My dream future is pretty laid out for me. I imagine a beautiful penthouse in San Fransisco. living with my amazing family, and being able to work as a lawyer for the ACLU. I am doing rewarding work. Work that I thought would be impossible to do as a job when I was younger. I have taken cases to the Supreme Court and I have made a substantial impact on our nation. I realize I am gravely ahead of myself right now. I have always dreamt big and to be fair, it has always gotten me to where I needed to be. Statistically looking at where I came from, a low-income family with immigrant parents in a town with few resources, it was almost impossible for me to have accomplished what I have so far. What is so crazy about thinking my impossible could keep becoming possible? But right now there are several obstacles that stand in my way. The most obvious one is the lack of financial resources. Currently, I help fund a large portion of my education, which also means working a lot on top of my education. It can be draining, to say the least, to try to keep up with all of my obligations. But there are other obstacles in the way, as well. My family, whom I love so much, is also a roadblock in some way. I know that might seem like a harsh take, but in many ways, I cannot blame them. My entire culture and identity are surrounded around a world that is not used to having to sacrifice so many things for academic achievement. My family has often been upset at me for having sacrificed family time for academic work, which in many ways is valid, but many times I also fear they do not understand the pressure I am under. Saying I am going to remove the block of my family is harsh, and untrue, but I have learned how to deal with it. My parents have slowly come to understand the pressures I am under, and just how different this country is from Colombia. I have also built compassion. I cannot blame my parents or anyone in my family for not understanding the process I am currently undergoing as I am the first in my family to go through this. I just remind myself that it will all be worth it at the end of the day.

My fascination with the law began at the mere age of seven. I was running around a Barnes and Noble when my mother showed me a children's book on Sonia Sotomayor. Although my mother cannot read English, she told me that she thought I might like this book. She was correct, in fact, that book changed the trajectory of my entire life. From a young age, I had seen discrimination. It was embedded in my Latino culture, and being a minority in America also did not particularly help. Neither of my parents spoke English when I was a young girl, and my father especially embodied many physical characteristics that Americans would traditionally associate with being Latino. There was sexism and homophobia around me growing up. Although we were a family of all women, with the exception of my father, machismo permeated every single aspect of my life. For a while, all of this was normal. I mean I was only five so there was not much exposure I had to the "real world". It was when I became a freshman in high school that I realized the environment I had grown up in was vastly different than what true equality looked like. To make it clear, my high school experience was no epitome of equality. In fact, the only reason I noticed these issues was because high school was so much worse for me that it was impossible to not want to learn about these issues. I was one of the only Latinas in my grade, and one of the few students who were low-income. I went to boarding school on a full ride in Ohio, and although my parents and I missed each other dearly, due to the constant prejudice my parents would not visit often out of fear. It is an interesting dichotomy because this high school was also where my love for civil rights and all things law flourished. It can many times feel helpless to say that you are going to make a tangible change in this world, but I have always figured "why not at least try?". I have loved politics and law for as long as I could remember, but with time I have been able to hone in on that vision and I am now certain about what I want to do with my life. There is no "maybe" or plan B, this is my only plan. Once I graduate from Princeton, I plan to attend law school within two years of graduating. I do not think I could wait for more than that, I simply would be too excited. I would like to attend a law school with an emphasis on Constitutional law. Constitutional law has been my calling for a few years now because I have realized that the best way to make change is starting from the foundation of the country. The America that I love takes care of immigrants, people with disabilities, the queer community, and so many others, and I believe that our Constitution should and can reflect that. After leaving law school with the necessary knowledge, I will move on to take cases to the Supreme Court to guarantee people their civil rights. There is no doubt in my mind that this is the path for me.

Practically every aspect of my life has been influenced by my status, but the problem was that for a large portion of my life, I did not understand that my status was different from others. My name is Ana Villada and I am a proud first-generation student and daughter of two Colombian immigrants. When my parents decided to redirect their entire lives, they ended up in a part of America where many others were similar to them. This meant that during my most impressionable years, practically everyone I knew was a Latino immigrant or first-generation student. Everyone I knew spoke two languages. In my neighborhood, there were no convenience stores, instead, we had bodegas. Visiting any friend's house meant staying for dinner, which was always a heaping pile of rice and beans with well-seasoned and tender meat. This was my childhood, and I knew nothing else. That was until I attended boarding school at the age of fourteen in the bustling town of Hudson, Ohio. My mother and I decided for me to attend boarding school. I went on a full ride, but keep in mind that in Latino culture it is beyond unheard of to leave home at such a young age. It cause problems within my family, any result of my first-generation status, but I persisted. At this particular boarding school, there was more prejudice than I had been prepared for. I have always been a loud and proud low-income first-generation student, but I was suddenly in a space where that was taboo. If it was taboo, did it mean my existence in it was also taboo? I found myself not understanding my identity for a large part of high school. I did not want to be ashamed of who I was but everyone around me seemed to think it was a problem. I also spent most of my high school experience trying to make my dad accept a new culture. An American culture. He hated that I left, and a part of me resented him for it. I would be lying if I did not mention that a part of me still feels that way today. It took me so long to understand that every immigrant's relationship with their culture and this new culture is different. Although my mother was so proud of me for making such a huge leap, and my father seemed as though he never wanted to hear from me again, they both loved me. That I am certain of. My father was scared of racism, distance from my culture, and just the fact that I had to say goodbye from such a young age. It was an experience none of my other peers had dealt with, and it pained me every day to feel as though I was disappointing the very culture I was trying to make proud of. That is to say that all of these aspects, shaped me for the better. If there is one thing I have always emphasized, it is to be true to myself. It might seem like a simple and corny lesson that everyone is told from a young age, but I believe most people could not genuinely say they practice it daily. I tried my absolute most each and every day in high school to be loud and proud of who I was. I never attempted to hide my low-income status and I never once let anyone make me feel bad for my identity as a Latina. If anything, I made it known that I was the lucky one. Same goes for my relationship with my father, but in a different manner of course. I stayed in that school all four years, and made it my mission to use every possible resource I could to make my time there worth it. If my high school experience was going to make my father resent me in any way, I might as well make the most of it. To this day, I still know and hold true to my heart that going to Ohio was the best decision I could have ever made, regardless of how it might have tested my beliefs.

As a young girl, I would rush home just to be able to start my homework. I have had a thrive for learning and need for education my entire life. Of course, as a 2nd grader I did not know or understand just how far my education could take. I was always searching for the next challenge, simply because I loved it. When I was 12, I applied to a program designed to help low income student apply to college prep high schools. It was through this program that I went to boarding school at the age of 14. It was the boldest step I had ever taken with my education, but it paid off in the end. I come from a family of Latino immigrants who came to this country with very little money to their name and did not know the language. But do not let that fool you, my parents are some of the smartest people I know. They were both engineers in Colombia. In the United States, my mother is a babysitter and my father works in an engineering related field. I knew that from a young age my parents were smart, but they were not being given the same opportunities as other people. I know now that it was because they did not have an American education to boost them ahead in this country. The closer I was to high school, the more I understood that my passion for education could truly bring me so far in life, so much farther than my parents could have ever imagined. As much as I love what I do every day in college, I do it for the immigrants who were smarter than the Americans applying for a job, but prejudice is what kept them behind. My education is important to me for a variety of reasons. Learning is what makes me excited to wake up in the morning and go to class. It is the feeling after going to class about a topic I love and knowing that I came out of there with more knowledge that makes education important to me. But it is also the joy on my parent's face whenever they tell people they have a daughter that is going to be a lawyer. It is knowing that I am continuing the path my parents started in America for generations to come. Education is important to me, because it is everything my parents never had.

Coming from a culture that places high importance on family and being together, finding my own definition of independence was difficult. My younger sister and I were only born about a year apart, which meant independence was not a word in my vocabulary for a while. It was not until I left for boarding school at the age of fourteen that I received my first taste of independence, or so I thought. I thought that leaving home and living in a dorm meant that I was independent. I was wrong. Independence comes from maturing and knowing yourself better than anyone else. High school was rough for me, probably a little harder than the average person. I had a good amount of mental health issues that affected the first few years of my experience, without even realizing. For context, Hispanic culture tends to treat mental health as a taboo topic. My entire life I was conditioned to think that having any mental health problem was shameful. My senior year I made the hard, but necessary, decision to finally be medicated. I want to add a quick disclaimer by stating that just because I took control over my mental health and gained my independence, that is not the case for everyone. I understand that mental health is a tricky and personal topic, so please note that my journey towards finding what being independent meant for me, is not the same for everyone else. But finally being able to finally take autonomy over my body and the choices I was making regardless of what I had been taught in the past was liberating.

I remember growing up and telling my parents that I was going to go to Harvard. Ten year old Ana thought that was no problem. My parents and older sister are all immigrants from Colombia. We also live in a neighborhood that is about 75% Hispanic, so one would imagine the public schools are equipped to deal with first generation college students. Incorrect. My sister attended community college and so did nearly 80% of her classmates, because they had zero idea how to start the application process and guidance counselors were no help. I was lucky enough to be offered a full scholarship at the age of fourteen to attend a boarding school. At this high school, we were prepped from the moment we arrived on campus to apply for college. The problem was that everyone around me thought this was normal for a college application. My senior year, I applied for a program at my school titled Compass. The purpose of the program was to accept about twenty students a year and fund a passion project of theirs. My project was FirstGEN. The idea of this project was trying to address the inequalities first generation families face during the college admissions process. I started by making a pamphlet, in both Spanish and English, that highlighted the most common parts of the college application process, that first generation families likely know nothing about. When my project ended senior year, I knew I wanted to continue this in college. I applied for Matriculate, a program where college students from prestigious schools guide low income seniors through the college application process, and I was accepted! I plan to use my new job to give my pamphlet a bigger platform and be able to gain knowledge to help more students in the future.

Growing up I was always low income, but I had never realized. The memories of my childhood are filled with laughter and it would be impossible for me to say that I did not enjoy coming into myself. Although this is not a specific money saving technique, because I have been taught many of those throughout my life, I have learned that money truly cannot buy happiness. My family has a better socioeconomic status than we did while I was growing up, and I am just as happy, but I was just as content with life back then. I am always conscious of the financial decisions I make by doing small things like making a list of what I need in a store before going in and only buying that, only buying something if I can afford it twice, and reusing things as much as I can. But I have gathered throughout life that money truly cannot buy happiness. Only you can be the deciding factor in your life’s direction. I have taken this piece of advice into consideration during my college career when it came to choosing my major. My school is infamous for sending people into consulting analyst jobs and dense careers in business. And yes this would be an amazing job for someone that truly loves this pathway, but most people do it for the money. I want to become a lawyer in civil rights, because it is what I love to do. Money is just an object to me.

Without a doubt, I would say that the person I admire most from history is the Scottsboro Nine. I know I am bending the rules, because they are a group of people, but what they went through helped shape my viewpoints on the world. I stumbled upon the story of these men during my US history class. We had to write a decently sized research paper - 20 pages - on any topic. I had been interested in civil rights for a while, and I knew of the Central Park five, so I wondered if there was an earlier case that basically showed that time and time again black men’s lives are changed due to the cries of white women. I was right. I had looked back into history and realized that more than once black men were put in these difficult positions. One case that spoke to me was the Scottsboro Nine; it stood out mainly because I could not believe what these men had been through. If you had told me their story was fictional it would have been easier to digest, because the injustice and racism that these boys went through is truly hard to fathom. Although these boys did not have a choice when it came to their story, I admire their strength to be able to go through such a traumatic event. These men were not given the chance of a normal life, and were made martyrs for a movement that they might not have even cared about at first. I know some people might actually argue that you cannot admire someone for a situation they were involuntarily put into, but I would disagree. Each person would handle certain situations differently and I can admire how these men stood up against adversity.

I stumbled upon On Earth We’re Briefly Gorgeous, by Ocean Vuong, in my senior year English class. For context, I am the daughter of Colombian immigrants who had to leave their country due to their safety and wellbeing. I was born and raised in a majority Hispanic community my enitre life. At the age of 14, I made the decision to attend boarding school, on a full scholarship, in hopes of recieving a more fruitful education. This boarding school was also very white. It was at this school that I began to question my identity and who I was, because it was the first time in my life where I was the minority. Ocean Vuong’s novel is the story of a gay boy with an immigrant mother. To be more specific, they are Vietnamese and they fled their country due to war. Vuong does an impeccable job of making this story speak to just about anyone. There was an LGBTQ aspect, a first-gen aspect, a minority aspect, and even a coming of age aspect. What spoke to me the most was the first-gen aspect. My high school experience was coming to an end and honestly I still resented my parents a bit. I would read On Earth We’re Briefly Gorgeous and remind myself that I was not alone. My emotions were valid, and this book just reminded me how beautiful my culture is. Most minority cultures, including Hispanics, are more traditional, and this book did an amazing job of showing how although there are parts of our cultures we might question a bit, we love it regardless. Many times when books try to write about other cultures, they will try so hard to make the characters modern and different. This story knew exactly what it meant to be a minority.

I would be lying if I said my generation was perfect, and I know that many times older generations love to nag at younger people for not having “thick enough skin” or not “sticking to tradition”. But I would argue that the sensitivity my generation has towards each other is exactly what the world needs more of. Time and time again I have seen situations where conflict could easily be avoided if people took a second to step back and think about how the other person might feel. Sensitivity can be annoying at times, I will agree, but with all that aside having a more gentle outlook on life would help everyone. I have seen it happen more than once where an older person loses patience at a customer service worker or just a customer at a store. I stand there in shock wondering how someone could ever do that. I have hope that the same kindness my generation has acquired will be instilled into the future generation, and a chain reaction will occur that would be impossible to miss. I am a firm believer of the fact that most problems arise from a lack of empathy. If more people were empathetic and believed a bit more in the power of other people, we could not just prevent chaos, but inact great change. I hope that as the years go on people realize that putting so much emphasis on kindness helps everyone at the end. When children are taught from a young age about compassion and working with others, change is enacted. It takes just one generation of work to make an entire change to our planet. At the end of the day, no one knows what the future will look like, but hope can keep us strong. I can only hope that kindness can change the future.

For a large portion of my life, I had faced little to no adversity; at least not that I knew of. I grew up poor with immigrant parents, but when you are so young and naive, you don't even notice. I had received a scholarship at the age of 14 to attend a boarding school in the Midwest. I moved into my dorm in August of 2016 and a plethora of microaggressions and racist events until May 2020 would be my first look at adversity. I would rather not go through all the nuances of what happened to me throughout my high school years, but to summarize it there were several comments about cocaine and Colombia, my parents not knowing English, me not having enough money, and other aspects of my identity. For a while, I was crushed. Being Hispanic is such a crucial part of my identity, and being low-income was just not a big deal to me. I would be lying if I said that this adversity was not a huge deal to me at first. I did an amazing job of hiding it. I became more vocal at first about being Latina, because I thought it was the proper defense mechanism. I went back home for Spring Break of freshman year and I was invited to come to speak to the current 8th graders in my scholarship program. Compared to the other five students that were invited, my comments about boarding school were not optimistic. I was in a rut. Some people would have just told me to leave that high school, but I knew leaving that high school would be the end of my future. I had to change my mindset, and I had to do it quickly before I became resentful of my high school experience. I cannot pinpoint my change of heart to any single experience, but all I can remember is that as my high school years progressed, my mentality changed. I learned that I should be proud of my Hispanic heritage, without having to prove it to anyone else. I started cooking Colombian foods every year for my school’s culture night and I always made sure to educate people when appropriate. I always clarified that my perspective on Hispanic culture was not the only one and that people should seek out more resources. I began to diversify my own circle and learn about other cultures. I realized that I could not judge others if I was not doing better for myself. But most importantly, I learned that there will always be ignorant people, and sometimes that is not their fault. It pains me to see casual racism everyday, but many times when I would explain why something was not okay, people understood. Confidence in myself and maturity is really what came out of my adversity. I have taken these lessons and used them several times now throughout my life, whether that be with friends, relationships, academics, or even more racism. When I was accepted to Princeton, about half the people I went to highschool with did not think I deserved my spot because of affirmative action. I rose above that. I ended my second semester of college with straight As, and the best part was that I did not feel the need to show other people I had good grades. I was certain in myself, and what anyone else thought did not matter. I know I will encounter similar experiences in the future that will test my patience, but I welcome those experiences with open arms.

Being the daughter of two Colombian immigrants and the sister of one Colombian immigrant, changed my perspective on life before I could even comprehend what it meant to be a minority in America. For historical context, many Hispanic immigrants came to New York City when they immigrated from Colombia. Some people even refer to Queens as “little Colombia”. With New Jersey just across the Hudson River, it was a matter of time before Hispanic immigrants started moving across the river. My family was one of the firsts. With this influx of immigrants, it meant practically everyone I grew up with was Hispanic. It took me a long time to understand that being able to speak two languages with friends, eating rice and beans every night, and everyone you know being low income was an anomaly. I started high school and it was a rude awakening at the age of fourteen when I met white Americans for the first time. Of course, I knew other races and ethnicities existed, but it felt like such a distant world that seeing it in front of me was perplexing. What was even more perplexing was the fact that people did not like me simply because I was Hispanic. My entire life Hispanic and Arab were the default. But suddenly I entered a world where I was the minority, and people were mad about it. I am honestly not sure how I did it, but the racism I experienced made me rise above if anything. I became so proud of my ethnicity, but most importantly of how hard my parents worked, that I was not going to let any ignorant person bring me down. My high school had a tradition called senior speeches, where any senior could stand in front of the whole school and give a speech on anything their heart desires. My senior speech was a letter to my immigrant parents, thanking them for the sacrifices they made, and the fact that I did not realize we were “different” until very late in my life. The cherry on top was that I projected a Spanish version of the letter on a screen behind me. Going to a university like Princeton means that most people I encounter value their education immensely, but not many have the privilege of seeing education in the manner I do. I have always loved learning, but as I have grown I have realized how lucky I am to even be able to learn. I never take it for granted, and I know that if I work even half as much as my immigrant parents did, opportunities will open for me like no other. Although I have a different appreciation for money, because I grew up low-income, it has never been my main motivation in life. My motivation in life has always been to help others through my passions. And I know that is a cliche, but for as long as I can remember I have wanted to be a lawyer. But not just any lawyer, a civil rights lawyer. It would mean the world to me to be able to fight for people like my parents and make their journey in this country just a little bit easier. To be able to achieve my dreams and aspirations that means being able to develop my passions through education.

Eighteen years ago, I was brought into this world by Colombian immigrants. Part of growing up in a Hispanic household meant that mental health was not spoken about, ever. It was not until I left school for a month, because my depression had progressed so much, that I believe my whole family was really forced to reevaluate mental health. My decision to leave school was very unpopular, especially with my father and older sister. During that month away from school, I started medication. The moment I started medication, my father wanted me off of it. I tried, but every time I stopped I could feel myself slowly become that lifeless lump I once was. A year later, my family is relatively open to talking about mental health. I see a therapist, and my father actually supports it the most. But I have realized that my community still has so much more work. My grandmother quite clearly has early-onset schizophrenia, but she refuses to have treatment. If you even bring up the fact that she probably has a mental illness, she will yell, kick, and cry, because to her having a mental illness is the end of the world. This whole experience has allowed me to change the way I see my relationships in the future and the present. Although I take full responsibility for my actions, it is important that I have people in my life that will support me even on my worst days. And the same goes for how I treat my friends. I try to be the most patient whenever it comes to mental health. For the future, I have decided things will be different when I decide to start a family. I want to raise my children in a household that will not just acknowledge that mental health exists, but that it needs to be taken care of just as much as physical health.

I was raised in a different America. By this, I mean I was surrounded by Hispanic individuals 24/7. My entire town was practically immigrants that looked and spoke like me. It was a blessing in disguise. When I was finally old enough to understand, I realized that the majority of America was actually raised in a completely different environment. One could say a different community. At the age of 14, I was given the opportunity to move to an entirely differently community: Northeast Ohio. It was a completely new America to me despite living in America since I was born. It was during this experience that I went through the journey of resenting my community, because it was so different from everyone else and then realizing it was the most beautiful experience a first-generation Hispanic could receive. My freshman year my peers would bring up pop culture references and half the time, I would stare in confusion. I had never heard of the Beatles, chili, or lacrosse. It was disheartening because students would tell me: “this is just American culture”. What America was I raised in? I looked back at my childhood hating it for a moment. I hated that I couldn’t relate to anyone. I hated that I was practically an international student because of my culture differences. I especially hated that some students would look at me differently when I did not understand certain things. During high school I went through the journey of finally loving my culture and everything it stood for. To anyone who knew me in high school they would say that I was a proud Hispanic. And I was, but only on the outside. I thought to myself that if I was proud enough of my culture, people could not make fun of it. Internally, it was a struggle for a long time to actually be proud of who I was. Then I went home for the summer my sophomore year. It was during that summer where I learned to appreciate not just the obviously beautiful parts of my community, but also the parts that weren’t so pretty to others. How lucky was I to grow up in a bilingual community, where some Hispanic kids do not even have the privilege of learning Spanish. How lucky was I to grow up surrounded not just by Colombian culture, but all Hispanic culture. It was like having a small part of the world in my backyard. How lucky was I to grow up in a low-income neighborhood, where the fun we had was in the run down park around the corner. I had my best memories in that park. My community might not be normal, but I wouldn’t want to be normal.

When I was a young girl, I used to tell everyone that when I grew up I was going to attend Harvard and become a famous lawyer. Adults would think I was cute to have larger-than-life dreams, but most kids grow up and give up on those dreams. Thankfully, that was never the case for me. As I grew, my dreams and ambitions went from adults thinking I was adorable to thinking I was unrealistic. And with those comments just came the motivation to make my dreams bigger than before. When people ask what my dream job is I always say Supreme Court Justice and with no hesitation. Of course, most people think I am crazy considering a job of that caliber is something only the most prestigious Americans can obtain. But I have accomplished so much in my life that was seen as unattainable. At the age of 14, I received a full ride to a boarding school. I attend Princeton University, and I finished my second semester with straight As. I was born into a less-than-ideal town where most kids learn about drugs and gangs before higher education. Most kids I know could not dream of the opportunities I have had, let alone becoming a lawyer. Once I graduate from Princeton, I will attend law school and work towards becoming a constitutional or civil liberties lawyer. Latinas make up less than 2% of the lawyer population in America. I will be entering a field where statistically I am bound to make less than my male counterparts, and even less than that because of my ethnicity. And to put a cherry on top of the situation, I have no intention to enter the most prestigious or high-paying field of law. I want to make it clear that I love school. I do not love money or prestige, although I do not mind it. I worked hard for my scholarship at 14, simply because I knew I needed to challenge myself. The extracurriculars I participate in are close to my heart, and I would want to do them regardless of my academics. For starters, I have been dancing for as long as I can remember. It brings me joy to be able to express myself in ways I did not think possible. It is an outlet for my stress, and I will be dancing for as long as my body allows me to. I also do a lot of work in terms of college applications for first-generation and low-income students. I started a non-profit my senior year of high school, work with two companies (Yleana foundation and Matriculate), and I also offer free college advising to anyone in my neighborhood who might need it. I do this because I know firsthand just how flawed the education system is. Tragically, so many kids are born into a world where a good education is not even an option from the get-go. Lastly, comes my passion for law. Although I have already mentioned my love for the field, it is worth noting that I spend my free time writing for my school’s legal journal and I have attended several conferences to help me along my journey. I don’t want to sound corny and say my goal in life is helping people, but it’s unequivocally true. I am blessed to have realized from a young age that my passion in life was learning and using my knowledge for the betterment of others. Higher education was what I was born to accomplish; I just need the resources to help me get there.

When I was a young girl, I used to tell everyone that when I grew up I was going to attend Harvard and become a famous lawyer. Adults would think I was cute to have larger-than-life dreams, but most kids grow up and give up on those dreams. Thankfully, that was never the case for me. As I grew, my dreams and ambitions went from adults thinking I was adorable to thinking I was unrealistic. And with those comments just came the motivation to make my dreams bigger than before. When people ask what my dream job is I always say Supreme Court Justice and with no hesitation. Of course, most people think I am crazy considering a job of that caliber is something only the most prestigious Americans can obtain. But I have accomplished so much in my life that was seen as unattainable. At the age of 14, I received a full ride to a boarding school. I attend Princeton University, and I finished my second semester with straight As. I was born into a less-than-ideal town where most kids learn about drugs and gangs before higher education. Most kids I know could not dream of the opportunities I have had, let alone becoming a lawyer. Once I graduate from Princeton, I will attend law school and work towards becoming a constitutional or civil liberties lawyer. Latinas make up less than 2% of the lawyer population in America. I will be entering a field where statistically I am bound to make less than my male counterparts, and even less than that because of my ethnicity. And to put a cherry on top of the situation, I have no intention to enter the most prestigious or high-paying field of law. I want to make it clear that I love school. I do not love money or prestige, although I do not mind it. I worked hard for my scholarship at 14, simply because I knew I needed to challenge myself. The extracurriculars I participate in are close to my heart, and I would want to do them regardless of my academics. For starters, I have been dancing for as long as I can remember. It brings me joy to be able to express myself in ways I did not think possible. It is an outlet for my stress, and I will be dancing for as long as my body allows me to. I also do a lot of work in terms of college applications for first-generation and low-income students. I started a non-profit my senior year of high school, work with two companies (Yleana foundation and Matriculate), and I also offer free college advising to anyone in my neighborhood who might need it. I do this because I know firsthand just how flawed the education system is. Tragically, so many kids are born into a world where a good education is not even an option from the get-go. Lastly, comes my passion for law. Although I have already mentioned my love for the field, it is worth noting that I spend my free time writing for my school’s legal journal and I have attended several conferences to help me along my journey. I don’t want to sound corny and say my goal in life is helping people, but it’s unequivocally true. I am blessed to have realized from a young age that my passion in life was learning and using my knowledge for the betterment of others. Higher education was what I was born to accomplish; I just need the resources to help me get there.

There are several sayings out there that emphasize the fact that we must live in the now and be grateful for everything we have. Yea, most people would probably say they are grateful for the life they have, but are they really? It was March of my senior year of high school when COVID had first changed my life. It was the classic story; I lost prom, graduation, and the last few months with my friends. Senior spring was supposed to be the sun after the storm that was high school. To add another layer to this pandemic, I went to boarding school which means I have yet to see most of my friends again. Now if I could reverse the effects of the pandemic in a heartbeat, I would. I understand that for so many people and communities there have been much harder losses than me, but I have learned one very important lesson throughout all this madness. March 13th was my last day on campus; no one knew if we were going to return. To make the day even better, ironically, there was a special lunch help for the seniors to celebrate how close we were to graduation. It did not hit me until that lunch. I remember sitting with about my twenty closest friends and we sat in silence. Every once in a while, someone would throw out a memory. At the end of the lunch, when people started saying goodbye, I looked at my friends and said “is this really how it all ends?”. After lunch, I walked around the campus I had called home the past four years. After seeing it every day, it had lost its wow factor for me, but that day it was as if I was looking at campus for the first time all over again. I looked at every single brick, every single tree, and every single person with so much gratitude. The buildings that I would walk in and out of every single day and had zero regard for, suddenly brought a warm feeling to my stomach. I was so unbelievably torn apart, but also happy that I was fortunate enough to call this campus my home. I recieved the news in late March that my senior year was now over. What would my life have looked like those three months? Who knows, and frankly I’ve learned that it does not matter. For some strange reason, my journey was only meant to go until March. I had learned and grown everything I was meant to by March. And I had to learn to be okay with that. In July, I had the opportunity to visit my old school and see a few friends. One of the first things I did was visit my old campus and just walk through it again, just as I had my last day. There was a double rainbow and the sun was starting to set. I started crying while walking, not because I was sad, but because the campus looked so beautiful. Just as beautiful and majestic as it did the first time I had stepped on it about four years ago. For the past eighteen years of my life, sure I had said I was grateful for all the small things. But I wasn’t really until COVID. But now I had other small exciting things to look forward to in life. I am now on my college campus. This is not the ending I wanted by any means. But it was the ending I was meant to have.

Unlike the average kid, I love school, and I always have. My mother still tells me stories of how when I was younger I would race to arrive home, just so I could begin my homework. My dreams were large from a young age. There has never been a doubt in my mind that I will become a lawyer. I still remember how at a young age my aunts would ask me what I am going to be when I grow up, confidently, I would always respond: I am going to Harvard and then becoming a lawyer! It was early on in my academic career when I realized my dream was going to be a little harder to achieve than I had anticipated. The neighborhood I call home, could never even think about sending a kid to Harvard. Most people I grew up with did not attend college. They had to go straight to the workforce. At the ripe age of 13, I was introduced to boarding school. A concept that was foreign in my world, but the 1% thinks it is a normal part of growing up. I knew this was my ticket to the life I had always dreamed of. My father, on the other hand, did not see it that way. Truth is, I cannot blame my father for the resentment he had towards me. It must be difficult having a daughter that wants to leave home at 14, especially when it is looked down upon in your culture. But even with my father’s disappointment, I persisted. I spent hours filling out applications, studying for entrance exams, planning interviews, and researching schools. I was certain that this was going to be my future. And it was. I was accepted with a full ride to a school in Ohio, eight hours away from home. I knew that leaving home was going to jeopardize my relationship with my father, and unfortunately, for some time we were very disconnected. The reality is that I was doing this for my father. He did not know it yet, but because of boarding school, I am going to give my father the life he deserves. Several years later and I have now graduated from said boarding school. I write this scholarship essay while sitting in my dorm room at Princeton University. It was not until this past summer that my father looked at me and finally admitted that he was wrong. The sacrifices I made at the age of 14 will pay off for the rest of my life. I know the chances of me ending up where I am would have been slim to none had I stayed in my hometown. I am proud of myself for being strong enough to accomplish something, that I knew my family disapproved of. I will reiterate that I understand my father’s hesitation, but I will never apologize for knowing my destiny better than anyone else. Take that risk if you know it will pay off. You are the only person that truly knows yourself.

I was raised in a different America. By this, I mean I was surrounded by Hispanic individuals 24/7. My entire town was practically immigrants that looked and spoke like me. It was a blessing in disguise. When I was finally old enough to understand, I realized that the majority of America was actually raised in a completely different environment. One could say a different community. At the age of 14, I was given the opportunity to move to an entirely differently community: Northeast Ohio. It was a completely new America to me despite living in America since I was born. It was during this experience that I went through the journey of resenting my community, because it was so different from everyone else and then realizing it was the most beautiful experience a first-generation Hispanic could receive. My freshman year my peers would bring up pop culture references and half the time, I would stare in confusion. I had never heard of the Beatles, chili, or lacrosse. It was disheartening because students would tell me: “this is just American culture”. What America was I raised in? I looked back at my childhood hating it for a moment. I hated that I couldn’t relate to anyone. I hated that I was practically an international student because of my culture differences. I especially hated that some students would look at me differently when I did not understand certain things. During high school I went through the journey of finally loving my culture and everything it stood for. To anyone who knew me in high school they would say that I was a proud Hispanic. And I was, but only on the outside. I thought to myself that if I was proud enough of my culture, people could not make fun of it. Internally, it was a struggle for a long time to actually be proud of who I was. Then I went home for the summer my sophomore year. It was during that summer where I learned to appreciate not just the obviously beautiful parts of my community, but also the parts that weren’t so pretty to others. How lucky was I to grow up in a bilingual community, where some Hispanic kids do not even have the privilege of learning Spanish. How lucky was I to grow up surrounded not just by Colombian culture, but all Hispanic culture. It was like having a small part of the world in my backyard. How lucky was I to grow up in a low-income neighborhood, where the fun we had was in the run down park around the corner. I had my best memories in that park. My community might not be normal, but I wouldn’t want to be normal.

For many kids my age, Disney movies would likely seem a thing of the past. Films they would only watch if they were forced to by siblings or parents. It is quite the opposite for me. My parents make fun of the fact that I have such a deep passion for Disney movies. I do not care though; there is something about the innocent and whimsical nature of the movies that makes them feel like a warm hug. I think Disney movies also have a lot more analysis, considering sometimes they try to explain very complex topics to children. A movie that I believe does not receive the credit it deserves is Inside Out. For reference, Inside Out is a movie about a tween girl who moves from Minnesota to California. During this move, she goes through a mental health episode where the audience takes a look inside the main character’s brain and can see the different aspects of her personality shut down. The main character tries so desperately to just be happy until she realizes that every emotion is just as valid (anger, disgust, anxiety, and sadness). I went through my mental health episode a couple of years ago. Most people in my life just shrug it off and think it is a thing of the past, but I fundamentally changed after this episode. I realized that acknowledging all these other emotions was important. We spend so much of our lives waiting to be happy when we should be learning from our sadness, anger, anxiety, and disgust. Inside Out does such a beautiful job of explaining and showing how as we grow up, we realize that life is not perfect, and that is okay.

High school was a rough time for me, especially junior year. I will spare you all the details, but things were so bad at one point that I left school for a month. My senior year began, and I was still a little weary of school. My relationships with my friends were still rocky; mainly because most of them did not understand what I went through and a drift came between us that at this point was too large to fix. A week into senior year, I had a pretty big argument with my friends. Again, I will spare you the boring details, but my friends had done something disrespectful towards me, and everyone kept it a secret from me. Strangely enough, I still wanted to be friends with them. Part of me hates to admit it but I know I was mostly just scared of not making any new friends, especially my senior year. My friends at the time started to distance themselves from me, and it was painfully obvious. Plans would be made in front of me, and not include me, if I ever spoke I was likely to be disregarded, and I asked several times what was wrong, but no one ever gave me a concrete answer. After a painful junior year and a far from perfect beginning to my senior year, I truly did believe that I would end my high school experience hating it. Then came my angel out of the blue, Ananya. Ananya and I met our freshmen year, and we were somewhat friends all of high school, but never really close. In my senior year, I decided to manage my school’s volleyball team and by pure luck, Ananya was also on this team. Maybe Ananya could tell I was struggling socially and she just felt bad for me or for some reason we just clicked out of nowhere, but we became friends. Now at this point, you might just be thinking that this was a coincidence, Ananya did not do anything particularly nice to me, but she did. I was awkward and shy enough to the point where reaching out to people first was hard for me. I think Ananya knew this. She made an effort every day to invite me to dinners, hang out with her and her friends, and just overall that I felt like I was part of a group. I remember one of the first times I felt so happy because I knew that someone wanted me there. There was going to be a soccer game at my school and my new friends were discussing if they were going to attend or not. Everyone wanted Ananya to go, and I remember she looked at me and said “I will go if you go”, with a big smile on her face. Although no one could tell, my heart must have done a cartwheel because I was so excited. I went on to have the best senior year possible. Ananya helped me audition for the musical, audition for plays, go to dances, and just overall, gain confidence. Her friends eventually became my closest friends, and by November I remember thinking that my friends betraying me at the beginning of my senior year was one of the best things that could have happened to me. I do not know why the Universe brought Ananya to me so late in the game, but I couldn’t be more thankful for her coming when she did.

2020 was by far, one of my most life changing years so far. I was a senior in high school when 2020 began. I ended 2020 as a freshman in college. Regardless of the pandemic, 2020 would have been an important and memorable year for me. But of course there was a pandemic, which changed a lot of things. I began the year in probably the best state of mind I had been in for a while. High school wasn’t kind to me for a while, but towards the end of 2019 I truly had found my people and I was the happiest I ever was. My friends and I say that the universe brought us together towards the end of our high school journey, because that was when we needed each other the most. January through March was filled with laughter and love. I know that sounds cheesy but frankly there is no other possible way to describe the feeling. Then came the dreaded pandemic. My senior year was stripped away from me, and because I went to boarding school I still have not seen some of my friends to this day. It felt really unfair. I was at the peak of my high school career, feeling as if I was on top of the world, and the universe decided to take that away from me. During the pandemic, like many people I learned a lot. The first being, that family really is the most important thing in the world. For background, my younger sister and I had basically not spoken for a year because of a dispute we had. I also hadn’t lived with my family for a long period of time for the past four years. My sister and I became the closest we had ever become. And although I do not particularly love living with my parents (I love them very much but our habits are day and night), it was an experience I wouldn’t trade for the world. During the pandemic, I also was accepted to college. It is a bittersweet memory of mine and although part of me wonders how that would have felt surrounded by my friends, part of me appreciates that I was in my bedroom. The pandemic also meant a lot more time with my dog, who unfortunately passed away towards the end of the summer. Part of me is also grateful that the universe brought me towards him in his final months. There was a lot of small victories that I learned to appreciate. I really was forced to look at the glass half full which made all the difference, and still will looking forward.

I remember growing up and telling my parents that I was going to go to Harvard. Ten year old Ana thought that was no problem and if I just worked hard enough, anyone could achieve their goals. I was wrong and I quickly learned that. My parents and older sister are all immigrants from Colombia. We also live in a neighborhood that is about 75% Hispanic, so one would imagine the public schools are equipped to deal with first generation college students. Incorrect. My older sister attended community college and so did nearly 80% of her classmates, because they had zero idea how to even start the application process and guidance counselors were not going to help. Now don’t get me wrong, community college can be the perfect path for some people, but for others, they might shine more through a different route. I was lucky enough to be offered a full scholarship at the age of fourteen to attend a prestigious boarding school in Ohio. I knew this was my chance to take my education to the next level, an opportunity my sister did not have. At this high school, we were prepped from the moment we arrived on campus to apply for college. Everyone was required to play three sports their freshman year and two sports every year after that, most kids were in at least three extracurriculars, we had a team of ten teachers each year that helped personalize our recommendation letters, we had several college workshops throughout the years, I was awarded one of the best ACT tutors in the country, and so many other perks. The problem was that everyone around me thought this was normal for a college application, meanwhile I knew that my middle school friends did not even know what the FAFSA was. I recognized that yes, I had worked very hard from a young age to attend this boarding school and receive all these perks during college admissions season, but I felt weird knowing that there were students just as smart as me in my hometown, who just were not as lucky. My senior year, I applied for a program at my school titled Compass. The purpose of the program was to accept about twenty students a year and guide and fund a passion project of theirs. My project was FirstGEN (First Generation, Education, Navigation). The idea of this project was trying to address the inequalities first generation families face during the college admissions process. I started by making a pamphlet, in both Spanish and English, that highlighted the most common parts of the college application process, that first generation families likely know nothing about. After completing these pamphlets, I donated it to schools. Throughout this project, I also guided a high school junior through her application process. Her name was Grace Edwards and she was one of the most intelligent women I had ever met, but she was stuck in a rural school without many resources. Before she met with me, she thought going out of state for college was impossible, but now her dreams are limitless. When my project ended senior year, I knew I wanted to continue this in college, but through a more established platform. I applied for the program Matriculate at my university, a program where college students from prestigious schools guide low income seniors through the college application process, and I was accepted! I plan to use my new job to give my pamphlet a bigger platform and be able to gain knowledge to help more students in the future.

I remember growing up and telling my parents that I was going to go to Harvard. Ten year old Ana thought that was no problem and if I just worked hard enough, anyone could achieve their goals. I was wrong and I quickly learned that. My parents and older sister are all immigrants from Colombia. We also live in a neighborhood that is about 75% Hispanic, so one would imagine the public schools are equipped to deal with first generation college students. Incorrect. My older sister attended community college and so did nearly 80% of her classmates, because they had zero idea how to even start the application process and guidance counselors were not going to help. Now don’t get me wrong, community college can be the perfect path for some people, but for others, they might shine more through a different route. I was lucky enough to be offered a full scholarship at the age of fourteen to attend a prestigious boarding school in Ohio. I knew this was my chance to take my education to the next level, an opportunity my sister did not have. At this high school, we were prepped from the moment we arrived on campus to apply for college. Everyone was required to play three sports their freshman year and two sports every year after that, most kids were in at least three extracurriculars, we had a team of ten teachers each year that helped personalize our recommendation letters, we had several college workshops throughout the years, I was awarded one of the best ACT tutors in the country, and so many other perks. The problem was that everyone around me thought this was normal for a college application, meanwhile I knew that my middle school friends did not even know what the FAFSA was. I recognized that yes, I had worked very hard from a young age to attend this boarding school and receive all these perks during college admissions season, but I felt weird knowing that there were students just as smart as me in my hometown, who just were not as lucky. My senior year, I applied for a program at my school titled Compass. The purpose of the program was to accept about twenty students a year and guide and fund a passion project of theirs. My project was FirstGEN (First Generation, Education, Navigation). The idea of this project was trying to address the inequalities first generation families face during the college admissions process. I started by making a pamphlet, in both Spanish and English, that highlighted the most common parts of the college application process, that first generation families likely know nothing about. For example, there is this notion that the Ivy League is impossible for any low income family to afford, but this is far from the truth! These big name schools are usually the ones with the highest endowments, which means they give the best grants many times. I attend Princeton right now and it was a million times cheaper than what my state school would have been. After completing these pamphlets, I donated it to schools. I did not want to charge for something that I knew could possibly change someone’s life. Throughout this project, I also guided a high school junior through her application process. Her name was Grace Edwards and she was one of the most intelligent women I had ever met, but she was stuck in a rural school without many resources. Before she met with me, she thought going out of state for college was impossible, but now her dreams are limitless. When my project ended senior year, I knew I wanted to continue this in college, but through a more established platform. I applied for the program Matriculate at my university, a program where college students from prestigious schools guide low income seniors through the college application process, and I was accepted! I plan to use my new job to give my pamphlet a bigger platform and be able to gain knowledge to help more students in the future. Now, I do not plan to go down this route for the rest of my life, but I do want to continue to help people for as long as I can. My whole life I have dedicated myself to also learning about racism, sexism, xenophobia, and homophobia, but I also have a fierce passion for law. About two years ago, I realized I could do both by being a civil liberties lawyer. I have had people come up to me and ask why I wouldn’t be a corporate lawyer, knowing that a million dollar job is more than likely waiting for me if I graduate from Princeton. Truth is, it has never been about money for me. I love helping people, more than anything in the world and it has showed through FirstGEN, Matriculate, my diversity work, and my future occupation. School has always just been a gateway for me to acquire the proper skills to accomplish these dreams.

I love school. Plain and simple, I have always been known as the smart one in the house and I put in countless hours a week towards my education. As a young girl, it was a fun part of my life, that I knew would have advantages in the future. I grew up, and my perspectives changed. I still love school, but now more than ever, I am driven by a different passion. It is difficult to describe to just anyone my experience as a first-generation American. It is a way of life foreign to most people. In fact, as a young girl, I thought everyone’s parents were immigrants; Hispanic immigrants at that. I thought it was normal. When I reached high school, I believe I began to understand my experiences as a first-generation Hispanic in a low-income family and everything my parents had done so that our family could be where we were. My parents sacrificed everything. And I know everyone says that, but the thing is I know I would have never been born had my parents stayed in Colombia. My parents left their family members, my mother never graduated college, my older sister had to attend school in a language she knew nothing about, and so many other factors. I would be lying if I said sometimes I don’t feel guilty because my life is so easy. And I know that in retrospect, my life has been more difficult compared to the average American girl, but I look at my family’s situation and I do not see how I could ever complain, let alone not take advantage of the opportunity of a lifetime: being born in America. America is supposed to be the land where anyone can be anything, and I am going to prove exactly that. My life has not been normal, and I was not blessed with the most privileged life. But it would be foolish of me to not be inspired by all the people that worked so hard so that I could even be sitting where I am, especially my parents. When my mother dropped me off at college this past month, she held me and said to please do a good job for the Latino race. It is something I carry with me proudly. It would be impossible for me to ever fully thank the people that risked everything for me, but I can only hope that I make them proud.

As a young girl, I was always pretty sensitive. I cry, a lot more than I probably should, and I feel for people very strongly. This is a good thing, most of the time. I will admit though that sometimes it can be a fault of mine. With this little superpower of mine, came the need to change the world. From a young age, I knew discrimination existed, mainly because I am a Hispanic woman, and I wanted to do whatever I could to end it. I also had a deep passion for politics and law from a young age I believe it is the only occupation I have ever expressed interest in. With this came a lot of women that I looked up to from a young age; from civil rights activists or just women in government that paved the way for me. I admire Ruby Bridges, Ruth Badger Ginsburg, Ada Kepley, and many others, but there is one woman that stands out from the rest. I was about seven years old when my interest in reading began. I could spend my whole day reading books, looking at stories, and wondering when I could go back to the library. Naturally, Barnes and Nobles was one of my favorite places on the planet. Every Saturday morning, there was an event where a Barnes and Nobles employee would read books to children. I went every single week and would roam around the store afterward, looking for my next adventure. On one of these sacred Saturdays, my mother stopped me in my tracks and asked me to look at this picture book about a woman named Sonia Sotomayor. My entire family knew at that point that I loved the law, so naturally, my mother thought I would fall in love with Sotomayor’s story. And she was correct. As I flipped the pages, my mind became more and more fascinated with the story of a woman that looked like me, came from a neighborhood near me, and struggled just like me. It was at this moment that I also learned of the occupation of Supreme Court Justice. It can be ambitious, to say the least, but I dream of becoming a Supreme Court Justice, because of Sonia Sotomayor. I took these lessons of grit and resilience and utilized them throughout my life. Examples of this include, receiving a full scholarship to attend a boarding school in Ohio, receiving a full scholarship to study abroad in France, or being accepted in Princeton, Sotomayor’s alma mater. Sonia Sotomayor continues to be a beacon of light for me. As I watched the inauguration this past month, I cried as Sotomayor inaugurated Kamal Harris, two women that have made my life so much easier. Sotomayor speaks to me because our stories are so similar, but every woman out there that has ever made a sacrifice that has led to me being in the positions I am today, and will be in the future, is an inspiration. I hope that I can make my mark on this world someday just like all the women that came before me.

I believe that education is one of the most important tools in our society. I was born into an underfunded public school, where the closest thing I came to actually learning was filling out worksheets that were probably decades old or reading from textbooks that were even older. I remember sitting in class once and my teacher actually having to explain that our fifth grade science textbook was so old that Pluto being called a planet, was incorrect. I now attend one of the wealthiest universities in the world, and I am proud of myself, but with everything I am learning, I cannot help but wonder how different our world would be if other people knew what I was learning. I took class titled “The Environmental Nexus” last semester, and although I have always worried about the climate crisis, I didn’t know too much about it. This class really ended up opening my eyes. I learned everything from environmental economics to environmental philosophy. I remember thinking halfway through the semester, “how could anyone possibly doubt the climate crisis?”. What I failed to recognize is that some people just do not have the resources to learn about the climate crisis, or they are receiving fake news. I also believe that legislation will happen when there is power in numbers. I believe the more kids and adults that come together to express concern for this issue, the more likely we are to be heard. I propose a solution. I would like to see a website that is kid-friendly and teaches about the environment in simple but effective terms. Kids are so impressionable and if we can build a generation that is conscious about the environment, the possibilities are endless.

As a younger girl, there were a lot of things I did that I did not understand. Things that I thought were normal, but in reality, were early signs of a bigger problem. I was raised in a household where mental health was not a thing. I do not blame my parents, really. Mainly because they were raised in a religious household where God could cure anything, so I do not blame them for raising me this way. The only problem was that mental health was a huge issue in my family, even if we did not want to acknowledge it. My father had anxiety, my mother had depression, my little sister had body dysmorphia, and I had some sick combination of all of them. But the truth is, my parents genuinely thought I was just being “quirky” or “different”. For example, at the age of five I found out I had a deathly seafood allergy. Now of course, any kid would be cautious and be aware of what they are eating, but I took this fear to the next level. If my family ate anywhere that was not home, I would hold my throat the entire time to make sure that it was not shrinking in size. It could have been a meal where no one’s food had even been around seafood, but I still would hold on to my throat for dear life. I have always had an obsession with the fear of being kidnapped. A fear that would present itself in horrible ways. If I was home alone and heard any noise that I thought sounded strange, I would run out of the house and not return until an adult came back home. I also put myself in a strict diet in 7th grade, eating only orange juice and mentos for most of that year, and my family never saw anything wrong with that. In the 7th grade, I also went through my first major depression episode. I would sleep all the time, my mother knew I was self-harming, and I was just disconnected with life for a while. This is just the surface level of what I went through growing up, but all along everyone around me just thought it was normal. As I became older, I learned things on my own. At around the age of 15, I finally learned the concept of mental health. I even began seeing a therapist, behind my parents’ backs. I had finally matured somewhat and taken control over my life. Things were starting to seem better, until they were not. My junior year of high school brought on a lot of challenges, and with those challenges came another depressive episode. This time it was bad enough that I had to come clean about my mental health with my parents and a lot of hard conversations were had. Truth was that I need to be on medication, but my parents wanted nothing to do with that. In part they were just looking out for me, they were worried that people would see me as a psychopath the rest of my life. But after a lot of conversations and finally breaking down these religious walls they had, I was put on medication. After that experience my life completely turned around. I had lost a lot of friends and family in the process, but I was looking at life with a new attitude. I stopped arguing with people for things I knew life was to short to stress over. I really took my mental health seriously, because after a scare like that, I never wanted to put myself in danger again. The road to recovery is not linear. Some days are better than others. But I have learned that the people that love me most, will still love me regardless of any mental disorder. I have fully changed the trajectory of my life. I know I will not be having children anytime soon, but when I do, I want to raise them in a household where expressing your emotions is normal. I do whatever I can present day to help my friends through a mental health crisis when they have one. Truth is, I live in a stressful world, we all do. But we could all take time out of our day to look out for each other.

As a younger girl, there were a lot of things I did that I did not understand. Things that I thought were normal, but in reality, were early signs of a bigger problem. I was raised in a household where mental health was not a thing. I do not blame my parents, really. Mainly because they were raised in a religious household where God could cure anything, so I do not blame them for raising me this way. The only problem was that mental health was a huge issue in my family, even if we did not want to acknowledge it. My father had anxiety, my mother had depression, my little sister had body dysmorphia, and I had some sick combination of all of them. But the truth is, my parents genuinely thought I was just being “quirky” or “different”. For example, at the age of five I found out I had a deathly seafood allergy. Now of course, any kid would be cautious and be aware of what they are eating, but I took this fear to the next level. If my family ate anywhere that was not home, I would hold my throat the entire time to make sure that it was not shrinking in size. It could have been a meal where no one’s food had even been around seafood, but I still would hold on to my throat for dear life. I have always had an obsession with the fear of being kidnapped. A fear that would present itself in horrible ways. If I was home alone and heard any noise that I thought sounded strange, I would run out of the house and not return until an adult came back home. I also put myself in a strict diet in 7th grade, eating only orange juice and mentos for most of that year, and my family never saw anything wrong with that. In the 7th grade, I also went through my first major depression episode. I would sleep all the time, my mother knew I was self-harming, and I was just disconnected with life for a while. This is just the surface level of what I went through growing up, but all along everyone around me just thought it was normal. As I became older, I learned things on my own. At around the age of 15, I finally learned the concept of mental health. I even began seeing a therapist, behind my parents’ backs. I had finally matured somewhat and taken control over my life. Things were starting to seem better, until they were not. My junior year of high school brought on a lot of challenges, and with those challenges came another depressive episode. This time it was bad enough that I had to come clean about my mental health with my parents and a lot of hard conversations were had. Truth was that I need to be on medication, but my parents wanted nothing to do with that. In part they were just looking out for me, they were worried that people would see me as a psychopath the rest of my life. But after a lot of conversations and finally breaking down these religious walls they had, I was put on medication. After that experience my life completely turned around. I had lost a lot of friends and family in the process, but I was looking at life with a new attitude. I stopped arguing with people for things I knew life was to short to stress over. I really took my mental health seriously, because after a scare like that, I never wanted to put myself in danger again. The road to recovery is not linear. Some days are better than others. But I have learned that the people that love me most, will still love me regardless of any mental disorder.

As a younger girl, there were a lot of things I did that I did not understand. Things that I thought were normal, but in reality, were early signs of a bigger problem. I was raised in a household where mental health was not a thing. I do not blame my parents, really. Mainly because they were raised in a religious household where God could cure anything, so I do not blame them for raising me this way. The only problem was that mental health was a huge issue in my family, even if we did not want to acknowledge it. My father had anxiety, my mother had depression, my little sister had body dysmorphia, and I had some sick combination of all of them. But the truth is, my parents genuinely thought I was just being “quirky” or “different”. For example, at the age of five I found out I had a deathly seafood allergy. Now of course, any kid would be cautious and be aware of what they are eating, but I took this fear to the next level. If my family ate anywhere that was not home, I would hold my throat the entire time to make sure that it was not shrinking in size. It could have been a meal where no one’s food had even been around seafood, but I still would hold on to my throat for dear life. I have always had an obsession with the fear of being kidnapped. A fear that would present itself in horrible ways. If I was home alone and heard any noise that I thought sounded strange, I would run out of the house and not return until an adult came back home. I also put myself in a strict diet in 7th grade, eating only orange juice and mentos for most of that year, and my family never saw anything wrong with that. In the 7th grade, I also went through my first major depression episode. I would sleep all the time, my mother knew I was self-harming, and I was just disconnected with life for a while. This is just the surface level of what I went through growing up, but all along everyone around me just thought it was normal. As I became older, I learned things on my own. At around the age of 15, I finally learned the concept of mental health. I even began seeing a therapist, behind my parents’ backs. I had finally matured somewhat and taken control over my life. Things were starting to seem better, until they were not. My junior year of high school brought on a lot of challenges, and with those challenges came another depressive episode. This time it was bad enough that I had to come clean about my mental health with my parents and a lot of hard conversations were had. Truth was that I need to be on medication, but my parents wanted nothing to do with that. In part they were just looking out for me, they were worried that people would see me as a psychopath the rest of my life. But after a lot of conversations and finally breaking down these religious walls they had, I was put on medication. After that experience my life completely turned around. I had lost a lot of friends and family in the process, but I was looking at life with a new attitude. I stopped arguing with people for things I knew life was to short to stress over. I really took my mental health seriously, because after a scare like that, I never wanted to put myself in danger again. The road to recovery is not linear. Some days are better than others. But I have learned that the people that love me most, will still love me regardless of any mental disorder.

I would be lying if I said legacy did not have a negative connotation for most of my life. I am a first-generation student from a low-income family; legacy is the last thing my family has in this country. My whole life I had to work a million times harder than some of my peers to only make it half of the way there, just because their family has legacy. As I have grown and learned, I realized that some kinds of legacies are worth celebrating. The kind of legacy I want to have. For example, there is Ruth Bader Ginsburg, a woman who left this Earth with a beautiful legacy. She will be remembered as a fierce feminist and civil rights activist. There are also people like Martin Luther King Jr., who have been remembered as one of the boldest civil rights activists in American history. These are legacies that should be celebrated. Legacies that I can appreciate for what they are. Now what kind of legacy I would like to leave behind is a different story. As mentioned before, I have spent a lot of my life trying to catch up to my peers. It has been a long road, but I can confidently say that I have caught up. The problem is that I should not be starting behind my peers in the first place. I should not have to work double the amount they do to receive half of what they do. I realize that several factors play into this. Racism, sexism, homophobia, systemic racism, poverty, and many other unfortunate factors people have to battle daily. I have made it my life’s goal to make life a more fair system. I have decided to accomplish that by pursuing my biggest dream, becoming a successful lawyer. The key thing here is that I do not want to become some corporate lawyer with millions of dollars, all the opposite actually. I do not care much for the money right now; all I want to do is change lives. I want to leave this world knowing I did everything I could have done to make this world a better place. I want to leave a legacy for kindness and equity. It is a corny message in some ways, but I could not see myself living my life any other way.

Although this story is a little sad, I like to think it is heartwarming in a sense. My dog Twilight passed away this past summer from cancer. My dad hated my dog on the couch, a lot. It was his one pet peeve about having a dog. Our last night with Twilight, my dad let us take a photo hugging Twilight on the couch. Miss you Twilight! Instagram: villadana_

Most people would probably say that their parents are their biggest role models. It makes sense considering that our parents shape us and guide us for the majority of our lives, for the most part. I am no different. But my parents’ story is unlike any other in my opinion. You see, my parents immigrated from Colombia with my older sister. When I was born, my family was still extremely poor, to the point that we lived in an apartment infested with rats, but we thought it was the most beautiful apartment on the block because it was ours. My younger sister was born a couple years after me, and still we were in poverty. The thing is that looking back on my childhood, I honestly did not know I was poor. If you asked me, I probably would have said we weren’t the most wealthy family, but we were happy. When I was about five, my family went on food stamps, we barely had beds to sleep on, and my younger sister and I were using whatever clothing people would give us. Even with all of those obstacles in our way, my parents made sure that I did not grow up seeing that as what defined my life. It was only in about the eighth grade that I believe I started to understand that my family was not like others. But even after I understood I wasn’t wealthy, I could still not imagine the pain and suffering my parents went through. Around eighth grade, I also began applying for boarding schools. I know what you are probably thinking, if I was poor how could I possibly afford to go to boarding school? Thankfully, I would label myself somewhat smart and this led to me receiving a full ride to a school in Ohio. But that full ride did not come without a load of criticism. People hated my parents for letting me leave home so quickly, but truth is that it was the best decision my family ever made. Now during high school, I really started to look up to my parents. Don’t get me wrong, I always loved my parents and knew they had done so much for me, but it was not until my high school years that I realized that they literally sacrificed everything for me. My parents came to a country where they had no one, they did not know the language, they had to give up their comfort and safety for mine many times, and most of all, they made sure that growing up I never knew any of this. Now that I am older, my parents and I can have actual discussions about this, and they always tell me that they never wanted me to worry about money or food growing up, that was their job. Now, of course I know that I put in a lot of hard work to get to college and have the accomplishments I have today, but I truly do not think it would be possible without my parents.

About three years ago, I was a sad and timid high schooler that could only see the negatives in her life. I grew up with anxiety, depression, and body dysmorphia so one can only imagine what my confidence was like my entire life. I knew the way I looked at myself and the people around me was not normal or okay. I knew I had to change my perspective on life if I was ever going to be truly happy with the life I was living. But the problem was that I didn’t know where to start, and I could not find enough time to start. That was until the time was practically handed to me. I went through a pretty bad mental health episode my junior year of high school and I made the decision to leave school for about a month, and finally work on myself. I had been putting so much pressure on myself and life that I had finally cracked. During that month at home, there were several philosophies that I adopted that have now changed the way I view my world. For starters, I learned that mental health was not something to be ashamed of. My whole life I grew up in an environment that was beyond toxic for me. Thankfully my high school roommate once told me this, “If you would be on crutches for a broken leg, what makes taking medicine for your mental heath any different. This is not your fault, and it is also something that you should not be ashamed of”. Another part of my life that changed significantly was how I looked at my friendships. Although I hate to admit it because I have so many memories with these people, my friends for the majority of high school were rude and made me feel bad about myself. Truth is, it took me so long to admit that that they stopped talking to me before I realized that was a good thing. I made spectacular new friends, that not only truly cared for my well-being, but I also came into life with this mindset when it came to arguments: If this argument will not affect my life in the next five years, why worry more than five minutes. I would be lying if I said it has been hard to implement sometimes, but it has saved me a lot of useless anger and sadness. Lastly, I came back to school finally loving myself. It is still something I have to practice everyday. In fact, I would be lying if I said there are not a couple of days where I stare at myself in the mirror for a bit wishing I was thinner, but alas I realize I am beautiful the way I am.

It was the winter going into my junior year of high school. I had been seeing a therapist for a while because I knew I had some problems with my mental health, but they were always manageable. For some reason, starting in about January I could not place my finger on it, but I felt different and in a bad way. I would tell my therapist I felt empty, but I had no real reason to feel that way in my opinion. For context, junior year had been pretty rough for me leading up to that point. I had a biking accident that led to a knee surgery and took away my whole summer before junior year. The only thing I did that summer was lay in bed, lay in therapy, or lay in surgery. I also took the hardest class I had ever taken up to that point. It wasn’t just a class I had to study slightly more for, but I had to sacrifice all my energy. I went through my first breakup junior year, and it hurt, a lot. My mother was also pretty sick and there was really nothing I could do because I went to boarding school. In retrospect, I did have a lot going on, but I convinced myself that my feelings were selfish. Then came February, and I really did think I was on track to feeling normal again. But then came a dreaded argument with my best friend. He was really the only person by my side at that point, but for some reason I completely burned that bridge. Then I burned every single other bridge I had. I remember feeling as though my soul was outside of my body, just watching my lifeless body complete tasks throughout the day without any actual emotions. I was sleepy all the time, but whenever I was in bed I couldn’t sleep. I also had about two panic attacks a day when things were at their worst. I even completely stopped eating for a while, but I wasn’t even hungry because my sadness was filling me up. I made the hard decision to leave school for a few weeks to find myself. It was while I was home that my perspective on life had really changed. For starters, I come from a Hispanic family which means there is a huge stigma surrounding mental health. I really was the disgrace of the family when I came home, and I knew it. I also began to reflect on how my whole life I had shown signs of anxiety and depression, but because my family does not believe in that, they would just say “oh that is just the way Ana’s personality is”. I knew that if my family took my mental health seriously from the start, the pain I was experiencing then could have been avoided. But I also do not blame my parents. They were raised in that culture and it was all they knew, so it would be unfair of me to blame them. But I did know that this cycle ended with me. I made it my life’s goal to work on my mental health, and that one day when I have kids, I have open conversations with them about mental health. And the second largest conclusion I came to was how I was going to treat my relationships with everyone moving forward. I had hurt a lot of people, and there was no going around that. I made sure to apologize to every single person who’s life I had affected. And moving forward, I made it my goal to change the way I viewed my friendships. I made sure that the friendships I had from that day forward would be conducive to my life and the other persons, and also not to take life too seriously. I switched friend groups completely after my experience, and we all made up, but I realized I had grown and that is okay. I also barely have arguments now. I used to be so worked up over every little thing, but I have learned to take life with ease. I realize that my life is precious. Every time I think about ending my life, I think about all the people I do not know yet, but I will love in the future. I think about my children and how although I do not know them yet, I love them with everything in me. It is hard to describe to some people, but after going through an experience like that, it was almost as if the world was ten shades brighter.

Most of my life, I did not know mental health existed, but it was all around me regardless. It was obvious that growing up I had some mental health problems. I had OCD, generalized anxiety, and depression, but no one in my family would address it. Then after many episodes and undiagnosed panic attacks, came my junior year of high school. My depression had finally won. I had to leave school for a month and work on myself because I knew something was wrong. During this leave of absence from school, I had important conservations with my parents, ones that made my childhood make a lot more sense. My father and I spoke and without him realizing, he admitted that he had horrible anxiety. He told me how he had even quit a job once because the anxiety was getting to him. It made me realize how much his experiences related to mine. Then came a lot of tough conversations with my mother also. She never admitted it to any of her children or mother, but she has always had horrible depression. The conversation connected the final piece for me. After much medication, conversations, and therapy I was finally diagnosed and knew how to deal with my mental health moving forward. Then came 2020 and the eventual demise of my grandmother. My grandmother had a rough childhood. I will spare you the details, but because of this childhood she has always shown symptoms of some mental illness. She has repeatedly threatened to kill herself, she believes everyone wants to kill her, and so much more. And the saddest part is that she refuses to get treatment because she believes mental health is for crazy people. What this experience with my grandmother has cemented in me is that I have made it my life’s goal to not only acknowledge when I need help, but to make sure my future children have an appropriate relationship with mental health. I have seen what this stigma can do, and I do not want that for anyone I love.

I am a firm believer in fighting for what you believe in. I am also a firm believer in going after whatever career you believe was made for you, regardless of the pay. I would say my whole life I have been an activist against racism, homophobia, xenophobia, and other forms of oppression, but in high school I really took charge of that passion. In high school, I worked my hardest to join clubs and conferences that would expand my knowledge so that I could teach others. That was really the only thing I thought I could do for a while. Then came my senior year of high school, where I added another layer to this activism. I realized my words were powerful. I know people are flourish in different areas, but for me, that area was speaking. I have had several people express to me that they do not know how, but something about the way I word ideas makes people want to listen. So I used this skill to my advantage. I began speaking my mind, a lot. It started at my predominantly rich and white high school. I would say most of the kids there had prejudice to some degree. I made several speeches expressing why certain issues were important to me and it had people talking. I also spoke a lot with my family once quarantine began. You see, my parents come from a traditional background, but I have always said that that is no excuse for not wanting to learn and possibly change your views. At this point, I was implementing policies into my school, having discussions with several people, attending protests, educating myself, and signing petitions, but I knew that there was more I could do. There is always more that you can do. I have wanted to become a lawyer from the moment words could come out of my mouth. Something about the fierce words and battle that goes on in the courtroom really spoke to me. I never exactly knew what kind of lawyer I wanted to be until recently. I guess I was always a little hesitant to say it but I want to become a civil liberties/constitutional lawyer. I believe a huge part of that hesitation came from everyone assuming since I was younger that becoming a lawyer meant having a huge salary from the get go. This worry became even larger when I entered a University where the average graduate begins with a six figure salary. Everyone around me thinks I should go into corporate law. It makes more money so why not. But the problem is that I am not passionate about corporate law to any degree. I want to work with a company like the ACLU, Planned Parenthood, or any other company that is making meaningful change, regardless of the pay. But I know it won’t be easy or cheap to become what I hope become. The thing is I believe everyone has a purpose in this world, and I believe everyone should follow that purpose. Greta Thunberg has the environment, Oprah has the entertainment industry, and I have activism through law. I have cried myself to sleep thinking about all the horrible things going on in our world. I literally cannot fathom how some things are still going on in this world. I know I feel more than most people, which is why it is my duty to take that passion and put it to use. I know my path in life will not be easy, but I know it is what I meant to do.

Eighteen years ago, I was brought into this world by Colombian immigrants. Part of growing up in a Hispanic household meant that mental health was not spoken about, ever. My whole family has always suffered from some kind of mental health issue, but we never spoke about it. When I was five, I was diagnosed with a deadly seafood allergy. Of course, any normal person would be cautious about what they ate and where, but because of undiagnosed OCD from the mere age of five, I took this obsession to another level. Whenever my family went out to eat, even if there was absolutely no chance anyone at the table had ordered seafood, I would grab my throat the entire meal to make sure it would not shrink in size. OCD is not even the worst of my mental health issues. I have gone into deep depressive episodes; I once even had to leave school for a month. My whole life I have had panic attacks, but my family just said they were asthma attacks. My family is no different. My mother has battled depression her whole life, my father has anxiety to the point where he has quit a job before, my younger sister battles horrible anger issues and an eating disorder, and my older sister, the most “normal” of us all, has some problems with depression. Now remember, growing up, no one in my family technically had these issues. I knew several times when I was younger that something was wrong but I was just told to pray that it would go away. Having a mental illness was seen as the worst possible thing that could possibly happen to someone, so my family just ignored it. It was not until I left school for a month that I believe my whole family was really forced to reevaluate our mental health. My decision to leave school was very unpopular, especially with my father and older sister. The thing was neither of them truly understood how horrible I felt. The best way to describe it was that I woke up every day feeling as though my soul had left my body and was just watching me be disassociated from the real world. I was a useless lump. My mother was extremely helpful during this time, mainly because she had gone through similar experiences. During that month away from school, I started medication. The moment I started medication, my father wanted me off of it. I tried really hard also, but every time I stopped I could feel myself slowly become that lifeless lump I once was. A year later, my family is relatively open to talking about mental health. I see a therapist, and my father actually supports it the most. He loves that I found an outlet to manage my mental health, although he might just love the fact that I am officially off medication. But I have realized that my community still has so much more work. My grandmother quite clearly has early-onset schizophrenia, but she refuses to have treatment. If you even bring up the fact that she more than likely has a mental illness, she will yell, kick, and cry, because to her having a mental illness is the end of the world. This whole experience has allowed me to change the way I see my relationships in the future and the present. For now, I have realized when to pull back. I hurt a lot of people when I go through episodes, but that does not excuse my actions. It took me years to rebuild some of my relationships, and I would never want that to happen again. I have learned that the people I let into my life also need to be patient and understanding. Although I take full responsibility for my actions, it is important that I have people in my life that will support me even on my worst days. I have had friends that could not care less for mental health issues, and I have realized that that mindset is not conducive to my lifestyle. I have made sure to prioritize my mental health. I was in a relationship for a while that was draining me. The more energy I put into him, the more I took out of myself. I realized that, mentally, I am not ready for a relationship, and that is okay. It takes time. For the future, I have decided things will be different when I decide to start a family. I love my parents, but I hope that my children will live in a world where they realize that asking for help is okay. I want to raise my children in a household that will not just acknowledge that mental health exists, but that it needs to be taken care of just as much as physical health. My life changed a lot after my major depression episode. I realized just how far behind I was on my relationship with myself. I have a lot of issues I still need to resolve, and that is okay. It take time. I have a different outlook on how friendships and relationships should help me, and I would not want it any other way. I hope that someday I will live in a world where POC are not afraid to talk about these issues.

At the age of fourteen, I took the leap and told my family I wanted to attend boarding school. I ended up with a full scholarship and I look other leaps there like studying abroad in France, protesting, and taking up my love for dance.

There are several sayings out there that emphasize the fact that we must live in the now and be grateful for everything we have. Yea, most people would probably say they are grateful for the life they have, but are they really? It was March of my senior year of high school when COVID had first changed my life. It was the classic story; I lost prom, graduation, and the last few months with my friends. Senior spring was supposed to be the sun after the storm that was high school. To add another layer to this pandemic, I went to boarding school which means I have yet to see most of my friends again. Now if I could reverse the effects of the pandemic in a heartbeat, I would. I understand that for so many people and communities there have been much harder losses than me, but I have learned one very important lesson throughout all this madness. March 13th was my last day on campus; no one knew if we were going to return. To make the day even better, ironically, there was a special lunch help for the seniors to celebrate how close we were to graduation. It did not hit me until that lunch. I remember sitting with about my twenty closest friends and we sat in silence. Every once in a while, someone would throw out a memory. At the end of the lunch, when people started saying goodbye, I looked at my friends and said “is this really how it all ends?”. After lunch, I walked around the campus I had called home the past four years. After seeing it every day, it had lost its wow factor for me, but that day it was as if I was looking at campus for the first time all over again. I looked at every single brick, every single tree, and every single person with so much gratitude. The buildings that I would walk in and out of every single day and had zero regard for, suddenly brought a warm feeling to my stomach. I was so unbelievably torn apart, but also happy that I was fortunate enough to call this campus my home. I recieved the news in late March that my senior year was now over. Of course, I was devastated, but part of me just felt so full of happiness that I couldn’t explain it. My home was taken away from me three months too soon. What would my life have looked like those three months? Who knows, and frankly I’ve learned that it does not matter. For some strange reason, my journey was only meant to go until March. I had learned and grown everything I was meant to by March. And I had to learn to be okay with that. In July, I had the opportunity to visit my old school and see a few friends. One of the first things I did was visit my old campus and just walk through it again, just as I had my last day. There was a double rainbow and the sun was starting to set. I started crying while walking, not because I was sad, but because the campus looked so beautiful. Just as beautiful and majestic as it did the first time I had stepped on it about four years ago. I remembered the health center I used to go to for therapy, and how I took it for granted. I saw my old dorm room window, and I remembered how my roommate and I used to just sit and talk for hours at night about the most random subjects. I saw the common room where I was accepted into college in front of my dance teacher and we cried together for a bit. I thought about the bench in the middle of my school’s garden where I was a broken up with my junior; oh how I thought that was the end of my world. I laughed when I saw it in July. I walked around my schools arts building, where I spent all my time dancing. Dance. I really did take that for granted. The way I knew every single dent and scratch on the floor, how I knew exactly how to do my makeup so the stage light would hit me correctly, and how I had so many laughs but also tears in that dance studio. For the past eighteen years of my life, sure I had said I was grateful for all the small things. But I wasn’t really until COVID. The way my best friend lived down the hall and we used to come to each other’s rooms at 3am to gossip was something I would never experience again. But now I had other small exciting things to look forward to in life. I am going to be moving to my college campus soon. I am excited for the first time I shower in my dorm. I am excited for the countless other breakups I am sure to go through while at this new school. I am excited to go to class and see the same people for the next four years. This is not the ending I wanted by any means. But it was the ending I was meant to have.

I remember growing up and telling my parents that I was going to go to Harvard. Ten year old Ana thought that was no problem and if I just worked hard enough, anyone could achieve their goals. I was wrong and I quickly learned that. My parents and older sister are all immigrants from Colombia. We also live in a neighborhood that is about 75% Hispanic, so one would imagine the public schools are equipped to deal with first generation college students. Incorrect. My older sister attended community college and so did nearly 80% of her classmates, because they had zero idea how to even start the application process and guidance counselors were not going to help. Now don’t get me wrong, community college can be the perfect path for some people, but for others, they might shine more through a different route. I was lucky enough to be offered a full scholarship at the age of fourteen to attend a prestigious boarding school in Ohio. I knew this was my chance to take my education to the next level, an opportunity my sister did not have. At this high school, we were prepped from the moment we arrived on campus to apply for college. Everyone was required to play three sports their freshman year and two sports every year after that, most kids were in at least three extracurriculars, we had a team of ten teachers each year that helped personalize our recommendation letters, we had several college workshops throughout the years, I was awarded one of the best ACT tutors in the country, and so many other perks. The problem was that everyone around me thought this was normal for a college application, meanwhile I knew that my middle school friends did not even know what the FAFSA was. I recognized that yes, I had worked very hard from a young age to attend this boarding school and receive all these perks during college admissions season, but I felt weird knowing that there were students just as smart as me in my hometown, who just were not as lucky. My senior year, I applied for a program at my school titled Compass. The purpose of the program was to accept about twenty students a year and guide and fund a passion project of theirs. My project was FirstGEN (First Generation, Education, Navigation). The idea of this project was trying to address the inequalities first generation families face during the college admissions process. I started by making a pamphlet, in both Spanish and English, that highlighted the most common parts of the college application process, that first generation families likely know nothing about. For example, there is this notion that the Ivy League is impossible for any low income family to afford, but this is far from the truth! These big name schools are usually the ones with the highest endowments, which means they give the best grants many times. I attend Princeton right now and it was a million times cheaper than what my state school would have been. After completing these pamphlets, I donated it to schools. I did not want to charge for something that I knew could possibly change someone’s life. Throughout this project, I also guided a high school junior through her application process. Her name was Grace Edwards and she was one of the most intelligent women I had ever met, but she was stuck in a rural school without many resources. Before she met with me, she thought going out of state for college was impossible, but now her dreams are limitless. When my project ended senior year, I knew I wanted to continue this in college, but through a more established platform. I applied for the program Matriculate at my university, a program where college students from prestigious schools guide low income seniors through the college application process, and I was accepted! I plan to use my new job to give my pamphlet a bigger platform and be able to gain knowledge to help more students in the future. Now, I do not plan to go down this route for the rest of my life, but I do want to continue to help people for as long as I can. My whole life I have dedicated myself to also learning about racism, sexism, xenophobia, and homophobia, but I also have a fierce passion for law. About two years ago, I realized I could do both by being a civil liberties lawyer. I have had people come up to me and ask why I wouldn’t be a corporate lawyer, knowing that a million dollar job is more than likely waiting for me if I graduate from Princeton. Truth is, it has never been about money for me. I love helping people, more than anything in the world and it has showed through FirstGEN, Matriculate, my diversity work, and my future occupation. School has always just been a gateway for me to acquire the proper skills to accomplish these dreams.