“When are we going home?” For years, I asked this question everywhere I went. My parents laughed at my impatience as I counted down the minutes until we returned, but over time, I realized I wasn’t longing for just a house. Rather, I simply missed the spaces that defined me, where curiosity felt natural, and ideas felt possible: the corner of my room filled with worn paintbrushes, the window where I searched through Houston’s light pollution for the stars’ glow, and the desk that became a studio as projects stretched late into the night. That realization shaped what I want to study and why it matters. I plan to study architecture because it allows me to bring together everything I care about. I have never been able to choose just one subject. Art fuels my imagination; physics and math give me structure; English builds empathy; and athletics have taught me discipline. Architecture is where these intersect. It challenges me to think creatively while solving real problems and designing spaces that influence how people live, feel, and connect. Through my coursework and future studies, I want to deepen my understanding of structural systems, sustainable design, and human-centered planning so I can create environments that serve a purpose beyond aesthetics. My interest in architecture did not begin in a classroom. It began in my backyard. Growing up in Houston, I was surrounded by conversations about NASA and space exploration. I carried out my own “missions” with my dad: repairing fences, patching roofs, and rebuilding sheds. I was a small assistant, handing him tools I could barely name. Still, I learned something lasting. Building is not always glamorous. It is slow, imperfect, and demanding, yet deeply meaningful. A repaired fence provides safety; a fixed roof, comfort. Even the simplest structures can change someone’s daily life. That understanding grew through service. As a member of Key Club, I helped build beds for families, repair hurricane-damaged homes, and construct ramps for individuals who had been confined to their houses. These experiences showed me that architecture is not just about designing impressive buildings. It is about restoring dignity, independence, and stability. A well-designed space can allow someone to sleep peacefully, move freely, or feel secure again. That is the kind of impact I want my work to have. As I pursue architecture, I hope to apply what I learn to benefit my community further. In a city like Houston, rapid growth and environmental challenges intersect. Thoughtful design is essential, and I want to focus on creating resilient structures that can withstand flooding and extreme weather while remaining accessible and welcoming. Similarly, designing walkable public spaces and community-centered environments can strengthen connections, improve health, and support local economies. Spaces should not only function; they should bring people together. I am also interested in sustainable and innovative design. By incorporating energy-efficient materials and forward-thinking building strategies, I hope to contribute to a future where cities reduce their environmental impact while improving quality of life. Houston’s identity as Space City inspires me to think beyond traditional boundaries, exploring how architecture can evolve alongside advancing technology while remaining grounded in human needs. Ultimately, my goal is to design spaces that people long to return to, just as I once did. By studying architecture, I will gain the tools to shape environments that support communities, respond to challenges, and create opportunities. What began as a simple question has become a lifelong purpose: to build places that feel like home, not just for me, but for everyone.

Throughout my high school career, I have had the privilege of participating in several community service organizations. Yet, Key Club most profoundly shaped my experience. Over four years, I served as a member, historian, vice president, and ultimately president, leveraging my skills from designing outreach posters to coordinating fundraisers. In my senior year, I led initiatives that made a direct impact on my community. Building on my earlier experience as president of Cypress Creek Key Club, I led several service initiatives that addressed real needs in our area. I organized a CFISD school supply drive that collected over 50 essential items, including backpacks, pencils, and SAT prep books, helping students start the year prepared to succeed. I also coordinated Rally with Lally, our annual field day that raises resources for service organizations, where seven Key Clubs came together with over 140 attendees. Through this event, we raised more than $600 for UNICEF USA and collected over 200 cans of food, nonperishables, and cases of water for families in need. In addition, during the holidays, I led efforts to assemble custodian gift baskets valued at $150 to recognize the staff who support our school daily and organized a toy drive that collected over 100 toys for local CFISD children. Furthermore, I helped lead Wrapped in Love, a service project focused on clothing those in need, which collected more than 1,000 items for the Star of Hope Foundation, an organization that helps local Houstonians. These experiences taught me how to lead with organization, accountability, and empathy while making a tangible difference. Inspired by these experiences, as I pursue a career in architectural engineering, I aim to become an architect and architectural engineer specializing in designing secure, efficient, and resilient buildings for fast-growing cities like Houston. My vision is to advance structural systems and building performance, creating spaces that withstand environmental challenges and meet the community's changing needs. Our community holds many talented individuals who lack the infrastructure to succeed. Just as I provided resources as president, I aim to continue supporting others as I progress in my career. This mission is especially relevant to Houston’s distinct needs. The spaces around us shape who we become, and we must address the threats to them. Houston’s vulnerability to flooding, especially during Hurricane Harvey, underscores the demand for resilient infrastructure. Through architectural engineering, I aim to design flood-resistant buildings, streamlined drainage systems, and robust materials that minimize long-term damage and expense. These measures safeguard residents and public assets, keeping buildings operational during emergencies. They also reduce interruptions to public life, allowing communities to focus on education, passions, and daily life. Alongside resilience, I also want to improve accessibility and walkability through engineering-focused design. By working on structural layouts, transportation integration, and pedestrian-friendly systems, I can help create safer and more connected communities. Well-designed public spaces encourage interaction, support local businesses, and improve overall quality of life. Ultimately, although my approach has changed, as an architectural engineer, I can still design spaces that foster growth and safety within my community. As I begin this new chapter, I am eager to support and strengthen my community through architectural engineering.

“When are we going home?” For years, this question followed me everywhere, from outings to long days that seemed to stretch endlessly. My parents teased me for counting down the minutes until we returned, but the truth was simpler: I missed the spaces that held me. The corner of my room where my paints lived, even after the bristles gave out; the window I leaned against, straining to see a sliver of stars through Houston’s glow; the desk that slowly became my personal studio as TSA projects piled higher and later into the night. It took growing up to realize I wasn’t longing for a house. I was longing for the environments that shaped me; the places where curiosity felt natural and ideas felt possible. That early yearning became my first clue that spaces are not passive backdrops. They are catalysts for who we become. I wanted to learn how to create them. However, my interests never fit neatly into one box. When teachers asked, “What’s your favorite subject?” I froze. How could I choose between the imagination of art, the precision of physics, the patterns of math, the humanity of English, the curiosity of biology, or the discipline of athletics? I didn't want to choose, but architecture allowed me to merge them all. High school confirmed this. Architecture demanded creativity when I brainstormed ideas, logic when I balanced spatial flow, and empathy when I imagined how people would move, feel, and live in my designs. Whether designing a tiny house or a sprawling art museum, every project taught me to build with intention: purpose first, aesthetics following, and human impact at the center. But architecture didn't first enter my life in a classroom. It began in my backyard. Growing up in Space City, kids talked about NASA, rockets, Artemis, and Apollo. Meanwhile, I completed my own missions: Mission Fence Repair, Mission Roof Patch, Mission Neighbor’s Shed. My father was the commander, and I was the five-year-old crewmember handing him tools I couldn't name. Under the Texas sun, I learned that building was rarely glamorous. Often it was sweaty, uneven, and slow, but always meaningful. A repaired fence meant safety. A patched roof meant comfort. A rebuilt shed meant someone could keep what mattered to them. Every mission ended with stories, food, and the reminder that architecture, at any scale, is a way to care for people. As I grew older, my missions expanded. Through Key Club, I helped build beds for families who had none, repaired hurricane-damaged homes, constructed ramps for people who had not left their houses independently in years, and fundraised to build shelters. These projects were not sleek or futuristic, but each altered someone’s life: a child finally slept soundly, safety returned to a storm-battered home, and independence was restored. In these moments, I realized architecture is not just about designing structures. It is about restoring dignity, possibility, and stability. At the same time, Houston taught me to look upward. I grew up glued to rocket launches, following ISS updates the way other kids followed sports. Space taught me to imagine bigger things; community taught me to design responsibly. Together, they shaped my understanding that architecture can both anchor us to the Earth and push us beyond what we think possible. I knew architecture was right for me the first time all my interests, experiences, and values converged into a single path. Now, as the commander of my own missions, I want to design spaces that uplift communities, protect what matters, and carry people farther than they ever imagined. Thank you for your time and consideration.