Growing up, my home wasn’t just unstable to my young eyes, but resembled that of a battlefield I recognized wasn’t near the life I wanted to keep living in my youth. Yet tied down to get comfortable. Rage lived there, not just as an emotion but as a presence. Suffocation came frequently within me when you felt it flow in your family as they slammed doors, broke trinkets, spoke cursed words that echoed forever in my walls, and the uncomfortable “brushed off” effect that lay after. Lingering like ash to a now cooled fire, burning again later. At times, I remember the laughter and smiles and now see it as just a dream. Blurring between the lines of reality and imagination now. That illusion shattered quickly. I began to understand as I got older how fear changes a child’s every move. Silence becomes a second language when speaking risks too much discipline. Scanning rooms and hallways and areas around the house just to get through peacefully and with my energy intact. I wasn’t raised in a home when speaking your mind was appreciated, more like condemned. Any opinion, any tone even slightly off, was deemed “attitude” and I can recall that aspect extremely well. Attitude of course came with consequences and only added to the suffocation effect. Finding comfort in hiding in my room or even my sisters when my parents were really at each other’s throats. I watched my older sister be exposed to personal flaws that were not to have a place in the house and it taught me something. To make a silent vow that I would never make the same mistakes she would in an effort to be the “perfect” son and finally feel good about myself. I traced punishments and remarks to her exact actions and honestly tried to redevelop myself out of desperation and unmet wants. That pursuit of perfection locked me in a prison. I became my own harshest critic and constantly had a will to chase unmet approval that never came or even didn’t seem that significant to others but felt so important to me. I felt weak. Beginning to hate myself over every tiniest flaw that even other’s didn’t notice but I did, even blaming myself first for what was out of my control. Despite all the weight and pain, value survived. I learned to be the best person in the room, thinking about other’s emotions constantly, never aiming to be the killer of spirit. In fact, it turned me into the most lively when I wasn’t at home, perhaps because I never got freedom to speak like myself when I was home. I was bubbly, and I still am, but I credit it to understanding hardship instead of spawning hate out of it. I could always fight but aimed to be sharper, softer, and a listener paired consciously with observation before ever making mistakes that could spawn to be the conflicts I feared so much. My surviving charisma and hopefulness helped with that, born from those old flames. I am beyond proud of this feat and its continued self nurturing. Where there was hatred I built sensitivity. Where there was silence I brought expression. Where there was chaos I brought art. Indisputable facts. Eventually art did become my escape at a young age where I started drawing such detailed characters from the cinematic worlds where I always wished to escape to. Eventually developing genius self taught processes to create my own. Dedication from coping perhaps. Nevertheless what a payoff that I am so thankful for, being such a talented artist in both forms and now training it to be my ticket to freedom AND fulfillment. Aiming now to be a director and bring joy and thought to the world’s minds of un-done visual masterpieces spawned from my own. I felt my personal shackles loosening their grip. Yet even with divine passion, it sprung so strong from inside me that an engraving footprint of perfectionism remained. I have a real tough case of that. I became addicted to the idea of “better” from fragments of my older seeking years of praise from my parents. Doing something great couldn’t touch me. My own thoughts stayed my own worst enemy, leaving me chasing skill, work, discipline, every waking moment. Yet hope is the biggest motivator, I knew my time would come, I just had to survive my 18 year prison sentence. I know I’m meant for greatness with all that I’ve done. Kept myself fit in it all with mixes of weightlifting, boxing, and calisthenics. Gaining my license in about two months. I want it all and I want to be the strongest mind and bottom line, a good soul. A regular face for my peers needing someone to talk to as I never came armed with judgment. Even in a group of laughing and degrading people towards one, I stand up for them no matter who it is. I can’t be hateful, I just can’t and where I thought it was weakness as a boy striving to meet the highest standards, I realize this is my path to walk and that I need to be comfortable in my skin. Extremely. I’ve nearly reached the end of the first chapter of my life and couldn’t be more ready. I’m 17 now and keep a good head on my shoulders, having taken on more responsibilities than I could fit on this essay to tell. After the inevitable and recent divorce, I stepped into the much needed leadership role within my house. I do my best because it’s what I need to do, and hopefully plant good seeds before I go on to carry out my future. I chase my dream with every ounce of will I have, at least for the past 12 years in preparation. My adversities weren’t for nothing, they made me a better human through keeping my conscious and educating my mind to truth.

True unity doesn’t come from random design and with my judgement, it’s personal design. That’s what Ms. Henry gave me. More than just an English teacher, she was a force that cut through the distractions of high school life, socially and privately, turning the conflicts to meaning. When most of my day left me mentally checked out, her class was the only one that turned my brain on to think. Not just academically however but personally and emotionally. Ms. Henry was always known for her outspokenness, and she made me believe in a future I didn’t know existed to me before. Ms. Henry aligned so strongly with me. She saw my community from behind the scenes, the conflicts, and the joys, not just a student who was quiet to avoid the drama, but noticed the hunger, creativity, and mental sharpness. Seeking purpose. Most teachers miss that, yet she explored it. She also introduced me to my golden dream of the Los Angeles Film School. I probably wouldn’t have even heard of it if not for her. She had talent to connect a student’s interests and passions to tailored real-world opportunities. Not just naming typical colleges but matching us to our personal meaningful directions. Film is my passion in entirety. It’s how I want to express my unique visions, emotions, life, culture, and art. She made me believe that the dream was possible, and to pursue it instead of letting it grow to fantasy. What I respected her most for, was the unmatched determination to fight for students. Even at assemblies, she was always the one to make bold call-outs to bring further information to students that even the officials would overlook or neglect. She scared them and they hated her but she didn’t care no matter the criticisms. She loved us. Good and bad. She demanded teachers be honest and trained. Her energy, charisma, and authenticity made her impossible to ignore. You knew she meant every word from the heart no matter the case. Truly unfiltered in the best sense. And her assignments? At first funnily, I resisted the vulnerability she asked from us because of my own beliefs and values. That really limited me before. I hated how personal she got, but that was the part that helped me the most. By the end of junior year, I had released parts of myself I never thought I’d share in a classroom. I started respecting myself more. Growing more especially. It felt like therapy and she made it feel alright contrary to youthful understanding. She taught me how to dig into my soul and bring my weaknesses to strengths. She helped me begin my journey in a substantial step towards self love, 100% my top three goals in life. Without Ms. Henry, I wouldn’t have gotten my mind unstuck from a greater box that I thought I freed myself from long ago from. She exposed the truth however that I still had mental obstacles to break, and she sure was a huge stepping stone in that. She could never just be a teacher, and we don’t deserve her, she is a true mentor and a real life example of persistence in all adversity. With such clarity and purpose within her drive, she is a walking example of self growth that I want to embody when I’m in my adulthood. If I ever return home to the little struggling hometown of Salinas, she would be a core reason. I owe so much of my evolution to her, and I’ll carry her teachings with me for the rest of my life.

I fell in love with movies early on-the characters, story points, and creative world-building always had me hooked. I’d talk to my grandma constantly about how incredible everything was on screen. She was the first person to understand-someone who never brushed me off but instead encouraged every idea I had. As I got older, I began watching newer releases with her and talking about their complexity, analyzing things like sound, plot, and character motivation. Never just casual conversations but a test of future film intellect. They were the earliest stages of my voice as a filmmaker, forming to match my wanted destiny. This love only grew during the rise of the Marvel Cinematic Universe. I have many inspirations and stories of foundation but this was a major player in formative years. There was tons of buzz around how they were connecting stories across time and space, building legacies from small beginnings. Iron Man and Captain America especially stood out to me-characters who came from nothing or deep personal flaws and turned it into something powerful with excellent storytelling. They were played by skilled actors and it made those stories hit nicely. That style of storytelling where everything made sense and served purpose, helped shape the kind of emotional, character-driven narrative perspectives I chase now. Those movies didn’t just entertain-they left a mark. At the same time, I was developing another passion worthy of a story within itself, drawing. I used to sit down with pencil and paper and sketch characters for hours. My early work wasn’t random either, even if it looked like it from the outside. Every character I drew was chosen with purpose-usually one from a recent flick that just released and blew my mind. I would make a list of characters I hoped to draw one day, preparing. One project involved a giant poster-sized sheet, filled with over 20 full-body drawings of characters from the Batman Arkham games, an interest of the time, each in hyper accuracy. Weeks of work, which didn’t deter me. I loved obsessing into whatever characters were of a current project-via a TV playing a pack of videos and media related to whatever character I was currently centered on during my work. An unknown factor that would play a promising hand into later story work. Eventually, people started suggesting I sell my work. I gave it a shot and friends were paying me for the pieces. Although I learned something important during that time: if I didn’t love the character, I couldn’t draw them right. My hand would freeze, the lines wouldn’t come right, and the result ALWAYS felt forced. I realized I wasn’t just making art-I was making art from passion. Without it, the art wasn’t mine. So I stepped away from selling and understood something deeper: this was no hobby. It was an extension and obsession of what I loved. But it was difficult. I didn’t have much support outside grandma. I’d get discouraged and think maybe I should give it all up, pursue something that paid more, like engineering or architecture-just to make my family “proud.” Those were my low points, already at a young age for that matter, making me “field tested” in my eyes looking back now, as many adversities made present ones not very phasing. And then, right when I needed it most, my grandma gifted me something that changed everything: an iPad. The turning point moment in my art. With it came the app Procreate-my first introduction to digital art. I wasn’t limited by shaky hands or redrawing the same thing constantly for a detail anymore. There were brushes for fire, gold, and more. I could finally bring to life what I saw in my head without technical limitations getting in my way. My designs looked cleaner, sharper, polished, and all enhanced from prior talent. My ideas could finally flourish. If I hadn’t been given that iPad, I might’ve never had the confidence to step into film, afraid I didn’t know enough about digital tools, but now with that confidence boost and output enhancement, I was thriving. All of this-the movies, the characters, the late-night drawings, the digital breakthrough-led me to realize what I wanted to be: a filmmaker! I didn’t just want to watch movies anymore. I wanted to make them. Direct them. Craft stories that could transport people to worlds that weren’t as lonely or cold as the real one. Or at least teach them lessons in visual masterpieces. I knew I had something unique since I was young, and had to accept that my resisted path was one, acceptable to follow. My vision. I developed a process over time. More self teaching. Per film I’d write general synopses, construct character bios, create two soundtracks-one to inspire the feeling, one to guide the pacing. Build Pinterest boards for settings, mood, etc, then folders for real media references for the story. YouTube was a huge part of that. I used to save videos obsessively, way back when my peers thought doing so to the “Watch Later” feature was weird. But now, I go back and thank my younger self for preserving the old media that sparked the fires in me. I didn’t just watch entertainment-I collected the structure, feelings, and opportunities within them. Now, I breathe confidence knowing that no one can tell the stories I can dream up.

I’ve completed around 100 hours of community service, spread across platforms like my old middle school, my local food bank, the Salvation Army, and even events like the ALS Awareness Run hosted at Everett Alvarez High School. That run was about showing support with posters, paint, music, and miles-all to raise awareness for a disease that affects many people. It wasn’t just about running; it was about being present, showing up, and standing up for something that truly mattered. When it came to my middle school, Gavilan View Middle School, I returned there because it meant so much to me. I helped set up for events, monitored the kids, and made sure they were safe, respectful, and having fun. That was my way of paying things forward, because when I was a student there, I admired the teachers deeply. They had resilience. They put up with so much from students, and I didn’t want to be one more problem-I wanted to be one of the kids that made their job easier. And I did. One of the most meaningful connections I had was with my P.E. teacher. She was seen as the toughest, but she believed in me, and she let me help out in her classes because she noticed something in me. She gave me encouragement that I didn’t always get at home. When I left that school, I knew I wanted to come back and help-to life tables, set up jumpers, play games with the kids. It was a full-circle moment. I had grown stronger, physically and mentally, and I wanted to show her that her belief in me was worth it. At the food bank, I served the whole community: elders, young folks, everyone. The work was mostly physical, and I used all the strength I had-years of working for my grandma, waking up at 5 a.m. to haul recycling to the dump, weed-whacking, landscaping-to support them. I didn’t want to be a burden. I wanted to carry the load. Later, at the Salvation Army, I worked at a kids’ cafe-basically an after-school center. I helped prepare and serve food, kept the place clean, and played games with the children. We played soccer (me vs. 30 of them ha), tag, puzzles, painting-it was fun and took me back, but was also full of chances to teach and guide while showing them love and respect. That’s how I helped keep the kids safe-from bullying as well as online harm. A lot of them had early access to phones and tablets, and I’d hear stories about the wild things they’d see or try because of the internet. When I had a bond with them, I’d guide them gently, steer them from bad media, and sometimes even give parents a little heads-up in a respectful way. I wasn’t pushy-I just wanted to keep the kids from falling into the wrong things. As for financial need-I don’t have a lot of support behind me. My family’s facing struggles, especially after a recent divorce. I hear talk of bills and pressures, and I don’t want to add to that. I’ve also seen what student loans can do-my cousin is drowning in one and I want to avoid that at all costs. So I’ve taken it into my own hands. I spend every day working toward my goals: (NO BREAKS) applying for scholarships and building out my film stories. I’m committed. I don’t want handouts-I want to earn it. I’ve always believed in putting in the work, and this is no different. I just need help funding the dream.

Growing up, the first artist I was exposed to was my older sister. She was seven years older than me, and for a time in her youth, she immersed herself in all kinds of creative expression. She crocheted, drew hyper-detailed anime portraits, sketched trees and characters, and made beautiful chalk murals on our patio and our grandmother’s concrete driveway. Her bedroom was a collage of creativity-repainted walls, art stickers, collected cans, and bits of design inspiration. While I wasn’t drawn to the anime aspect, I was captivated by her artistic energy and precision. It lit a fire in me. Alongside this, I was absorbing movies-old VHS tapes of Alice in Wonderland, a gifted CD of Coraline, and darker films like Spawn and Blade, which my dad loved. These weren’t just movies to me-they were entire worlds. I also grew up on obscure films like Jack and the Cuckoo Clock Heart, which felt much more surreal and enlightening than typical animated films. I would collect soundtrack CD’s and play them on an old radio, learning film moment association with music, movement, voice acting, and design. Watching a movie was never passive-it was a full sensory experience that made me want to draw. After theater visits, I’d rush home to draw characters I saw on screen. Freehand. Always detailed. I was obsessed with bringing them to life. It clicked for me at the Boys & Girls Club after school, where I spent my time while my parents worked. I was more interested in my personal sketchbook than the forced group work. At the time, I thought my drawings were just “decent,” but in reality, they were highly detailed for my age. Kids would ask me to draw things for them, and I became “the artist” in the group. I’m a perfectionist and hard on myself, but I knew art gave me a sense of purpose. Encouragement from my grandma helped me recognize that this wasn’t just a hobby. It was a necessity. I soon realized I was never interested in generic commissions or drawing things I didn't like. I learned early on that if I wasn’t passionate about the subject, the drawing would suffer. This occurred when I was pushed so much to sell my drawings and create FOR people so that I could live off this. Yet it helped me realize that my art is driven by love and fascination-by connection. I wasn’t doing it for money; I was doing it for meaning. So if there was no meaning or interest in the piece to me, you’d get rushed work and an un-proud artist. I never took classes. I’m completely self-taught. Everything I learned came from practice, passion, and the love of the craft. I didn’t have access to formal instruction growing up, but that never held me back. If anything, it made my growth feel more personal and authentic. I can look back at my earliest drawings-some of which I’ve saved-and see the rawness and evolution in my style. It’s a timeline of my life in pencil. Now, as I develop stories and aim to be a filmmaker, I realize how this self-taught background is my strength. I have the rare ability as a future director to both conceptualize and illustrate exactly what I see in my mind. I don’t have to explain my ideas to someone else-I can draw them myself. I generate story concepts, research media, make custom soundtracks, build character bios, sketch designs, and draft rough screenplays all from my own internal process. That makes me a “double threat” as both a storyteller and a visual artist.