There’s the 10-year-old girl who has only a vague idea of what the real world is like. She still plays with dolls, imagines wild adventures, and has no worries. That was me, just like a lot of kids at that age. The future felt far away. What could really change in a couple of weeks, or even a year? I was about to find out. My mom, hoping for a better future, brought my brother and me to the United States. Suddenly, I was thrown into a new world. I had to learn English immediately. I was barely eleven years old, already translating legal documents for my mom with the little English I knew, terrified I might mess something up and get us into trouble. That’s when I first met stress. At school, kids made fun of me and bullied me because I didn’t speak English. That’s when I first met sadness. But no—wait. In my Hispanic household, “depression” wasn’t something people like us had. That was for people with the privilege of being depressed. “You don’t have time to be sad,” my mom told me with a straight face. That sentence stuck with me all through high school. And in a way, she was right. Behind that straight face, I knew there was a life of pain and sacrifice. My mom didn’t have time to be sad. She had three kids, rent to pay, bills piling up, and a future to build from scratch. Watching her strength, day after day, made me realize how lucky I actually was. That kind of strength made me work twice as hard. If she didn’t have the luxury to rest, then I wasn’t going to allow myself the luxury of being lazy. The summer before my freshman year, my dad passed away. A few weeks later, our landlord told us we had to leave by the end of the month. So there we were: my mom, my brother, and my two-year-old sister, starting from zero again. That was when I met real sadness. It was a pain so deep that nothing I had felt before could compare. And yet, I found an escape. Sports. Soccer tryouts changed everything. That season became the best of my life. From there, I tried every sport I could—Volleyball, Cross Country, Softball, Basketball, Tennis. Sports introduced me to passion and discipline, two things that shaped the active, driven person I am today. I also joined the drama club and art club my freshman year. By junior year, I had become obsessed with growth. I read books, learned about personal finance, and joined the finance club. That’s when I realized I wanted to go into business. At the start of senior year, I had the opportunity to attend a conference in Colombia, where I worked with local communities. That experience lit a fire in me. I came back with a stronger passion for helping others. I started volunteering at my town’s community garden, senior center, church, and food drives. Then came college application season—and with it, fear. I was overwhelmed by the thought of failure. But then I remembered: after everything I’ve gone through, I get to be in this position. I have the privilege of choosing my future. Being a first-generation student is exactly that—a privilege. It's not just my story. It’s the story of my mother, and of every parent who worked endlessly for their child to have opportunities they never had. It’s the story of loss, sacrifice, courage, and eventually, success. And for me, it gives my dream of becoming a professional a much deeper purpose.

He lay in bed, his presence carrying that bittersweet emptiness of memories. It was one of those rare moments in life when the presence of death felt as vivid as the nightmares that jolted you awake. The hero of our childhood was on his deathbed, and the despair, the heavy weight of helplessness, made everything feel even more melancholic. Jorge Arias, my grandfather—the man who taught me to dance with the sea, who told me his endless stories as a sailor—was saying goodbye to each of us with a warm, lingering kiss. How could someone so serene accept death and be at peace with it? I stepped out of his room, searching for comfort in the stuffed animals of my childhood. I didn’t want that night to be the last. I pictured my graduation day, my wedding, every birthday with him by my side—all the memories we had yet to create. When you lose the most important person in your life, you understand the pain of losing everything. I had already lost my father, and I couldn’t bear to lose him too. Like a crashing wave of emotions, the pain of my dad’s passing hit me straight in the heart. My sweet papin, if God wanted you with Him, then may He grant me the gift of never forgetting your innate presence. With sorrow deep in my chest, I prayed to God not to take my grandfather away from me. Amid my tears, an indescribable calm washed over me. A peace, a love, a feeling so ineffable enveloped my body. I couldn’t explain what had just happened, but I knew—I knew—that night would not be the last. The next morning, I woke up with faith and ran to his room, but he wasn’t there. Could it be possible that…? “Valentinita, mi niña,” the most comforting voice called to me. There he was, so serene, sitting at the table. My family around him looked at him with the same love he had raised us with. I ran into his arms, crying, knowing deep down that there wouldn’t be a goodbye for a long, long time. Gratitude is one of the most beautiful feelings; you know that nothing is infinite, and that’s what makes everything more valuable. Faith is one of the most beautiful feelings; you know that there will always be hope in the darkness. Comfort is one of the most beautiful feelings; it's like a warm hug that gives you the courage to keep fighting—valiant, like my name, Valentina.