She was attending college and trying to get her degree but also working a full-time job because her family needed help paying rent. What does she do? Does she keep trying to go to college or does she unenroll and work? My mom knew the answer; she had to drop out of college. She had to help her mom with bills in one of the most expensive cities in the world. Even though she lived in a little apartment in Washington Heights, rent was still skyrocketing. Money is like an elevator, the only ways to go are either up or down. When it comes to finances, there is only one answer to the elevator situation. My mom began working and progressively started making more money, but not just for her mom, the new family she had now with my dad and me. Strong is only an underestimation to describe my mom. She is a fighter who never goes down without a showdown. She strived to make enough money for me to be able to live out the college experience she never had. Her drive made me a fighter too. Her blood is my blood and in our blood, there is determination. I was diagnosed with autism at three years old. Both of my parents were told I would not be able to go to college. However, because my mom fought a battle for me to be in a Special Education School, I continued to fight the war. I did well in school and gradually made progress socially, academically, and emotionally. I also began to put myself out into the world by participating in swimming, drawing classes, and dance classes. In middle school, I started writing, which is now one of my passions, and I even went to summer camp, although I was scared. When high school came along, I continued to work hard with school, even with the pandemic shutting schools down. I interned at the Intrepid Museum for two years and a summer and worked as a Program Aide and a camp counselor at the 92NY Camps. Throughout those years, I grew into a confident young woman, one that proved the doctors wrong. One that has my mom's strength. Now, college has become my dream. I am ready to take on what college has in store for my future and myself. I intend to major in English and I want to explore different careers that involve reading and writing because those are my two favorite hobbies. I believe the scholarship will help my college dream come true and provide me with a head start. Additionally, being a first-generation college student, I think the money will help me create a new story in my family: the story of a determined daughter with hard-working parents who was the first to attend college.

In the summer before my sophomore and junior years, I worked as a Program Aide and as a Camp Counselor to four and five-year-olds at the 92NY Camps. I even won Program Aide and Camp Counselor of the Week. I won the class election for class representative and participated as a representative in my school’s student council for two years in a row. I worked in an internship program at the Intrepid Museum for my sophomore and junior high school years. Before my freshman year, I participated in GOALS for Girls Summer Intensive virtually at the Intrepid Museum. GOALS for Girls is a six-week summer program for rising 9th and 10th-grade girls that discusses feminism while involving STEM. I even decided to work at the Intrepid in the summer and assist with the GOALS for Girls Summer Intensive. Throughout high school, I have received the opportunity to participate in my school’s Work Based Learning program at job sites such as Panera Bread, the New York Public Library and for my independent work-study, I am currently interning at my elementary school, Gillen Brewer School. My proudest achievement in community service was becoming a mentor for my campers at 92NY Camps. On my first day of becoming a camp counselor, I was worried about whether or not I would be a good counselor. I am not a social person so I was worried I would shy away from the campers. My goal was to be a mentor to my campers and have an impact on their young lives. As I got to know the campers, I began to build a strong bond with the campers. I got to know each one of them further and provided them with as much support and care as they needed. I did not believe that I was capable of such a huge responsibility. However, the campers started to give me gifts, such as drawings and bracelets. The gifts helped me realize that I did have an impact on my campers’ lives. Although I was not social, I still was able to build bonds with them and make their camp experience memorable. From this day forward, I tell myself I can be a mentor to anyone, and having that confidence in myself is my proudest achievement. I have made a positive impact on others through my determination, kindness, and dedication to always put my heart into my work.

“She will not be able to go to college,” the doctor told my parents when I was three. One sentence that broke their hearts. I had just been diagnosed with autism, a diagnosis that would change our lives forever. l As I look back on my childhood, I see a little girl who would scream at the edge of the pool at her swimming lessons because she didn’t like how the water felt on her skin. I saw a little girl who refused to eat pizza because the texture disgusted her. I felt the little girl’s frustration as she clenched her fists because she didn’t have the language to express herself. Was there any hope that this little girl could overcome the obstacles that her diagnosis would place on her path through life? The doctor didn’t think so. But my parents did. When I was five, my mother marched into the New York City School District office in Washington Heights and advocated for me to be placed in a special education school. She made history that day. “You are the first mom in this district to ask for services for her child,” the secretary said. On that day, my mother carved a path that had never been walked on before – a path where I could run. I was enrolled in Gillen Brewer, a special education school that offered services. Soon, I began expressing myself, socializing, and thriving academically. I learned how to swim and wondered how I ever hated pizza. My parents took me to museums to expand my learning outside of school. I began to love history, art, and writing as I grew older. In my sophomore year of high school, also a special education facility. I started to feel insecure about my disability and wondered how I would be treated if people at the museum knew I was different. I had spent my whole life in a special needs bubble. This would be my first venture into “the real world.” So I put on a mask—the mask of a girl who did not have autism. I wanted to be treated the way a “normal” person would be treated and thought of my autism as a curse. The mask grew stronger and I thought of myself as a phony. But I would rather be a phony than someone everyone pitied. When I began to research colleges, the mask refused to consider the services colleges offered for students with disabilities. One day, at a college fair, my mother approached Yvonne, one of the guest speakers, and told her my story. I was angry at her for shattering my secret, but Yvonne told me something I will never forget: “Your disability is nothing to be ashamed of.” When I went home, I replayed Yvonne’s words in my head. “Your disability is nothing to be ashamed of.” At that moment, I ran faster on the path my parents had paved all those years ago. Months later, I spoke to a family with an autistic son while working at an event at the Intrepid Museum.“They told us he wouldn’t go to college,” the boy’s mom said, the same sentence that had broken my parents’ hearts when I was three. I told her my story and how I managed my autism with support, dedication, and love. “He will succeed. Don’t let the doctors ruin your hope,” I told the family. Where did my mask go? I wondered. It seems to have vanished, I thought to myself. That’s okay. I don’t need it anymore.

“She will not be able to go to college,” the doctor told my parents when I was three. One sentence that broke their hearts. I had just been diagnosed with autism, a diagnosis that would change our lives forever. My parents asked the doctor if my diagnosis could change over time, but he said there was little hope that it would. As I look back on my childhood, I see a little girl who would scream at the edge of the pool at her swimming lessons because she didn’t like how the water felt on her skin. I saw a little girl who refused to eat pizza because the texture disgusted her. I felt the little girl’s frustration as she clenched her fists because she didn’t have the language to express herself. Was there any hope that this little girl could overcome the obstacles that her diagnosis would place on her path through life? The doctor didn’t think so. But my parents did. My mother marched into the New York City School District office in Washington Heights and advocated for me to be placed in a special education school. “You are the first mom in this district to ask for services for her child,” the secretary said. On that day, my mother carved a path that had never been walked on before – a path where I could run. I was enrolled in Gillen Brewer, a special education school that offered services. Soon, I began expressing myself, socializing, and thriving academically. In my sophomore year of high school, also a special education facility, I began an internship at the Intrepid Museum. I enjoyed the internship very much, but I started to feel insecure about my disability and wondered how I would be treated if people at the museum knew I was different. I had spent my whole life in a special needs bubble. This would be my first venture into “the real world.” So I put on a mask—the mask of a girl who did not have autism. I wanted to be treated the way a “normal” person would be treated and thought of my autism as a curse. The mask grew stronger and I thought of myself as a phony. But I would rather be a phony than someone everyone pitied. When I began to research colleges, the mask refused to consider the services colleges offered for students with disabilities. One day, at a college fair, my mother approached Yvonne, one of the guest speakers, and told her my story. I was angry at her for shattering my secret, but Yvonne told me something I will never forget: “Your disability is nothing to be ashamed of.” When I went home, I replayed Yvonne’s words in my head. “Your disability is nothing to be ashamed of.” Her words led me to believe that my disability was a way my story could inspire others. At that moment, I ran faster on the path my parents had paved all those years ago. Months later, I spoke to a family with an autistic son while working at an event at the Intrepid Museum.“They told us he wouldn’t go to college,” the boy’s mom said, the same sentence that had broken my parents’ hearts when I was three. I told her my story and how I managed my autism with support, dedication, and love. “He will succeed. Don’t let the doctors ruin your hope,” I told the family. Where did my mask go? I wondered. It seems to have vanished, I thought to myself. That’s okay. I don’t need it anymore.

“She will not be able to go to college,” the doctor told my parents when I was three. One sentence that broke their hearts. I had just been diagnosed with autism, a diagnosis that would change our lives forever. My parents asked the doctor if my diagnosis could change over time, but he said there was little hope that it would. As I look back on my childhood, I see a little girl who would scream at the edge of the pool at her swimming lessons because she didn’t like how the water felt on her skin. I saw a little girl who refused pizza because the texture disgusted her. I felt the little girl’s frustration as she clenched her fists because she didn’t have the language to express herself. Was there any hope that this little girl could overcome the obstacles that her diagnosis would place on her path through life? The doctor didn’t think so. But my parents did. When I was five, my mother marched into the New York City School District office in Washington Heights and advocated for me to be placed in a special education school. She made history that day. “You are the first mom in this district to ask for services for her child,” the secretary said. On that day, my mother carved a path that had never been walked on before – a path where I could run. I started to put myself out into the real world by working at summer camps and internships. I worked at an internship at the Intrepid Museum when I spoke to a family with an autistic son. “They told us he wouldn’t go to college,” the boy’s mom said, the same sentence that had broken my parents’ hearts when I was three. I told her my story and how I managed my autism with support, dedication, and love. “He will succeed. Don’t let the doctors ruin your hope,” I told the family. The interaction with the family changed my life. I realized that I could change many children’s lives with my experiences. I plan to receive my teaching degree to help children with disabilities. I want to help children in the world who do not have access to resources. I believe that I could touch many children's and families' lives by helping them attain the services they need.

When I first heard “pretty isn’t pretty” by Olivia Rodrigo, I almost cried. Never had I listened to a song that resonated with me so perfectly. I did not think my appearance was worthy of love. I believed I did not look like the picture-perfect girl, so no one would have it in them to love me. I knew I had people in my life who loved me for who I was, but I felt like they couldn’t love “all of me”. I felt that no matter where I went, I would be the ugliest one there. I have tried to fit into the mold that society calls “perfect”. I’ve bought trendy clothes, tried every makeup and hair routine, worked out dramatically to be skinny, and still feel like I’m not fitting that mold. When Olivia Rodrigo sang, “I can change up my body and change up my face / I can try every lipstick in every shade / but I always feel the same / ‘cause pretty isn’t pretty enough anyway,” there was a tightness in my chest and I was tempted to skip the song and then I heard, “You can win the battle / but you’ll never win the war / you fix the things you hated / and you’d still feel so insecure.” I wanted to skip the song because I related to it too much. Olivia’s lyrics were sinking into my skin. “And I try to ignorе it, but it's everything I see / It's on the poster on the wall / It's in like every magazine / It's in my phone, it's in my head, it's in the boys I bring to bed / It's all around, it's all the time / I don't know why I even try.” As the song continued, chills were running up my spine. Did Olivia look into my life and write a song about me? For a long time, I strived to look like what the media calls “perfect”. I always felt like I was on the outside looking in, trying to get in. In this lyric: “And I bought all the clothes that they told me to buy / I chased some dumb ideal my entire life / And none of it matters and none of it ends / You just feel like sh*t over and over again.”, I could feel a heartache rising because I try my hardest to be beautiful. Unfortunately, pretty isn’t pretty enough to me. I dream and yearn for a future where I will be secure with all of me.

Fear has consumed me into thinking I am going to spend my life alone. All of my life, I feel as if I have been both on the inside looking outside and outside looking in. I have a supportive network of family, friends, and teachers but sometimes, I am taking the long road alone. Being on the autism spectrum, it has been a challenge throughout my life to interact with others. I have attended special education schools my whole life. In a special education setting, I have felt safe. Every student had a disability so it was not like I was left out. Most of all, everyone was accepting of one another. The school felt like a place where I could belong without trying. I was a part of a community that cared about me and stopped at nothing to provide the services I needed. At home and in school, it is easy to communicate because I am comfortable in the environment and I had the opportunity to establish bonds with the people around me. However, when I attend programs outside of school, I am a statue, quiet as a mouse and rigid like a building. When I find myself talking to people I am not familiar with, I shy away and act as if I am a ghost. I worry that my disability makes me different from others because I have social problems. I do not know how to express my emotions either. I feel like I am bothering people when I speak. At programs outside of school, opening my mouth is like a life-or-death situation. Will people praise my words or will they hate me for it? I try so hard to become someone. I want to be someone who everyone in my life remembers someday. I want my future children to speak of me as if I was a Greek goddess. I want my family to the mark I made on their lives. I want people to think of me and remember the person I was. However, I feel as if someday, everything I have worked for will disappear and no one would care to talk about me. This makes me concerned about college. I have a constant feeling of nervousness because I will be alone and no one will like me if I am silent. In my special education programs, I was recognized for my disabilities, and I am afraid it will not be the same anywhere else. How can I leave a mark if I do not speak? How can I be remembered if I am nothing but a shadow? How can anyone care about me when they do not know who I am? I constantly worry that college is going to be nothing but loneliness for me and I will not be able to leave a lasting impression on those around me. However, I was inspired by my parents’ determination to get me to college and the words of a woman I met at a college fair named Yvonne: “Your disability is nothing to be ashamed of”. Their encouragement led me to believe in myself more. I became more inclined to work toward college and make it there first before worrying about what could happen when I was in college. I look back at the times I have struggled with autism and I realize how much I have grown and changed. I believe I could continue to develop from here and break out of my shell further. I have learned that people who care the most are going to want to be in my life and I have to accept that. Even if I am not a social butterfly, I know I will not be alone. Fear has consumed me that I cannot do anything, but I will not let it anymore.

She was attending college and trying to get her degree but also working a full-time job because her family needed help paying rent. What does she do? Does she keep trying to go to college or does she unenroll and work? My mom knew the answer; she had to drop out of college. She had to help her mom with bills in one of the most expensive cities in the world. Even though she lived in a little apartment in Washington Heights, rent was still skyrocketing. Money is like an elevator, the only ways to go are either up or down. When it comes to finances, there is only one answer to the elevator situation. My mom began working and progressively started making more money, but not just for her mom, the new family she had now with my dad and me. Strong is only an underestimation to describe my mom. She is a fighter who never goes down without a showdown. She strived to make enough money for me to be able to live out the college experience she never had. Her drive made me a fighter too. Her blood is my blood and in our blood, there is determination. I was diagnosed with autism at three years old. Both of my parents were told I would not be able to go to college. However, because my mom fought a battle for me to be in a Special Education School, I continued to fight the war. I did well in school and gradually made progress socially, academically, and emotionally. I also began to put myself out into the world by participating in swimming, drawing classes, and dance classes. In middle school, I started writing, which is now one of my passions, and I even went to summer camp, although I was scared. When high school came along, I continued to work hard with school, even with the pandemic shutting schools down. I interned at the Intrepid Museum for two years and a summer and worked as a Program Aide and a camp counselor at the 92NY Camps. Throughout those years, I grew into a confident young woman, one that proved the doctors wrong. One that has my mom's strength. Now, college has become my dream. I am ready to take on what college has in store for my future and myself. I intend to major in English and I want to explore different careers that involve reading and writing because those are my two favorite hobbies. I believe the scholarship will help my college dream come true and provide me with a headstart. Additionally, being a first-generation college student, I think the money will help me create a new story in my family: the story of a determined daughter with hardworking parents who was the first to attend college.