may search for answers. A person who possesses partial knowledge can become convinced they already have them. The prisoners are not staring into darkness. They are staring at shadows illuminated by a fire. The existence of some light makes the illusion more convincing.Plato strengthens this idea through the image of the puppets. Behind the prisoners stands a wall where figures are carried back and forth like puppets in a performance. The prisoners see only the shadows cast by these objects and assume the shadows represent reality. The symbolism here extends beyond the cave itself. Puppets are controlled by someone else. They do not act independently. By comparing the figures to puppets, Plato introduces the idea that what people believe is often influenced by forces they cannot see. Public opinion, cultural expectations, political leaders, and social institutions all shape the way individuals interpret the world. The prisoners believe they are observing reality directly when, in fact, they are observing a carefully filtered version of it.At its core, the passage is about more than education. It is about humility. Plato's argument requires readers to accept an uncomfortable possibility: that some of their most deeply held beliefs may be shadows rather than truths. Few ideas are more difficult for people to accept. Human beings naturally seek certainty because certainty provides comfort. Yet Plato argues that genuine understanding begins when certainty is questioned. The first step toward wisdom is releasing your ego and recognizing that there may be more beyond the walls of the cave than we currently see. Ultimately, Plato uses the cave as an extended metaphor for the human condition. The cave represents limited understanding, the chains represent the forces that restrict perspective, the fire represents incomplete knowledge, and the puppets represent the outside influences that shape belief. Together, these symbols support Plato's central argument that ignorance is not simply the absence of knowledge. It is the acceptance of appearances without questioning them. The underlying meaning of the passage is that truth requires effort, curiosity, and the courage to challenge what feels familiar. Plato reminds readers that the greatest barriers to understanding are often the ones they do not realize exist and have been building their whole life.

I want to build an app that helps students and athletes feel less alone and more supported by giving them an outlet to be heard and manage stress and anxiety that often comes with school, sports, and everyday life. This idea truly began during my junior year of high school, where, unfortunately, there were three suicides. I remember each incident so vividly. Each time felt like a different punch to our school's community. It was hard for me to process because these were students who sat in the same classroom, ate in the same quad, and appeared so successful on the exterior. Their deaths forced me to realize the difference between success and well-being at such a young age. Behind the college acceptance letters and the achievements, people were struggling with their own inner battles. It made me wonder how many students felt like they had nobody they could truly talk to. Around this same time, I found support in the training room. Due to running track and playing football, I spent countless hours with the physical therapist at my school. Our conversation ranged from injuries and school to relationship problems. I am so appreciative to them for giving me an outlet to be heard and seen. Those conversations showed me that sometimes people just need to know someone is willing to listen.I've tried to carry this lesson into my life today at Bates College. Throughout my youth, I had immense pressure put on me to succeed academically and athletically so I would be able to compete with other students. This pressure continued with trying to make my profile look competitive for college. This pressure is now no longer inflicted by others, but by my own doing. This past year, I considered quitting football due to feeling burnt out after fourteen years of playing. My coaches, teammates, friends, and family provided me support and encouragement to bring life back into the game I loved. These experiences inspired me to build my app. I see a program that combines mental sports performance, wellness, connection, and accountability for students and athletes. Users would be able to create challenges within their teams or friend groups, build habits for stressful moments such as big tests or games, journal their thoughts, access stretches and exercises to manage stress and body pain, and track their sleep. More importantly, the app would give students a place to check in with one another and build meaningful connections through shared goals and experiences, and support their well-being. The goal is to create a space where students feel comfortable reaching out before they feel alone. The people who helped me through difficult moments changed my life. I want to build something that makes those kinds of connections easier to find. By creating a space that encourages healthy habits, meaningful relationships, and open conversations, I hope to help students and athletes build the same support systems that changed my life.

I've always compared myself to Natsu from my favorite anime, Fairy Tail. Everyone admired his strength, but few understood what he went through to become strong in the first place. Growing up, I felt the same way. People often see my accomplishments, such as being a first-generation college student at Bates College, a football player, and someone who attended Harvard-Westlake, but they do not always see the pressure and struggles that came before them. Some of my earliest memories of stress date back to middle school. From sixth through eighth grade, much of my life revolved around getting into Harvard-Westlake. While my friends relaxed on weekends, I studied for entrance exams and pursued opportunities. As a first-generation student and the youngest sibling, chasing academic and personal expectations became routine. Each accomplishment felt less like a milestone and more like maintaining a standard. At Harvard-Westlake, surrounded by peers with far more resources, I pushed myself in every activity, internalizing intense pressure. Tragedies during my junior year deeply affected me: three students at my school died by suicide. Their deaths revealed to me that success and well-being are inseparable, and that everyone is fighting unseen battles. It changed how I thought about mental health. Around that time, I formed an unexpected bond with my school’s physical therapist, whose support and willingness to listen helped me through tough moments. This experience showed me that healthcare is as much about understanding and support as it is about treatment, and inspired me to pursue physical therapy. When I arrived at Bates College, I carried many of the same habits with me. For most of my life, I believed that showing emotion was a weakness. If I was struggling, I kept it to myself. During my freshman year, that finally started to change. I found teammates and friends who cared about me beyond football. For the first time, I felt comfortable talking about the stress and expectations I had been carrying for years. I remember having conversations where I cried in front of them, something I never would have imagined doing when I was younger. Instead of judging me, they listened. Those moments taught me that being vulnerable does not push people away. It often brings people closer. This past year, many of those pressures caught up to me. For the first time in my life, I seriously thought about quitting football. It was not because I lacked talent or opportunity. I simply felt exhausted. Football had been a major part of my identity for so long that I no longer knew whether I was playing because I loved it or because I felt like I was supposed to. Years of putting pressure on myself academically, athletically, and personally had taken a toll on me. What kept me from walking away was the support system around me. My coaches, teammates, friends, and family all encouraged me to stay. They reminded me why I started playing football in the first place and helped me realize that my worth was not tied to a performance, a grade, or an accomplishment. Their support helped me rediscover my love for the game. These experiences have shaped my goals, my relationships, and the way I understand the world. They are the reason I want to become a physical therapist. I know firsthand how much of a difference a supportive healthcare professional can make in someone's life. I want to help people recover from injuries, regain confidence, and return to the activities they love. More importantly, I want to create the same sense of trust and support that my physical therapist created for me years ago. My experiences have taught me that every person is carrying struggles that others cannot see. This is why I try to approach people with empathy and understanding. Mental health has taught me that strength is not about carrying everything alone. Sometimes the strongest thing a person can do is ask for help and allow others to be there for them.

I've always compared myself to Natsu from my favorite anime, Fairy Tail. Everybody always seemed impressed by his overwhelming strength, but never truly understood his path to becoming so strong. Born as a curse, his disadvantage, he turned into his strongest weapon. Our paths are quite similar. As a first-generation college student, I have often felt like I was navigating a path without a roadmap. There was never a guidebook at home explaining how to get into competitive schools, build a college resume, or prepare for a professional career. Because of that, I learned early that if I wanted opportunities, I would have to create them for myself. That mindset began in middle school. From sixth through eighth grade, I spent countless hours studying for entrance exams to earn admission to Harvard-Westlake. While many people only saw the outcome, they did not see the late nights studying, the extra work, and the constant effort to create opportunities for myself. I didn't realize until recently that those years taught me that success is built through hundreds of unseen decisions, sacrifices, and hours of work. When I arrived at Harvard-Westlake, I quickly realized earning admission was only the beginning. I was surrounded by celebrity children, students whose parents were doctors and lawyers, and people who had access to resources and opportunities I had never experienced. For the first time, it felt like being good was not enough. I had to find a way to become great. Then COVID hit. Like many students, I struggled academically and began questioning whether I could perform at the level I expected from myself. What got me through was refusing to quit. I worked with tutors, rebuilt my study habits, and learned that asking for help was part of growth. Instead of viewing setbacks as failures, I learned to see them as opportunities to improve. At the same time, football was teaching me the same lesson. My days often began before sunrise with workouts and ended with homework and studying late into the night. Balancing sports and academics taught me discipline, consistency, and resilience. Today, those lessons continue to guide me as a student-athlete at Bates College. While Harvard-Westlake challenged me academically, it also exposed me to the impact that pressure can have on mental health. Behind the achievements and college acceptances, I saw classmates struggle with stress, anxiety, and self-doubt. Tragically, some lost their lives to suicide. Those experiences showed me that the distinction between success and well-being is not the same thing. That realization is a major reason I am pursuing physical therapy. I want to help people overcome obstacles, regain confidence, and return to the activities that give their lives meaning. Whether helping an athlete recover from injury or someone regain mobility, I hope to support both their physical recovery and personal growth. I am also developing a social wellness app designed to help young people build stronger connections and healthier habits. My experiences showed me how easy it is to feel isolated, even when surrounded by others. Through both physical therapy and innovation, I hope to improve people's well-being and create communities where they feel supported. Being a first-generation student has taught me resilience, adaptability, and perseverance. Those lessons continue to drive my goal of helping others improve both their physical and mental well-being. So while others may see the accomplishments, I am grateful for the adversity that built them. Like Natsu, I learned to turn my disadvantage into my strength, and that lesson will stay with me throughout my life and career.

One thing life has taught me is that talent will get your foot in the door, but hard work is what keeps it open.Growing up in Los Angeles, I was always surrounded by people who seemed to have advantages I did not. Some had access to better resources, better connections, private coaches, or opportunities that had been built for them from the start. I learned early that if I wanted to stand alongside them, I had to find a way to become great. That mindset started long before college. From sixth through eighth grade, while most kids were focused on getting through middle school, I was spending countless hours studying for entrance exams and preparing for the opportunity to attend a competitive high school. Looking back, those years instilled in me that success is the result of hundreds of small decisions that nobody sees.When I eventually got to Harvard-Westlake, I quickly realized that earning a seat at the table was only the beginning. I was suddenly surrounded by celebrity children, and such accomplished students. It felt like everyone was exceptional at something. The pressure to keep up was intense, and when COVID hit, that pressure only became stronger. Like many students, I struggled academically during that period. For the first time, I found myself questioning whether I could perform at the level I expected from myself. What got me through was the same lesson I had learned years earlier: keep working. I spent time with tutors, developed better study habits, and learned that asking for help was part of growth. Those experiences changed how I viewed challenges. Instead of seeing setbacks as proof that I was not good enough, I began seeing them as opportunities to improve. At the same time, football was teaching me many of those same lessons in a different way. Many early mornings spent working out on the field. After practices ended, there were still assignments to complete and tests to prepare for. Balancing sports and school demanded discipline, but it also showed me what I was capable of when I committed myself to a goal. Today, as a student-athlete at Bates College, I still rely on those habits every day.Through all of these experiences, I began to realize success means nearly nothing if you are struggling to enjoy the life you worked so hard to build. At Harvard-Westlake, I saw how pressure, competition, and expectations could affect people's mental health. Some students I knew were quietly battling stress, anxiety, and self-doubt and ultimately committed suicide sadly. Those experiences stayed with me because they showed me that achievement and well-being are not the same thing. That understanding is what drives my passion today. I plan to become a physical therapist because I want to help people overcome obstacles, regain confidence, and return to their lives. Whether it is an athlete recovering from an injury or someone working to regain mobility, I want to be part of their journey forward and give them a person who will listen and support them.I also hope to create a positive impact through technology. One idea I am currently developing is a social wellness app designed to help communities build stronger connections and healthier habits. My goal is to create something that encourages chemistry, motivates, and supports at a time when many people feel isolated despite being more connected than ever. My journey taught me that growth comes from embracing challenges, staying resilient, and continuing forward when quitting seems easier.

The quad of my high school felt different after the third student suicide during my junior year. The energy that normally filled the campus was replaced by silence, questions, and grief. I watched classmates try to make sense of something that did not make sense. I watched teachers struggle to find the right words. And while everyone was checking on each other, I was fighting battles of my own that I never talked about.Like many athletes, I thought strength meant keeping everything inside. No matter what I was feeling, I showed up to practice, went to class, and acted like everything was fine. However, witnessing those losses forced me to realize how many people carry pain that nobody else can see. It changed the way I viewed mental health and planted the seed for the impact I hope to make throughout my life. Today, I am a Biology major and football player at Bates College with the goal of becoming a physical therapist and eventually opening my own practice. Football has taught me much more than how to compete. It has taught me discipline, resilience, and the value of having people who believe in you when things get difficult. Those relationships have shaped who I am. My family taught me perseverance. My coaches taught me accountability. My teammates became a second family, showing me that success is never achieved alone. My journey has not always been easy. Growing up, I did not have the same financial opportunities as many of the students around me. In seventh grade, I applied to Harvard-Westlake and was rejected. I remember the disappointment, but I also remember making a decision: I would not let one rejection determine my future. Through hard work in the classroom and on the football field, I earned admission as a freshman and attended on financial aid. Similar story in college, where I wasn't accepted by my first choice, but I didn't let this stop me. That experience taught me that setbacks can either become excuses or fuel. I chose to use them as fuel. The relationships that matter most to me are the ones built on genuine support and shared growth. They are the reason I am developing an app focused on athlete mental health and team bonding. I want to create a space where athletes feel connected, supported, and comfortable asking for help. No student should feel invisible in a crowded hallway, and no athlete should feel alone in a locker room full of teammates. This scholarship would help me continue pursuing my education while bringing these goals closer to reality. It would allow me to focus on becoming a physical therapist, growing my mental health platform, and serving communities that need support. My experiences have taught me that one conversation, one mentor, or one opportunity can completely change the direction of a person's life. I hope to be that source of support for others and create a ripple effect that extends far beyond myself.