“Leadership should be personified, not glorified.” Diana Casares, my student government mentor, would always stress this quote to me. It meant embracing the challenges that leadership has to offer rather than shying away from them. Facilitating progress in one's ability to set an example for others is not always easy. People focus more on the title rather than the duties that follow it, causing there to be disparities in environmental health issues because the duties of people's goals are not being accomplished. There is more being said than done, but I want to change that relationship; this affects my perspective on leadership and enables me to embrace it through my sustainable interests by planning events and activities meaningful to myself and the community. This quote entrenches a sense of ambition in my extracurriculars to spearhead environmental advocacy through a hands-on approach where I can see the difference I make. Whether I surf on rocky beaches or read under shady treetops, nature offers me an escape from the world’s stress. When my nose is met by pollutants, Earth's pain becomes my own. Caring for my sustainable garden and hosting a climate change rally in high school were significant in preparing for my college student government's Earth Day project. It was difficult to share my environmental empathy on a large scale so I wanted to think bigger. Earth Week would become my college and the surrounding community's first week-long environmental event. Four days were planned with workshops, prizes, and activities on saving the bees, ocean acidification, green energy, and thrifting. I worked with my school's administration for months to lead a student cohort in organizing a community clothing drive promoting sustainable fashion. As I collaborated with my school's food pantry, the clothes were arranged for the outdoor thrifting event on Thursday. I started ordering items and creating schedules for people as event week crept up on my calendar. Earth Week was here. I set up the quad with DIY reusable tote bag stations on Monday, followed by DIY ocean jewelry activities and free metal straws on Tuesday. On Wednesday, I showed students how to make pollution catchers while bringing in environmental engineering speakers. Each day slowly increased participation, foreshadowing Thursday's grand turnout. I arranged twenty booths around our small promenade featuring Orange County Tesla, succulents, environmental NPOs, and vegan food markets. Relief and excitement permeated my body as I saw my sustainable vision become a reality. Educating my community to reduce their carbon footprint increased the number of sustainability resources on-campus, setting a precedent for future Earth Week events. I was able to echo my environmental empathy to the masses while learning how to effectively communicate between students and administrators. I felt motivated by my peers' contributions during the event, understanding it takes more than one person to make an environmental impact. Collaborating with others both inside and outside the classroom will be key to my academic endeavors. The future depends on our present efforts because there is no Planet B.

Whether I surf on rocky beaches or read under shady treetops, nature offers me an escape from the world’s stress. When my nose is met by pollutants, Earth's pain becomes my own. Developing chronic sinusitis leaves me swallowing a tough pill, one entailing extensive damage to my immune system as global warming accelerates. The unpredictability of my illness generates my urgency toward addressing sustainability issues. Serving on my college district's sustainability committee evidently revealed that the relationship between climate change and minority communities’ mental health is severely neglected. Caring for my sustainable garden and hosting a climate change rally in high school were significant in preparing for my college student government's Earth Day project. It was difficult to share my environmental empathy on a large scale so I wanted to think bigger. Earth Week would become my college and the surrounding community's first week-long environmental event. Four days were planned with workshops, prizes, and activities on saving the bees, ocean acidification, green energy, and thrifting. I worked with my school's administration for months to lead a student cohort in organizing a community clothing drive promoting sustainable fashion. As I collaborated with my school's food pantry, the clothes were arranged for the outdoor thrifting event on Thursday. I started ordering items and creating schedules for people as event week crept up on my calendar. Earth Week was here. I set up the quad with DIY reusable tote bag stations on Monday, followed by DIY ocean jewelry activities and free metal straws on Tuesday. On Wednesday, I showed students how to make pollution catchers while bringing in environmental engineering speakers. Each day slowly increased participation, foreshadowing Thursday's grand turnout. I arranged twenty booths around our small promenade featuring Orange County Tesla, succulents, environmental NPOs, and vegan food markets. Relief and excitement permeated my body as I saw my sustainable vision become a reality. Educating my community to reduce their carbon footprint increased the number of sustainability resources on-campus, setting a precedent for future Earth Week events. I was able to echo my environmental empathy to the masses while learning how to effectively communicate between students and administrators. I felt motivated by my peers' contributions during the event, understanding it takes more than one person to make an environmental impact. Collaborating with others both inside and outside the classroom will be key to my academic endeavors. I hope to accompany my psychological studies with an environmental studies minor during my time at Stanford as a first-year transfer. This fuels my desire to utilize liberal arts and science-based education to do interdisciplinary research in environmental psychology whether it's through philosophical discussions or under a microscope. My expedition in addressing environmental health disparities at community college and now at Stanford will persist by hosting green mindfulness workshops to better prepare for the well-being of others and my peers' lives at stake from the climate crisis. Integrating climate considerations with mental health programs in my future activities can remedy the burdening thought of Earth warming affecting those lacking psychosocial care. Hence, actively listening to students' experiences with climate change will improve my ability to tackle environmental issues in varying populations. These insights will consequently expand my perspective on coping with an immunocompromised lifestyle, one collective, sustainable effort at a time. The future depends on our present efforts because there is no Planet B.

For some children, their infancy years were spent in a home filled with toys; my first years were spent in a hospital filled with the wheezing of my mechanical ventilator. When I became old enough to understand what it meant to have a compromised respiratory system, I feared pursuing a career in medicine after the visits to the doctor for my mom and me when she became mentally and physically disabled during my sophomore year of high school. Despite my medical history, I refused to let it scare me into submission. When caring for mom, my heart sank because her pain eventually became my own. She was fighting physical and mental battles with neuromuscular diseases, ADHD, bipolar depression, and PTSD. Offering a helping hand to my mom’s copious, strenuous tasks propelled me to be there for her and others at crucial medical turning points in their health. Since people may not have the same privilege of having someone at their side, it became my goal to incorporate the importance of mental health in my career plans as an aspiring physician. There is an intimate relationship between the brain and the mind which is why mental health should no longer be overlooked. Diminishing that fear of conversation about our feelings is a necessary breakthrough to revolutionize how medicine is practiced. I want to be a part of that revolution in creating a safe space for people who want to be heard through integrated care management, and getting clinical exposure would assist in expanding my understanding of healthcare. During my first day walking under the soft white lights of the Haider Spine Center, I was met by the hands of a neurosurgeon. My biweekly visits shadowing him offered an experience that surpassed any other: seeing the gratitude spread across each patient's face when they had their pain understood. I was able to learn from him that addressing the pain directly is only half of the battle–the other half starts with addressing the patient’s psychosocial well-being. Dr. Cramer’s attention to this aspect of medicine reassured my understanding of preventative care. It didn't matter if I was retrieving the doctor's paperwork or helping him assist patients with his spine model, I finally felt comfortable in a place I held fear in since my childhood. There isn't a one-size-fits-all treatment for every patient but that’s what makes the challenge of this career riveting; you get the chance to find new treatment options by caring for the livelihood of people in the most critical moments of their life. I hold on dearly to my mom’s perseverance through her pain and heed the words of something a patient told me. Grasping my shoulders, looking at me in my eyes, Gloria stated, “Bless your heart for your work and knowledge in wanting to help people like myself.” Those words remind me to continue jumping the hurdles that lie ahead on my path to becoming a physician, with mental health awareness, being the greatest tool in my white coat.

For some children, their infancy years were spent in a home filled with toys; my first years were spent in a hospital filled with the wheezing of my mechanical ventilator. When I became old enough to understand what it meant to have a compromised respiratory system, I feared pursuing a career in medicine after the visits to the doctor for myself. Despite my medical history, I refused to let it scare me into submission, hence, obtaining a scholarship will be the lock and key mechanism to my academic and career plans. As a pre-med student, I plan on taking the MCAT in the next year or two to meet the medical school requirements, however, this is a pricey endeavor. The money provided by a scholarship will remedy the burden of utilizing MCAT prep materials as well as applying to medical school, limiting my barriers to achieving my post-graduate dreams. In addition, the clinical experience necessary for preparing me as a future physician could be worthwhile by having funds to pay for classes in medical assisting and phlebotomy training. This will enable me to not only get hands-on patient care but learn more about medical terminology among the healthcare team. When interning at Columbia University over the summer while conducting sociomedical research, I realized there is not enough education shared with the general public on how our health is being affected by the adverse results of climate change. Having the opportunity to build off of this research with financial support would be revolutionary in increasing the number of mental health resources in marginalized communities suffering from energy insecurity. Shedding light on topics I care deeply about like climate epidemiology with a larger platform of pre-health students will enable me to voice my medical interests and protect immunodeficient individuals. I would garner more cultural competence by surrounding myself with students of diverse perspectives and backgrounds in healthcare in these research programs for underrepresented Latino students like myself. This scholarship will aid in funding my university education, housing, and travel expenses, especially as a community college transfer student to Stanford. When my mom went on disability, my family was not making as much money during the fluctuating periods of inflation, there was an increased number expenditures for my health due to COVID-19. Balancing family responsibilities, co-founding the STEM club, spearheading administrative work in ASG, and conducting psychophysiological research at UCI, all while maintaining a 4.0 GPA, makes me a good fit for tackling upper-division classes that a scholarship will assist in providing. These funds will also allow me to continue pursuing summer internships in biomedical and clinical research like the Groenewald and Rabbitts Lab at the Stanford School of Medicine where I was recently accepted so I can gain exposure to different branches of medicine. I plan on applying to some joint MD-MPH medical schools that will meet my needs by offering a collaborative education between my interests in psychology, medicine, and environmental science and the tuition coverage from a scholarship will close the gap in pursuing these intellectual interests. Overall, these scholarships will positively influence different parts of my life, whether it would be for my major, tuition, research, or extracurricular experiences. More importantly, it will positively influence the results of my educational endeavors and be an important investment in my medical journey.

Whether I surf on rocky beaches or read under shady treetops, nature offers me an escape from the world’s stress. When my nose is met by pollutants, Earth's pain becomes my own. Developing chronic sinusitis leaves me swallowing a tough pill, one entailing extensive damage to my immune system as global warming accelerates. The unpredictability of my illness generates my urgency toward addressing sustainability issues. Serving on my college district's sustainability committee evidently revealed that the relationship between climate change and minority communities’ mental health is severely neglected. Caring for my sustainable garden and hosting a climate change rally in high school were significant in preparing for my college student government's Earth Day project. It was difficult to share my environmental empathy on a large scale so I wanted to think bigger. Earth Week would become my college and the surrounding community's first week-long environmental event. Four days were planned with workshops, prizes, and activities on saving the bees, ocean acidification, green energy, and thrifting. I worked with my school's administration for months to lead a student cohort in organizing a community clothing drive promoting sustainable fashion. As I collaborated with my school's food pantry, the clothes were arranged for the outdoor thrifting event on Thursday. I started ordering items and creating schedules for people as event week crept up on my calendar. Earth Week was here. I set up the quad with DIY reusable tote bag stations on Monday, followed by DIY ocean jewelry activities and free metal straws on Tuesday. On Wednesday, I showed students how to make pollution catchers while bringing in environmental engineering speakers. Each day slowly increased participation, foreshadowing Thursday's grand turnout. I arranged twenty booths around our small promenade featuring Orange County Tesla, succulents, environmental NPOs, and vegan food markets. Relief and excitement permeated my body as I saw my sustainable vision become a reality. Educating my community to reduce their carbon footprint increased the number of sustainability resources on-campus, setting a precedent for future Earth Week events. I was able to echo my environmental empathy to the masses while learning how to effectively communicate between students and administrators. I felt motivated by my peers' contributions during the event, understanding it takes more than one person to make an environmental impact. Collaborating with others both inside and outside the classroom will be key to my academic endeavors. I hope to accompany my psychological studies with an environmental studies minor when I transfer to a four-year university. This fuels my desire to utilize liberal art and science-based education to do interdisciplinary research in environmental psychology whether it's through philosophical discussions or under a microscope. My expedition in addressing environmental health disparities with my school and when I transfer will persist by hosting green mindfulness workshops to better prepare the well-being of me and my peers' lives at stake from the climate crisis. Integrating climate considerations with mental health programs in my future activities can remedy the burdening thought of Earth warming affecting those lacking psychosocial care. Hence, actively listening to students' experiences with climate change will improve my ability to tackle environmental issues in varying populations. These insights will consequently expand my perspective on coping with an immunocompromised lifestyle, one collective, sustainable effort at a time. The future depends on our present efforts because there is no Planet B.

I walk to her room, the scent of chamomile tea caressing my nose, hands trembling under the weight of the mug, wondering if she will ever leave the darkness of her mind. The imbalanced serotonin levels in her brain made their way into my everyday life. During the summer leading into my freshmen year of college, she was diagnosed with a neuromuscular disease, bipolar depression, ADHD, and PTSD. The pain of my mom's mental health had become my own. Her disability severed our connection, plaguing my mind with confusion, feeling useless in an attempt to care for her. Tears bordered my eyes as I watched my mom struggle with physical activities, pushing my responsibilities into overdrive. When driving home from school, my heart pounded, hands worn and wrinkled from the manual labor, my mom was unfit to do. The aroma of paprika and seafood surrounded the house while the stove was ablaze, my forehead crawling with sweat, preparing dinner at beginning of sunset, leaving homework until nightfall. During these periods of disability care, the world moved faster than my mind. Every responsibility was a ticking time bomb; I would eventually have no confidence left to care for myself. I bottled up this fear to prevent my emotional wildfires from hurting others. The kitchen, however, was the only place where those flames were extinguished. Whether I listened to the comical roars of Gordon Ramsay or the soft vocals of Julia Child, my mind immersed itself in the knowledge of the culinary arts. Every cake baked, every scampi sauteed, pushed my mind to break the boundaries of intermediate levels of cooking while also keeping it at ease. When I put on my Darth Vader kitchen apron, my mind redirects its attention from the stress of the world. Putting food on the table was a responsibility that became an activity of solace. Cooking replaced my negative emotions with positive ones, similar to substituting a spoiled egg with peanut butter in a classic cookie recipe. Each stir of a ladle or spatula unraveled the tense nerves that surrounded my body, blurring my emotions into focus, giving me a sense of control. Practicing the culinary arts was a healthy outlet for me as I felt a once-lost bond rekindle between my mom and myself during the many smiles shared in the kitchen. Those coping with mental illness are not always as lucky as others when finding healthy outlets. Exploring the depths of the unpredictable human mind became my food for thought the next time I carried that cup of chamomile tea to her room. I researched emotional well-being coping strategies to make sense of my mom’s headspace and understand others who are suffering from anxiety and depression. I aim to shed light on mental illness to aid others in finding their own safe outlets when faced with psychological adversities. Through my cooking, I reciprocated all those years of love and care my mom has offered me, giving a voice to the silence of her mental illness. Like how yeast rises bread in an oven, cooking raised my confidence out of the void. My mom’s mental illness may have hindered her but I did not let it burden me.

Whether I surf on rocky beaches or read under shady treetops, nature offers me an escape from the world’s stress. When my nose is met by pollutants, Earth's pain becomes my own. Developing chronic sinusitis leaves me swallowing a tough pill, one entailing extensive damage to my immune system as global warming accelerates. The unpredictability of my illness generates my urgency toward addressing sustainability issues, especially within our oceans. Serving on my college district's sustainability committee evidently revealed that the relationship between climate change and minority communities’ mental health is severely neglected. Caring for my sustainable garden and hosting a climate change rally in high school were significant in preparing for my college student government's Earth Day project. It was difficult to share my environmental empathy on a large scale so I wanted to think bigger. Earth Week would become my college and the surrounding community's first week-long environmental event. Four days were planned with workshops, prizes, and activities on saving the bees, ocean acidification, green energy, and thrifting. I worked with my school's administration for months to lead a student cohort in organizing a community clothing drive promoting sustainable fashion. As I collaborated with my school's food pantry, the clothes were arranged for the outdoor thrifting event on Thursday. I started ordering items and creating schedules for people as event week crept up on my calendar. Earth Week was here. I set up the quad with DIY reusable tote bag stations on Monday, followed by DIY ocean jewelry activities and free metal straws on Tuesday. On Wednesday, I showed students how to make pollution catchers while bringing in environmental engineering speakers. Each day slowly increased participation, foreshadowing Thursday's grand turnout. I arranged twenty booths around our small promenade featuring Orange County Tesla, succulents, environmental NPOs, and vegan food markets. Relief and excitement permeated my body as I saw my sustainable vision become a reality. Educating my community to reduce their carbon footprint increased the number of sustainability resources on-campus, setting a precedent for future Earth Week events. I was able to echo my environmental empathy to the masses while learning how to effectively communicate between students and administrators. I felt motivated by my peers' contributions during the event, understanding it takes more than one person to make an environmental impact. Collaborating with others both inside and outside the classroom will be key to my academic endeavors. This fuels my desire to utilize liberal arts and science-based education to do interdisciplinary research in environmental psychology whether it's through philosophical discussions or under a microscope. Protecting our oceans is a key step to ensure a decrease in carbon dioxide in our atmosphere, thus preventing increased heat and secondary air pollutants. My expedition in addressing environmental health disparities in the oceanic realms will persist by hosting green mindfulness workshops to better prepare the well-being of me and my peers' lives at stake from the climate crisis. Integrating climate considerations with mental health programs in my future activities can remedy the burdening thought of Earth warming affecting those lacking psychosocial care. Hence, actively listening to students' experiences with climate change will improve my ability to tackle environmental issues in varying populations. These insights will consequently expand my perspective on coping with an immunocompromised lifestyle, one collective, sustainable effort at a time. The future depends on our present efforts because there is no Planet B.

I carefully organized the four prescriptions at the patient's bedside, wondering if she would ever leave the darkness of her mind. Her stoic expression was once filled with exultance, venturing on hikes with her three dogs, and extending care as a registered nurse. Hence, tears bordered my eyes seeing her flinch in pain with each step she took in physical activities. Her bipolar depression and neuromuscular disease diagnosis occurred during my high school sophomore year; the responsibility of being my mom’s primary caregiver was thrust onto me. Her disability severed our connection, plaguing my mind with confusion, feeling useless in an attempt to care for her. When driving home from school, my heart pounded, hands worn and wrinkled from the manual labor, my mom was unfit to do. The aroma of paprika and seafood surrounded the house while the stove was ablaze, my forehead crawling with sweat, preparing dinner at beginning of sunset, leaving homework until nightfall. During these periods of disability care, the world moved faster than my mind. Every responsibility was a ticking time bomb; I would eventually have no confidence left to care for myself. I bottled up this fear to prevent my emotional wildfires from hurting others. The kitchen, however, was the only place where those flames were extinguished. Whether I listened to the comical roars of Gordon Ramsay or the soft vocals of Julia Child, my mind immersed itself in the knowledge of the culinary arts. Every cake baked, every scampi sauteed, pushed my mind to break the boundaries of intermediate levels of cooking while also keeping it at ease. When I put on my Darth Vader kitchen apron, my mind redirects its attention from the stress of the world. Putting food on the table was a responsibility that became an activity of solace. Cooking replaced my negative emotions with positive ones, similar to substituting a spoiled egg with peanut butter in a classic cookie recipe. Each stir of a ladle or spatula unraveled the tense nerves that surrounded my body, blurring my emotions into focus, giving me a sense of control. Practicing the culinary arts was a healthy outlet for me as I felt a once-lost bond rekindle between my mom and myself during the many smiles shared in the kitchen. It was these instances that blossomed a desire to provide support for those coping with the silent battles of mental illness and chronic pain, revealing the intricate intersection between our well-being and physical health. That intersection branches out when scrutinizing the environmental effects on our health. Speaking with medically underserved families at Columbia Mailman revealed the impact of patients having to relocate to different parts of their houses during heat waves. This further galvanized my yearning to become a physician so people from environmentally at-risk communities receive the compassionate, psychophysiological treatment they deserve. I'm currently collaborating with sustainable physicians like Dr. Carole Lin to address the issue of medical waste incineration from the operating room polluting our air and harming people's neurological health. This novel sustainability volunteering initiative will enable me to sort through unused medical tools in the OR and have them donated to South American hospitals. The tools from spearheading this project will better equip me to one day educate patients on the health implications of climate change to improve their well-being and lead a healthcare team to make environmentally conscious practices in hospitals and clinics. There is no planet B; therefore, I will ensure the psychophysiological care of environmentally underserved communities while safeguarding a healthy planet for generations to come.

Whether I surf on rocky beaches or read under shady treetops, nature offers me an escape from the world’s stress. When my nose is met by pollutants, Earth's pain becomes my own. Developing chronic sinusitis leaves me swallowing a tough pill, one entailing extensive damage to my immune system as global warming accelerates. The unpredictability of my illness generates my urgency toward addressing sustainability issues. Serving on my college district's sustainability committee evidently revealed that the relationship between climate change and minority communities’ mental health is severely neglected. Caring for my sustainable garden and hosting a climate change rally in high school were significant in preparing for my college student government's Earth Day project. It was difficult to share my environmental empathy on a large scale so I wanted to think bigger. Earth Week would become my college and the surrounding community's first week-long environmental event. Four days were planned with workshops, prizes, and activities on saving the bees, ocean acidification, green energy, and thrifting. I worked with my school's administration for months to lead a student cohort in organizing a community clothing drive promoting sustainable fashion. As I collaborated with my school's food pantry, the clothes were arranged for the outdoor thrifting event on Thursday. I started ordering items and creating schedules for people as event week crept up on my calendar. Earth Week was here. I set up the quad with DIY reusable tote bag stations on Monday, followed by DIY ocean jewelry activities and free metal straws on Tuesday. On Wednesday, I showed students how to make pollution catchers while bringing in environmental engineering speakers. Each day slowly increased participation, foreshadowing Thursday's grand turnout. I arranged twenty booths around our small promenade featuring Orange County Tesla, succulents, environmental NPOs, and vegan food markets. Relief and excitement permeated my body as I saw my sustainable vision become a reality. Educating my community to reduce their carbon footprint increased the number of sustainability resources on-campus, setting a precedent for future Earth Week events. I was able to echo my environmental empathy to the masses while learning how to effectively communicate between students and administrators. I felt motivated by my peers' contributions during the event, understanding it takes more than one person to make an environmental impact. Collaborating with others both inside and outside the classroom will be key to my academic endeavors. This fuels my desire to utilize liberal arts and science-based education to do interdisciplinary research in environmental psychology whether it's through philosophical discussions or under a microscope. My expedition in addressing environmental health disparities will persist by hosting green mindfulness workshops to better prepare the well-being of me and my peers' lives at stake from the climate crisis. Integrating climate considerations with mental health programs in my future activities can remedy the burdening thought of Earth warming affecting those lacking psychosocial care. Hence, actively listening to students' experiences with climate change will improve my ability to tackle environmental issues in varying populations. These insights will consequently expand my perspective on coping with an immunocompromised lifestyle, one collective, sustainable effort at a time. The future depends on our present efforts because there is no Planet B.

I walk to her room, the scent of chamomile tea caressing my nose, hands trembling under the weight of the mug, wondering if she will ever leave the darkness of her mind. The imbalanced serotonin levels in her brain made their way into my everyday life. During the summer leading into my freshmen year of college, she was diagnosed with a neuromuscular disease, bipolar depression, ADHD, and PTSD. The pain of my mom's mental health had become my own. Her disability severed our connection, plaguing my mind with confusion, feeling useless in an attempt to care for her. Tears bordered my eyes as I watched my mom struggle with physical activities, pushing my responsibilities into overdrive. When driving home from school, my heart pounded, hands worn and wrinkled from the manual labor, my mom was unfit to do. The aroma of paprika and seafood surrounded the house while the stove was ablaze, my forehead crawling with sweat, preparing dinner at beginning of sunset, leaving homework until nightfall. During these periods of disability care, the world moved faster than my mind. Every responsibility was a ticking time bomb; I would eventually have no confidence left to care for myself. I bottled up this fear to prevent my emotional wildfires from hurting others. The kitchen, however, was the only place where those flames were extinguished. Whether I listened to the comical roars of Gordon Ramsay or the soft vocals of Julia Child, my mind immersed itself in the knowledge of the culinary arts. Every cake baked, every scampi sauteed, pushed my mind to break the boundaries of intermediate levels of cooking while also keeping it at ease. When I put on my Darth Vader kitchen apron, my mind redirects its attention from the stress of the world. Putting food on the table was a responsibility that became an activity of solace. Cooking replaced my negative emotions with positive ones, similar to substituting a spoiled egg with peanut butter in a classic cookie recipe. Each stir of a ladle or spatula unraveled the tense nerves that surrounded my body, blurring my emotions into focus, giving me a sense of control. Practicing the culinary arts was a healthy outlet for me as I felt a once-lost bond rekindle between my mom and myself during the many smiles shared in the kitchen. Those coping with mental illness are not always as lucky as others when finding healthy outlets. Exploring the depths of the unpredictable human mind became my food for thought the next time I carried that cup of chamomile tea to her room. I researched emotional well-being coping strategies to make sense of my mom’s headspace and understand others who are suffering from anxiety and depression. I aim to shed light on mental illness to aid others in finding their own safe outlets when faced with psychological adversities. Through my cooking, I reciprocated all those years of love and care my mom has offered me, giving a voice to the silence of her mental illness. Like how yeast rises bread in an oven, cooking raised my confidence out of the void. My mom’s mental illness may have hindered her but I did not let it burden me. I let an alternative path guide me: one where mental health awareness is the key ingredient in my recipe for life.

I walk to her room, the scent of chamomile tea caressing my nose, hands trembling under the weight of the mug, wondering if she will ever leave the darkness of her mind. The imbalanced serotonin levels in her brain made their way into my everyday life. During the summer leading into my freshmen year of college, she was diagnosed with a neuromuscular disease, bipolar depression, ADHD, and PTSD. The pain of my mom's mental health had become my own. Her disability severed our connection, plaguing my mind with confusion, feeling useless in an attempt to care for her. Tears bordered my eyes as I watched my mom struggle with physical activities, pushing my responsibilities into overdrive. When driving home from school, my heart pounded, hands worn and wrinkled from the manual labor, my mom was unfit to do. The aroma of paprika and seafood surrounded the house while the stove was ablaze, my forehead crawling with sweat, preparing dinner at beginning of sunset, leaving homework until nightfall. During these periods of disability care, the world moved faster than my mind. Every responsibility was a ticking time bomb; I would eventually have no confidence left to care for myself. I bottled up this fear to prevent my emotional wildfires from hurting others. The kitchen, however, was the only place where those flames were extinguished. Whether I listened to the comical roars of Gordon Ramsay or the soft vocals of Julia Child, my mind immersed itself in the knowledge of the culinary arts. Every cake baked, every scampi sauteed, pushed my mind to break the boundaries of intermediate levels of cooking while also keeping it at ease. When I put on my Darth Vader kitchen apron, my mind redirects its attention from the stress of the world. Putting food on the table was a responsibility that became an activity of solace. Cooking replaced my negative emotions with positive ones, similar to substituting a spoiled egg with peanut butter in a classic cookie recipe. Each stir of a ladle or spatula unraveled the tense nerves that surrounded my body, blurring my emotions into focus, giving me a sense of control. Practicing the culinary arts was a healthy outlet for me as I felt a once-lost bond rekindle between my mom and myself during the many smiles shared in the kitchen. Those coping with mental illness are not always as lucky as others when finding healthy outlets. Exploring the depths of the unpredictable human mind became my food for thought the next time I carried that cup of chamomile tea to her room. I researched emotional well-being coping strategies to make sense of my mom’s headspace and understand others who are suffering from anxiety and depression. I aim to shed light on mental illness to aid others in finding their own safe outlets when faced with psychological adversities. Through my cooking, I reciprocated all those years of love and care my mom has offered me, giving a voice to the silence of her mental illness. Like how yeast rises bread in an oven, cooking raised my confidence out of the void. My mom’s mental illness may have hindered her but I did not let it burden me. I let an alternative path guide me: one where mental health awareness is the key ingredient in my recipe for life.

I walk to her room, the scent of chamomile tea caressing my nose, hands trembling under the weight of the mug, wondering if she will ever leave the darkness of her mind. The imbalanced serotonin levels in her brain made their way into my everyday life. During the summer leading into my freshmen year of college, she was diagnosed with a neuromuscular disease, bipolar depression, ADHD, and PTSD. The pain of my mom's mental health had become my own. Her disability severed our connection, plaguing my mind with confusion, feeling useless in an attempt to care for her. Tears bordered my eyes as I watched my mom struggle with physical activities, pushing my responsibilities into overdrive. When driving home from school, my heart pounded, hands worn and wrinkled from the manual labor, my mom was unfit to do. The aroma of paprika and seafood surrounded the house while the stove was ablaze, my forehead crawling with sweat, preparing dinner at beginning of sunset, leaving homework until nightfall. During these periods of disability care, the world moved faster than my mind. Every responsibility was a ticking time bomb; I would eventually have no confidence left to care for myself. I bottled up this fear to prevent my emotional wildfires from hurting others. The kitchen, however, was the only place where those flames were extinguished. Whether I listened to the comical roars of Gordon Ramsay or the soft vocals of Julia Child, my mind immersed itself in the knowledge of the culinary arts. Every cake baked, every scampi sauteed, pushed my mind to break the boundaries of intermediate levels of cooking while also keeping it at ease. When I put on my Darth Vader kitchen apron, my mind redirects its attention from the stress of the world. Putting food on the table was a responsibility that became an activity of solace. Cooking replaced my negative emotions with positive ones, similar to substituting a spoiled egg with peanut butter in a classic cookie recipe. Each stir of a ladle or spatula unraveled the tense nerves that surrounded my body, blurring my emotions into focus, giving me a sense of control. Practicing the culinary arts was a healthy outlet for me as I felt a once-lost bond rekindle between my mom and myself during the many smiles shared in the kitchen. Those coping with mental illness are not always as lucky as others when finding healthy outlets. Exploring the depths of the unpredictable human mind became my food for thought the next time I carried that cup of chamomile tea to her room. I researched emotional well-being coping strategies to make sense of my mom’s headspace and understand others who are suffering from anxiety and depression. I aim to shed light on mental illness to aid others in finding their own safe outlets when faced with psychological adversities. Through my cooking, I reciprocated all those years of love and care my mom has offered me, giving a voice to the silence of her mental illness. Like how yeast rises bread in an oven, cooking raised my confidence out of the void. My mom’s mental illness may have hindered her but I did not let it burden me. I let an alternative path guide me: one where mental health awareness is the key ingredient in my recipe for life.

ZAP! Neurons fire. Dendrites retrieve the message, transmitting it to cell bodies. The brain configures this information, producing a response. I’m left with countless “why’s.” Why do people hold the beliefs they do? Why are people prone to harming others? The common denominator under my questions was the concept of behavior, the brain: how we think. Researching how neural pathways react to air pollutants or observing what makes humans “tick” under certain stimuli in my honors psychology class spiked my endorphins through each concept learned. The way our nervous system does all the behind-the-scenes work on how we think and function was fascinating. Neurons were one of my favorite concepts in cell biology that further clarified this connection to the behavioral responses our brain produces. Actively listening to teenagers' well-being journeys during my 7Cups internship and caring for my mentally ill mother intrigued my mind about the intricacies of people’s emotional processing. That’s what makes psychology unique–it’s the skeleton key to learning more about others and myself. The brain is unknown, left with more questions than answers; however, I gravitate toward its mysterious nature because of its intimate link with the mind and body. Studying this relationship is valuable to me as a yearning physician in treating patients preventatively. Diminishing that fear of conversation, that fear of opening up about our feelings is a necessary breakthrough that will revolutionize how medicine is practiced. I want to be a part of that revolution in creating a safe space for people who want to be heard through integrated care management, and getting clinical exposure would assist in expanding my understanding of healthcare. During my first day walking under the soft white lights of the Haider Spine Center, I was met by the hands of a neurosurgeon. My biweekly visits of shadowing Dr. Dennis Cramer offered an experience that surpassed any other: seeing the gratitude spread across each patient's face when they had their pain understood. I was able to learn from him that addressing the pain directly is only half of the battle–the other half starts with addressing the patient’s psychosocial well-being. Dr. Cramer’s attention to this aspect of medicine reassured my understanding of preventative care. Listening to each person’s unique story between appointments and hearing their dialogues with the physician, was inspiring. During critical procedures, I didn't just see a neurosurgeon perform an open discectomy. I saw a guardian angel protecting and healing the patient from afar. It didn't matter if I was retrieving the doctor's paperwork or helping him assist patients with his spine model, I finally felt comfortable in a place I held fear in since my childhood. These moments provided clarity with honing in on a career in medicine. There isn't a one-size-fits-all treatment for every patient but that’s what makes the challenge of this career riveting; you get the chance to find new treatment options by caring for the livelihood of people in the most critical moments of their life. As I look back on my time on these experiences, I carry feverish intent with what the future holds for my studies and career. I hold on dearly to my mom’s perseverance through her pain and heed the words of something a patient told me. Grasping my shoulders, looking at me in my eyes, she stated, “Bless your heart for your work and knowledge in wanting to help people like myself.” Those words remind me to continue jumping the hurdles that lie ahead of me on my path to becoming a physician, with mental health awareness, being the greatest tool in my white coat.

I walk to her room, the scent of chamomile tea caressing my nose, hands trembling under the weight of the mug, wondering if she will ever leave the darkness of her mind. The imbalanced serotonin levels in her brain made their way into my everyday life. During the summer leading into my freshmen year of college, she was diagnosed with a neuromuscular disease, bipolar depression, ADHD, and PTSD. The pain of my mom's mental health had become my own. Her disability severed our connection, plaguing my mind with confusion, feeling useless in an attempt to care for her. Tears bordered my eyes as I watched my mom struggle with physical activities, pushing my responsibilities into overdrive. When driving home from school, my heart pounded, hands worn and wrinkled from the manual labor, my mom was unfit to do. The aroma of paprika and seafood surrounded the house while the stove was ablaze, my forehead crawling with sweat, preparing dinner at beginning of sunset, leaving homework until nightfall. During these periods of disability care, the world moved faster than my mind. Every responsibility was a ticking time bomb; I would eventually have no confidence left to care for myself. I bottled up this fear to prevent my emotional wildfires from hurting others. The kitchen, however, was the only place where those flames were extinguished. Whether I listened to the comical roars of Gordon Ramsay or the soft vocals of Julia Child, my mind immersed itself in the knowledge of the culinary arts. Every cake baked, every scampi sauteed, pushed my mind to break the boundaries of intermediate levels of cooking while also keeping it at ease. When I put on my Darth Vader kitchen apron, my mind redirects its attention from the stress of the world. Putting food on the table was a responsibility that became an activity of solace. Cooking replaced my negative emotions with positive ones, similar to substituting a spoiled egg with peanut butter in a classic cookie recipe. Each stir of a ladle or spatula unraveled the tense nerves that surrounded my body, blurring my emotions into focus, giving me a sense of control. Practicing the culinary arts was a healthy outlet for me as I felt a once-lost bond rekindle between my mom and myself during the many smiles shared in the kitchen. Those coping with mental illness are not always as lucky as others when finding healthy outlets. Exploring the depths of the unpredictable human mind became my food for thought the next time I carried that cup of chamomile tea to her room. I researched emotional well-being coping strategies to make sense of my mom’s headspace and understand others who are suffering from anxiety and depression. I aim to shed light on mental illness to aid others in finding their own safe outlets when faced with psychological adversities. Through my cooking, I reciprocated all those years of love and care my mom has offered me, giving a voice to the silence of her mental illness. Like how yeast rises bread in an oven, cooking raised my confidence out of the void. My mom’s mental illness may have hindered her but I did not let it burden me.

Whether I surf on rocky beaches or read under shady treetops, nature offers me an escape from the world’s stress. When my nose is met by pollutants, Earth's pain becomes my own. Developing chronic sinusitis leaves me swallowing a tough pill, one entailing extensive damage to my immune system as global warming accelerates. The unpredictability of my illness generates my urgency toward addressing sustainability issues. Serving on my college district's sustainability committee evidently revealed that the relationship between climate change and minority communities’ mental health is severely neglected. Caring for my sustainable garden and hosting a climate change rally in high school were significant in preparing for my college student government's Earth Day project. It was difficult to share my environmental empathy on a large scale so I wanted to think bigger. Earth Week would become my college and the surrounding community's first week-long environmental event. Four days were planned with workshops, prizes, and activities on saving the bees, ocean acidification, green energy, and thrifting. I worked with my school's administration for months to lead a student cohort in organizing a community clothing drive promoting sustainable fashion. As I collaborated with my school's food pantry, the clothes were arranged for the outdoor thrifting event on Thursday. I started ordering items and creating schedules for people as event week crept up on my calendar. Earth Week was here. I set up the quad with DIY reusable tote bag stations on Monday, followed by DIY ocean jewelry activities and free metal straws on Tuesday. On Wednesday, I showed students how to make pollution catchers while bringing in environmental engineering speakers. Each day slowly increased participation, foreshadowing Thursday's grand turnout. I arranged twenty booths around our small promenade featuring Orange County Tesla, succulents, environmental NPOs, and vegan food markets. Relief and excitement permeated my body as I saw my sustainable vision become a reality. Educating my community to reduce their carbon footprint increased the number of sustainability resources on-campus, setting a precedent for future Earth Week events. I was able to echo my environmental empathy to the masses while learning how to effectively communicate between students and administrators. I felt motivated by my peers' contributions during the event, understanding it takes more than one person to make an environmental impact. Collaborating with others both inside and outside the classroom will be key to my academic endeavors. I hope to accompany my psychological studies with an environmental studies minor when I transfer to a four-year university. This fuels my desire to utilize liberal arts and science-based education to do interdisciplinary research in environmental psychology whether it's through philosophical discussions or under a microscope. My expedition in addressing environmental health disparities with my school will persist by hosting green mindfulness workshops to better prepare the well-being of me and my peers' lives at stake from the climate crisis. Integrating climate considerations with mental health programs in my future activities can remedy the burdening thought of Earth warming affecting those lacking psychosocial care. Hence, actively listening to students' experiences with climate change will improve my ability to tackle environmental issues in varying populations. These insights will consequently expand my perspective on coping with an immunocompromised lifestyle, one collective, sustainable effort at a time. The future depends on our present efforts because there is no Planet B.

Whether I surf on rocky beaches or read under shady treetops, nature offers me an escape from the world’s stress. When my nose is met by pollutants, Earth's pain becomes my own. Developing chronic sinusitis leaves me swallowing a tough pill, one entailing extensive damage to my immune system as global warming accelerates. The unpredictability of my illness generates my urgency toward addressing sustainability issues. Serving on my college district's sustainability committee evidently revealed that the relationship between climate change and minority communities’ mental health is severely neglected. Caring for my sustainable garden and hosting a climate change rally in high school were significant in preparing for my college student government's Earth Day project. It was difficult to share my environmental empathy on a large scale so I wanted to think bigger. Earth Week would become my college and the surrounding community's first week-long environmental event. Four days were planned with workshops, prizes, and activities on saving the bees, ocean acidification, green energy, and thrifting. I worked with my school's administration for months to lead a student cohort in organizing a community clothing drive promoting sustainable fashion. As I collaborated with my school's food pantry, the clothes were arranged for the outdoor thrifting event on Thursday. I started ordering items and creating schedules for people as event week crept up on my calendar. Earth Week was here. I set up the quad with DIY reusable tote bag stations on Monday, followed by DIY ocean jewelry activities and free metal straws on Tuesday. On Wednesday, I showed students how to make pollution catchers while bringing in environmental engineering speakers. Each day slowly increased participation, foreshadowing Thursday's grand turnout. I arranged twenty booths around our small promenade featuring Orange County Tesla, succulents, environmental NPOs, and vegan food markets. Relief and excitement permeated my body as I saw my sustainable vision become a reality. Educating my community to reduce their carbon footprint increased the number of sustainability resources on-campus, setting a precedent for future Earth Week events. I was able to echo my environmental empathy to the masses while learning how to effectively communicate between students and administrators. I felt motivated by my peers' contributions during the event, understanding it takes more than one person to make an environmental impact. Collaborating with others both inside and outside the classroom will be key to my academic endeavors. I hope to accompany my psychological studies with an environmental studies minor when I transfer to a four-year university. This fuels my desire to utilize liberal arts and science-based education to do interdisciplinary research in environmental psychology whether it's through philosophical discussions or under a microscope. My expedition in addressing environmental health disparities with my school will persist by hosting green mindfulness workshops to better prepare the well-being of me and my peers' lives at stake from the climate crisis. Integrating climate considerations with mental health programs in my future activities can remedy the burdening thought of Earth warming affecting those lacking psychosocial care. Hence, actively listening to students' experiences with climate change will improve my ability to tackle environmental issues in varying populations. These insights will consequently expand my perspective on coping with an immunocompromised lifestyle, one collective, sustainable effort at a time. The future depends on our present efforts because there is no Planet B.

Whether I surf on rocky beaches or read under shady treetops, nature offers me an escape from the world’s stress. When my nose is met by pollutants, Earth's pain becomes my own. Developing chronic sinusitis leaves me swallowing a tough pill, one entailing extensive damage to my immune system as global warming accelerates. The unpredictability of my illness generates my urgency toward addressing sustainability issues. Serving on my college district's sustainability committee evidently revealed that the relationship between climate change and minority communities’ mental health is severely neglected. Caring for my sustainable garden and hosting a climate change rally in high school were significant in preparing for my college student government's Earth Day project. It was difficult to share my environmental empathy on a large scale so I wanted to think bigger. Earth Week would become my college and the surrounding community's first week-long environmental event. Four days were planned with workshops, prizes, and activities on saving the bees, ocean acidification, green energy, and thrifting. I worked with my school's administration for months to lead a student cohort in organizing a community clothing drive promoting sustainable fashion. As I collaborated with my school's food pantry, the clothes were arranged for the outdoor thrifting event on Thursday. I started ordering items and creating schedules for people as event week crept up on my calendar. Earth Week was here. I set up the quad with DIY reusable tote bag stations on Monday, followed by DIY ocean jewelry activities and free metal straws on Tuesday. On Wednesday, I showed students how to make pollution catchers while bringing in environmental engineering speakers. Each day slowly increased participation, foreshadowing Thursday's grand turnout. I arranged twenty booths around our small promenade featuring Orange County Tesla, succulents, environmental NPOs, and vegan food markets. Relief and excitement permeated my body as I saw my sustainable vision become a reality. Educating my community to reduce their carbon footprint increased the number of sustainability resources on-campus, setting a precedent for future Earth Week events. I was able to echo my environmental empathy to the masses while learning how to effectively communicate between students and administrators. I felt motivated by my peers' contributions during the event, understanding it takes more than one person to make an environmental impact. Collaborating with others both inside and outside the classroom will be key to my academic endeavors. I hope to accompany my psychological studies with an environmental studies minor when I transfer to a four-year university. This fuels my desire to utilize liberal art and science-based education to do interdisciplinary research in environmental psychology whether it's through philosophical discussions or under a microscope. My expedition in addressing environmental health disparities with my school and when I transfer will persist by hosting green mindfulness workshops to better prepare the well-being of me and my peers' lives at stake from the climate crisis. Integrating climate considerations with mental health programs in my future activities can remedy the burdening thought of Earth warming affecting those lacking psychosocial care. Hence, actively listening to students' experiences with climate change will improve my ability to tackle environmental issues in varying populations. These insights will consequently expand my perspective on coping with an immunocompromised lifestyle, one collective, sustainable effort at a time. The future depends on our present efforts because there is no Planet B.

I carefully organized the four prescriptions at the patient's bedside, wondering if she would ever leave the darkness of her mind. Her stoic expression was once filled with exultance, venturing on hikes with her three dogs, and extending care as a registered nurse. Hence, tears bordered my eyes seeing her flinch in pain with each step she took in physical activities. Her bipolar depression and neuromuscular disease diagnosis occurred during my high school sophomore year; the responsibility of being my mom’s primary caregiver was thrust onto me. Feelings of uselessness pervaded my body when reminded of her declining health during physician visits, testing my mettle during these moments of disability care. However, it was these instances that blossomed a desire to provide support for those coping with the silent battles of mental illness and chronic pain, revealing the intricate intersection between our well-being and physical health. That intersection branches out when scrutinizing the environmental effects on our health. Speaking with medically underserved families at Columbia Mailman revealed the impact of patients having to relocate to different parts of their houses during heat waves. This further galvanized my yearning to become a physician so people from environmentally at-risk communities receive the compassionate, psychophysiological treatment they deserve. I'm currently collaborating with sustainable physicians like Dr. Carole Lin on project AWISH (Addressing World Inequity via Sustainable Healthcare), to address the issue of medical waste incineration from the operating room polluting our air and harming people's neurological health. This novel sustainability volunteering initiative will enable me to sort through unused medical tools in the OR and have them donated to South American hospitals. The tools from spearheading this project will better equip me to one day educate patients on the health implications of climate change to improve their well-being and lead a healthcare team to make environmentally conscious practices in hospitals and clinics. There is no planet B therefore I will continue my commitment to improving the psychological care of environmentally underserved communities while safeguarding a healthy planet for generations to come.

I carefully organized the four prescriptions at the patient's bedside, wondering if she would ever leave the darkness of her mind. Her stoic expression was once filled with exultance, venturing on hikes with her three dogs, and extending care as a registered nurse. Hence, tears bordered my eyes seeing her flinch in pain with each step she took in physical activities. Her bipolar depression and neuromuscular disease diagnosis occurred during my high school sophomore year; the responsibility of being my mom’s primary caregiver was thrust onto me. Her disability severed our connection, plaguing my mind with confusion, feeling useless in an attempt to care for her. Tears bordered my eyes as I watched my mom struggle with physical activities, pushing my responsibilities into overdrive. When driving home from school, my heart pounded, hands worn and wrinkled from the manual labor, my mom was unfit to do. The aroma of paprika and seafood surrounded the house while the stove was ablaze, my forehead crawling with sweat, preparing dinner at beginning of sunset, leaving homework until nightfall. During these periods of disability care, the world moved faster than my mind. Every responsibility was a ticking time bomb; I would eventually have no confidence left to care for myself. I bottled up this fear to prevent my emotional wildfires from hurting others. The kitchen, however, was the only place where those flames were extinguished. Whether I listened to the comical roars of Gordon Ramsay or the soft vocals of Julia Child, my mind immersed itself in the knowledge of the culinary arts. Every cake baked, every scampi sauteed, pushed my mind to break the boundaries of intermediate levels of cooking while also keeping it at ease. When I put on my Darth Vader kitchen apron, my mind redirects its attention from the stress of the world. Putting food on the table was a responsibility that became an activity of solace. Cooking replaced my negative emotions with positive ones, similar to substituting a spoiled egg with peanut butter in a classic cookie recipe. Each stir of a ladle or spatula unraveled the tense nerves that surrounded my body, blurring my emotions into focus, giving me a sense of control. Practicing the culinary arts was a healthy outlet for me as I felt a once-lost bond rekindle between my mom and myself during the many smiles shared in the kitchen. Those coping with mental illness are not always as lucky as others when finding healthy outlets. Exploring the depths of the unpredictable human mind became my food for thought the next time I carried that cup of chamomile tea to her room. I researched emotional well-being coping strategies to make sense of my mom’s headspace and understand others who are suffering from anxiety and depression. I aim to shed light on mental illness to aid others in finding their own safe outlets when faced with psychological adversities. It was these instances that blossomed a desire to provide support for those coping with the silent battles of mental illness and chronic pain, revealing the intricate intersection between our well-being and physical health.

I walk to her room, the scent of chamomile tea caressing my nose, hands trembling under the weight of the mug, wondering if she will ever leave the darkness of her mind. The imbalanced serotonin levels in her brain made their way into my everyday life. During the summer leading into my freshmen year of college, she was diagnosed with a neuromuscular disease, bipolar depression, ADHD, and PTSD. The pain of my mom's mental health had become my own. Her disability severed our connection, plaguing my mind with confusion, feeling useless in an attempt to care for her. Tears bordered my eyes as I watched my mom struggle with physical activities, pushing my responsibilities into overdrive. When driving home from school, my heart pounded, hands worn and wrinkled from the manual labor, my mom was unfit to do. The aroma of paprika and seafood surrounded the house while the stove was ablaze, my forehead crawling with sweat, preparing dinner at beginning of sunset, leaving homework until nightfall. During these periods of disability care, the world moved faster than my mind. Every responsibility was a ticking time bomb; I would eventually have no confidence left to care for myself. I bottled up this fear to prevent my emotional wildfires from hurting others. The kitchen, however, was the only place where those flames were extinguished. Whether I listened to the comical roars of Gordon Ramsay or the soft vocals of Julia Child, my mind immersed itself in the knowledge of the culinary arts. Every cake baked, every scampi sauteed, pushed my mind to break the boundaries of intermediate levels of cooking while also keeping it at ease. When I put on my Darth Vader kitchen apron, my mind redirects its attention from the stress of the world. Putting food on the table was a responsibility that became an activity of solace. Cooking replaced my negative emotions with positive ones, similar to substituting a spoiled egg with peanut butter in a classic cookie recipe. Each stir of a ladle or spatula unraveled the tense nerves that surrounded my body, blurring my emotions into focus, giving me a sense of control. Practicing the culinary arts was a healthy outlet for me as I felt a once-lost bond rekindle between my mom and myself during the many smiles shared in the kitchen. Those coping with mental illness are not always as lucky as others when finding healthy outlets. Exploring the depths of the unpredictable human mind became my food for thought the next time I carried that cup of chamomile tea to her room. I researched emotional well-being coping strategies to make sense of my mom’s headspace and understand others who are suffering from anxiety and depression. I aim to shed light on mental illness to aid others in finding their own safe outlets when faced with psychological adversities. Through my cooking, I reciprocated all those years of love and care my mom has offered me, giving a voice to the silence of her mental illness. Like how yeast rises bread in an oven, cooking raised my confidence out of the void. My mom’s mental illness may have hindered her but I did not let it burden me.

ZAP! Neurons fire. Dendrites retrieve the message, transmitting it to cell bodies. The brain configures this information, producing a response. I’m left with countless “why’s.” Why do people hold the beliefs they do? Why are people prone to harming others? The common denominator under my questions was the concept of behavior, the brain: how we think. Researching how neural pathways react to air pollutants or observing what makes humans “tick” under certain stimuli in my honors psychology class spiked my endorphins through each concept learned. The way our nervous system does all the behind-the-scenes work on how we think and function was fascinating. Neurons were one of my favorite concepts in cell biology that further clarified this connection to the behavioral responses our brain produces. Actively listening to teenagers' well-being journeys during my 7Cups internship and caring for my mentally ill mother intrigued my mind about the intricacies of people’s emotional processing. That’s what makes psychology unique–it’s the skeleton key to learning more about others and myself. The brain is unknown, left with more questions than answers; however, I gravitate toward its mysterious nature because of its intimate link with the mind and body. Studying this relationship is valuable to me as a yearning physician in treating patients preventatively. Diminishing that fear of conversation, that fear of opening up about our feelings is a necessary breakthrough that will revolutionize how medicine is practiced. I want to be a part of that revolution in creating a safe space for people who want to be heard through integrated care management, and getting clinical exposure would assist in expanding my understanding of healthcare. During my first day walking under the soft white lights of the Haider Spine Center, I was met by the hands of a neurosurgeon. My biweekly visits of shadowing Dr. Dennis Cramer offered an experience that surpassed any other: seeing the gratitude spread across each patient's face when they had their pain understood. I was able to learn from him that addressing the pain directly is only half of the battle–the other half starts with addressing the patient’s psychosocial well-being. Dr. Cramer’s attention to this aspect of medicine reassured my understanding of preventative care. Listening to each person’s unique story between appointments and hearing their dialogues with the physician, was inspiring. During critical procedures, I didn't just see a neurosurgeon perform an open discectomy. I saw a guardian angel protecting and healing the patient from afar. It didn't matter if I was retrieving the doctor's paperwork or helping him assist patients with his spine model, I finally felt comfortable in a place I held fear in since my childhood. These moments provided clarity with honing in on a career in medicine. There isn't a one-size-fits-all treatment for every patient but that’s what makes the challenge of this career riveting; you get the chance to find new treatment options by caring for the livelihood of people in the most critical moments of their life. As I look back on my time on these experiences, I carry feverish intent with what the future holds for my studies and career. I hold on dearly to my mom’s perseverance through her pain and heed the words of something a patient told me. Grasping my shoulders, looking at me in my eyes, she stated, “Bless your heart for your work and knowledge in wanting to help people like myself.” Those words remind me to continue jumping the hurdles that lie ahead of me on my path to becoming a physician-scientist, with mental health awareness, being the greatest tool in my white coat.

For some children, their infancy years were spent in a home filled with toys; my first years were spent in a hospital filled with the wheezing of my mechanical ventilator. When I became old enough to understand what it meant to have a compromised respiratory system, I feared pursuing a career in medicine after the visits to the doctor for myself. Despite my medical history, I refused to let it scare me into submission, hence, obtaining a scholarship will be the lock and key mechanism to my academic and career plans. As a pre-med student, I plan on taking the MCAT in the next year or two to meet the medical school requirements, however, this is a pricey endeavor. The money provided by a scholarship will remedy the burden of utilizing MCAT prep materials as well as applying to medical school, limiting my barriers to achieving my post-graduate dreams. In addition, the clinical experience necessary for preparing me as a future physician could be worthwhile by having funds to pay for classes in medical assisting and phlebotomy training. This will enable me to not only get hands-on patient care but learn more about medical terminology among the healthcare team. When interning at Columbia University over the summer while conducting sociomedical research, I realized there is not enough education shared with the general public on how our health is being affected by the adverse results of climate change. Having the opportunity to build off of this research with financial support would be revolutionary in increasing the number of mental health resources in marginalized communities suffering from energy insecurity. Shedding light on topics I care deeply about like climate epidemiology with a larger platform of pre-health students will enable me to voice my medical interests and protect immunodeficient individuals. I would garner more cultural competence by surrounding myself with students of diverse perspectives and backgrounds in healthcare in these research programs for underrepresented Latino students like myself. When my mom went on disability, my family was not making as much money during the fluctuating periods of inflation, there was an increased number of expenditures for my health due to COVID-19. Overall, this scholarship will positively influence different parts of my life, whether it would be for my major, tuition, research, or extracurricular experiences. More importantly, it will positively influence the results of my educational endeavors and be an important investment in my medical journey.

I walk to her room, the scent of chamomile tea caressing my nose, hands trembling under the weight of the mug, wondering if she will ever leave the darkness of her mind. The imbalanced serotonin levels in her brain made their way into my everyday life. During the summer leading into my freshmen year of college, she was diagnosed with a neuromuscular disease, bipolar depression, ADHD, and PTSD. The pain of my mom's mental health had become my own. Her disability severed our connection, plaguing my mind with confusion, feeling useless in an attempt to care for her. Tears bordered my eyes as I watched my mom struggle with physical activities, pushing my responsibilities into overdrive. When driving home from school, my heart pounded, hands worn and wrinkled from the manual labor, my mom was unfit to do. The aroma of paprika and seafood surrounded the house while the stove was ablaze, my forehead crawling with sweat, preparing dinner at beginning of sunset, leaving homework until nightfall. During these periods of disability care, the world moved faster than my mind. Every responsibility was a ticking time bomb; I would eventually have no confidence left to care for myself. I bottled up this fear to prevent my emotional wildfires from hurting others. The kitchen, however, was the only place where those flames were extinguished. Whether I listened to the comical roars of Gordon Ramsay or the soft vocals of Julia Child, my mind immersed itself in the knowledge of the culinary arts. Every cake baked, every scampi sauteed, pushed my mind to break the boundaries of intermediate levels of cooking while also keeping it at ease. When I put on my Darth Vader kitchen apron, my mind redirects its attention from the stress of the world. Putting food on the table was a responsibility that became an activity of solace. Cooking replaced my negative emotions with positive ones, similar to substituting a spoiled egg with peanut butter in a classic cookie recipe. Each stir of a ladle or spatula unraveled the tense nerves that surrounded my body, blurring my emotions into focus, giving me a sense of control. Practicing the culinary arts was a healthy outlet for me as I felt a once-lost bond rekindle between my mom and myself during the many smiles shared in the kitchen. Those coping with mental illness are not always as lucky as others when finding healthy outlets. Exploring the depths of the unpredictable human mind became my food for thought the next time I carried that cup of chamomile tea to her room. I researched emotional well-being coping strategies to make sense of my mom’s headspace and understand others who are suffering from anxiety and depression. I aim to shed light on mental illness to aid others in finding their own safe outlets when faced with psychological adversities. Through my cooking, I reciprocated all those years of love and care my mom has offered me, giving a voice to the silence of her mental illness. Like how yeast rises bread in an oven, cooking raised my confidence out of the void. My mom’s mental illness may have hindered her but I did not let it burden me. I let an alternative path guide me: one where mental health awareness is the key ingredient in my recipe for life.

“Leadership should be personified, not glorified.” Diana Casares, my student government mentor, would always stress this quote to me. It meant embracing the challenges that leadership has to offer rather than shying away from them. Facilitating progress in one's ability to set an example for others is not always easy. People focus more on the title rather than the duties that follow it, causing there to be disparities in environmental health issues because the duties of people's goals are not being accomplished. There is more being said than done, but I want to change that relationship; this affects my perspective on leadership and enables me to embrace it through my sustainable interests by planning events and activities meaningful to myself and the community. This quote entrenches a sense of ambition in my extracurriculars to spearhead environmental advocacy through a hands-on approach where I can see the difference I make. Whether I surf on rocky beaches or read under shady treetops, nature offers me an escape from the world’s stress. When my nose is met by pollutants, Earth's pain becomes my own. Caring for my sustainable garden and hosting a climate change rally in high school were significant in preparing for my college student government's Earth Day project. It was difficult to share my environmental empathy on a large scale so I wanted to think bigger. Earth Week would become my college and the surrounding community's first week-long environmental event. Four days were planned with workshops, prizes, and activities on saving the bees, ocean acidification, green energy, and thrifting. I worked with my school's administration for months to lead a student cohort in organizing a community clothing drive promoting sustainable fashion. As I collaborated with my school's food pantry, the clothes were arranged for the outdoor thrifting event on Thursday. I started ordering items and creating schedules for people as event week crept up on my calendar. Earth Week was here. I set up the quad with DIY reusable tote bag stations on Monday, followed by DIY ocean jewelry activities and free metal straws on Tuesday. On Wednesday, I showed students how to make pollution catchers while bringing in environmental engineering speakers. Each day slowly increased participation, foreshadowing Thursday's grand turnout. I arranged twenty booths around our small promenade featuring Orange County Tesla, succulents, environmental NPOs, and vegan food markets. Relief and excitement permeated my body as I saw my sustainable vision become a reality. Educating my community to reduce their carbon footprint increased the number of sustainability resources on-campus, setting a precedent for future Earth Week events. I was able to echo my environmental empathy to the masses while learning how to effectively communicate between students and administrators. I felt motivated by my peers' contributions during the event, understanding it takes more than one person to make an environmental impact. Collaborating with others both inside and outside the classroom will be key to my academic endeavors. The future depends on our present efforts because there is no Planet B.

Whether I surf on rocky beaches or read under shady treetops, nature offers me an escape from the world’s stress. When my nose is met by pollutants, Earth's pain becomes my own. Developing chronic sinusitis leaves me swallowing a tough pill, one entailing extensive damage to my immune system as the climate crisis accelerates. The unpredictability of my illness generates my urgency toward addressing sustainability issues. Serving on the college district's sustainability committee evidently revealed that the relationship between climate change and minority communities’ mental health is severely neglected. Caring for my sustainable garden and hosting a climate change rally in high school were significant in preparing for my college student government's Earth Day project. It was difficult to share my environmental empathy on a large scale so I wanted to think bigger. Earth Week would become my college and the surrounding community's first week-long environmental event. Four days were planned with workshops, prizes, and activities on saving the bees, ocean acidification, green energy, and thrifting. I worked with my school's administration for months to lead a student cohort in organizing a community clothing drive promoting sustainable fashion. As I collaborated with my school's food pantry, the clothes were arranged for the outdoor thrifting event on Thursday. I started ordering items and creating schedules for people as event week crept up on my calendar. Earth Week was here. I set up the quad with DIY reusable tote bag stations on Monday, followed by DIY ocean jewelry activities and free metal straws on Tuesday. On Wednesday, I showed students how to make pollution catchers while bringing in environmental engineering speakers. Each day slowly increased participation, foreshadowing Thursday's grand turnout. I arranged twenty booths around our small promenade featuring Orange County Tesla, succulents, environmental NPOs, and vegan food markets. Relief and excitement permeated my body as I saw my sustainable vision become a reality. Educating my community to reduce their carbon footprint increased the number of sustainability resources on-campus, setting a precedent for future Earth Week events. Speaking with families living in energy-insecure households during my Earth Week stress-less events, further solidified my mission to address this disparity–although this is merely the beginning of a long-term, environmental solution. I was able to echo my environmental empathy to the masses while learning how to effectively communicate between students and administrators. I felt motivated by my peers' contributions during the event, understanding it takes more than one person to make an environmental impact. Collaborating with others both inside and outside the classroom will be key to my academic endeavors. The future depends on our present efforts because there is no Planet B.

For some children, their infancy years were spent in a home filled with toys; my first years were spent in a hospital filled with the wheezing of my mechanical ventilator. When I became old enough to understand what it meant to have a compromised respiratory system, I feared pursuing a career in medicine after the visits to the doctor for myself and my mom when she became mentally and physically disabled during my sophomore year of high school. Despite my medical history, I refused to let it scare me into submission. When caring for mom, my heart sank because her pain eventually became my own. Growing up as an only child, I was always surrounded by her; we had and continue to have a deep connection so when she slowly started feeling unwell during my time in high school, I was hurt. She was fighting physical and mental battles with neuromuscular diseases, ADHD, bipolar depression, and PTSD. Offering a helping hand to my mom’s copious, strenuous tasks propelled me to be there for her and others at crucial medical turning points in their health. Since people may not have the same privilege of having someone at their side, it became my goal to incorporate the importance of mental health in my career plans as an aspiring physician. There is an intimate relationship between the brain and the mind which is why mental health should no longer be overlooked. Diminishing that fear of conversation, that fear of opening up about our feelings is a necessary breakthrough that will revolutionize how medicine is practiced. I want to be a part of that revolution in creating a safe space for people who want to be heard through integrated care management, and getting clinical exposure would assist in expanding my understanding of healthcare. During my first day walking under the soft white lights of the Haider Spine Center, I was met by the hands of a neurosurgeon. My biweekly visits of shadowing Dr. Dennis Cramer offered an experience that surpassed any other: seeing the gratitude spread across each patient's face when they had their pain understood. I was able to learn from him that addressing the pain directly is only half of the battle–the other half starts with addressing the patient’s psychosocial well-being. Dr. Cramer’s attention to this aspect of medicine reassured my understanding of preventative care. Listening to each person’s unique story between appointments and hearing their dialogues with the physician, was inspiring. During critical procedures, I didn't just see a neurosurgeon perform an open discectomy. I saw a guardian angel protecting and healing the patient from afar. It didn't matter if I was retrieving the doctor's paperwork or helping him assist patients with his spine model, I finally felt comfortable in a place I held fear in since my childhood. These moments provided clarity with honing in on a career in medicine. There isn't a one-size-fits-all treatment for every patient but that’s what makes the challenge of this career riveting; you get the chance to find new treatment options by caring for the livelihood of people in the most critical moments of their life. I hold on dearly to my mom’s perseverance through her pain and heed the words of something a patient told me. Grasping my shoulders, looking at me in my eyes, she stated, “Bless your heart for your work and knowledge in wanting to help people like myself.” Those words remind me to continue jumping the hurdles that lie ahead on my path to becoming a physician, with mental health awareness, being the greatest tool in my white coat.

I walk to her room, the scent of chamomile tea caressing my nose, hands trembling under the weight of the mug, wondering if she will ever leave the darkness of her mind. The imbalanced serotonin levels in her brain made their way into my everyday life. During the summer leading into my freshmen year of college, she was diagnosed with a neuromuscular disease, bipolar depression, ADHD, and PTSD. The pain of my mom's mental health had become my own. Her disability severed our connection, plaguing my mind with confusion, feeling useless in an attempt to care for her. Tears bordered my eyes as I watched my mom struggle with physical activities, pushing my responsibilities into overdrive. When driving home from school, my heart pounded, hands worn and wrinkled from the manual labor, my mom was unfit to do. The aroma of paprika and seafood surrounded the house while the stove was ablaze, my forehead crawling with sweat, preparing dinner at beginning of sunset, leaving homework until nightfall. During these periods of disability care, the world moved faster than my mind. Every responsibility was a ticking time bomb; I would eventually have no confidence left to care for myself. I bottled up this fear to prevent my emotional wildfires from hurting others. The kitchen, however, was the only place where those flames were extinguished. Whether I listened to the comical roars of Gordon Ramsay or the soft vocals of Julia Child, my mind immersed itself in the knowledge of the culinary arts. Every cake baked, every scampi sauteed, pushed my mind to break the boundaries of intermediate levels of cooking while also keeping it at ease. When I put on my Darth Vader kitchen apron, my mind redirects its attention from the stress of the world. Putting food on the table was a responsibility that became an activity of solace. Cooking replaced my negative emotions with positive ones, similar to substituting a spoiled egg with peanut butter in a classic cookie recipe. Each stir of a ladle or spatula unraveled the tense nerves that surrounded my body, blurring my emotions into focus, giving me a sense of control. Practicing the culinary arts was a healthy outlet for me as I felt a once-lost bond rekindle between my mom and myself during the many smiles shared in the kitchen. Those coping with mental illness are not always as lucky as others when finding healthy outlets. Exploring the depths of the unpredictable human mind became my food for thought the next time I carried that cup of chamomile tea to her room. I researched emotional well-being coping strategies to make sense of my mom’s headspace and understand others who are suffering from anxiety and depression. I aim to shed light on mental illness to aid others in finding their own safe outlets when faced with psychological adversities as an aspiring physician. Through my cooking, I reciprocated all those years of love and care my mom has offered me, giving a voice to the silence of her mental illness. Like how yeast rises bread in an oven, cooking raised my confidence out of the void. My mom’s mental illness may have hindered her but I did not let it burden me. I let an alternative path guide me: one where mental health awareness is the key ingredient in my recipe for life.

I walk to her room, the scent of chamomile tea caressing my nose, hands trembling under the weight of the mug, wondering if she will ever leave the darkness of her mind. The imbalanced serotonin levels in her brain made their way into my everyday life. During the summer leading into my freshmen year of college, she was diagnosed with a neuromuscular disease, bipolar depression, ADHD, and PTSD. The pain of my mom's mental health had become my own. Her disability severed our connection, plaguing my mind with confusion, feeling useless in an attempt to care for her. Tears bordered my eyes as I watched my mom struggle with physical activities, pushing my responsibilities into overdrive. When driving home from school, my heart pounded, hands worn and wrinkled from the manual labor, my mom was unfit to do. The aroma of paprika and seafood surrounded the house while the stove was ablaze, my forehead crawling with sweat, preparing dinner at beginning of sunset, leaving homework until nightfall. During these periods of disability care, the world moved faster than my mind. Every responsibility was a ticking time bomb; I would eventually have no confidence left to care for myself. I bottled up this fear to prevent my emotional wildfires from hurting others. The kitchen, however, was the only place where those flames were extinguished. Whether I listened to the comical roars of Gordon Ramsay or the soft vocals of Julia Child, my mind immersed itself in the knowledge of the culinary arts. Every cake baked, every scampi sauteed, pushed my mind to break the boundaries of intermediate levels of cooking while also keeping it at ease. When I put on my Darth Vader kitchen apron, my mind redirects its attention from the stress of the world. Putting food on the table was a responsibility that became an activity of solace. Cooking replaced my negative emotions with positive ones, similar to substituting a spoiled egg with peanut butter in a classic cookie recipe. Each stir of a ladle or spatula unraveled the tense nerves that surrounded my body, blurring my emotions into focus, giving me a sense of control. Practicing the culinary arts was a healthy outlet for me as I felt a once-lost bond rekindle between my mom and myself during the many smiles shared in the kitchen. Those coping with mental illness are not always as lucky as others when finding healthy outlets. Exploring the depths of the unpredictable human mind became my food for thought the next time I carried that cup of chamomile tea to her room. I researched emotional well-being coping strategies to make sense of my mom’s headspace and understand others who are suffering from anxiety and depression. I aim to shed light on mental illness to aid others in finding their own safe outlets when faced with psychological adversities as an aspiring physician. Through my cooking, I reciprocated all those years of love and care my mom has offered me, giving a voice to the silence of her mental illness. Like how yeast rises bread in an oven, cooking raised my confidence out of the void. My mom’s mental illness may have hindered her but I did not let it burden me. I let an alternative path guide me: one where mental health awareness is the key ingredient in my recipe for life.

I walk to her room, the scent of chamomile tea caressing my nose, hands trembling under the weight of the mug, wondering if she will ever leave the darkness of her mind. The imbalanced serotonin levels in her brain made their way into my everyday life. During the summer leading into my freshmen year of college, she was diagnosed with a neuromuscular disease, bipolar depression, ADHD, and PTSD. The pain of my mom's mental health had become my own. Her disability severed our connection, plaguing my mind with confusion, feeling useless in an attempt to care for her. Tears bordered my eyes as I watched my mom struggle with physical activities, pushing my responsibilities into overdrive. When driving home from school, my heart pounded, hands worn and wrinkled from the manual labor, my mom was unfit to do. The aroma of paprika and seafood surrounded the house while the stove was ablaze, my forehead crawling with sweat, preparing dinner at beginning of sunset, leaving homework until nightfall. During these periods of disability care, the world moved faster than my mind. Every responsibility was a ticking time bomb; I would eventually have no confidence left to care for myself. I bottled up this fear to prevent my emotional wildfires from hurting others. The kitchen, however, was the only place where those flames were extinguished. Whether I listened to the comical roars of Gordon Ramsay or the soft vocals of Julia Child, my mind immersed itself in the knowledge of the culinary arts. Every cake baked, every scampi sauteed, pushed my mind to break the boundaries of intermediate levels of cooking while also keeping it at ease. When I put on my Darth Vader kitchen apron, my mind redirects its attention from the stress of the world. Putting food on the table was a responsibility that became an activity of solace. Cooking replaced my negative emotions with positive ones, similar to substituting a spoiled egg with peanut butter in a classic cookie recipe. Each stir of a ladle or spatula unraveled the tense nerves that surrounded my body, blurring my emotions into focus, giving me a sense of control. Practicing the culinary arts was a healthy outlet for me as I felt a once-lost bond rekindle between my mom and myself during the many smiles shared in the kitchen. Those coping with mental illness are not always as lucky as others when finding healthy outlets. Exploring the depths of the unpredictable human mind became my food for thought the next time I carried that cup of chamomile tea to her room. I researched emotional well-being coping strategies to make sense of my mom’s headspace and understand others who are suffering from anxiety and depression. I aim to shed light on mental illness to aid others in finding their own safe outlets when faced with psychological adversities. Through my cooking, I reciprocated all those years of love and care my mom has offered me, giving a voice to the silence of her mental illness. Like how yeast rises bread in an oven, cooking raised my confidence out of the void. My mom’s mental illness may have hindered her but I did not let it burden me. I let an alternative path guide me: one where mental health awareness is the key ingredient in my recipe for life.

I walk to her room, the scent of chamomile tea caressing my nose, hands trembling under the weight of the mug, wondering if she will ever leave the darkness of her mind. The imbalanced serotonin levels in her brain made their way into my everyday life. During the summer leading into my freshmen year of college, she was diagnosed with a neuromuscular disease, bipolar depression, ADHD, and PTSD. The pain of my mom's mental health had become my own. Her disability severed our connection, plaguing my mind with confusion, feeling useless in an attempt to care for her. Tears bordered my eyes as I watched my mom struggle with physical activities, pushing my responsibilities into overdrive. When driving home from school, my heart pounded, hands worn and wrinkled from the manual labor, my mom was unfit to do. The aroma of paprika and seafood surrounded the house while the stove was ablaze, my forehead crawling with sweat, preparing dinner at beginning of sunset, leaving homework until nightfall. During these periods of disability care, the world moved faster than my mind. Every responsibility was a ticking time bomb; I would eventually have no confidence left to care for myself. I bottled up this fear to prevent my emotional wildfires from hurting others. The kitchen, however, was the only place where those flames were extinguished. Whether I listened to the comical roars of Gordon Ramsay or the soft vocals of Julia Child, my mind immersed itself in the knowledge of the culinary arts. Every cake baked, every scampi sauteed, pushed my mind to break the boundaries of intermediate levels of cooking while also keeping it at ease. When I put on my Darth Vader kitchen apron, my mind redirects its attention from the stress of the world. Putting food on the table was a responsibility that became an activity of solace. Cooking replaced my negative emotions with positive ones, similar to substituting a spoiled egg with peanut butter in a classic cookie recipe. Each stir of a ladle or spatula unraveled the tense nerves that surrounded my body, blurring my emotions into focus, giving me a sense of control. Practicing the culinary arts was a healthy outlet for me as I felt a once-lost bond rekindle between my mom and myself during the many smiles shared in the kitchen. Those coping with mental illness are not always as lucky as others when finding healthy outlets. Exploring the depths of the unpredictable human mind became my food for thought the next time I carried that cup of chamomile tea to her room. I researched emotional well-being coping strategies to make sense of my mom’s headspace and understand others who are suffering from anxiety and depression. I aim to shed light on mental illness to aid others in finding their own safe outlets when faced with psychological adversities. Through my cooking, I reciprocated all those years of love and care my mom has offered me, giving a voice to the silence of her mental illness. Like how yeast rises bread in an oven, cooking raised my confidence out of the void. My mom’s mental illness may have hindered her but I did not let it burden me. I let an alternative path guide me: one where mental health awareness is the key ingredient in my recipe for life.

I walk to her room, the scent of chamomile tea caressing my nose, hands trembling under the weight of the mug, wondering if she will ever leave the darkness of her mind. The imbalanced serotonin levels in her brain made their way into my everyday life. During the summer leading into my freshmen year of college, she was diagnosed with a neuromuscular disease, bipolar depression, ADHD, and PTSD. The pain of my mom's mental health had become my own. Her disability severed our connection, plaguing my mind with confusion, feeling useless in an attempt to care for her. Tears bordered my eyes as I watched my mom struggle with physical activities, pushing my responsibilities into overdrive. When driving home from school, my heart pounded, hands worn and wrinkled from the manual labor, my mom was unfit to do. The aroma of paprika and seafood surrounded the house while the stove was ablaze, my forehead crawling with sweat, preparing dinner at beginning of sunset, leaving homework until nightfall. During these periods of disability care, the world moved faster than my mind. Every responsibility was a ticking time bomb; I would eventually have no confidence left to care for myself. I bottled up this fear to prevent my emotional wildfires from hurting others. The kitchen, however, was the only place where those flames were extinguished. Whether I listened to the comical roars of Gordon Ramsay or the soft vocals of Julia Child, my mind immersed itself in the knowledge of the culinary arts. Every cake baked, every scampi sauteed, pushed my mind to break the boundaries of intermediate levels of cooking while also keeping it at ease. When I put on my Darth Vader kitchen apron, my mind redirects its attention from the stress of the world. Putting food on the table was a responsibility that became an activity of solace. Cooking replaced my negative emotions with positive ones, similar to substituting a spoiled egg with peanut butter in a classic cookie recipe. Each stir of a ladle or spatula unraveled the tense nerves that surrounded my body, blurring my emotions into focus, giving me a sense of control. Practicing the culinary arts was a healthy outlet for me as I felt a once-lost bond rekindle between my mom and myself during the many smiles shared in the kitchen. Those coping with mental illness are not always as lucky as others when finding healthy outlets. Exploring the depths of the unpredictable human mind became my food for thought the next time I carried that cup of chamomile tea to her room. I researched emotional well-being coping strategies to make sense of my mom’s headspace and understand others who are suffering from anxiety and depression. I aim to shed light on mental illness to aid others in finding their own safe outlets when faced with psychological adversities. Through my cooking, I reciprocated all those years of love and care my mom has offered me, giving a voice to the silence of her mental illness. Like how yeast rises bread in an oven, cooking raised my confidence out of the void. My mom’s mental illness may have hindered her but I did not let it burden me. I let an alternative path guide me: one where mental health awareness is the key ingredient in my recipe for life.

For some children, their infancy years were spent in a home filled with toys; my first years were spent in a hospital filled with the wheezing of my mechanical ventilator. When I became old enough to understand what it meant to have a compromised respiratory system, I feared pursuing a career in medicine after the visits to the doctor for myself and my mom when she became mentally and physically disabled during my sophomore year of high school. Despite my medical history, I refused to let it scare me into submission. When caring for mom, my heart sank because her pain eventually became my own. Growing up as an only child, I was always surrounded by her; we had and continue to have a deep connection so when she slowly started feeling unwell during my time in high school, I was hurt. She was fighting physical and mental battles with neuromuscular diseases, ADHD, bipolar depression, and PTSD. Offering a helping hand to my mom’s copious, strenuous tasks propelled me to be there for her and others at crucial medical turning points in their health. Since people may not have the same privilege of having someone at their side, it became my goal to incorporate the importance of mental health in my career plans as an aspiring physician. There is an intimate relationship between the brain and the mind which is why mental health should no longer be overlooked. Diminishing that fear of conversation, that fear of opening up about our feelings is a necessary breakthrough that will revolutionize how medicine is practiced. I want to be a part of that revolution in creating a safe space for people who want to be heard through integrated care management, and getting clinical exposure would assist in expanding my understanding of healthcare. During my first day walking under the soft white lights of the Haider Spine Center, I was met by the hands of a neurosurgeon. My biweekly visits of shadowing Dr. Dennis Cramer offered an experience that surpassed any other: seeing the gratitude spread across each patient's face when they had their pain understood. I was able to learn from him that addressing the pain directly is only half of the battle–the other half starts with addressing the patient’s psychosocial well-being. Dr. Cramer’s attention to this aspect of medicine reassured my understanding of preventative care. Listening to each person’s unique story between appointments and hearing their dialogues with the physician, was inspiring. During critical procedures, I didn't just see a neurosurgeon perform an open discectomy. I saw a guardian angel protecting and healing the patient from afar. It didn't matter if I was retrieving the doctor's paperwork or helping him assist patients with his spine model, I finally felt comfortable in a place I held fear in since my childhood. These moments provided clarity with honing in on a career in medicine. There isn't a one-size-fits-all treatment for every patient but that’s what makes the challenge of this career riveting; you get the chance to find new treatment options by caring for the livelihood of people in the most critical moments of their life. I hold on dearly to my mom’s perseverance through her pain and heed the words of something a patient told me. Grasping my shoulders, looking at me in my eyes, Gloria stated, “Bless your heart for your work and knowledge in wanting to help people like myself.” Those words remind me to continue jumping the hurdles that lie ahead on my path to becoming a physician, with mental health awareness, being the greatest tool in my white coat.

“Leadership should be personified, not glorified.” Diana Casares, my student government mentor, would always stress this quote to me. It meant embracing the challenges that leadership has to offer rather than shying away from them. Facilitating progress in one's ability to set an example for others is not always easy. People focus more on the title rather than the duties that follow it, causing there to be disparities in environmental health issues because the duties of people's goals are not being accomplished. There is more being said than done, but I want to change that relationship; this affects my perspective on leadership and enables me to embrace it through my sustainable interests by planning events and activities meaningful to myself and the community. This quote entrenches a sense of ambition in my extracurriculars to spearhead environmental advocacy through a hands-on approach where I can see the difference I make. Whether I surf on rocky beaches or read under shady treetops, nature offers me an escape from the world’s stress. When my nose is met by pollutants, Earth's pain becomes my own. Caring for my sustainable garden and hosting a climate change rally in high school were significant in preparing for my college student government's Earth Day project. It was difficult to share my environmental empathy on a large scale so I wanted to think bigger. Earth Week would become my college and the surrounding community's first week-long environmental event. Four days were planned with workshops, prizes, and activities on saving the bees, ocean acidification, green energy, and thrifting. I worked with my school's administration for months to lead a student cohort in organizing a community clothing drive promoting sustainable fashion. As I collaborated with my school's food pantry, the clothes were arranged for the outdoor thrifting event on Thursday. I started ordering items and creating schedules for people as event week crept up on my calendar. Earth Week was here. I set up the quad with DIY reusable tote bag stations on Monday, followed by DIY ocean jewelry activities and free metal straws on Tuesday. On Wednesday, I showed students how to make pollution catchers while bringing in environmental engineering speakers. Each day slowly increased participation, foreshadowing Thursday's grand turnout. I arranged twenty booths around our small promenade featuring Orange County Tesla, succulents, environmental NPOs, and vegan food markets. Relief and excitement permeated my body as I saw my sustainable vision become a reality. Educating my community to reduce their carbon footprint increased the number of sustainability resources on-campus, setting a precedent for future Earth Week events. I was able to echo my environmental empathy to the masses while learning how to effectively communicate between students and administrators. I felt motivated by my peers' contributions during the event, understanding it takes more than one person to make an environmental impact. Collaborating with others both inside and outside the classroom will be key to my academic endeavors. The future depends on our present efforts because there is no Planet B.

“Leadership should be personified, not glorified.” Diana Casares, my student government mentor, would always stress this quote to me. It meant embracing the challenges that leadership has to offer rather than shying away from them. Facilitating progress in one's ability to set an example for others is not always easy. People focus more on the title rather than the duties that follow it, causing there to be disparities in environmental health issues because the duties of people's goals are not being accomplished. There is more being said than done, but I want to change that relationship; this affects my perspective on leadership and enables me to embrace it through my sustainable interests by planning events and activities meaningful to myself and the community. This quote entrenches a sense of ambition in my extracurriculars to spearhead environmental advocacy through a hands-on approach where I can see the difference I make. Whether I surf on rocky beaches or read under shady treetops, nature offers me an escape from the world’s stress. When my nose is met by pollutants, Earth's pain becomes my own. Caring for my sustainable garden and hosting a climate change rally in high school were significant in preparing for my college student government's Earth Day project. It was difficult to share my environmental empathy on a large scale so I wanted to think bigger. Earth Week would become my college and the surrounding community's first week-long environmental event. Four days were planned with workshops, prizes, and activities on saving the bees, ocean acidification, green energy, and thrifting. I worked with my school's administration for months to lead a student cohort in organizing a community clothing drive promoting sustainable fashion. As I collaborated with my school's food pantry, the clothes were arranged for the outdoor thrifting event on Thursday. I started ordering items and creating schedules for people as event week crept up on my calendar. Earth Week was here. I set up the quad with DIY reusable tote bag stations on Monday, followed by DIY ocean jewelry activities and free metal straws on Tuesday. On Wednesday, I showed students how to make pollution catchers while bringing in environmental engineering speakers. Each day slowly increased participation, foreshadowing Thursday's grand turnout. I arranged twenty booths around our small promenade featuring Orange County Tesla, succulents, environmental NPOs, and vegan food markets. Relief and excitement permeated my body as I saw my sustainable vision become a reality. Educating my community to reduce their carbon footprint increased the number of sustainability resources on-campus, setting a precedent for future Earth Week events. I was able to echo my environmental empathy to the masses while learning how to effectively communicate between students and administrators. I felt motivated by my peers' contributions during the event, understanding it takes more than one person to make an environmental impact. Collaborating with others both inside and outside the classroom will be key to my academic endeavors. The future depends on our present efforts because there is no Planet B.

I walk to her room, the scent of chamomile tea caressing my nose, hands trembling under the weight of the mug, wondering if she will ever leave the darkness of her mind. The imbalanced serotonin levels in her brain made their way into my everyday life. During the summer leading into my freshmen year of college, she was diagnosed with a neuromuscular disease, bipolar depression, ADHD, and PTSD. The pain of my mom's mental health had become my own. Her disability severed our connection, plaguing my mind with confusion, feeling useless in an attempt to care for her. Tears bordered my eyes as I watched my mom struggle with physical activities, pushing my responsibilities into overdrive. When driving home from school, my heart pounded, hands worn and wrinkled from the manual labor, my mom was unfit to do. The aroma of paprika and seafood surrounded the house while the stove was ablaze, my forehead crawling with sweat, preparing dinner at beginning of sunset, leaving homework until nightfall. During these periods of disability care, the world moved faster than my mind. Every responsibility was a ticking time bomb; I would eventually have no confidence left to care for myself. I bottled up this fear to prevent my emotional wildfires from hurting others. The kitchen, however, was the only place where those flames were extinguished. Whether I listened to the comical roars of Gordon Ramsay or the soft vocals of Julia Child, my mind immersed itself in the knowledge of the culinary arts. Every cake baked, every scampi sauteed, pushed my mind to break the boundaries of intermediate levels of cooking while also keeping it at ease. When I put on my Darth Vader kitchen apron, my mind redirects its attention from the stress of the world. Putting food on the table was a responsibility that became an activity of solace. Cooking replaced my negative emotions with positive ones, similar to substituting a spoiled egg with peanut butter in a classic cookie recipe. Each stir of a ladle or spatula unraveled the tense nerves that surrounded my body, blurring my emotions into focus, giving me a sense of control. Practicing the culinary arts was a healthy outlet for me as I felt a once-lost bond rekindle between my mom and myself during the many smiles shared in the kitchen. Those coping with mental illness are not always as lucky as others when finding healthy outlets. Exploring the depths of the unpredictable human mind became my food for thought the next time I carried that cup of chamomile tea to her room. I researched emotional well-being coping strategies to make sense of my mom’s headspace and understand others who are suffering from anxiety and depression. I aim to shed light on mental illness to aid others in finding their own safe outlets when faced with psychological adversities. Through my cooking, I reciprocated all those years of love and care my mom has offered me, giving a voice to the silence of her mental illness. Like how yeast rises bread in an oven, cooking raised my confidence out of the void. My mom’s mental illness may have hindered her but I did not let it burden me. I let an alternative path guide me: one where mental health awareness is the key ingredient in my recipe for life.

For some children, their infancy years were spent in a home filled with toys; my first years were spent in a hospital filled with the wheezing of my mechanical ventilator. When I became old enough to understand what it meant to have a compromised respiratory system, I feared pursuing a career in medicine after the visits to the doctor for myself and my mom when she became mentally and physically disabled during my sophomore year of high school. Despite my medical history, I refused to let it scare me into submission. When caring for mom, my heart sank because her pain eventually became my own. Growing up as an only child, I was always surrounded by her; we had and continue to have a deep connection so when she slowly started feeling unwell during my time in high school, I was hurt. She was fighting physical and mental battles with neuromuscular diseases, ADHD, bipolar depression, and PTSD. Offering a helping hand to my mom’s copious, strenuous tasks propelled me to be there for her and others at crucial medical turning points in their health. Since people may not have the same privilege of having someone at their side, it became my goal to incorporate the importance of mental health in my career plans as an aspiring physician. There is an intimate relationship between the brain and the mind which is why mental health should no longer be overlooked. Diminishing that fear of conversation, that fear of opening up about our feelings is a necessary breakthrough that will revolutionize how medicine is practiced. I want to be a part of that revolution in creating a safe space for people who want to be heard through integrated care management, and getting clinical exposure would assist in expanding my understanding of healthcare. During my first day walking under the soft white lights of the Haider Spine Center, I was met by the hands of a neurosurgeon. My biweekly visits of shadowing Dr. Dennis Cramer offered an experience that surpassed any other: seeing the gratitude spread across each patient's face when they had their pain understood. I was able to learn from him that addressing the pain directly is only half of the battle–the other half starts with addressing the patient’s psychosocial well-being. Dr. Cramer’s attention to this aspect of medicine reassured my understanding of preventative care. Listening to each person’s unique story between appointments and hearing their dialogues with the physician, was inspiring. During critical procedures, I didn't just see a neurosurgeon perform an open discectomy. I saw a guardian angel protecting and healing the patient from afar. It didn't matter if I was retrieving the doctor's paperwork or helping him assist patients with his spine model, I finally felt comfortable in a place I held fear in since my childhood. These moments provided clarity with honing in on a career in medicine. There isn't a one-size-fits-all treatment for every patient but that’s what makes the challenge of this career riveting; you get the chance to find new treatment options by caring for the livelihood of people in the most critical moments of their life. I hold on dearly to my mom’s perseverance through her pain and heed the words of something a patient told me. Grasping my shoulders, looking at me in my eyes, Gloria stated, “Bless your heart for your work and knowledge in wanting to help people like myself.” Those words remind me to continue jumping the hurdles that lie ahead on my path to becoming a physician, with mental health awareness, being the greatest tool in my white coat.

“Leadership should be personified, not glorified.” Diana Casares, my student government mentor, would always stress this quote to me. It meant embracing the challenges that leadership has to offer rather than shying away from them. Facilitating progress in one's ability to set an example for others is not always easy. People focus more on the title rather than the duties that follow it, causing there to be disparities in environmental health issues because the duties of people's goals are not being accomplished. There is more being said than done, but I want to change that relationship; this affects my perspective on leadership and enables me to embrace it through my sustainable interests by planning events and activities meaningful to myself and the community. This quote entrenches a sense of ambition in my extracurriculars to spearhead environmental advocacy through a hands-on approach where I can see the difference I make. Whether I surf on rocky beaches or read under shady treetops, nature offers me an escape from the world’s stress. When my nose is met by pollutants, Earth's pain becomes my own. Caring for my sustainable garden and hosting a climate change rally in high school were significant in preparing for my college student government's Earth Day project. It was difficult to share my environmental empathy on a large scale so I wanted to think bigger. Earth Week would become my college and the surrounding community's first week-long environmental event. Four days were planned with workshops, prizes, and activities on saving the bees, ocean acidification, green energy, and thrifting. I worked with my school's administration for months to lead a student cohort in organizing a community clothing drive promoting sustainable fashion. As I collaborated with my school's food pantry, the clothes were arranged for the outdoor thrifting event on Thursday. I started ordering items and creating schedules for people as event week crept up on my calendar. Earth Week was here. I set up the quad with DIY reusable tote bag stations on Monday, followed by DIY ocean jewelry activities and free metal straws on Tuesday. On Wednesday, I showed students how to make pollution catchers while bringing in environmental engineering speakers. Each day slowly increased participation, foreshadowing Thursday's grand turnout. I arranged twenty booths around our small promenade featuring Orange County Tesla, succulents, environmental NPOs, and vegan food markets. Relief and excitement permeated my body as I saw my sustainable vision become a reality. Educating my community to reduce their carbon footprint increased the number of sustainability resources on-campus, setting a precedent for future Earth Week events. I was able to echo my environmental empathy to the masses while learning how to effectively communicate between students and administrators. I felt motivated by my peers' contributions during the event, understanding it takes more than one person to make an environmental impact. Collaborating with others both inside and outside the classroom will be key to my academic endeavors. The future depends on our present efforts because there is no Planet B.

For some children, their infancy years were spent in a home filled with toys; my first years were spent in a hospital filled with the wheezing of my mechanical ventilator. When I became old enough to understand what it meant to have a compromised respiratory system, I feared pursuing a career in medicine after the visits to the doctor for myself and my mom when she became mentally and physically disabled during my sophomore year of high school. Despite my medical history, I refused to let it scare me into submission. When caring for mom, my heart sank because her pain eventually became my own. Growing up as an only child, I was always surrounded by her; we had and continue to have a deep connection so when she slowly started feeling unwell during my time in high school, I was hurt. She was fighting physical and mental battles with neuromuscular diseases, ADHD, bipolar depression, and PTSD. Offering a helping hand to my mom’s copious, strenuous tasks propelled me to be there for her and others at crucial medical turning points in their health. Since people may not have the same privilege of having someone at their side, it became my goal to incorporate the importance of mental health in my career plans as an aspiring physician. There is an intimate relationship between the brain and the mind which is why mental health should no longer be overlooked. Diminishing that fear of conversation, that fear of opening up about our feelings is a necessary breakthrough that will revolutionize how medicine is practiced. I want to be a part of that revolution in creating a safe space for people who want to be heard through integrated care management, and getting clinical exposure would assist in expanding my understanding of healthcare. During my first day walking under the soft white lights of the Haider Spine Center, I was met by the hands of a neurosurgeon. My biweekly visits of shadowing Dr. Dennis Cramer offered an experience that surpassed any other: seeing the gratitude spread across each patient's face when they had their pain understood. I was able to learn from him that addressing the pain directly is only half of the battle–the other half starts with addressing the patient’s psychosocial well-being. Dr. Cramer’s attention to this aspect of medicine reassured my understanding of preventative care. Listening to each person’s unique story between appointments and hearing their dialogues with the physician, was inspiring. During critical procedures, I didn't just see a neurosurgeon perform an open discectomy. I saw a guardian angel protecting and healing the patient from afar. It didn't matter if I was retrieving the doctor's paperwork or helping him assist patients with his spine model, I finally felt comfortable in a place I held fear in since my childhood. These moments provided clarity with honing in on a career in medicine. There isn't a one-size-fits-all treatment for every patient but that’s what makes the challenge of this career riveting; you get the chance to find new treatment options by caring for the livelihood of people in the most critical moments of their life. I hold on dearly to my mom’s perseverance through her pain and heed the words of something a patient told me. Grasping my shoulders, looking at me in my eyes, Gloria stated, “Bless your heart for your work and knowledge in wanting to help people like myself.” Those words remind me to continue jumping the hurdles that lie ahead on my path to becoming a physician, with mental health awareness, being the greatest tool in my white coat.

Whether I surf on rocky beaches or read under shady treetops, nature offers me an escape from the world’s stress. When my nose is met by pollutants, Earth's pain becomes my own. The burdening thought of Earth warming to the point of irreversible damage haunts people lacking proper healthcare resources. When conducting research on energy insecurities affecting families' mental health and access to medical devices, it became clear to me: as temperatures increase, so do the frequency of power outages. Therefore, climate change puts my health and others at risk with these stressors, catalyzing my urgency in being involved in sustainable advocacy. Caring for my sustainable garden and hosting a climate change rally in high school were significant in preparing for my college student government's Earth Day project. It was difficult to share my environmental empathy on a large scale so I wanted to think bigger. Earth Week would become my college and the surrounding community's first week-long environmental event. Four days were planned with workshops, prizes, and activities on saving the bees, ocean acidification, green energy, and thrifting. I worked with my school's administration for months to lead a student cohort in organizing a community clothing drive promoting sustainable fashion. As I collaborated with my school's food pantry, the clothes were arranged for the outdoor thrifting event on Thursday. I started ordering items and creating schedules for people as event week crept up on my calendar. Earth Week was here. I set up the quad with DIY reusable tote bag stations on Monday, followed by DIY ocean jewelry activities and free metal straws on Tuesday. On Wednesday, I showed students how to make pollution catchers while bringing in environmental engineering speakers. Each day slowly increased participation, foreshadowing Thursday's grand turnout. I arranged twenty booths around our small promenade featuring Orange County Tesla, succulents, environmental NPOs, and vegan food markets. Relief and excitement permeated my body as I saw my sustainable vision become a reality. During my student government Earth Week event, I amassed donations for over a hundred food-insecure families, solidifying my mission of addressing marginalized communities' mental health affected by climate change, one sustainable effort at a time. Educating my community to reduce their carbon footprint increased the number of sustainability resources on-campus, setting a precedent for future Earth Week events. I was able to echo my environmental empathy to the masses while learning how to effectively communicate between students and administrators. I felt motivated by my peers' contributions during the event, understanding it takes more than one person to make an environmental impact. Collaborating with others both inside and outside the classroom will be key to my environmental, academic endeavors. As I reach the top of the mountain, I plant my flag saying this: the future depends on our present efforts because there is no Planet B.

I walk to her room, the scent of chamomile tea caressing my nose, hands trembling under the weight of the mug, wondering if she will ever leave the darkness of her mind. I always said that we connect by an invisible cord: every emotion she felt, I felt as well. The imbalanced serotonin levels in her brain made their way into my everyday life. During the summer leading into my freshman year, she was diagnosed with a neuromuscular skeletal disease, bipolar depression, ADHD, and PTSD. The pain of my mom's mental health had become my own. Her disability severed our connection, plaguing my mind with confusion, feeling useless in an attempt to care for her. Tears bordered my eyes as I watched my mom struggle with physical activities, pushing my responsibilities into overdrive. When biking home from school, my heart pounded, hands worn and wrinkled from the manual labor, my mom was unfit to do. The aroma of paprika and seafood surrounded the house while the stove was ablaze, my forehead crawling with sweat, preparing dinner at beginning of sunset, leaving homework until nightfall. I wanted nothing more than to hold on to my few moments of bliss, but during these periods of disability care, the world moved faster than my mind. Every responsibility was a ticking time-bomb: I would have no confidence left to care for myself. I bottled-up this fear to prevent my emotional wildfires from hurting others. The kitchen, however, was the only place where those flames were extinguished. Whether I listened to the comical roars of Gordon Ramsay or the soft vocals of Julia Child, my mind immersed itself in the knowledge of the culinary arts. The kitchen always bustled with activity; every cake baked, every scampi sauteed, pushed my mind to break the boundaries of intermediate levels of cooking while also keeping it at ease. When I put on my Darth Vader kitchen apron, my mind redirects its attention from the stress of the world. Putting food on the table was a responsibility that became an activity of solace. Cooking replaced my negative emotions with positive ones, similar to substituting a spoiled egg with peanut butter in a classic cookie recipe. Each stir of a ladle or spatula unraveled the tense nerves that surrounded my body, blurring my emotions into focus. It gave me a sense of control, tinkering with the once desolate right side of my brain. Practicing the culinary arts was a healthy outlet for me and helped my mom recuperate from the silence of her mental illness. I felt a once lost bond rekindle itself between my mom and myself during the many smiles shared in the kitchen when I prepared her food. Those coping with mental illness are not always as lucky as others when finding healthy outlets. Exploring the depths of the unpredictable human mind became my food for thought the next time I carried that cup of chamomile tea to her room. I researched more about emotional well-being to not only make sense of my mom’s headspace but to understand others who are suffering from anxiety and depression. I aim to shed light on mental illness to aid others in finding their own safe outlets when faced with psychological adversities, learning the intricacies of the different neurotransmitters that affect one’s mind. There are still many complexities the human brain contains, many unknown, but what I do know is that through my cooking, I reciprocated all those years of love and care my mom has offered me, giving a voice to the silence of her mental illness. Like how yeast rises bread in an oven, cooking raised my confidence out of the void. My mom’s mental illness may have hindered her but I did not let it burden me. I let an alternative path guide me: one where mental health awareness is the key ingredient in my recipe for life.

Let’s fast-forward time. Strides were made toward racial equality. Healthcare is accessible to all; however, one issue remains. Our aquatic ecosystems are parched with dead coral from ocean acidification. Climate change has prevailed. Rewind to the present day. My activism skills are how I express my concerns for the environment. Whether I play on sandy beaches or rest under forest treetops, nature offers me an escape from the haste of the world. When my body is met by trash in the ocean or my nose is met by harmful pollutants, Earth's pain becomes my own. Substituting coffee grinds as fertilizer, using bamboo straws, starting my sustainable garden, my individual actions needed to reach a larger scale. I often found performative activism to be ineffective when communicating climate concerns. My days of reposting awareness graphics on social media never filled the ambition I had left to put my activism skills to greater use. I decided to share my ecocentric worldview with a coalition of environmentalists and host a climate change rally outside my high school. Meetings were scheduled where I informed students about the unseen impact they have on the oceans and local habitual communities. My fingers were cramped from all the constant typing and investigating of micro causes of the Pacific Waste Patch, creating reusable flyers, displaying steps people could take from home in reducing their carbon footprint. I aided my fellow environmentalists in translating these flyers into other languages, repeating this process hourly, for five days, up until rally day. It was 7:00 AM. The faces of 100 students were shouting, “The climate is changing, why can't we?” I proudly walked on the dewy grass, grabbing the microphone, repeating those same words. The rally not only taught me efficient methods of communication but it echoed my environmental activism to the masses. The City of Corona would be the first of many cities to see my activism, as more rallies were planned for various parts of SoCal. My once unfulfilled ambition was fueled by my tangible activism, understanding that it takes more than one person to make an environmental impact.

ZAP A neuron fires. Dendrites pick up the message, transmitting them to cell bodies. Our brain configures this information, producing a behavioral response. Psychology bridges the gap between the brain’s activities and our experiences. This subject allowed me to delve deeper into the history of the human mind, encouraging myself to support others' mental health barriers. I am the type of person that people go to when they needed advice. Whether it’d be in class or my car during lunch, I always listened to people. I became known as the “go-to therapist.” Finding a solution to people's problems, allowed me to form compassionate bonds with others. I decided to research some mental health resources for people to outreach too. That’s when I came across a website called 7cups―a non-profit providing free emotional therapy to those experiencing mental distress. I decided to sign up as a listener. I went through extensive hours of training, learning the basics of active listening: reflection, empathy, and observance. After passing my trials, I became a 7cups intern. Every member had a different story that tore on my heartstrings. Initially, I was afraid to tackle sensitive subjects such as sexual assault, gender identity issues, and manic depression, but I remembered my training and steered the course through each conversation. After my first connection, I received a positive review. My heart was doing backflips. 200 conversations later, I was recognized as a five-star active listener. Although these topics were challenging, when a person finally felt understood, the emotional response was the most rewarding part. After graduating from the honors internship, it became clear that there is more to psychology than just problem-solving. Sometimes people just need guidance and support, not always a solution. I learned to put myself in other’s shoes to fully comprehend their emotional capacity. The next time someone needed to be heard, I became mindful of this and catered to their needs. Whether it’d be giving emotional advice or finding a resolution, 7cups fueled my mind to continue pursuing psychological avenues of research. Psychology has a special place in my heart and it is for these reasons that it is not only a career aspiration but a lifestyle. My conversations with people hold a new meaning: one of selflessness.

The scent of eucalyptus caressed my nose in a gentle breeze. Spring had arrived. Senior class activities were here. As a sophomore, I noticed a difference between athletic and academic seniors at my high school; one received recognition while the other received silence. I wanted to create an event celebrating students academically-committed to four-years, community colleges, trades schools, and military programs. This event was Academic Signing Day. The leadership label, “Events Coordinator,” felt heavy on my introverted mind. I usually was setting up for rallies and spirit weeks, being overlooked around the exuberant nature of my peers. I knew a change of mind was needed; I designed flyers, painted posters, presented powerpoints, created student-led committees, and practiced countless hours for my introductory speech. Each committee would play a vital role on event day: one dedicated to refreshments, another to technology, and one for decorations. The four-month planning was a laborious joy, but I was still fearful of being in the spotlight. Being acknowledged by hundreds of people was new to me. The day was here. Parents filled the stands of the multi-purpose room. The atmosphere was tense; I could feel the angst building in my throat, worried about the impression I would leave. Applause followed each of the 400 students as they walked to their college table, indicating my time to speak. I walked up to the stand, hands clammy, expression tranquil, my words echoing to the audience. I thought my speech would be met by the sounds of crickets; instead, smiles lit up the stands, realizing my voice shone through my actions. I was finally coming out of my shell. The floor was met by confetti as I was met by the sincerity of staff, students, and parents, solidifying the event for years to come. Academic students were no longer overshadowed. Their accomplishments were equally recognized to their athletic counterparts. The school culture of athletics over academics was no longer imbalanced. Now, every time I smell eucalyptus, it is a friendly reminder that on Academic Signing Day, not only were academic students in the spotlight but so was my voice.