As ambitious as it may sound, my ultimate career goal is to become the CEO of a major fashion brand, a role that would allow me to influence the industry through a lens of creativity, inclusivity, and sustainability. While this dream is undeniably challenging and filled with uncertainty, I believe my determination, leadership, and dedication will make it a reality. My name is Shanelle Relucio, and I am an undergraduate student at UC Irvine, where I am majoring in Business Administration at the Paul Merage School of Business. Through hard work and resilience, I was able to earn many academic units in high school, enabling me to graduate from college in the future in just three years instead of four. This accelerated timeline not only reflects my drive but also symbolizes the leap of faith I am taking to prioritize hands-on learning in the workplace and eventually pursue higher education. While unpredictability about job security and experience are fears of mine, I am committed to navigating these challenges to prepare myself for the future. One of the major steps of pursuing my dreams is addressing the financial challenges that accompany them. As the daughter of immigrant parents who have worked tirelessly to support our family, I’ve witnessed the sacrifices they’ve made. With two sisters who have equally ambitious dreams, it is my hope to work arduously to contribute. Starting in high school, I proactively applied for scholarships, which allowed me to fund half of my freshman year tuition. During the summer of 2024, I worked diligently as a Student Parent Orientation Program Staffer and Community Assistant for UCI Housing to help cover my college expenses. The cost of tuition and housing, around $95,000, is immense. My passion for photography, which began in middle school, evolved into a small business during high school. Now, I continue this business by taking graduation pictures for college students, using the income to not only fuel my passions but also support my educational journey. Equally important to achieving my career goals is my commitment to professional growth and mentorship. Over the next year, I plan to engage actively in opportunities such as participating with a team in the Stella Zheng New Venture Competition. Leveraging career services at UCI, I aim to connect with mentors who can guide me in my pursuits. By maintaining a strong GPA and enhancing my skill set through platforms like Coursera and YouTube, I aspire to build a competitive edge. My focus is on securing internships with startups or local businesses, where I can gain practical experience, and fostering meaningful relationships with professors to expand my network. While entering the workforce immediately after graduation is an option, my long-term vision includes pursuing higher education to deepen my expertise. Whether through an MBA program or law school, further education would be an investment in my ability to lead and innovate effectively. Preparing for this next step would involve tackling challenges such as studying for standardized tests like the GMAT, GRE, or LSAT and securing scholarships for the $140,000 tuition costs of an MBA. Although these seem intimidating, they represent a vital stage in achieving my goals. Through hard work, dedication, and strategic planning, I hope to build a career that combines my passions for fashion, leadership, and social impact. I envision myself creating opportunities not only for my own growth but also for uplifting others, particularly underrepresented communities, along the way. Thank you for your consideration, and I am excited to share this journey with driven individuals who are equally committed to making their dreams a reality.

I am my mother: her ambition, her love, her loss. Sometimes I imagine a happier version of myself without her. The white walls in my room used to be emblematic of an insane asylum, a prison I could not break. My worldview was tainted by thoughts. At one point in time, I wanted to release myself from my mother, leave for college and erase her existence. I wanted to forget the fact that she denied my feelings, even when I screamed like a newborn child. I wanted to forget the fact that I told her I wanted to kill myself and that she shunned me away, in fear that I would encourage my younger sister to do the same. Then I remember her sacrifice and broken hopes would be all for nothing. I am reminded of her family, of the fact that she was the only one to immigrate to America out of seven siblings. I remember how my mother told me she wanted to be a newscaster and not the manager of a dental office, but she knew she had to make money. Somehow our conversations were always mixed with blame, guilt and resentment. Her cautionary sense of love hits me like a ton of bricks. I think of my eldest sister who feels the same, and of my youngest sister I will leave behind. I remember being 14, pleading, begging for someone, anybody to help me. For the next two years, I spent nearly every other day crying, asking myself, “why do it at all?”, and there were even times in my head when I would orchestrate my death. Any cruel scenario would be of more comfort than sitting in my own feelings. I remember thinking of my parents' horrified faces as they discovered my dead body. I remember how traumatized they would be, the regret on my mother's face. My mother would finally acknowledge my pain if I was gone. I remember begging my parents to find me a therapist, a doctor, anyone. I no longer just felt sad, I felt insane. My mother made me feel like a bad person, like somehow my suicidal tendencies were made up, and at times, I believed her. In spite of taboo around therapy, I went. I went despite my mother calling me crazy. I went despite the dollars trickling out of my parent’s pockets, stained with their blood, sweat and tears. I quit therapy because going was a challenge in itself; however, going allowed me to better understand myself. I have grown to see that parenting comes in different forms for everyone, that for immigrant parents especially, it is immensely difficult to cross the cultural borders. Although I understand that I have a lot more personal development to undergo, my white walls now have doors to the outside world. I can proudly say that I live everyday with purpose, knowing that my time is limited, and I encourage others to do the same. If I had succumbed to my feelings during that time I never would have met some amazing people, had the opportunity to motivationally speak in front of 1,000 high schoolers at a leadership conference, or graduate. If I could tell my 16 year old self one thing, it would be that "it could be you". Although some people are born into opportunities, the only limiting factor in your life is your mentality. Strength, courage, and humility are within you if you so choose to accept it. Seeing successful people in the media somehow feels so intensely distant, but in reality, they are like me and you.

I am my mother. I am her ambition, her love, her loss. Sometimes I imagine a happier version of myself without her. Around my friends, I don’t feel so alone. The white walls in my room used to be emblematic of an insane asylum, a prison I could not break. My worldview was tainted by thoughts. At one point in time, I wanted to release myself from my mother. I wanted to leave for college and erase her existence. I wanted to forget the fact that she denied my feelings, even when I screamed like a newborn child. I wanted to forget the fact that I told her I wanted to kill myself and that she shunned me away, in fear that I would encourage my younger sister to do the same. Then I remember her sacrifice and broken hopes would be all for nothing. I am reminded of her family, of the fact that she was the only one to immigrate to America out of seven siblings. I remember how my mother told me she wanted to be a newscaster and not the manager of a dental office, but she knew she had to make money. Somehow our conversations are always mixed with blame, guilt and resentment. Her cautionary sense of love hits me like a ton of bricks. I think of my eldest sister who feels the same, and of my youngest sister I will leave behind. I remember being 14, pleading, begging for someone, anybody to help me. For the next two years, I spent nearly every other day crying, asking myself, “Why do it at all?”, and there were even times in my head when I would orchestrate my death. A stabbing in the shed, or jumping off a bridge: death would be more comfortable than sitting in my feelings. Even now writing about it, I am mortified by my thoughts. I remember thinking of my parents' horrified faces as they discovered my dead body. I remember how traumatized they would be. I remember the regret on my mother's face. My mother would finally acknowledge my pain if I was gone. There was not anything particularly unsatisfactory about my life, yet I hardly felt content. I remember begging my parents to find me a therapist, a doctor, anyone. I no longer just felt sad, I felt insane. My mother made me feel like a bad person, like somehow my suicidal tendencies were made up, and at times, I believed her. Despite the taboo around therapy, I went. I went despite my mother calling me crazy. I went despite the dollars trickling out of my parent’s pockets, stained with their blood, sweat and tears. I quit therapy because going was a challenge in itself; however, going allowed me to better understand myself. I have grown to see that parenting comes in different forms for everyone, and that for immigrant parents especially, it is immensely difficult to cross cultural borders. Although I understand that I have a lot more personal development to undergo, my white walls now make my room brighter. In getting to the ripe age of 17, I've understood that villainizing others does no good. I can also proudly say that I live every day with purpose, knowing that my time is limited. I also encourage others to do the same. If I had succumbed to my feelings during that time I never would have met some amazing people, had the opportunity to speak in front of 1,000 high schoolers, or graduated. I am eternally grateful that I believed in myself.