Throughout high school, I’ve been presented with both unique opportunities and significant challenges, each of which has played a crucial role in shaping who I am today. One of the strongest aspects of my personality is my intense drive and unwavering commitment to achieving my goals. When I set objectives, I do so with all my heart, putting my best effort into everything I pursue. This dedication has allowed me to reach many academic and personal milestones, but it has also highlighted a deep-seated challenge I’ve had to learn to navigate: my perfectionism. My perfectionist tendencies often overwhelm me, especially when I feel my work doesn’t meet the exceptionally high standards I set for myself. I find myself stressing over the smallest mistakes and becoming easily frustrated when things don’t go as planned. This constant battle with stress has been a tough lesson in finding balance, and it’s something I continue to work on every day. High school, with its demanding workload and constant pressure, tested me in ways I hadn’t anticipated. Early on, I made mistakes that shook my confidence and made me question what I could truly accomplish. I felt the weight of my own expectations and feared that falling short would define me. However, rather than letting these setbacks define me, I chose to rise above them. I took the lessons learned from failure and used them to fuel my determination. I sought out leadership roles, founded a club, and dedicated myself to improving my grades. Each effort was not just an attempt to achieve success but a reminder to myself that mistakes were not the end of my journey; they were stepping stones toward growth. The more I faced setbacks, the more I realized that resilience isn’t about avoiding mistakes it’s about embracing them and learning how to move forward. A pivotal part of my transformation was recognizing the profound impact that my friendships had on my path. For a long time, I didn’t fully appreciate how the people I surrounded myself with could shape my attitude, energy, and success. Early on, I struggled with fitting in, which led me into some unhealthy friendships that drained my spirit and led me off course. They weren’t friendships that nurtured my growth; instead, they kept me stuck in a cycle of negativity and self-doubt. Making the difficult decision to distance myself from these relationships was a painful but necessary step. It taught me a powerful lesson: growth often requires letting go of what feels familiar to embrace something better. By shifting my focus to building friendships with people who truly valued me people who uplifted and supported me while also challenging me to be my best I began to thrive in ways I hadn’t imagined. These new, positive relationships not only gave me the strength to push forward when things became tough but also reminded me of the importance of surrounding myself with those who share my values and goals. Through this, I learned the invaluable lesson that the quality of my relationships directly influences my ability to succeed, not just in school, but in life. Reflecting on these experiences, I now see how the qualities I’ve developed my perfectionism, persistence, and the ability to speak up for myself have shaped my high school journey. These experiences, though challenging, have laid a foundation of confidence, resilience, and determination that I carry with me as I look toward the future. I’ve learned that setbacks are not signs of failure but invitations to grow. With the right mindset and support system, I am more prepared than ever to continue my journey, not just as a student, but as someone determined to make a positive impact on the world around me.

At the age of 15, I was introduced to independence in a way I hadn’t anticipated. As a high school student, my parents encouraged me to find a job. “Busca un trabajo, nos tienes que quitar una carga,” they would say, urging me to help ease the family’s financial burden. So, I began submitting applications, hoping for any opportunity to work. When I landed my first job, I received a paycheck of $56.57. Though small, it taught me a powerful lesson: la vida no es fácil, ni gratis —life isn’t easy, and nothing is free. I learned quickly that every dollar earned required hard work. I worked to cover the costs of gas and other expenses, but I still found myself paying for rides to work, making the small paycheck feel even smaller. As I worked more hours, my paychecks increased, but so did my financial responsibilities. This experience introduced me to the harsh realities of hard work and financial independence. It was a wake-up call to the fact that there was no easy way out, no shortcuts, and no free passes. I didn’t want to be stuck in a cycle of struggle that many in my community faced, so I made a conscious decision to push myself to do better. I knew that the path forward would require more than just working long hours. It required hard work in all aspects of life, and that included education. The independence I gained from working hard motivated me to keep going, pushing myself to achieve more. This experience shaped my mindset in ways that I hadn’t expected. The lessons I learned from working at a young age—time management, responsibility, and perseverance—have prepared me for the challenges of college. Managing a job and schoolwork taught me the importance of balancing priorities and staying disciplined. I’ve learned that achieving my goals will require patience, resilience, and focus. This journey has also influenced my outlook on education. I now understand that education is not just about books and exams but about building the foundation for a better future. It’s an investment in myself, one that can help me break free from the cycles of financial struggle and build a life of opportunity. I plan to use my education not just for personal gain, but to positively impact my community. The struggles I’ve faced have instilled in me a desire to give back, whether that’s through supporting others in their educational pursuits or by helping to create economic opportunities where they are needed most. The lessons of hard work, responsibility, and perseverance that I learned from my first job will continue to guide me as I pursue higher education and work to make a positive impact on the world around me.

As I counted the books I had read over the past year, I thought to myself, "101, 102, 103." Each book I finished became a small personal trophy, reminding me of how far I’d come. I recorded each one in my notes app, like a milestone in a journey that once seemed impossible. As I look at my shelf, now filled with books, I feel a deep sense of pride. It reassures me that I am not "dumb" or slow, despite the labels I carried for so long. Growing up, I was often labeled the "dumb child," and that was one of the hardest things I had to face. I remember first grade vividly, particularly the times I was pulled out of class by the "special teacher." It was something I dreaded. Every Tuesday and Thursday, after lunch, Ms. B would come to help me with my dyslexia. I didn’t like these sessions at all. It felt different, as if I was being set apart from the other kids. The extra attention made me feel self-conscious and as though there was something wrong with me. But one day, everything changed. Ms. B handed me a sealed envelope addressed to my parents or guardians. She asked me to make sure they saw it before I went home. I didn’t think much of it at the time. I was just eager to leave school, but that evening, things became clearer. As I sat at the dinner table, finishing my meal, my mother opened the letter. It was a letter that neither she nor I could fully understand. The words were far beyond my reading level, too. But I tried to sound out what I could. “Learning... disability,” I read aloud. The moment those words left my mouth, I saw my mother’s face change instantly. She was in shock, unable to comprehend what it meant. She immediately asked if I was sick. How could I not know how to read? The confusion and worry in her eyes broke my heart. She even wondered aloud if I had a mental disability. This moment left me feeling small, like the weight of a thousand questions was pressing on my chest. My parents had always pushed me to do my best, but this was different. The reality of my learning disability had just become something they had to confront. As a first-generation student with immigrant parents, I struggled to find the words to explain what dyslexia meant. How could I explain that this wasn’t a mental illness, but rather a neurological condition? The words didn’t come easily. I felt overwhelmed by the responsibility of making my parents understand something I myself was still trying to figure out. I could see that they were frightened and confused, and that scared me even more. I wanted to make them proud, but now I was faced with something that seemed like an insurmountable obstacle. But in that moment, I also realized something crucial I needed to prove to myself and to my parents that a learning disability does not define my intellectual abilities. It was the start of a long journey where I would grow more resilient each day. The desire to overcome this challenge became a driving force in my life. My parents, despite their initial confusion, became my biggest supporters. They never stopped pushing me to do better, to fight for my place in the world despite the challenges I faced. They taught me that a learning disability should never limit my potential, and that success was something I had to carve out for myself. Over time, I grew more confident in my abilities. The struggle with dyslexia didn’t disappear, but I learned how to adapt to it. Today, every book I read is a victory. Each completed book brings a sense of accomplishment, but more importantly, it’s a reminder of how far I’ve come. Every book on my shelf is not just a piece of my growth, but a symbol of perseverance and motivation. With each one, I am becoming better and better growing 1% every day. This is my journey, and I no longer see my dyslexia as a barrier. Instead, I see it as a part of who I am, a challenge that has shaped me into the person I’ve become.

I've always dreamed of having a home, but more specifically one were I can pick out the paint color of my room. Have it like those American tv shows, my dream bedroom, i've wanted my own room somewhere I wanted to match my bed sheets, hang pictures on the wall of the things I loved, places I dreamed to travel to. But I wanted a home were I can have a fence and garden in the back. I envisioned a space where we can have a small farm. How my parents described there childhood home. “Azul, rosa, o blanco” translate my mom said, asking for the color of my dream bedroom, every Sunday night as we went to bed we talk about our dream home. We would play around talk about all the scenarios that would happen in our someday home. Dreaming it would be coming soon. Speaking to me every sunday night on what color there going to paint my room, “un dia, el que tu quieras. ok mocha?” One day, I’ll get you whichever one you want, mocha being his nickname for me. My dad would say as he put me to sleep. Unfortunately, children from immigrant parents know how hard our parents work for them not to be able to have a place to call their own. Our families call this the American dream have a home with a picket fence and a garden, knowing this dream was a distance aspiration. But, mostly dreamed of having the room of my dreams. Watching those American shows where the kid gets there dream room, wishing it was me. I wanted to design my room, matching bed sheets with picture frames of the place I wanted to travel to. This dream resonates deeply with many children of immigrant parents like myself. Our families came to this land of opportunity with the hope of building a life and a home that we can truly call our own. For me, home is not just a physical space; it’s a place where I can express my identity and values. At 15, I became acutely aware of the challenges that come with this dream. I watched my father work tirelessly, often logging 12-hour days, and I began to understand the weight of his sacrifice. Despite his relentless effort over 18 years, owning a home felt like a distant aspiration. I grappled with the question: how can someone work so hard and still be unable to secure a place to call home? This realization opened my eyes to a larger issue—the struggles faced by many immigrant families striving for stability and belonging. This isn’t just my journey; it’s a collective struggle shared by countless families like mine. I believe that through determination and advocacy, we can address these challenges and work toward a future where everyone has the opportunity to create a home filled with love and possibility. I am committed to not only pursuing my dream but also to uplifting the voices of those who share this vision, ensuring that we can all find a place we can truly call our own.

Emotions are an essential part of who we are, shaping our experiences and influencing our actions. How we choose to manage and channel these emotions can profoundly impact our lives, for better or worse. For someone like me, emotions have often taken control, and learning to manage them has been an ongoing challenge. I’ve struggled with expressing myself and dealing with a lack of empathy, and at times, I confronted a narcissistic side of myself, which I had to address internally. These unseen emotional struggles, often unnoticed by others, have led to the hardship of being misunderstood and, at times, painted as the "bad person." It is difficult to feel like you're struggling on the inside, while others don't see or understand the emotional burden you're carrying. Religion plays a crucial role in our lives and can be a powerful force in helping us become the best versions of ourselves. In my experience, my faith has been a guiding light, leading me toward a path of self-improvement. Judaism, in particular, emphasizes the importance of mental health and emotional well-being. It stresses the need to manage and channel our emotions in a positive way, turning negative feelings like jealousy, pride, and anger into positive emotions such as love, compassion, and joy. Through these teachings, I have learned that my emotions do not define me, and they should not control my actions. Listening to my inner pride and allowing it to guide me would only hinder my growth. Instead, learning to overcome these emotions has been key to shaping the person I want to become. Judaism provides profound wisdom through prayer and the Torah. One teaching that resonates deeply with me comes from the rabbis, who describe the ideal emotional person as someone who controls their passions and demonstrates humility, kindness, and peace-loving qualities. In the words of the Mishnah, “The ideal emotional type is one who controls his passions and is good-hearted, humble, and peace-loving” (Avot 1:12, 2:9, 4:1, 5:11). These teachings have been instrumental in helping me manage my emotions and focus on cultivating inner peace, humility, and emotional balance. Through this guidance, I’ve learned the importance of being conscious of how I react emotionally and the value of transforming negative feelings into positive actions. As a young woman, overcoming the obstacles of narcissism, self-pride, and emotional turmoil has been a significant journey. It was a heavy burden that not only affected me but also impacted the people I love. My faith has been an unwavering source of strength, helping me to heal, grow, and ultimately become more compassionate toward both myself and others. I’ve learned to take responsibility for my emotional reactions and embrace the process of growth, knowing that through faith and effort, I can become the person I strive to be.

As I counted the books I had read over the past year, I thought to myself, "101, 102, 103." Each book I finish gets recorded in my notes app, like a personal trophy that reminds me of how far I've come. I look at my shelf, filled with books, and it gives me a sense of pride. It assures me that I’m not "dumb" or slow. Growing up, I was often labeled the "dumb child," and that was one of the hardest things I had to face. I remember first grade vividly being pulled out of class by the "special teacher" was something I dreaded. Every Tuesday and Thursday, after lunch, Ms. B would come to help me with my dyslexia. I never liked these sessions. I could sense that I was different from the other kids, and the extra attention made me feel self-conscious. But one day, everything changed. Ms. B handed me a sealed envelope addressed to my parents or guardians. She asked me to make sure they saw it before I went home. I didn’t think much of it at the time, but that evening, everything became clear. As I sat at the dinner table, finishing my meal, my mother opened the letter. She couldn’t read it because the words were far beyond my reading level, too. But I tried to sound out what I could. "Learning... disability," I read aloud. My mom’s face changed instantly. She was in shock, unable to comprehend what it meant. She immediately asked if I was sick. How could I not know how to read? The confusion and worry in her eyes broke my heart. She even wondered if I had a mental disability. My parents had always pushed me to do my best, but this was different. As a first-generation student with immigrant parents, explaining what dyslexia meant was a struggle. How could I explain that this wasn’t a mental illness, but rather a neurological condition? I felt overwhelmed. Watching my mother worry about me, not fully understanding what I was going through, pushed me to not only learn how to read but to understand how to adapt to living with dyslexia. It became clear that I needed to prove to myself and to my parents that a learning disability doesn’t define my intellectual abilities. Over time, I grew more resilient. My parents became my driving force. They pushed me to do better, to fight for my place in the world despite the challenges I faced. They made me realize that a learning disability should never limit my potential. Today, every book I read is a victory. Each completed book brings a sense of accomplishment, but more importantly, it’s a reminder of my progress. Every book on my shelf is not just a piece of my growth, but a symbol of perseverance and motivation. With each one, I am becoming better and better growing 1% every day.