I still remember how the Polynesian sticks made a unique sound when they hit the floor in my third-grade classroom. It wasn't just a game; it was the moment I realized that learning didn't have to be boring; it could be fun. These creative sparks were a big part of my education from first to fourth grade. Every day, I looked forward to school because I had to memorize the water cycle through a rap song or make things that felt like play. Now that I'm getting my degree in Elementary Education at the University of Portland, I want to give the next generation the same "creative freedom" that I had. I am especially interested in teaching young children, from birth to age eight. This is a very important time when a child's attitude toward "difficulty" is shaped. I think that a lot of students, especially those who have trouble with language or learning disabilities, just need a different way to get into hard subjects. I want to make learning less scary. A math problem or an architectural idea might scare a seven-year-old, but a Lego set or a game like Roblox is an invitation. I want to use play to teach these "advanced" ideas in my future classroom. Students can learn about budgeting, social systems, and design without even realizing they are "studying" when they play games like Bloxburg or Adopt Me. When a child learns how to do something hard in a game or builds something amazing with blocks, they become "smart." They start to think of themselves as smart and capable, which gives them the courage to do their homework without fear. I want my students to feel like the smart kids who don't have to ask for help because they know how to do things on their own. I live and study in Portland, and I've seen how friendly and talkative the kids here are. I think their energy is interesting, and I want to use it by putting my students into small groups of two to five. This social connection lets me learn in the same way I loved as a child: through rhythm and interaction. It makes a space where students can teach each other and make friends by doing things together, like reading, coloring, and memorizing things in ways that feel more like a group activity than a lecture. As a student at the University of Portland, I am learning a lot about the balance between behaviorism and constructivism. I think that good teaching is based on feelings and ideas. Sometimes a student needs the structure and positive reinforcement of behaviorism, like a pizza party, a dance-off, or a "electronics day" to celebrate reaching a goal. Sometimes they need the freedom of constructivism to figure out how the world works for themselves. In ten years, I want to be the teacher whose classroom is remembered for its "rhythm." This scholarship is a very important step toward reaching that goal. It will help me focus on becoming the creative, flexible teacher that every child deserves. I want to make sure that no child feels left out. I want them to feel the same "instant love" for learning that I did when I learned about science through a rap and a pair of Polynesian sticks.

I am passionate about understanding and advocating for mental health. My journey through high school, while academically enriching, was also a period where I confronted significant personal challenges with my mental well-being. It was a time when I often felt a profound lack of support, which deeply impacted my confidence and left me struggling to navigate my emotions. This scholarship, with its focus on supporting students passionate about mental health, resonates deeply with my experience and aspirations. During my high school years, I learned firsthand the critical importance of mental health support and the pervasive nature of its stigma. There were moments when I felt isolated, grappling with anxieties and self-doubt, and the absence of readily accessible or visible support structures made these struggles feel even more overwhelming. This difficult period, however, became an unexpected teacher. It illuminated the vital need for self-advocacy – the courage to acknowledge my feelings and actively seek help, even when it felt daunting. I learned that true strength lies not in suppressing vulnerability, but in embracing it as a pathway to understanding and growth. Furthermore, I recognized that a supportive community, one that fosters open conversations and empathy, is indispensable for individual and collective well-being. Moving forward into my college years, I am committed to applying these hard-won lessons in both my personal life and within the broader campus community. Personally, I intend to proactively cultivate a robust support network, whether through campus counseling services, student organizations focused on well-being, or by fostering genuine connections with peers and mentors. I will continue to practice self-compassion and resilience, steadily building the confidence that I often felt was lacking. Beyond my personal journey, I am committed to fostering a culture of mental health awareness and destigmatization. I plan to engage with student mental health initiatives, perhaps by joining advocacy groups or volunteering for programs that promote emotional literacy and support. My goal is to be a voice for those who feel unheard, to help create spaces where students feel safe to share their experiences, and to champion the idea that seeking help is a sign of strength, not weakness. Through my chosen field of study, which I believe will further my understanding of human behavior and well-being, I aspire to be part of the solution, ensuring that no student feels as unsupported as I once did. Ultimately, I believe that my experiences have equipped me with a unique perspective and a deep sense of purpose. The challenges I faced in high school have transformed into a driving force for positive change, motivating me to pursue not only my own healing and growth but also to contribute meaningfully to the mental health landscape in higher education. I envision a future where mental health resources are not just available but actively promoted, where conversations about emotional well-being are normalized, and where every student knows they have access to the support they need. By combining my personal insights with academic knowledge and community engagement, I hope to help build environments where vulnerability is met with compassion, where struggles are acknowledged without judgment, and where the pursuit of mental wellness is recognized as an integral part of the educational journey. This scholarship would not only support my academic pursuits but also empower me to amplify my impact, allowing me to dedicate more time and energy to advocacy work and to developing the skills necessary to create lasting, systemic change in how we approach student mental health.

My experience with mental health has shaped the way I view myself, my relationships, and my dreams for the future. Growing up on the island of Guam, I was surrounded by close family connections, community, and culture. Family has always meant everything to me, so moving far away to attend the University of Portland was both exciting and emotionally challenging. Being away from home for the first time made me realize how deeply mental health is tied to the feeling of belonging and connection Since starting college, I’ve struggled with moments of loneliness, anxiety, and self-doubt. Sometimes, school feels overwhelming, and I worry about disappointing my family. Because of the time difference and distance, it’s hard to reach them when I need comfort or advice. There are nights when I overthink — wondering if I’m doing enough or if they’d be proud of me. I’ve had to learn how to balance my mental health while still staying focused on my academic and personal goals. Through these challenges, I’ve learned to become more independent and patient with myself. I realized that asking for help doesn’t make me weak — it means I care enough about myself to keep going. I’ve started to reach out to classmates, friends, and university counselors more often. Opening up about what I feel has helped me release the pressure I carry inside. It’s not always easy, but each time I speak up, I grow a little stronger. Mental health has also taught me to see others with more compassion. I now understand that everyone is fighting their own silent battles. That awareness has changed how I approach relationships. I try to listen more, check in with others, and remind them that it’s okay to not have everything figured out. My experiences made me want to create safe spaces for others to feel seen — whether that’s through friendship, community work, or my future career. Because of everything I’ve gone through, I’ve found a deep interest in working with children and helping them build emotional resilience from a young age. My dream is to become an early childhood educator. I want to guide students not just academically, but emotionally — helping them understand their feelings, communicate openly, and find confidence in who they are. I believe that emotional well-being is the foundation for all learning, and I want to be the kind of teacher who nurtures both heart and mind. Mental health is not a weakness — it’s a journey of understanding yourself. I’ve learned that it’s okay to struggle and still keep moving forward. The days when I felt lost have become reminders of how far I’ve come. I’ve learned to celebrate small victories — like completing an assignment on time, calling home just to hear my mom’s voice, or finding peace in quiet moments. These may seem small, but they remind me that I am capable, growing, and worthy of being here. Receiving the Mikey Taylor Memorial Scholarship would not only help me continue my education but also honor the importance of mental health awareness that this scholarship represents. It would give me the chance to focus more on building my future and less on financial stress. More importantly, it would remind me that my story — with all its ups and downs — has meaning. My experience with mental health has shaped me into someone who believes in empathy, courage, and hope. I may still have moments of doubt, but I now carry the strength to face them — not alone, but with the lessons I’ve learned and the dreams that keep me moving.

Being a first-generation college student means more than being the first in my family to attend a university— it means carrying the hopes, sacrifices, and dreams of those who came before me. Growing up on the island of Guam, I learned the value of community, faith, and perseverance. My parents worked hard to give me opportunities they never had, and I promised myself that I would honor their efforts by turning those opportunities into a future filled with purpose. Transitioning from Guam to the University of Portland has been both exciting and challenging. As a first-generation student, I’ve had to navigate everything from financial aid forms to understanding college systems on my own. There were moments when I felt unsure or even out of place, but I learned to lean on my faith, reach out for help, and remind myself why I started this journey—to build a better life not only for myself but also for my family and future students. One of my biggest challenges was balancing homesickness with the pressure to succeed. Leaving the warmth of my island and stepping into an unfamiliar city taught me independence and resilience. I faced moments of self-doubt, but each time I overcame them, I became stronger and more confident. I’ve learned to turn every obstacle into motivation—to study harder, dream bigger, and stay grounded in gratitude. My dream is to pursue a career in early childhood education, where I can inspire young learners the same way my teachers once inspired me. I want to be a role model for children who might feel unseen or uncertain of their potential, especially those from underrepresented communities. Education has the power to break cycles, and I want to be part of that change. This scholarship would not only help me financially but would also be a reminder that my efforts matter—that being the first in my family to do this is something worth celebrating. It would allow me to focus more on my studies, participate in service opportunities, and continue striving toward my goals without the constant worry of financial strain. More importantly, it would affirm the belief that determination and heart can carry you far, no matter where you begin. Being a first-generation student means leading with courage, love, and hope. And with this scholarship, I would continue walking that path—grateful for where I came from, and determined to reach where I’m meant to be.

One of the most meaningful challenges I have faced was learning how to bridge the gap between the way I was taught in high school and the expectations I encountered in college. In high school, I often enjoyed my classes and especially valued the friendships I built, yet the way many subjects were taught sometimes left me unsure of the reasoning behind answers. We focused on reaching the correct solution, but not always on the process that made it right. When I entered college, I discovered that success depended on more than memorizing formulas or following steps; I needed to understand why each solution worked and how to explain it clearly. That shift was difficult at first. I had to retrain myself to ask deeper questions, stay patient when I didn’t understand something immediately, and take ownership of my learning. Through that experience, I learned resilience and the importance of meaningful understanding. I realized that education is not just about results; it’s about discovery, reasoning, and connection. Struggling through those early semesters helped me develop empathy for students who feel lost when material is presented too quickly or without context. It also taught me the value of breaking ideas into smaller, clear steps and giving learners time to see how pieces fit together. Those lessons will guide me in my classroom: I want to be the kind of teacher who explains not just what the answer is, but why it makes sense, and who celebrates progress in both comprehension and confidence. Another lesson I carry forward is the power of encouragement. During moments when I doubted myself in college, professors and peers who offered guidance and patience made all the difference. Their willingness to explain concepts in new ways showed me how a teacher’s support can help a student push through frustration instead of giving up. I want to provide that same encouragement for my future students. Whether they are tackling complex equations, writing essays, or navigating personal challenges, I hope they will know that I see their effort and believe in their ability to grow. What drives me to become a high school teacher is the desire to create a learning space where students feel both challenged and understood. Adolescence is a time when young people are forming identities, discovering talents, and deciding how much they believe in themselves. A supportive teacher can help them see that their ideas have value and that learning is an opportunity to strengthen their voice. I want to design lessons that invite students to explore how and why — not just copy answers from a board — so that they leave class with lasting skills and curiosity. I am also motivated by the chance to make a difference in the everyday lives of teenagers. I remember how much it meant to me when teachers took the time to listen, explained material step-by-step, or encouraged me to keep trying. Those gestures shaped my confidence and my willingness to take risks in learning. As an educator, I hope to offer that same steady support, helping students find clarity in difficult subjects and resilience in themselves. Looking back, the hardship of adjusting to a new way of learning became a turning point in my growth. It taught me to value understanding over shortcuts, to seek help when I need it, and to be patient with myself. Those are the same qualities I want to nurture in my future classroom. By guiding students to see the “why” behind what they learn — and by showing them that they are capable of mastering it.

I am passionate about becoming a special education teacher because I believe every child deserves to discover their own strength, voice, and sense of belonging. Working with students who learn in different ways calls for patience, creativity, and advocacy — qualities that challenge me to grow and, more importantly, allow me to help students see the value in themselves. I want to be the kind of educator who helps young people recognize that their abilities are not defined by limitations but by the courage they show in learning and living each day. Harold Bloom’s words — “the purpose of teaching is to bring the student to his or her sense of his or her own presence” — speak to the heart of this calling. To me, “a sense of one’s own presence” means awareness of one’s worth and potential. It is the moment when a learner feels: I exist, I matter, and I can make a difference. For students with special needs, that realization can sometimes be hidden behind social barriers, low expectations, or frustration with tasks that come easily to others. Guiding them to experience their presence is not just about teaching academics; it’s about helping them see that they are capable, valued members of their communities. My mission in the classroom is to create an environment where each student feels safe, seen, and challenged at a level that matches their strengths. I plan to use individualized strategies — multisensory lessons, clear routines, positive behavior supports, and consistent encouragement — to help students build confidence. I will celebrate progress in all forms, whether it is a solved math problem, a new word spoken aloud, or a moment of kindness toward a peer. Collaboration with families and specialists will also be essential, because a sense of presence grows stronger when children know that everyone around them believes in their potential. Beyond skills and strategies, I want to model resilience and empathy. I will remind students that mistakes are part of growth, and that persistence often matters more than perfection. By sharing stories, art, and music that honor difference and determination, I hope to widen their understanding of what success can look like. My goal is for every learner to leave my classroom not only knowing more, but believing in themselves a little more deeply. To picture this mission in a fairy tale: once upon a time, there was a young teacher-in-training who set out to find a hidden garden said to contain “seeds of presence.” These seeds could help children see their own light. Along the way, she met travelers who doubted the garden existed and storms that tried to turn her back. But she remembered the children waiting for her, so she kept walking. At last, she found the garden — not a single place, but many small seeds scattered everywhere: in a student’s laughter, in a brave attempt to read aloud, in the quiet focus of tying a shoelace. She learned that her role was not to give the seeds, but to water them with patience, guidance, and hope, so they could bloom inside each child. That is how I see special education: as tending the gardens of presence inside young people who deserve to know how brightly they can shine. Helping students discover their own presence means equipping them with knowledge, self-respect, and the belief that they have something meaningful to contribute to the world. It is a privilege and a purpose I am excited to pursue with dedication and heart.

If I could design a class that every student from kindergarten through twelfth grade would be required to take, it would be “Life Skills and Emotional Intelligence.” The goal of the course would be to help students understand themselves, communicate well with others, and navigate real-world challenges with confidence and kindness. It would combine lessons on emotional awareness, problem-solving, healthy relationships, practical skills, and community responsibility — all taught in a way that grows with students as they move from childhood into adolescence and adulthood. One reason I would choose this topic is that school often focuses mainly on academic subjects, while the skills people need to live fulfilling, balanced lives can be overlooked. A class like this would teach students how to manage emotions, resolve conflicts peacefully, and understand different perspectives. Younger children could learn about naming feelings, practicing empathy, and using teamwork in play. Middle school students might explore self-esteem, decision-making, and communication. High school students could focus on stress management, healthy boundaries, financial basics, civic engagement, and planning for the future. By weaving these lessons into each grade level, students would build a toolkit for personal and social growth that lasts long after graduation. The course would also give space for cultural awareness and respect. Students could learn about the traditions and values of their own communities while discovering the diversity of others. This would prepare them to connect with people from different backgrounds and to value inclusion in workplaces, neighborhoods, and beyond. For places like Guam, where respect for elders, family, and heritage is deeply important, this aspect of the curriculum could strengthen pride in identity while encouraging openness to new ideas. I believe this class could have a major impact on school environments. When students feel understood and capable of handling challenges, classrooms become calmer and more supportive. Teachers could spend more time guiding curiosity instead of constantly managing conflicts. Peer relationships would improve, bullying could decline, and young people would learn to lift each other up rather than compete in unhealthy ways. The focus on empathy and collaboration would encourage leadership rooted in respect, not intimidation. Beyond the walls of a classroom, the benefits could ripple outward. Students who have practiced emotional intelligence and life skills are more likely to become thoughtful citizens, good neighbors, and supportive friends. They might approach disagreements with patience, handle stress without hurting others, and make responsible decisions about finances, health, and community service. Over time, workplaces, families, and entire communities could be strengthened by people who know how to balance ambition with compassion. Personally, I think a course like this would have helped me at different stages of growing up — learning to express feelings instead of bottling them, or understanding how to respond when friends were struggling. It would have made those lessons more accessible to everyone, not just to students who were lucky enough to find a great mentor or counselor. Every child deserves to learn that they have value, that they can shape their futures, and that they have the tools to contribute positively to others’ lives. Education is not just about what we know; it’s about who we become. By teaching emotional intelligence, practical knowledge, and community-mindedness, a “Life Skills and Emotional Intelligence” class could empower students to thrive in every area of life. I believe it would produce a generation of resilient, empathetic, and capable individuals — people ready to build stronger families, workplaces, and societies. That’s the kind of impact I would love to see in the world.

From a young age I’ve been drawn to helping children grow, learn, and feel supported. As I started thinking seriously about my career, I realized how much early childhood development shapes the foundation for a person’s future. The more I learned about the challenges that families and educators face — especially in places like Guam, where many households have limited income and resources — the more I wanted to dedicate myself to being part of the solution. I want to help make sure that every child, no matter their background, has the chance to build confidence, curiosity, and a love of learning from the very beginning. My main goal is to support early childhood development by working directly with children and by strengthening the systems that care for them. I hope to design classroom environments where children feel safe to explore and express themselves, while also helping parents and teachers understand how to guide behavior in positive ways. I want to study how young children develop social and emotional skills, and how simple routines — like play, stories, and consistent encouragement — can build resilience and empathy. Over time, I’d like to create programs that make these tools accessible for schools and families, even in communities with fewer financial resources. Another important part of my plan is to learn from the people who are already making a difference. I hope to collaborate with educators, social workers, and health professionals to understand how cultural values and family traditions influence how children are raised. On Guam, for example, there’s a strong sense of respect for elders and community. I believe that by weaving those traditions into lessons about kindness, communication, and responsibility, we can make teaching more meaningful for children while honoring their heritage. Studying the “mindset” behind how adults treat children — the expectations, encouragement, and discipline they use — will help me see how to guide positive change without dismissing what families already treasure. Choosing this field wasn’t just about academics; it also came from moments in my own life. I’ve seen how much of a difference patient, supportive adults can make in a child’s confidence. Teachers who took the time to listen, relatives who celebrated small victories, even neighbors who offered advice — all of them showed me that guiding children is really about building relationships. Those experiences helped me see that education is most powerful when it comes from people who believe in a child’s potential. I want to be one of those people. In the future, I envision working as an early childhood educator or specialist, designing programs that bring together research and compassion. I hope to advocate for better funding and training so that educators in Guam, and in similar communities, have the tools they need. I also want to mentor new teachers, helping them find ways to encourage curiosity and self-control in their students. Ultimately, I want my work to help children grow into adults who feel capable, kind, and ready to contribute to the world around them. Early childhood development is about much more than lesson plans — it’s about giving children a sense of belonging and the confidence to explore their abilities. By studying how young minds grow and how family and community environments affect that growth, I hope to create opportunities for every child to thrive. Supporting the youngest members of our society means supporting the future itself, and that’s a mission I’m proud to dedicate my career to.

Taylor Swift has been part of the soundtrack of my life for as long as I can remember. I grew up hearing her music, and there was something comforting about how her songs could fit so many different moods — from the excitement of first crushes to the quiet moments when you just need a song to keep you company. Over the years, she’s shown that an artist can grow alongside their listeners, exploring new styles and stories without losing the sincerity that first drew people in. One performance that has stayed with me the most is her solo piano version of “Soon You’ll Get Better” during the One World: Together at Home concert in 2020. The setting was simple: just Taylor and a piano, no big production or flashing lights. That quiet made the song even more powerful. It’s a deeply personal piece about illness and hope, and you could hear in her voice how much it meant to her. There were small pauses, little tremors, and moments where the emotion almost took over — and that honesty made the song feel alive in a way that only happens when an artist is willing to let the world see their heart. Hearing that performance reminded me of conversations with my high school math teacher, who is one of Taylor’s biggest fans. She told us stories about traveling to see Taylor’s shows, how the atmosphere at a concert felt like a shared celebration between the artist and the fans. I loved seeing how much joy music could bring to someone’s life — it wasn’t just about catchy tunes, it was about connection, belonging, and finding pieces of yourself in someone else’s art. My teacher’s excitement made me realize that music isn’t only personal; it’s also something we share, and that makes its impact even bigger. That sense of connection is what Taylor seems to understand so well. She doesn’t just perform songs; she builds bridges between her experiences and ours. Whether she’s telling a story about heartbreak, friendship, or self-discovery, she creates space for listeners to see their own lives reflected back. Watching her sing “Soon You’ll Get Better,” I felt like she was offering strength to anyone who’s ever sat in a hospital room or worried over someone they love. It was a reminder that music can be a form of empathy — a way to stand beside someone in their pain and also point toward hope. Thinking about that performance also makes me look forward to someday experiencing one of her concerts myself. My teacher described the energy in the room as electric yet tender, like everyone was rooting for one another just by being there. I imagine standing in a crowd, hearing the first notes of a song I’ve known since childhood, and feeling that wave of connection she inspires. That thought makes me excited not only about the music but about the memories and friendships that come with sharing it. Taylor Swift’s career is filled with moments that show why people hold her work so close, but that single piano performance stands out because of how unguarded it was. It showed me that sometimes the most moving art doesn’t need grand gestures; it just needs truth. And as someone who’s been listening since I was a kid — and who’s seen how her music can light up someone else’s life, like it did for my teacher — I know that one day, when I finally get to see her live, it will feel like stepping into a story I’ve been part of all along.

I’ve been a fan of Sabrina Carpenter for as long as I can remember. The very first time I saw her was on Disney Channel, and even then she stood out because of how naturally she fit into every scene. There was something about the way she carried herself — bright, curious, and always ready to make people laugh — that made me want to see more of what she could do. When she began to sing on the show, I was amazed by how genuine her voice sounded. It wasn’t just a character performing a song; it felt like she was letting a real part of herself shine through. That moment made me want to keep following her journey, because I could sense that music would become an important part of who she was. As Sabrina’s career grew beyond Disney, I loved seeing how she stepped into her own space as an artist. Her early singles were fun and catchy, but over time her writing became sharper and more personal. Songs like Skin and Because I Liked a Boy showed that she wasn’t afraid to speak honestly about complicated feelings, while tracks such as Nonsense revealed her playful and fearless side. Watching that evolution taught me something about growth: you don’t have to stay in one lane or one image just because that’s how people first met you. Sabrina showed that you can honor where you came from and still keep reinventing yourself. Her music has also had a big impact on how I see creativity. Whenever I listen to her albums, I notice how she blends humor, vulnerability, and confidence in a way that feels effortless. It makes me want to be braver about expressing myself, whether that’s through writing, art, or even how I share my thoughts with friends. She has this rare ability to make listeners feel like they’re part of the story — like she’s talking directly to you, letting you know that the ups and downs you’re going through are valid and even worth celebrating. Another thing I admire about Sabrina is the way she handles challenges in the public eye. From growing up on a kids’ network to performing on huge stages around the world, she’s had to navigate criticism and expectations while staying true to her personality. She often uses humor to respond to tough situations, but there’s also a quiet strength in the way she keeps moving forward. That balance between resilience and lightheartedness encourages me to stay positive and keep working toward my own goals, even when obstacles show up. Overall, Sabrina Carpenter’s career has been more than entertainment for me — it’s been an ongoing reminder that passion and persistence can open doors you might not have imagined at first. Seeing her go from a talented teenager on TV to a confident songwriter filling arenas makes me believe that creativity is worth investing in, no matter how uncertain things seem at the start. She proves that you can keep learning, experimenting, and expanding your world while still staying grounded in who you are. That’s why I’ll always appreciate not just her music, but the example she sets for anyone trying to build a life around what they love.