The Heart Sepsis Could Never Take One day, I was sitting beside my Nana, holding her hand, laughing as she smiled and reminded me, “My girl is going to conquer this world.” The next day, she looked like a completely different person. Her eyes were sunken. She was frightened, confused, and crying for help. The woman who had always protected me suddenly needed someone to protect her. I couldn’t understand how someone could change so quickly. Neither could the doctors. Before anyone finally spoke the word sepsis, my family spent months searching for answers while the woman we loved slowly disappeared before our eyes. That is what sepsis did to my Nana. Before sepsis, my Nana was the person who helped raise me. While my father spent much of my childhood in jail and my mother worked three jobs to support our family, she became my constant source of love and stability. She made sure I never went hungry and filled the spaces life had left empty with unconditional love. To everyone else, she was a grandmother. To me, she was home. Every time I left her house, she hugged me tightly and said, “My girl is going to conquer this world.” She believed those words before I ever believed them myself. My Nana never saw herself as extraordinary, but she had the biggest heart I have ever known. If someone needed advice or support, she was always there. Even while she was suffering, she worried about everyone else before herself. Loving people was not something she tried to do, it was simply who she was. Then painful wounds began spreading across her body. She was constantly in and out of hospitals and nursing facilities, yet no one could explain what was happening. Watching the strongest woman I knew slowly lose her ability to walk while living in pain was heartbreaking. Sepsis attacked more than her body. It stole her peace. There were moments when she became confused and terrified, and we knew it was the infection affecting her body and mind. Hearing my Nana cry out in pain at three in the morning is something I will never forget. The hardest part was that sepsis stole the final weeks we should have spent making memories together. Instead, our days became hospital rooms, masks, and impossible choices. Nurses warned us not to touch her because of the risk of infection, but how could we stop comforting the woman who spent her entire life comforting us? We chose love over fear because she never would have left us alone. Before my Nana became sick, I had never heard the word sepsis, and neither had much of my family. We did not know an infection could spread so quickly or change someone’s life in such a short time. By the time we finally heard the word “sepsis,” we had already watched the strongest woman in our family lose so much. That is why awareness matters. Families should not have to learn about this disease only after it has already changed their lives forever. My name is Yasmin Esquer, and my Nana was Alicia Torres. She was far more than a victim of sepsis.She was the woman who raised me with hope, compassion, and unconditional love. I will honor her for the rest of my life by serving others, becoming an educator, and sharing her story so more families recognize sepsis before it is too late. This scholarship stood out to me because it ensures people like my Nana are remembered through awareness & love that inspires earlier recognition.

A Ten-Year Plan Built on Education and Service At seventeen years old, I have learned that dreams require more than passion, they require planning. My goal is to pursue a doctorate in education and dedicate my life to serving students and my community. I understand that reaching this goal will require years of commitment, financial responsibility, and intentional decisions. My first step after graduating high school is attending the University of the Pacific in Stockton, California, where I plan to major in education with a minor in liberal arts and history. Choosing a university close to home is meaningful to me because Stockton is not just a place with challenges, it is a community filled with talented individuals, educators, artists, and leaders who deserve recognition. I want my education to strengthen my ability to serve the same community that shaped me. Because the University of the Pacific is a private institution, I understand the importance of financial planning. I plan to apply for scholarships, grants, work opportunities, and financial aid while continuing to manage my expenses responsibly. Living at home during my undergraduate years will allow me to reduce housing costs and focus my resources on my education. I also plan to walk or bike for at least 4-5 years, which will help reduce transportation expenses while supporting a healthier lifestyle and environment. As I enter adulthood, financial independence will be a major priority. At eighteen, I plan to open my own bank account and establish a high-yield savings account to build financial security over time. I also plan to responsibly build credit by using a credit card only for expenses I can afford to repay, creating healthy financial habits for the future. My long-term educational goal is to earn a doctorate in education, which I understand may require eight or more years of higher education. During this time, I plan to budget carefully, continue applying for opportunities, and balance my academic responsibilities with work and community involvement. Beyond education, I hope to experience the world and continue growing. I would like the opportunity to participate in international experiences, including potentially studying abroad in Spain, while bringing those experiences back to my students and community. Eventually, after establishing my career, I hope to move into my own home or apartment and possibly purchase a reliable vehicle to support my independence, travel, and ability to help my family. Throughout every stage of my plan, community will remain at the center. While saving for my future, I also want to continue investing time and resources into service, whether through community events, donations, mentorship, or opportunities that bring people together. My definition of success is not only achieving a degree. Success is using education as a tool to create opportunities for others. My ten-year plan is built around becoming educated, financially responsible, and prepared to give back. With careful planning, resilience, and the support of opportunities like this scholarship, I believe I can transform my goals into reality and continue creating a positive impact for the community that raised me.

“My Little Dolly Will Conquer This World” “Sister, I am BEAUTIFUL.” Those were the kinds of words my grandmother, my Nana Alicia, would say with confidence and a smile. She was a woman who never allowed the world to make her feel small. As a plus-size woman, she experienced moments where people judged her appearance, but she carried herself with pride, humor, and love. She taught me that beauty was never about fitting into someone else’s expectations, it was about knowing your worth. She always called me her “little dolly.” To her, I was not just her granddaughter. I was someone capable of achieving anything. She would tell me, “My granddaughter is going to conquer this world,” and those words have stayed with me throughout my life. Growing up, my grandmother became my safe place. My parents were young when they had me, and there were many moments when my family struggled. When I needed someone to defend me, comfort me, or simply listen, my Nana was there. She was the person who made me feel protected. I found peace in her arms, through her back scratches, and while she combed my hair. She was the person I wanted beside me at doctor appointments, and she would take time away from work to be there for me even when it was difficult. Her kindness extended far beyond our family. My Nana loved people deeply. If someone called her late at night needing advice, she would answer. She would listen to their problems, offer encouragement, and remind them they were not alone. After her passing, I heard countless stories from people who remembered how she called them “sister,” how she made them laugh, and how she always made time for them. I realized her love had reached far beyond what I had seen. One moment that showed her character was when my mother was in the hospital and there was a time when we did not have food at home. Without hesitation, my Nana came to help. She brought my siblings who were not even her biological grandchildren into the car, got us food, and stayed until she knew we were safe. She did not have everything figured out, and life was not always easy for her, but she always found a way to show up. Losing my Nana was the greatest loss of my life. Even during the time when she became sick and was no longer unable to move her legs, she continued to listen, encourage me, and celebrate my accomplishments. Her body became weaker, but her love never did. Being raised by my grandmother taught me that success is not measured only by achievements. It is measured by the lives we touch. Because of her, I want to dedicate my life to serving others. Through education, advocacy, and community work, I want to become someone who listens, supports, and makes people feel valued the same way she did. My Nana was my healer, my protector, and my biggest believer. I carry her lessons with me every day. I hope to make her proud by becoming the person she always believed I could be.

A Promise to Keep Going To me, going to college means more than earning a degree. It represents perseverance, opportunity, and the ability to create a future that once felt impossible. As a first-generation college student from an underrepresented community, higher education represents a chance to honor the sacrifices of my family while creating opportunities for the people who come after me. My goal is not simply to receive an education, but to use it in service of others. I believe my purpose is to help people feel seen, supported, and empowered. Whether through teaching, mentorship, or community involvement, I want my life to be centered around giving back. My journey to college has not been easy. In eighth grade and my freshman year of high school, I struggled with bullying and lost confidence in myself. I stopped wanting to be seen. I avoided participating in class, rarely raised my hand, and hid the curiosity and intelligence I had always carried. I began believing that maybe the person I was inside was not someone others would value. Everything changed when I moved to a school that was often judged by its reputation before people ever took the time to know the students inside it. There, I found a community that saw my potential, encouraged my voice, and reminded me that where someone comes from does not determine what they are capable of becoming. Today, I challenge myself through the International Baccalaureate program, maintaining a 4.2 GPA while taking rigorous courses that push me academically. The IB program has taught me discipline, resilience, and the importance of continuing to grow even when the path is difficult. However, my education is not only about academics. It is about using my opportunities to create opportunities for others. Throughout high school, I have organized toy drives, helped lead blood drives, created inclusive events, supported students through tutoring, and advocated for my community. These experiences have shown me that true leadership is not about recognition, it is about showing up for people. As someone from a background where advanced degrees are often less represented, I hope to pursue a doctorate in education and become someone who challenges the idea that certain achievements are out of reach. I want students from communities like mine to see someone who looks like them and realize that they, too, can become leaders, scholars, and changemakers. College is the next step in that mission. It is an opportunity to gain the knowledge and skills necessary to serve others on a greater level. My dream is not to leave my community behind, but to return to it with more tools, more understanding, and a greater ability to make a difference. Going to college means proving that resilience can become success. It means honoring where I came from while building where I am going. Most importantly, it means continuing the promise I made to myself: never stop learning, never stop serving, and never stop believing in what is possible.

Beyond Qualifications More Than the Game When I first read about Sloane Stephens, what stood out to me was not only her success on the tennis court, but the purpose behind it. I learned that tennis is a sport built on discipline, patience, and resilience. While my own experience is closer to badminton than professional tennis, I have enough respect for the sport to know it takes a true queen to compete at that level. What inspired me most was seeing how Sloane used her accomplishments beyond the game to create opportunities, support young people, and give back to communities that need it. That is the kind of impact I hope to make. I want to use my education to remind people that their circumstances do not determine their future. Growing up in Stockton, California, in a community that is often recognized for its challenges before its strengths, I have seen how easily people and places can be overlooked. I want to help change that narrative by showing the resilience, creativity, and kindness that exist within communities that are too often misunderstood. My goal has never been to earn an education simply for personal success. I want to use knowledge as a tool for liberation, helping people better understand themselves, their histories, and the experiences that have shaped them. Many communities carry generational struggles, and I believe growth begins when we acknowledge those experiences, learn from them, and choose compassion instead of allowing pain to divide us. Education gives us the ability to understand the past while creating a better future. That belief has shaped the way I serve my community. Through organizing toy drives, helping lead blood drives, creating an inclusive fashion show, tutoring students, writing poetry, and advocating for issues affecting my community, I have learned that service is not simply about completing a project. It is about creating connections and reminding people that they matter. One of the most meaningful parts of my service has been making people feel seen. Whether it is a child receiving a toy, a donor being thanked for their generosity, a family receiving support, or a community member simply being treated with kindness, I believe every person deserves to feel valued. Sloane Stephens’ story reminded me that success means more when it is shared. Achievements are powerful, but their greatest purpose is creating opportunities for others. I hope to follow that example by using my education to serve my community and continue building connections between people. My future goal is not just to earn degrees or collect accomplishments. I want a life centered around service, love, and understanding. Whether through education, advocacy, or future opportunities to expand my impact, I want young people to see someone who believes in them and reminds them that they are capable of creating change. Qualifications can open doors, but character determines what we do once we walk through them. Kindness, resilience, humility, and compassion are what create true impact. I want to build a future where communities are not defined by what they have struggled through, but by everything they are capable of becoming. I hope to pursue a doctorate in education and dedicate my life to serving my community. I do not want to step away from the people who shaped me, but remain connected through teaching, mentorship, and advocacy. I want young people from backgrounds like mine to see that higher education and leadership are possible.

The Legacy of Showing Up I’ve learned that if someone says, “We need volunteers,” my hand somehow raises itself before my brain has time to think. Whether it’s organizing toy drives, helping with community blood drives, creating inclusive events, or spending time with children at shelters, I’ve never been very good at sitting on the sidelines. My friends joke that if there is a sign-up sheet, I have probably already found it. Somehow, I always find my way to the next opportunity to help, and I wouldn’t have it any other way. Reading about Jorge Campos, affectionately known as Don Jorge, reminded me that people are not remembered because of one extraordinary act. They are remembered because, every ordinary day, they choose kindness. They are remembered for the smiles they share, the help they offer before anyone asks, and the way they make others feel valued. That is the kind of person I hope to become. As a high school senior from a low-income household in Stockton, California, I have never had the most luxurious life. However, my family taught me something far more valuable than wealth: if you have the ability to help someone, you do it. I may not always have money to give, but I can always give my time, my energy, and my heart. I don’t want to be known for belonging to one organization. I hope people simply know me as someone who is there for the community. One experience that changed me was volunteering at the Mary Graham Children’s Shelter. I arrived thinking I was there to give children toys, but I left realizing I had received something too. I met children who smiled, laughed, and played, yet carried experiences no child should have to face. I realized they were not just looking for a gift, they were looking for someone to notice them, spend time with them, and remind them they mattered. That day taught me that service is not always about fixing every problem. Sometimes, it is about making someone feel less alone. That lesson inspired me to continue serving my community through toy drives, blood drives, and an inclusive runway fashion show where children of all abilities were celebrated together. When I shared my community service story through a video, it led me to Washington, D.C., where I learned that kindness that begins in Stockton can inspire people far beyond our own city. Don Jorge was remembered not for titles or recognition, but for the way he made people feel. He worked hard, welcomed others, and brought positivity wherever he went. I hope that years from now, people remember me in the same way not because of the number of events I organized, but because I showed up, cared deeply, and made others feel seen. This scholarship would help me continue my education and build a life centered around service. My goal is not simply to earn a degree, but to dedicate my life to creating connections, bringing people together, and reminding others that they are valued. Whether through my future classroom, community involvement, or the relationships I build, I hope to continue spreading kindness, love, and positivity. A degree will give me the tools to create opportunities, but compassion is what allows us to truly change lives. At the end of my life, I don’t hope people remember the titles I held or the awards I received. I hope they remember that I showed up.

The People Who Raised Me My childhood was never defined by one home or one parent. It was defined by the people who stepped in when life fell apart. I was born to two parents who were still teenagers themselves. Before they had the chance to discover who they were, they were trying to raise me. My father drifted in and out of my life, often caught up in trouble instead of being the parent I longed for constantly in and out of prison. My mother was left carrying the weight of our family alone. To keep food on the table and a roof over our heads, she worked as many as three jobs. She left before I woke up and often came home after I had already fallen asleep. As a little girl, I didn’t understand sacrifice. I only understood absence. I remember wondering why other children had parents cheering for them at school while mine was almost always working. I wanted more time with my mom, but she was doing everything she could to give me opportunities she never had. She still apologizes for not always being there, but I have never blamed her. Now that I am older, I see what I couldn’t see as a child: every missed bedtime, every missed school event, every long shift was an act of love. Because she was working so much, my grandparents became the people who raised me. My grandmother never had much money, but she had endless kindness. She struggled with her confidence because of how people judged her for being a plus-size woman. Yet despite the way the world sometimes treated her, she never let bitterness define her. Her home was simple, yet everyone who walked through her door felt welcomed. She taught me that generosity is not measured by what you own but by what you are willing to give. Looking back, I realize she was one of the richest people I have ever known because she gave away love so freely. When our family lost our home, I went to live with my great-grandfather on his ranch. One afternoon, he walked me to a tiny wooden building that still stood on the property. It was a Bracero house, where Mexican farmworkers once slept after spending long days harvesting crops. Standing inside that cramped room, I was overwhelmed. I couldn’t imagine leaving my family, crossing a border, working exhausting days, and returning each night to a space so small. Until that moment, history had only existed in my textbooks. Suddenly, it surrounded me. As my great-grandfather shared stories about the Bracero Program, I realized my family’s sacrifices did not begin with my mother’s three jobs. They stretched back generations. For the first time, I understood that the opportunities I have today were built on the resilience of people who endured hardship so their children and grandchildren could dream bigger. Growing up in a low-income, single-parent household was not easy. There were moments of loneliness, uncertainty, and questions no child should have to ask. But those experiences also gave me something I will carry for the rest of my life: resilience, compassion, and an unshakable commitment to serve others. Today, as a first-generation college student, I pursue higher education not only for myself, but for my mother who sacrificed time with her daughter, for my grandmother whose kindness shaped my heart, and for my great-grandfather, whose stories taught me that our past is not something to hide from, it is something to honor. Their sacrifices became my foundation. Now, my success will become their legacy.

Apply for Women in Elementary Education Scholarship Essay Some children walk into school carrying a backpack. Others walk in carrying burdens no child should have to bear. I was one of those children. Growing up in a low-income, single-parent household in Stockton, California, some mornings were difficult before I even walked into the classroom. There were days I arrived at school crying after my parents had argued the night before. Sometimes my backpack was left behind because it had been in the other parent’s car. As a child, I often felt embarrassed, confused, and different from everyone else. My second-grade teacher, Ms. Knisley, noticed. She comforted me, encouraged me, and one day even offered to buy me a new backpack. Looking back, I realize it was never really about the backpack. It was about knowing that someone cared enough to notice me. Her kindness transformed my classroom into a place where I felt safe, valued, and capable of learning despite everything happening outside of school. Because of her, I want to become that teacher for someone else. I want every child who enters my classroom to feel excited to learn and confident enough to make mistakes. I believe learning should be active, creative, and filled with joy because children remember the experiences that make them smile. One activity I cannot wait to share with my future students is making homemade ice cream in a Ziplock bag. As we shake the bags together, I would teach them a little classroom song I once sang to my 4 baby siblings: “We’re making ice cream, yes, we are. Shake it up and shake it far. Ice and salt in a little bag. Learning something makes me glad. We can do this, you and me!” By the time we finish singing, the ice cream is ready. While enjoying a sweet treat, students will also be learning about states of matter, practicing teamwork, and discovering that science can be exciting. Instead of simply reading from a textbook, they will experience learning together. I have already seen the impact of this kind of learning through my four younger siblings, who range in age from two to ten. When we made ice cream together, their excitement wasn’t just about the dessert, it was about laughing, learning, and creating something with their own hands. Their smiles reminded me that children learn best when they feel safe enough to explore, ask questions, and have fun. Beyond academics, I hope to build a classroom rooted in kindness, respect, and belonging. I want every child to know they matter, no matter where they come from or what challenges they face. I hope to encourage empathy through community service projects and remind my students that their voices have the power to make a difference. Just as Ms. Knisley changed my life by seeing the child behind the circumstances, I hope to be the teacher who notices the quiet student, comforts the child who is hurting, and inspires every learner to believe in themselves. Children may not remember every worksheet they complete, but they will always remember how a teacher made them feel. That is the teacher I hope to become.

It Begins with Caring Growing up in Stockton, California, in a low-income, single-parent household, I often wondered why my family’s life looked so different from everyone else’s. As a little girl, there were days I came to school without the supplies other students had. I remember feeling embarrassed and wondering why life seemed easier for everyone around me. At an age when children should only be worried about learning and making friends, I was learning resilience. What changed my life wasn’t money. It was kindness. My teachers noticed when I was struggling. They comforted me when I cried, encouraged me when I doubted myself, and reminded me that my circumstances did not define my future. They made me feel seen. Looking back, I realize they taught me far more than reading, writing, or mathematics. They taught me confidence, compassion, and the importance of believing in someone before they believe in themselves. Because my teachers invested in me, I wanted to invest in others. Throughout high school, I organized toy drives because I never wanted another child to feel forgotten during the holidays. I helped organize community blood drives because even one donation can save a life. I created an inclusive runway fashion show where boys, girls, and children with disabilities all shared the same stage because everyone deserves to feel valued and celebrated. When I had the opportunity to share my story of community service through a video, it led me to Washington, D.C., where I learned that acts of kindness can inspire people far beyond the community where they begin. Those experiences confirmed what my teachers had shown me years before: real leadership begins with caring. That is why I have chosen to pursue a career in education. People often believe teachers simply teach academic subjects. I believe they shape lives. A great teacher creates future leaders, volunteers, advocates, and changemakers. They notice the student sitting quietly in the back of the classroom. They encourage the child who feels invisible. They remind young people that their circumstances never determine their potential. That is the kind of teacher I hope to become. Although I plan to earn my doctorate, my dream has never been to teach at a university. My heart belongs in elementary and high school classrooms because those are the years when one caring adult can change the direction of a child’s life. I want my classroom to extend beyond four walls by organizing service projects, volunteering with my students, creating inclusive opportunities for every child, and teaching that leadership is not about having a title but about serving others. Kindness, respect, and resilience are qualities no degree can guarantee, yet they are the qualities that transform lives. They transformed mine, and I hope to pass them on to every student who walks through my classroom door. As a first-generation college student from a family with significant financial need, receiving this scholarship would allow me to continue pursuing the education necessary to make that vision a reality. Every opportunity I have been given has become an opportunity to give back, and I know this scholarship would be no different. Growing up in Stockton taught me that communities are not changed by the people with the most money or influence. They are changed by ordinary people who choose to care. My teachers chose to care about me. Now, I hope to spend my life doing the same for the next generation.

More Than a Story One of the first jobs I hope to have in college is working as a library assistant. To many people, it sounds like a quiet part-time job. To me, it’s an opportunity to introduce children to stories that might change their lives. I want to recommend books that make students laugh, ask difficult questions, or finally feel understood. Growing up, literature did more than improve my reading skills, it changed the way I saw people, my community, and even myself. No book impacted me more than The House on Mango Street. Esperanza’s search for belonging reminded me that behind every person is a story we cannot immediately see. Her experiences encouraged me to look beyond first impressions and understand the struggles people quietly carry. That lesson didn’t stay inside the pages of the book. It became part of how I serve my own community through toy drives, blood drives, and events that make people feel included and valued. As I continued reading, I realized every book left me with a different lesson. The Things They Carried taught me that people often carry invisible burdens, and even helped me understand these huge concepts of war. The Great Gatsby challenged the idea that success and wealth automatically lead to happiness and ideas of the American Dream. Franz Kafka’s The Metamorphosis made me question how society treats those who are different. Then there are graphic novels that simply make me laugh, blush over fictional crushes, and remind me that reading doesn’t always have to be serious to be meaningful. These books are one of the reasons I want to become a teacher in the long run. I hope my future classroom is filled with stories that help students see the world through someone else’s eyes. I want my students to know that books aren’t just assignments, they’re conversations. They teach empathy, challenge our beliefs, and remind us that every person’s story matters. Books bring knowledge, joy, and life. Working as a library assistant would be the first step toward that goal. Every recommendation, every conversation about a favorite book, and every child who walks out excited to read would remind me why I chose education in the first place. The greatest gift a book can give us isn’t simply knowledge. It’s the ability to understand someone else’s story and sometimes, finally understand our own! As fewer young people choose to read for enjoyment, I hope to encourage the next generation to rediscover the joy of books. Reading liberates the mind, strengthens critical thinking, and helps us better understand both ourselves and the people around us.

The Courage It Takes to Keep Showing Up My name is Yasmin Esquer, and I am a high school senior who has learned that strength is not about never struggling. Strength is about continuing forward even when life feels heavier than you ever imagined. For a long time, I did not understand why certain emotions felt so difficult to carry. Through a youth liberation program, I learned about intergenerational trauma and how the experiences, hardships, and pain of those before us can influence the generations that follow. Learning this changed the way I viewed myself. I realized that some of the struggles I carried were connected to a much larger story. A story of survival, resilience, and healing. Mental health has impacted my family in ways that have shaped who I am. I have experienced the pain of losing a loved one to mental health struggles, and I have seen how that pain affects an entire family. Grief is not something you simply “move on” from. Healing takes time. It takes energy. It takes courage to wake up each day and choose to keep going when part of you is still hurting. But I have also learned that being strong does not mean pretending you are okay all the time. It means asking for help, finding purpose, and choosing to turn your pain into something meaningful. My own journey has not always been easy. I was bullied, struggled academically, and there were times when I would take different routes to class just to avoid situations that made me feel unsafe or unseen. Those experiences affected my confidence and my mental health, but they did not define me. I continued showing up. And eventually, showing up became my purpose. The pain I experienced helped me recognize the struggles that other people quietly carry. It inspired me to dedicate myself to my community & creating opportunities, supporting young people, organizing service projects, and reminding others that they matter. I know what it feels like to feel invisible, and I never want someone else to feel like they have to face their battles alone. I carry the lessons of my family, my struggles, and my experiences with me. But I also carry hope. I believe that healing can be passed down just like pain can. I want to be part of the generation that turns hardship into compassion and creates a future where people feel supported. My story is not defined by what hurt me. It is defined by the fact that, despite everything, I continued to show up for myself, for my family, and for my community.

A Future Built From Resilience I used to believe that if I could not explain my sadness, then something must be wrong with me. There were moments when I would be surrounded by people I loved, laughing and enjoying life, yet a heaviness would still find its way into my heart. I could not understand why I felt emotions that seemed bigger than my own experiences. It felt like I was carrying something I could not name. Through my involvement in a youth liberation program, I learned about intergenerational trauma the way the experiences of the people before us can shape the way we see ourselves, our emotions, and the world around us. Those experiences affect our mental health now. For the first time, I realized that my feelings were not proof that I was weak. They were reminders that I came from people who had survived things I may never fully understand. My father has spent much of my life in the jail system, and my mother worked tirelessly, often carrying responsibilities that no person should have to carry alone. Growing up, I did not always have the words to describe the emotions I felt. I only knew that there were moments when I felt lost, overwhelmed, and unsure of where those feelings came from. For a long time, I thought I was broken. But I have learned that I am not broken. I am someone who is learning to heal. My family’s struggles are a part of my story, but they do not define the ending. If pain can be passed down, then so can resilience. So can compassion. So can the desire to create a better future. My experiences with mental health have shaped the person I am today. They have made me more aware of the silent battles people carry and have inspired me to become someone who makes others feel seen. This is why I dedicate so much of my time to serving my community, creating spaces where young people feel valued, supported, and reminded that they are not alone. I want to study mental health because I know what it feels like to search for answers within yourself. I want to help others understand that their struggles do not make them less worthy. They are human experiences that deserve understanding and care. This scholarship would not just support my education. It would support my mission to transform what I have carried into something that can help others carry less.

The Greatest Gift Is Feeling Seen Selflessness is not measured by how much you give. It is measured by how deeply you care. People often think selflessness is one grand act of kindness. I have learned it is hundreds of small choices to put someone else’s needs before your own. As a high school senior, I have experienced financial hardship, family struggles, and moments when giving up would have been easier than giving back. Yet those experiences never convinced me to stop serving my community. Instead, they reminded me why it matters. One of the moments that changed me most was visiting the Mary Graham Children’s Shelter here in Stockton California. I expected to hand out toys from my toy drive and leave. Instead, I spent time laughing, playing games, and talking with children who had experienced more hardship than most people could imagine. When it was time for me to leave, several children hugged me tightly and cried because they didn’t want me to go. I walked away realizing they weren’t looking for expensive gifts from donations. They simply wanted someone who made them feel seen, even if only for a few hours. That experience reinforced what I already believed: kindness is often the greatest gift we can give. Since then, I have dedicated myself to creating opportunities that bring hope to others. I have organized toy drives so children could experience the joy of Christmas, helped organize blood drives that gave patients another chance at life, volunteered throughout my community, and created an inclusive runway fashion show where children of all abilities could feel celebrated and confident. One blood drive became especially meaningful when I learned it would help a child who depended on blood transfusions. Suddenly, every donor represented another chance for that child to keep fighting. It reminded me that even one person can become part of something much bigger than themselves. My passion for serving others eventually led me to create a video showcasing my community work. I never expected it to reach beyond Stockton, but it opened the door to an opportunity to travel to Washington, D.C., where I joined other young leaders committed to making a difference. Standing there, I realized something important: meaningful change doesn’t begin with recognition. It begins with choosing to care, even when no one is watching. These experiences have shaped the person I am today and the teacher I hope to become. I want to inspire future students to believe that service is not reserved for adults or people with wealth. Young people have the power to change lives, too. Receiving this scholarship would allow me to continue my education and expand the work I have already begun. I don’t measure success by awards or titles. I measure it by the smiles I see, the lives I touch, and the communities I help strengthen. Because at the end of the day, the greatest achievement isn’t what I’ve accomplished. It’s knowing someone else’s life is a little brighter because I showed up.

The teacher who left the door open Every lunch period, I found myself walking into Dr. Brian Bobbitt’s classroom. During that time in high school, I didn’t really have friends, and lunch was often the loneliest part of my day. While everyone else gathered with their friend groups, I usually found myself alone. Instead of wandering the hallways, Dr. Bobbitt always welcomed me into his classroom. Sometimes we talked about food, traveling, or life. Other days, we just appreciated the silence. I would quietly work on homework while he graded papers at his desk, and somehow, that silence was comforting. I didn’t need someone to entertain me. I just needed a place where I felt safe. Dr. Bobbitt gave me that place. Growing up in Stockton, I know many people only hear about crime, poverty, and violence. They don’t often hear about the teachers who choose to stay and dedicate their lives to students who need someone to believe in them. Dr. Bobbitt was one of those teachers. What inspired me most wasn’t only that he taught Spanish. It was that he had earned a doctorate and still chose to teach at a public high school. Before meeting him, I assumed people with doctorates became college professors. Dr. Bobbitt changed that perspective. He showed me that the highest level of education doesn’t have to take you away from your community. Sometimes, it brings you exactly where you’re needed most. During my junior year, I walked into his classroom excited to tell him that I had signed up for the most challenging Spanish class, DP Spanish 4, because I wanted him as my teacher. He laughed and smiled. “You don’t even know my curriculum yet, Yasmin,” he said. “But you should absolutely take it. Challenge yourself. You’re good at Spanish.” Those words meant more than he probably realized. He believed in me before I fully believed in myself. Just two weeks later, I learned that Dr. Bobbitt had unexpectedly passed away in the school parking lot. I never got to sit in his classroom as his student again. For a long time, that hurt. But over time, I realized something important. I had already learned one of the greatest lessons he could have taught me. A teacher’s greatest impact isn’t measured by the lessons written on the board. It’s measured by the students who leave feeling seen. Because of Dr. Bobbitt, I now dream of earning my doctorate and returning to a classroom, just as he did. I want students especially those who feel alone to know there is always a place for them. I hope my classroom becomes the kind of room where students feel comfortable asking questions, challenging themselves, or simply sitting quietly during lunch because they know they are welcome. After his death, I advocated to school principals in please allowing me to create a special memorial in his classroom. It happened and was a beautiful event. Dr. Bobbitt probably never realized how much those quiet lunch periods meant to me. But because of him, I know exactly the kind of teacher I hope to become.

The Airplane French Fry I still remember standing outside a McDonald’s as a little girl, 6 years old, watching a father pretend a French fry was an airplane as he fed his daughter. She laughed, and he laughed with her. I couldn’t stop watching. I wasn’t jealous of the Happy Meal. I was jealous that she had her dad. At that age, I didn’t understand why my family looked different from everyone else’s. I just knew I wished someone would laugh with me the way he laughed with his daughter. That small moment stayed with me long after we left the restaurant because it represented something I quietly hoped for but didn’t have. Growing up in a single-parent household shaped me long before I understood how much it would influence my future. My father was in and out of jail, and my mom made the difficult decision to raise me on her own. Watching her carry the weight of our family taught me resilience, even when life felt uncertain. There were moments when I searched for validation because I wanted to fill the space left behind, but as I’ve grown, I’ve realized that true fulfillment doesn’t come from being noticed, it comes from making a difference. That lesson inspired me to serve others. Throughout high school, I organized toy drives so children could experience the joy of Christmas, organized community blood drives that could save lives, volunteered with local organizations, and created an inclusive runway fashion show where children of all abilities could feel celebrated and confident. Every opportunity to serve reminded me that kindness has the power to change someone’s day, and sometimes even their future. These experiences are why I want to become a teacher. I don’t see teaching as simply standing in front of a classroom. I see it as creating a place where every child feels safe, valued, and capable, just as my own teachers made me feel. I hope to inspire my students not only through education but also through service by organizing community projects, volunteer opportunities, and events that teach young people the importance of giving back. Receiving this scholarship would help me continue my education and earn the degree that will allow me to expand my impact. My goal has never been to change the whole world alone. My goal is to change one classroom, one student, and one community at a time. My mission is to bring people together through service and community impact. The little girl looking through that McDonald’s window wished she had someone to look up to. Today, I hope to become that person for someone else.

The Teacher I´m Becoming When I was little, I thought superheroes wore capes. Then I started school. I realized superheroes carry dry-erase markers, lesson plans, and granola bars for students who forgot breakfast. They stand at the classroom door every morning with a smile, even when they have struggles of their own. That is what a superhero looks like. As a child, school became more than a place where I learned to read and write. Some days I walked into class carrying worries that no child should have to carry. But my teachers always made those worries feel a little lighter. They planned exciting activities that made learning fun, celebrated my successes no matter how small, and reminded me that I was capable of more than I believed. I always cared what my teachers thought of me because I admired them so deeply. They made me feel seen, safe, and important. Looking back, I realize they weren’t just teaching lessons. They were changing lives. One teacher, in particular, showed me just how powerful education could be. My history teacher never simply read from a textbook. She projected her voice with confidence and passion until every lesson felt alive. History wasn’t just something to memorize. It became a story that pulled me in. I have always struggled to stay focused, yet in her classroom, I never wanted to look away, not once. She taught me something far greater than history. She showed me that a great teacher doesn’t just teach a subject. A great teacher builds confidence, sparks curiosity, and helps students discover strengths they never knew they had. That experience changed the way I saw my future. I began looking for ways to become the kind of person my teachers had been for me. I organized toy drives so children could experience the joy of Christmas. I organize a community blood drive because I learned that even small acts of service can save lives. I created an inclusive runway fashion show where boys, girls, and children with disabilities could all walk the stage together because every child deserves to feel confident, celebrated, and included. I also tutor students because I know what it feels like when someone believes in you before you believe in yourself. Each of those experiences taught me the same lesson my teachers taught me years ago: People thrive when someone makes them feel like they belong. That is why I want to become a teacher. Not because it is a job, but because it is an opportunity to give children what my teachers gave me. I want to create a classroom where students feel excited to learn, where they know they are valued, and where they never have to question whether someone believes in them. I don’t expect every student to remember every lesson I teach. I hope they remember how they felt in my classroom. Safe. Seen. Capable. Loved. As someone who grew up in Stockton, I want to give back to communities like my own. I want every child who walks into my classroom to know that their dreams matter, their voice matters, and that they are capable of achieving more than they ever imagined. The teachers who changed my life never wore capes. They simply showed up. Now, I hope to spend my life doing the same. My name is Yasmin Esquer, a senior at Franklin High School, and becoming that kind of teacher would be the greatest privilege of my life. Scholarships will help me so much on this journey as a student in financial need. Thank you.

To the Ones Who Stay: For Fred Rabasca :) - IN MEMORY <3 I remember what it felt like being a child who needed an adult. Not just any adult. A good one. A safe one. Someone who looked at me and saw more than a student. Someone who saw a kid carrying things no kid should have to carry. I remember the weight of it. The confusion. The quiet wish that someone, anyone, would notice. I also know that I am not the only one. So many children walk into classrooms every day with heavy hearts. They come from homes where love is scarce, where voices are loud, where parents are absent or fighting or leaving. They come hungry for more than food. They come hungry for kindness. For stability. For someone to believe in them when they don´t know how to believe in themselves. I have felt that hunger. I lived it. So, that is why I am pursuing a career in education. I want to be the adult I needed. The one who sees. The one who stays. The one who makes a child feel like they matter. Not because of their grades, but because of who they are. I know that a single kind word, a patient moment, a teacher who genuinely cares, can change the entire direction of a young life. Children are the most vulnerable among us. They have no control over the world they are born into. They cannot choose their parents, their home, or their pain. What they can choose is what they become. If someone gives them love and support to get there, they can do anything! I want to be that someone. I am kind. I am respectful. I am loving. These are not just traits I claim; they are the way I move through the world. I love children. I love watching them learn, grow, and discover their own strength. I read every day to fill my mind with knowledge to give out and be better. I give back through organizing community blood drives and service because I believe in showing up. I have done several statewide toy drives and donated them to hospitals and shelters for children. Education is so important to me. I am entering my senior year in high school. I plan to go to university and get my degree in education. I am still young, but feel sure enough to say that teaching is not just a career for me, nor is giving back. It is my answer to the child I used to be. It is my way of saying: ¨I see you. I care for you. I am here. ¨