A kitchen moment sparked something deep within me, which was a natural, moral awareness of food waste that has now become a part of my values. I’d spent hours mashing potatoes, grown by farmers investing sweat and time. I saw some potatoes being thrown away in the trash. They were thrown away just because people were too full to eat them. That night, as I lay in bed, I kept asking myself: Why do we waste so much food when many people do not have enough to eat? We need to understand how our choices affect others and try to make a change. That discarded food lit a fire in my chest. This is an environmental issue; it’s also where human dignity, common sense, and the survival of the planet intersect. The statistical numbers still gut me: over a third of the world’s food is wasted. Ration charity boxes to serve their lunches and dinners on their tables. As a Chinese American and first-generation college student, I was raised to believe that “waste nothing” was a virtue. Leftovers became tomorrow’s lunch, and banana peels became nutrient-rich compost. This wisdom is sustainability, and it was passed down through my culture from generation to generation long before it was labeled. Now I’m going to connect that institution beyond our kitchen to systemic change. I want to help the planet with my cooking. My goal is to be a chef who cares about nature. I want to create menus that use all parts of every ingredient, so nothing gets wasted. I will buy food from local farms because it is important to support them. I believe kitchens should take care of the soil and the environment, just like they focus on making delicious food. My biggest dream is to open a community kitchen. In this kitchen, people are invited to learn by doing. They will practice using knives while exploring how one simple ingredient connects them to their culture, their community, and the amazing world we all live in. My generation’s restless energy fuels me. We’re done waiting, done accepting “how it’s always been.” I see it in malnourished women who cannot feed their children due to empty breasts, in volunteers digging deep on urban farms, even in the compost bins that are filled with fresh apples in our school cafeteria. Fighting food waste won’t be quick or easy. It’ll take teamwork and flipping old habits that choose convenience over what’s right. But I believe in showing up and sticking together; we can build a world where no food, and absolutely no person, gets left behind.

That kitchen moment sparked something deep in me—a natural, moral awareness of food waste that’s now my values. I’d spent hours mashing real potatoes, food grown by farmers investing sweat and time. Yet I watched those same potatoes slide into the trash—just because my family was full. Laying on my bed at night, the smell of their scent on my hands made me unable to go to sleep, a relentless question came up in my mind: Why do we waste so much while there are so many people still struggling with hunger and malnutrition? Those discarded food lit a fire in my chest. This is an environmental issue, it’s also where human dignity, common sense, and planet survival intersect. The statistical numbers still gut me: over a third of the world’s food is wasted. Nearly half in the U.S. Instead of feeding mouths, it rots in landfills, filling the air with methane, which is a gas that harms our climate. Meanwhile, in my neighborhood, I saw many low-income families and working-class parents depend on ration charity boxes to serve their lunches and dinners on their tables. As a Chinese American and first-generation college student, I was raised to believe that “waste not” was a virtue. Leftovers became tomorrow’s lunch, and banana peels became nutrient-rich compost. This reckless wisdom is sustainability, and it was passed down through my culture from generation to generation long before it was labeled. Now I’m going to connect that institution beyond our kitchen into systemic change. Right now, I am volunteering with a nonprofit that rescues surplus groceries from stores right before they’d get tossed and gets them straight to people who need it. Every week, I see firsthand how grabbing that real food before it hits the dumpster feeds hungry people and changes lives. I also participate in the recycling events at my school, searching every classroom after the bell to collect bottles and cans, and encouraging students to share their uneaten food on the shared tables. Although these are small steps, they’re realistic, impactful, and they’re building towards something better. My next stop is going to college studying for environmental policy. I need the tools and knowledge to dig into the tangled roots of food waste. I know that fixing this means seeing how race, class, and simple access interact together. My plan is partnering with communities to create solutions that protect the planet and its people. I could do this by building a food rescue app or advocating for change at city hall, which all achieve the same goal: fight waste, protect our soil and air, and make sure everyone’s voice is heard in policymaking about food justice. My generation’s restless energy fuels me. We’re done waiting, done accepting "how it’s always been." I see it in malnutrition women who can not feed their children due to empty breast, in volunteers digging deep on urban farms, even in the compost bins that are filled with fresh apples in our school cafeteria. Fighting food waste won’t be quick or easy. It’ll take teamwork and flipping old habits that choose convenience over what’s right. But I believe in showing up, thinking fresh, and sticking together, we can build a world where no food, and absolutely no person gets left behind.

Real talk, being Gen Z is wild. My phone’s basically glued to my hand, checking message every few minutes, while drowning in group chats with 40+ unread school email messages, and trying to keep it real on BeReal. But here’s the thing: I’m not just living online. I’m figuring out how to mash up my digital world with who I really am offline. Take my obsession with traditional Chinese culture. Seriously, seeing Han Chinese Clothing and Chinese trends explode on Bilibili and Tik Tok, it hit different. Last year, I went full send at a Chinese festival, putting on that traditional outfit, feeling the silk, it wasn’t just a photoshoot. It felt like connecting with something deep. And yes, I posted it all online, wanted my feed to scream: "This heritage? It’s fire." But let’s be honest, being online 24/7 can wreck you. The pressure to look perfect, the endless doomscrolling about politicle/gossip news and how expensive everything is, I’ve been there. Last semester, I totally bombed a huge test. Why? I spent more time watching reels than studying, plus I was just... burnt toast. It sucked, but it slapped me awake. Now, I fight for my focus, app timers ON during crunch time and scheduled breaks. Balance isn’t easy, it’s a daily grind. So what makes my Gen Z flavor unique? I’m equally fluent in emoji and empathy, streaming K-pop while writing calligraphy, all without dimming my cultural spark. We’re the "anxious generation", sometimes it feels like we’re all stuck in a rat race in every industries: competing higher quality, comparing grades, grinding just to look like they're hardworking. But here’s my rebellion: I refuse to let that noise drown out who I really am offline.

Books have always been my haven and my mirror, places where I can dream and see myself more clearly. One story that stuck with me is Spirited Away. Yes, the one with the spirits and the bathhouse! Chihiro’s crazy journey, this scared kid finding her courage in a world totally upside down, hit close to home. Watching her cling to her name, her family, while everything changed... it felt familiar. Like her, I'm figuring out how to hold onto who I am while stepping into totally new worlds. Her biggest lesson for me? Real courage isn't about never being scared; it's about being scared and doing it anyway. As a bicultural kid and the daughter, "home" often feels like two places at once. Juggling my family’s traditions, language, and expectations with the buzz of American high school life, it’s a tightrope walk. Chihiro had to adapt and grow up fast in that spirit world; I kinda did too, translating bills for my parents or explaining school stuff they never experienced. Grandma taught me this: "You don’t have to choose. Be like bamboo – roots deep in the soil, bending gracefully in new winds." My passion for environmental justice? It started in her kitchen. Watching her transform scraps into nourishing meals, she’d say, "Waste nothing. Everything has a purpose." That lesson followed me to the urban farm where I interned, seeing neighbors line up for veggies because their grocery store was miles away. Grandma’s practicality became my fight: everyone deserves clean air, good soil, and real food. I remember that feeling when confidence just crumbles. In my junior year, walking out of one of my big chem exams knowing I bombed. I’d aced stuff before, this felt like falling flat on my face. But that failure became my stubborn teacher. I swallowed my sadness, camped out in my teacher’s room after school ("Can we go over problem 4... again?"), rewired how I studied (goodbye, last-minute cramming!), and clawed my way back up. The better grade felt good, sure, but the real win is that learning I could stumble, get muddy, and still get back up stronger. Grandma never went to college, not even high school, but her wisdom shaped me more than any textbook. While stirring soups, she’d share stories of surviving hardship: "Fall seven times? Stand up eight. But look, why are you falling?" She taught me to see patterns, in life, and in environmental neglect hitting our community hardest. When I doubted applying to Berkeley, her hand squeezed mine: "You carry our stories forward. That is courage." Because of her, I tutor younger kids in math, weaving her lessons into science projects, and showing how food waste harms our atmosphere. My community isn't just where I live; it's who I fight for. Sometimes you’ll find me hauling boxes at the food bank distribution, and running recycling workshops at school. It’s not glamorous, but seeing neighbors get fresh food, or kids get excited about recycling, that’s the good stuff. That final scene in Spirited Away where Chihiro walks across the bridge, changed but still herself. That’s my hope. This scholarship isn't just money; it’s a sturdy plank on my bridge to college. I want to earn that Environmental Science degree, arm myself with knowledge, and come back to build a healthier, fairer world right here. With this support, I can keep moving forward, scared maybe, but always stepping – just like Chihiro taught me.

Amber Hudson’s story stays with me. Learning that nutrition could have played a role in her battle against cancer, I wonder what if her family discovered this truth earlier. It isn’t just sad; it’s a call to action. Her legacy mirrors what I’ve witnessed firsthand: my father and grandfather both suffered debilitating gout flare-ups until dietary changes reduced their pain dramatically. Like Amber’s family, we learned that food isn’t just fuel, it’s medicine. That’s why I’m driven to become a registered dietitian. Inspired by Amber's story, I am driven by the science that what we eat profoundly shapes our risk for cancer, heart disease, and autoimmune disorders, the very illnesses Amber fought. If I receive this scholarship, here’s how I’ll help patients and families harness nutrition’s power to live longer, fuller lives. To achieve my goal of helping families, my approach begins by making science relatable and human. Research papers can be overwhelming. I’ll translate them into real-life choices through conversations, not lectures. If I am sitting with a family facing a new diabetes diagnosis, I won’t just list "avoid sugar." We’ll talk about their favorite meals. Consider swapping white rice for quinoa in their traditional dishes, finding satisfying alternatives to their favorite sugary drinks, or brainstorming easy, veggie-packed snacks for busy weeknights. It’s about bringing healthy choices into their world. I want to run a workshop at a community clinic where we chop vegetables together, quickly prepare simple meals filled with anti-inflammatory spices and vegetables, and learn how to read food labels to identify hidden sugars or unhealthy fats. Understanding and addressing barriers such as cost worries, time constraints, and cultural preferences is key to my approach. I’ll promote local farmer’s market locations and times, share tips for using frozen veggies (which are just as nutritious!), and build meal plans around budget-friendly staples like beans, lentils, and oats. I’ll teach batch-cooking healthy soups or stews on a Sunday, turning leftovers into quick lunches. Cultural foods matter as well. Healthy eating shouldn’t mean abandoning heritage. I’ll work within traditions, finding ways to boost veggies in beloved recipes, suggest healthier cooking oils for familiar dishes, or explore traditional herbs and spices with proven health benefits. No one does this alone. I will advocate for support groups, a safe space where patients and families who have been through similar experiences (such as managing arthritis pain through diet or supporting a child with Crohn’s disease) can share recipes, frustrations, and successes. This builds the community Amber’s family dreamed of promoting. While my drive comes from prevention, I am equally committed to helping those already sick by tirelessly teaching how today’s food choices shape tomorrow’s health. Honoring Amber Hudson means ensuring families know nutrition’s power before they face a crisis.