With every school year comes the daunting process of applying for financial aid, which is even more challenging for first-generation college students. Having now completed my bachelor’s degree and preparing to pursue a master’s degree, I consider myself to be more adept at filling out financial aid forms and understanding government funding. However, my journey into higher education did not begin this way. As a high school senior, I vividly remember the excitement of my classmates announcing their college choices, while I quietly worried about how I could ever afford mine. I came from a low-income family. My parents, both immigrants who never attended college, worked tirelessly in industries that did not require higher education. Despite separating when I was an infant, they both tried their best to provide stability. My parents could not provide monetarily or offer me financial guidance for college. I still recall one evening, sitting in front of the FAFSA application with tears in my eyes. I had completed every section except one: my parents’ financial information. Asking my mother to provide this was an uphill battle. She feared that by entering her income, she would somehow be signing a loan in her name. For her, this was something she could not risk with poor credit and bills piling up. Her concerns were real: she wanted me to succeed, but she could not imagine taking on debt to make it possible. My father was present, but his answer was no simpler. He insisted that using my mother’s information would give me better aid, while acknowledging that he could not fund more than a fraction of tuition himself. I felt trapped in a lose-lose situation, torn between their financial limitations and my dream of higher education. At 17, I was already financially independent in many ways, but FAFSA rules did not recognize me as such. I tried explaining to my mother that entering her income did not bind her to loans, and that I could not apply as “independent” unless I was 24, legally emancipated, or met certain extreme circumstances. To her, this made little sense. To me, it was heartbreaking—my future felt like it hinged on bureaucratic definitions. In the end, I managed to complete the process, but the struggle left a lasting mark. My parents feared loans would chain me to decades of debt. They encouraged scholarships instead, and while I applied to dozens, I received only one small award: $1,500 toward a $21,000 annual tuition bill. Still, with a patchwork of aid and determination, I made it through. Now at 26, I am financially literate in ways my 17-year-old self never could have imagined. I understand my loan obligations and can navigate the aid process on my own. Yet, the burden remains heavy. I have been accepted to James Cook University in Australia to pursue a Master’s in Marine Biology beginning in January 2026. The program costs $31,000 per year for two years. While my parents now earn more stable incomes, they are still unable to contribute substantially, and I remain reliant on federal funding and scholarships to pursue my goals. My experience as a first-generation student taught me resilience in the face of financial barriers. It also shaped my future goals: I want to succeed not only for myself, but to prove that higher education is possible even when the path is unfamiliar and intimidating. With this degree, I hope to continue my work in marine conservation and contribute to global solutions for reef restoration—work that will make my parents’ sacrifices worth every struggle.

An issue that matters to me deeply is the ongoing global issue of plastic pollution. When I began my studies in Environmental Science at Southern Connecticut State University in New Haven, I assumed the problem stemmed mainly from powerhouse nations because I had grown up in America seeing various areas littered with trash. However, after traveling and living in other countries, I quickly realized that plastic pollution and improper waste dumping are actually global issues. During a trip to the Dominican Republic, I had seen a dumping site directly beside someone’s home on the way to my accommodation. Later, while living in Roatán, Honduras, for six months, I witnessed beautiful beaches like Sandy Bay and Half Moon Bay covered in trash. Locals explained to me how ocean currents bring waste from mainland Honduras and Guatemala to their shores. These experiences cemented my understanding: plastic pollution is not just local or national, it is global and affects both people and ecosystems everywhere. To address this issue, I’ve taken action through both leadership and hands-on service. As the previous President of my university’s Geography, Environmental, and Marine Science Club, I organized two large-scale beach cleanups with over 50 participants. During our cleanups, we collected plastics, glass, tire rubber, and food waste. I’ve also joined numerous cleanups personally. In Honduras, I volunteered with the Bay Islands Conservation Association (BICA), assisting with conservation projects and participating in their island-wide cleanup on Mesoamerican Reef Day. On that day, seven communities joined together to remove over 100 kilos of trash from the island. I also joined monthly cleanups with Sundivers, the island’s only eco-dive center, where we split into land and snorkeling groups to tackle Half Moon Bay. In the water, we collected candy wrappers, chip bags, bottles, and cans, items that threaten both marine life and coral reef health. As someone with Honduran heritage, contributing to cleanups in Roatán felt especially meaningful. I wasn’t just volunteering abroad; I was helping restore and protect an island connected to my family’s roots. Looking forward, I plan to use my education and talents to create long-term solutions. My goal is to earn a master’s degree focused on coral reef ecology and to work with an NGO dedicated to reef restoration and conservation. Coral reefs and plastic pollution are inseparable issues. Reefs already face threats from climate change and disease, but plastic waste worsens their decline. I envision combining my scientific work with advocacy, promoting bans on single-use plastics, improving waste management, and raising awareness of how pollution impacts coral reefs. By working to protect reefs, I am also working to address plastic pollution. In my future career, I plan to continue leading and participating in cleanup efforts, while using my platform as a scientist to advocate for change on a broader scale. Even now, while home in New Haven, I hope to form a local coalition dedicated to cleaning my neighborhood regularly. Whether on a Caribbean island or in my own neighborhood, my commitment remains the same: to reduce plastic pollution, to educate my community, and to work toward a healthier, more sustainable future.