I could say that my greatest skill is making art, but it’s the nostalgic feeling and pure intent that I pour into my work which I’ve practiced so many times. It started with my best friend in 9th grade. When her birthday approached, I wanted to create something special that would amplify our friendship during the time of lockdown and social distancing. I painted BT21, an animated group of characters created by BTS, her favorite K-pop band. Seeing her face brighten through her mask, I realized that art wasn’t just about me. Birthdays after birthdays pass, and I’m personalizing multiple gifts for my friends. On a water bottle, I wrote the entire discography of SEVENTEEN, a K-pop boy group for my Ate’s graduation. On a wooden plaque, I illustrated mini Marvel characters that used the SJSU logo as a playground for my Kuya entering college, combining their childhood with their present. This acquired skill only came about from my development of making art for myself to making it for others. Now I feel fulfilled by making these gifts for my friends, encapsulating their joy from seeing the art that I create. Witnessing people’s faces light up because of my art became an experience that I wanted to continue creating in college. However, the field I'm entering is the research route into biology - all because of what happened with my younger brother. For months, Eli had suffered from constant headaches and unexplainable loss of appetite. When our own doctor refused to see him, we had to find another doctor, who was the one who misdiagnosed him. They claimed his problems stemmed from “excessive screen time on his phone,” but their reasoning made no sense because screen time doesn’t just lead to immense pain all over the body. These were symptoms of brain cancer, and the only reason that we discovered it was because my mom kept pushing for a CT scan. If the doctors had not simply brushed off my mom’s concerns and overlooked his symptoms, we would’ve discovered the truth sooner. What happened to him shouldn’t be the standard, nor should it be normalized. I struggled to see my brother go through such hard times; he was in pain, and there was nothing I could do about it. When deciding what major to do, I approached studies of the brain and its diseases, including cancer, hesitantly because I didn’t want to learn about what exactly my younger brother passed away from. The progression of his disease only lasted a few months, and before I knew it – he was gone. The biological field I'm entering will help me to pursue my questions on just what happened in those 3 months of his diagnosis to his death. It happened so fast, and I used to never want to step inside a hospital again, but I’m ready. My goal is to go into the biological field to learn firsthand what happened to his body and see how his experiences could help another, whether it be in biomedical engineering, microbiology, or neurobiology. Aiming to one day go into the medical field, my experiences have shaped me into someone who will not let those mistakes happen to anyone on my way. Human lives are a serious matter, and I know that firsthand. Cancer research was originally something I thought I'd never investigate, but now it has become a topic of interest that I want to further in college.

1. “Ate, move out of the way! I’m trying to play Fortnite!” my brother, Eli, exclaimed as I tried to clean the living room; I scowled at him in annoyance. However, what seemed irritating at the time would become a moment I wished I could get back. Losing my brother to brain cancer in my freshman year could not compare to anything else I had faced. Growing up, it was always my brother and me – going to school together and playing in the park every week. In the beginning of high school, I had no heart in my activities. I had no excitement nor did I feel like I could have fun because I always thought about my brother. However, I began to remember his spirit and determination in whatever he did. Eli was always so committed, practicing nonstop throughout COVID-19, so seeing him lose the strength to even hold a basketball was difficult. Before, I felt guilty about playing field hockey after I saw him unable to play his beloved sport. This time, I was determined to change this remorseful mentality, and I decided to play for him. Inspired by his passion for his sport, I pursued my passion for field hockey. I made Varsity that year, and I even received the MVP Award and the only Branahm spot in the BVAL First-Team All-League. In 12th grade, our team won first place in our division. All of these changed how I perceived Eli’s absence; when I improve, he improves, and when I make a good play, he also makes a good play. Winning all these games, I never once forgot about the three-pointers he would make and the relieved smile he had after each shot. As the season came to a close, I realized I completed my goal: I had played for him, for his hard work, and for his passion. 2. Being born of parents who lived their entire lives in the Philippines, my biggest flaw is not being fluent in Tagalog. At the dinner table, I sit in my uncomfortable silence, listening to a foreign language. I constantly think about how I could be part of the conversation, and how I am ashamed for only speaking English. My parents reassure me of my lack of fluency since they never taught me, but I think about my Filipino-American friends chatting perfectly in Tagalog with their parents; I can’t help but feel so distant from my Filipino identity. I'm always finding myself with the desire to feel closer. I go to my room and pull up Spotify to listen to music. I notice an unfamiliar song. It is a song in Tagalog that I forgot I added. Sung by Parokya Ni Edgar and Happee Sy, ‘Pangarap Lang Kita,’ the title means ‘You’re just a dream.’ I hadn’t enjoyed Filipino music as a kid because I never knew the words, so confusion was displayed on my face. I press the play button, and I end up listening to that song for the next hour on a loop. I find more and more ways to find my Filipino self, listening to the music and the beautiful words they speak. This experience shows me the importance of assimilating ourselves into our identity, but not how we need to be well-versed in it. Even though I don't understand Tagalog, I’m proud as a Filipino-American and the uniqueness that I have. Just like how I enjoy the music from my culture, my open-mindedness allows me to grasp who I am. My lacking qualities don't stop me from improving who I can become.