The dream version of my future self is a kind, caring, and compassionate individual that brings light to other people’s lives.

When I was a junior in high school, my Abuela was struggling with severe health issues. She was in and out of the hospital on multiple occasions, but always pulled through. During my Thanksgiving break from school, I received the devastating news that she had passed away after her liver failed. I don't believe I've ever been the same since then. She was the matriarch of our family and the glue that held us together. Losing her was the first instance of death I had ever had to face. I couldn't understand how she was here one moment and gone the next. How was I not going to see her for Thanksgiving? When was the last time I talked to her? Or said I love you? Besides the loss of her life, she left behind my Abuelo after 20 years of marriage. 2 years later, he would pass away due to sudden heart failure. The doctors called it broken heart syndrome. In 2 years, I lost both of my maternal grandparents. It sent shockwaves through our family. No one could comprehend how to live after these incredible losses. The table always seemed empty after they were gone. My performance in school drastically plummeted and I stopped hanging out with friends. Happy music made me feel angry. I felt as though the world should have stopped now that they were gone. But the world kept turning and the sun kept rising, and I woke up every day hoping it was all a lie. I soon found my way back to education. At first, I threw myself into schoolwork in an attempt to forget my loss. As my grades improved, I found my love for learning again. It started as a distraction but quickly became something I could always rely on. My Abuela was a school teacher for 20 years before she passed away, and always emphasized how education saved her from her hard life. In a way, I felt connected to her more than ever. Every good grade I received made me feel as though she was looking down at me and smiling. I knew she was proud of me, even though she wasn't there to tell me. My Abuelo never had a formal education past the eighth grade. He was forced to drop out and work in order to support his family and started a family of his own before he could ever return to school. Because of this, he yeared for his grandchildren to go to college and pursue higher education. When I was first accepted to college, he was my loudest supporter. Although neither will be alive to see me graduate, I know they will be there with me when I walk across the graduation stage.

I am a current sophomore at Valencia College in Florida. I am pursuing my Associate's Degree in General Studies and plan to pursue a Bachelor's Degree at UCF in Education and English. My dream is to be a high school English teacher and shape the next generation through Literature. Reading and writing is my passion, and I believe I can inspire students to love doing these things as much as I do. I wasn't always the best student in high school. Although I received high grades, I struggled with mental health issues that caused me to miss many classes. As a result, I almost did not complete my senior year. It was frustrating because I knew I had the potential and the willingness to learn, but I couldn't overcome my mental illness and show my teachers the student I wanted to be. It wasn't until my high school English teacher pulled me aside and asked how he could help did I start to lean on my teachers for support. I asked for extra credit, stayed after class to ask questions, and completed all of my work. I truly believe my teacher saved my education. Without him, I would not have understood that someone saw me and was genuinely committed to ensuring my education took precedence in my life. After entering college, I appreciated the help of my high school English teacher even more. The structure and guidance he gave me allowed me to thrive in higher education. I hope that one day I can be that guide for struggling students I couldn't see around the corner and realize that education was the key to finding my passion in life. My teachers were so understanding and kind regarding my situation, and that's when I realized I wanted to become a teacher. In addition to my love of writing, I take pride in teaching others and look forward to making sure every student meets their potential. When everything else was going wrong in my life, my teachers were there to guide me not just through my coursework, but through life lessons and wisdom. Teachers are often overworked and undervalued. In addition to helping students, I wish to help the profession as a whole. Teaching is something not everyone can do. The job takes patience, commitment, and a genuine love for the subject they teach. As a whole, society needs to understand the impact teachers have on their communities. They are part of the village it takes to raise a child and should be treated as such. I can only hope I can live up to the expectations my teachers had of me.

The first time I realized I was different from the other kids was my first day in Hebrew School. I was only in 4th grade when I walked into the classroom for the first time. I was the darkest kid in the class, and the only one with thick, curly hair that wasn’t considered appropriate for school. As a Puerto Rican Jew, I had recently taken an interest in my Jewish heritage and begged my mother to enroll me in Hebrew School so I could learn to read the Torah one day. As a 10-year-old, I was already dreaming of my Bat-Mitzvah and planning the whole day. I didn’t know then the discomfort and alienation I would face in a community that was supposed to accept me. The other children whispered and pointed, wondering why I was so dark and asking me why I didn’t brush my hair before class. On top of being left out and feeling different, I was learning an entirely new language that the other students had been learning for years. I almost immediately asked my mom if I could drop out, crying that the other kids were too mean and that I didn’t belong. My mother, who also experienced life as a Puerto Rican Jewish women, attempted to convince me that she understood what I was going through and that I couldn’t control what they said, only how I reacted. As always, I listened to her words and walked into class with a newfound sense of self. It took me almost the entire school year to understand that I might have been different, but that didn’t make me weird or strange. It made me unique in a way the other children couldn’t understand quite yet. I walked into school with my head held high and started throwing myself into doing the best I possibly could. If I got good grades and learned everything I was supposed to and more, no one could say I didn’t belong. I believe this experience shaped who I am and how I respond to discrimination and xenophobia in my life today. I still get odd looks when I say I’m Jewish. They often say they didn’t think I could be Puerto Rican and Jewish. I get questioned on my faith and my ethnicity, which sometimes makes me feel that I don’t fit in to one particular category. But fitting into categories is not what I was taught to do. I was taught to be my authentic self and not to let anyone stand in my way. The kids that whispered and laughed when I first walked into that classroom weren’t hateful. They were not racist or purposely excluding me. They saw something they didn’t understand and labeled it as “other”. That experience taught me to never make assumptions about people, and to always keep an open mind about people’s identities. When the world becomes an accepting place, we can all live our authentic truths and never make people feel as though they don’t belong.