Despite a packed schedule of clubs, student government, sports, and activities, I prioritize one hobby above all else: martial arts. My parents enrolled me in self-defense at a local gym when I was four years old, and I immediately loved it. For over a decade, I’ve practiced Shotokan Karate and San Lung Mui at least three times a week—even through the pandemic, when I practiced alone at home. As my classes and skills have grown more complex, I’ve come to understand that martial arts emphasize more than strength and protection; they teach lessons essential to one’s life outside the dojo. Since I practically grew up at my dojo, I’ve formed lifelong bonds with friends and rivals, learning how to balance competition with mutual admiration. I appreciate the rituals of each class: bowing when I enter the dojo to show respect to my peers and the Shihan; kneeling for a moment of silence to clear the mind of distractions right before practice begins; and reflecting on what we’ve learned at the end, bowing once again to show respect and thanks to our teacher. Through the ups and downs of my life, martial arts have been my constant, offering me pleasure and fitness while helping me maintain discipline in everyday life. These habits of single-target focus, reflection, and mindfulness have become deep-rooted values that guide my life, inspiring me to set goals and reach for them, no matter the obstacles. Wherever I go, I will always join a martial arts community.

I stood back, beaming. Here were the fruits of hours of labor: a Lego three-tower castle taller than me, with a 12-car garage full of Hot Wheels. Bouncing with excitement, I invited my parents to come see my colorful creation. Home was a place where excitement could thrive. School was another story. As a Moroccan Muslim at a primarily white, Catholic school, I was an outcast, excluded from recess and called “Ebola.” Though I moved to a more diverse school in fourth grade, I had no Muslim peers, and kids made 9/11 jokes. Eager to share my hobbies with my classmates, I prayed that they would see me beneath the surface, but my prayers went unanswered. I discovered I had a Lego-influenced talent for coding in my middle school computer class—"clicking” together blocks of code to bring my imagination to life. Making robots move or creating an animated banner on my computer captured my undivided attention, a miracle by 12-year-old boy standards! One day, a classmate peered over my shoulder, marveled at how far ahead I was, and struck up a conversation. I stumbled at first, but after a few minutes, it felt like we’d been friends for ages, and I offered to help with his code so we could continue learning together. Talking about my hobbies—not just my race and religion—breached the castle walls I’d built around myself. In 2019, I decided to build my own computer. Every day, after finishing homework, I watched TedTalks and YouTube tutorials, but I soon realized I needed to bounce ideas off another person. Terrified but determined, I reached out to a kind upperclassman, Jeryl, who was skilled in PC-building. He gave me advice about everything from the type of case that would match my desk to my specific hardware needs. When the computer was done, I was thrilled. But as proud as I felt, and as hard as I’d worked, the real miracle wasn’t this triumph of engineering—it was the social triumph of working with Jeryl. Collaboration had been the best part of the project, and I realized I didn’t have to face new challenges alone. Though Jeryl taught me many things about computers, his altruism—the many selfless hours he’d spent helping me—was the lesson I took to heart. With Jeryl’s help, I’d built a computer; now, it was time to build myself and my community. I took a leap and joined new clubs, starting with Robotics. This time, I was the first to strike up conversations, especially with students sitting alone, and I formed fast friendships. With jokes came laughter, with help came favors, and with trouble came support. Inspired by the Golden Rule, I sought out new ways to help others: tutoring friends, assisting with coaching the girls’ tennis team, and organizing Key Club beach cleanups and fundraisers for Ukraine, Puerto Rico, and Florida. If my elementary school self saw me now, he wouldn’t recognize me. From an isolated kid to the co-president of my class, I’ve worked hard to become not just a dedicated student or passionate engineer but also a true friend and leader, someone people can trust and depend on. And though I haven’t exactly solved racism and Islamophobia (yet!), I’ve slowly reclaimed pride in my religion and culture—celebrating my differences, refusing to change for others, and most importantly, promoting an environment of acceptance and kindness where everyone feels included. In college and beyond, I’ll rely on empathy, kindness, openness, and curiosity—the Lego blocks of my young adulthood—to build communities of trust and collaboration wherever I go.