“Can you call me? I’m having a crisis.” Sitting at the dinner table, I receive an ambiguous text from my friend Max. After scarfing down the last few bites of my Greek salad, I speed over to the staircase, head into my bedroom, and throw on my headphones. Max joins the FaceTime and guiltily confesses that he has started dating our friend Evan’s ex. Despite the many thoughts and questions swirling through my mind, I stay silent, letting Max finish giving his perspective before I speak. Seeing how this stress has weighed on Max’s mind, I know to comfort him before moving forward. “The fact you’ve come to talk about this shows how much you care about Evan, and I admire your concern for how this could hurt him.” With Max visibly calmer, we begin to discuss the best way of approaching Evan about the topic. I know what you’re thinking: the ‘crisis’ at hand represents the passing problems within a high school friend group. And while this situation will likely be forgotten soon, I can’t help but worry that handling it poorly could hurt my friends. As my friend group’s de facto advice giver, I use listening skills to help ensure emotional well-being. My transition into this unofficial position came somewhat naturally. I established a habit of staying up late on FaceTime with my friends. These late-hour conversations naturally invited more personal, introspective discussions. As my friends placed more trust in my judgment, I found myself confronted with more complicated topics. When one of my most pensive friends expressed her latest feelings of existential dread, I employed the knowledge I acquired from psychology and philosophy podcasts like The Sisyphus 55 Podcast to help present alternative ways of approaching life. And when my closest friend returned from a visit to a crisis center, I gave her a space to express her thoughts, feelings, and experiences without judgment. Whether a call lasts five minutes or three hours, I leave feeling fulfilled to have helped a friend reach greater comfort in their day-to-day lives. Progressing throughout high school, I hoped to find a way to help bring said comfort to an even larger audience of people. I entered into an internship at the district office of Congressman Andy Kim, where I provided first-hand service to hundreds of individuals that I never knew personally. Throughout my time at the internship, I found myself employing the same techniques I had developed over three years within my circle of friends. Each caller to the office represented an entire life story, a request for aid and support during a time of immense hardship. I answered calls about Social Security issues, homelessness, Medicare, and even an international child abduction case. The people I spoke to felt unheard and, at times, deeply frustrated. Through each conversation, I made sure to serve as an outlet for both emotional and governmental support. I sent out resource guides and contact information for assistance groups, explained legal barriers so that each constituent could decide on plans that would best address their personal crises, and, most importantly, I provided an open ear in their government, making sure they know that their struggles aren't being ignored. I plan to pursue a career in public interest law and will advocate for the introduction of trust and care to the broader American government. By adding components of active listening and personal connections to our nation’s support systems, we can ensure that Americans no longer feel underserved and underrepresented. I will promote these improvements so that our government truly reflects the ideal of being “for the people.”

“Can you call me? I’m having a crisis.” Sitting at the dinner table, I receive a text from my friend Max. I speed over to the staircase, head into my bedroom, and throw on my headphones. Max joins my FaceTime and confesses that he has started dating our friend Evan’s ex. Despite the many thoughts and questions swirling through my mind, I stay silent, letting Max finish giving his perspective before I speak. Seeing how this stress has weighed on Max’s mind, I know to comfort him before moving forward. “The fact you’ve come to talk about this shows how much you care about Evan, and I admire your concern for how this could hurt him.” With Max visibly calmer, we begin to discuss the best way of approaching Evan about the topic. I know what you’re thinking: the ‘crisis’ at hand represents the passing problems within a high school friend group. And while this situation will likely be forgotten within a year, I can’t help but worry that handling it poorly could hurt my friends. As my friend group’s de facto advice giver, I use listening skills to help ensure emotional well-being. My transition into this position came somewhat naturally. Early on in my friendships, I established a habit of staying up late on FaceTime with my friends. These late-hour conversations naturally invited more introspective discussions. As my friends placed more trust in my judgment, I found myself confronted with deeper, more complicated topics. When one of my most pensive friends expressed her latest feelings of existential dread, I employed the knowledge I acquired from psychology and philosophy podcasts like The Sisyphus 55 Podcast to help present alternative ways of approaching life. And when my closest friend returned from a visit to a crisis center, I gave her a space to express her feelings and experiences without judgment. Whether a call lasts five minutes or three hours, I leave feeling fulfilled to have helped a friend reach greater comfort in their day-to-day lives. Progressing throughout high school, I hoped to find a way to help bring said comfort to an even larger audience of people. I entered into an internship at the district office of Congressman Andy Kim, where I provided first-hand service to hundreds of individuals that I never knew personally. Throughout my time at the internship, I found myself employing the same techniques I had developed over three years within my circle of friends. Each caller to the office represented an entire life story, a request for aid and support during a time of immense hardship. I answered calls about Social Security issues, homelessness, Medicare, and even an international child abduction case. The people I spoke to felt unheard and, at times, deeply frustrated. Through each conversation, I made sure to serve as an outlet for both emotional and governmental support. I sent out resource guides and contact information for assistance groups, explained legal barriers so that each constituent could decide on plans that would best address their personal crises, and, most importantly, I provided an open ear in their government, making sure they know that their struggles aren't being ignored. This scholarship would allow me to pursue my dream of a career in public service, where I will passionately advocate for the introduction of trust and care to the broader American government. By adding components of active listening and personal connections to our nation’s support systems, we can ensure that Americans no longer feel underserved and underrepresented. I will promote these improvements so that our government truly reflects the ideal of being “for the people.”

“Can you call me? I’m having a crisis.” Sitting at the dinner table, I receive a text from my friend Max. After scarfing down the last few bites of my Greek salad, I speed over to the staircase, head into my bedroom, and throw on my headphones. Max joins the FaceTime and confesses that he has started dating Ellie, our friend Evan’s ex. Despite the many thoughts and questions swirling through my mind, I stay silent, letting Max finish giving his perspective before I speak. Seeing how this stress has weighed on Max’s mind, I know to comfort him before moving forward. “The fact you’ve come to talk about this shows how much you care about Evan, and I admire your concern for how this could hurt him.” With Max visibly calmer, we begin to discuss the best way of approaching Evan about the topic. I know what you’re thinking: the ‘crisis’ at hand represents the passing problems within a high school friend group. And while this situation will likely be forgotten within a year, I can’t help but worry that handling it poorly could hurt my friends. As my friend group’s de facto advice giver, I use listening skills to help ensure emotional well-being. My transition into this position came somewhat naturally. Early on in my friendships, I established a habit of staying up late on FaceTime with my friends. These late-hour conversations naturally invited more introspective discussions. As my friends placed more trust in my judgment, I found myself confronted with deeper, more complicated topics. When one of my most pensive friends expressed her latest feelings of existential dread, I employed the knowledge I acquired from psychology and philosophy podcasts like The Sisyphus 55 Podcast to help present alternative ways of approaching life. And when my closest friend returned from a visit to a crisis center, I gave her a space to express her feelings and experiences without judgment. Whether a call lasts five minutes or three hours, I leave feeling fulfilled to have helped a friend reach greater comfort in their day-to-day lives. Progressing throughout high school, I hoped to find a way to help bring said comfort to an even larger audience of people. I entered into an internship at the district office of Congressman Andy Kim, where I provided first-hand service to hundreds of individuals that I never knew personally. Throughout my time at the internship, I found myself employing the same techniques I had developed over three years within my circle of friends. Each caller to the office represented an entire life story, a request for aid and support during a time of immense hardship. I answered calls about Social Security issues, homelessness, Medicare, and even an international child abduction case. The people I spoke to felt unheard and, at times, deeply frustrated. Through each conversation, I made sure to serve as an outlet for both emotional and governmental support. I sent out resource guides and contact information for assistance groups, explained legal barriers so that each constituent could decide on plans that would best address their personal crises, and, most importantly, I provided an open ear in their government, making sure they know that their struggles aren't being ignored. As I progress through life, I will passionately advocate for the introduction of trust and care to the broader American government. By adding components of active listening and personal connections to our nation’s support systems, we can ensure that Americans no longer feel underserved and underrepresented. I will promote these improvements so that our government truly reflects the ideal of being “for the people.”

“Can you call me? I’m having a crisis.” Sitting at the dinner table, I receive a text from my friend Max. I speed over to the staircase, head into my bedroom, and throw on my headphones. Max joins my FaceTime and confesses that he has started dating our friend Evan’s ex. Despite the many thoughts and questions swirling through my mind, I stay silent, letting Max finish giving his perspective before I speak. Seeing how this stress has weighed on Max’s mind, I know to comfort him before moving forward. “The fact you’ve come to talk about this shows how much you care about Evan, and I admire your concern for how this could hurt him.” With Max visibly calmer, we begin to discuss the best way of approaching Evan about the topic. I know what you’re thinking: the ‘crisis’ at hand represents the passing problems within a high school friend group. And while this situation will likely be forgotten within a year, I can’t help but worry that handling it poorly could hurt my friends. As my friend group’s de facto advice giver, I use listening skills to help ensure emotional well-being. My transition into this position came somewhat naturally. Early on in my friendships, I established a habit of staying up late on FaceTime with my friends. These late-hour conversations naturally invited more introspective discussions. As my friends placed more trust in my judgment, I found myself confronted with deeper, more complicated topics. When one of my most pensive friends expressed her latest feelings of existential dread, I employed the knowledge I acquired from psychology and philosophy podcasts like The Sisyphus 55 Podcast to help present alternative ways of approaching life. And when my closest friend returned from a visit to a crisis center, I gave her a space to express her feelings and experiences without judgment. Whether a call lasts five minutes or three hours, I leave feeling fulfilled to have helped a friend reach greater comfort in their day-to-day lives. Progressing throughout high school, I hoped to find a way to help bring said comfort to an even larger audience of people. I entered into an internship at the district office of Congressman Andy Kim, where I provided first-hand service to hundreds of individuals that I never knew personally. Throughout my time at the internship, I found myself employing the same techniques I had developed over three years within my circle of friends. Each caller to the office represented an entire life story, a request for aid and support during a time of immense hardship. I answered calls about Social Security issues, homelessness, Medicare, and even an international child abduction case. The people I spoke to felt unheard and, at times, deeply frustrated. Through each conversation, I made sure to serve as an outlet for both emotional and governmental support. I sent out resource guides and contact information for assistance groups, explained legal barriers so that each constituent could decide on plans that would best address their personal crises, and, most importantly, I provided an open ear in their government, making sure they know that their struggles aren't being ignored. I plan to major in Government to teach me the skills I need to allow me to passionately advocate for the introduction of trust and care to the broader American government. By adding components of active listening and personal connections to our nation’s support systems, we can ensure that Americans no longer feel underserved and underrepresented. I will promote these improvements so that our government truly reflects the ideal of being “for the people.”

Types of domestic cat: Manx Sphynx Ragdoll Himalayan Toys from Toy Story: Mr. Potato Head Etch A Sketch Slinky Dog Bo Peep Mountain Names: K2 Kilimanjaro Fuji Olympus Egyptian Gods/Goddesses: Osiris Re Anubis Isis I selected the first two categories because of my lifetime love of both cats and all of the Toy Story movies (all of which I have seen in the theater as well as many, many times at home through streaming. I picked the cats first, and when I got to the ragdoll cat, it made me realize that choice could overlap with types of toys. So then I started thinking about different toys that I could list - and I thought, why not pick toys that are specific to Toy Story, so that someone who is also a fan of the movies would realize why a ragdoll is not specific enough to fit that category. Then I thought about the presence of the Sphynx cat and how that could be confused with the Sphinx (though the spellings differ, of course). So that lead me to think about what might be done with an Egyptian theme. But did I want to pick a general category about things associated with Egypt, or did I want to be more specific? So I settled on Egyptian gods or goddesses, thinking that “Re” would be a tough one for many, and thinking many might believe that Sphynx is an Egyptian god. And the word “Manx” has a similar vibe to many of the Egyptian god names, so that was a bonus for confusion as well. Finally, the Himalayan cat bears the same name as a mountain range, so that lead me to include the separate mountain names as a category as well, thinking a player is sure to think twice about where Himalayan best fits in the puzzle. I play Connections every single day, and I would love to see what percentage of players solve my puzzle, and which category is the hardest (purple) level for most players. Hope you like my Connections puzzle and are inspired to play every day!

My first ever concert also happens to have been to see a band that I just saw again this week: Green Day! My dad turned me and my brother on to Green Day when I was pretty young, and he took us to see them when I around 12 years old. So it seems amazingly apropos that my last concert before heading off to my freshman year of college would also be to see Green Day, along with Rancid and Smashing Pumpkins, again with my father, but this time without my older brother. I have to attribute much of my early eclectic history taste in music to my dad. Though as I have gotten older my love of music has also been influenced by my friends. I started to teach myself bass guitar and then electric guitar during Covid, and many a Green Day song has been played in my tool to an audience of none. At my very first Green Day concert the band pulled a kid up on the stage and let him play guitar. I couldn’t believe that this kid not much older than me could actually play in front of a crowd of thousands! Admittedly, that was a pretty inspiring moment, and while I can’t contribute my entire desire to play an instrument myself to that concert experience, in certainly didn’t hurt in providing me with some motivation. I remember the concert venue not being immense - so I was closer to the stage than I was this past weekend when I saw Green Day again in a major baseball stadium. I’d didn’t know what to expect during that first concert- but I came out of it absolutely loving the thrill of the live experience. I sang along with many of my favorite songs - and realized that it really didn’t matter how loud I sang; the band would drown me out so that I didn’t bother those around me. It was cool that be at a concert with my dad and my brother. We often listen to playlists together while taking road trips. While we all have our own unique tastes in bands and songs, we also have a lot of common agreement. I remember that the lights and stage effects onstage added a lot to the overall concert experience. I guess I hadn’t really thought about that before seeing my first show. I’ve been to some other concerts after Green Day where there was a greater focus on dancing and choreography, but the focus of a Green Day concert is much more on the music itself. I will always be a live music fan - much like my dad, and hope that I have many concerts in my future - including while attending college. But I will always look back fondly at my very first concert, and will hope to see Green Day at least one or two more times before they retire (which hopefully won’t be anytime soon)!

“Can you call me? I’m having a crisis.” Sitting at the dinner table, I receive an ambiguous text from my friend Max. I speed over to the staircase, head into my bedroom, and throw on my headphones. Max joins my FaceTime and guiltily confesses that he has started dating our friend Evan’s ex. Despite the many thoughts and questions swirling through my mind, I stay silent, letting Max finish giving his perspective before I speak. Seeing how this stress has weighed on Max’s mind, I know to comfort him before moving forward. “The fact you’ve come to talk about this shows how much you care about Evan, and I admire your concern for how this could hurt him.” With Max visibly calmer, we begin to discuss the best way of approaching Evan about the topic. I know what you’re thinking: the ‘crisis’ at hand represents the passing problems within a high school friend group. And while this situation will likely be forgotten within a year, I can’t help but worry that handling it poorly could hurt my friends. As my friend group’s de facto advice giver, I use listening skills to help ensure emotional well-being. Early on in my friendships, I established a habit of staying up late on FaceTime with my friends. These late-hour conversations naturally invited more personal, introspective discussions. As my friends placed more trust in my judgment, I found myself confronted with deeper, more complicated topics. When one of my most pensive friends expressed her latest feelings of existential dread, I employed the knowledge I acquired from psychology and philosophy podcasts like The Sisyphus 55 Podcast to help present alternative ways of approaching life. And when my closest friend returned from a brief visit to a crisis center, I gave her a space to express her thoughts, feelings, and experiences without judgment. Whether a call lasts five minutes or three hours, I leave feeling fulfilled to have helped a friend reach greater comfort in their day-to-day lives. I hoped to find a way to help bring said comfort to an even larger audience of people. I entered into an internship at the district office of Congressman Andy Kim, where I provided first-hand service to hundreds of individuals that I never knew personally. Throughout my time at the internship, I found myself employing the same techniques I had developed over three years within my circle of friends. Each caller to the office represented an entire life story, a request for aid and support during a time of immense hardship. I answered calls about Social Security issues, homelessness, Medicare, and even an international child abduction case. The people I spoke to felt unheard and, at times, deeply frustrated. Through each conversation, I made sure to serve as an outlet for both emotional and governmental support. I sent out resource guides and contact information for assistance groups, explained legal barriers so that each constituent could decide on plans that would best address their personal crises, and, most importantly, I provided an open ear in their government, making sure they know that their struggles aren't being ignored. I plan to major in Government at Cornell University and then enter into a career in public policy where I will advocate for the introduction of trust and care to the broader American government. By adding components of active listening and personal connections to our nation’s support systems, we can ensure that Americans no longer feel underserved and underrepresented. I will promote these improvements so that our government truly reflects the ideal of being “for the people.”

“Can you call me? I’m having a crisis.” I speed over to the staircase, head into my bedroom, and throw on my headphones. Max joins my FaceTime and guiltily confesses that he has started dating our friend Evan’s ex. “The fact you’ve come to talk about this shows how much you care about Evan, and I admire your concern for how this could hurt him.” With Max visibly calmer, we begin to discuss the best way of approaching Evan about the topic. I know what you’re thinking: the ‘crisis’ at hand represents the passing problems within a high school friend group. And while this situation will likely be forgotten within a year, I can’t help but worry that handling it poorly could hurt my friends. As my friend group’s de facto advice giver, I use listening skills to help ensure emotional well-being. Early on in my friendships, I established a habit of staying up late on FaceTime with my friends. These conversations naturally invited more introspective discussions. As my friends placed more trust in my judgment, I found myself confronted with more complicated topics. When one of my friends expressed her latest feelings of existential dread, I employed the knowledge I acquired from psychology and philosophy podcasts to help present alternative perspectives. And when my closest friend returned from a visit to a crisis center, I gave her space to express her feelings without judgment. Whether a call lasts five minutes or three hours, I leave feeling fulfilled to have helped a friend reach greater comfort. I hoped to find a way to bring comfort to an even larger audience. I entered into an internship at the district office of Congressman Andy Kim, where I provided first-hand service to hundreds of individuals that I never knew personally. Throughout my internship, I found myself employing the same techniques I had developed within my circle of friends. Each caller to the office represented a life story; a request for aid and support during a time of immense hardship. I answered calls about Social Security issues, homelessness, Medicare, and even an international child abduction case. The people I spoke to felt unheard and, at times, deeply frustrated. I made sure to serve as an outlet for both emotional and governmental support. I sent out resource guides and explained legal barriers so that each constituent could decide on plans that would best address their personal crises, and, most importantly, I provided an open ear in their government, making sure they know that their struggles aren't being ignored. I plan to major in Government at Cornell University, so that I can pursue a career in public policy and advocate for the introduction of trust and care to the broader American government. By adding components of active listening and personal connections to our nation’s support systems, we can ensure that Americans no longer feel underserved and underrepresented. I will promote these improvements so that our government truly reflects the ideal of being “for the people.”

“It’s not worth it. You need to calm down.” That has become my mantra. I’m the calming factor on the field to talk my teammates off the ledge when things get heated and the de facto counselor off the field to keep them motivated when they are going through rough times. I have come to enjoy these roles almost as much as playing the game. I’ve played soccer since I was three years old. Then came the high school team; and freshman year was a relative disaster. 2020 - you would think that would be enough said. But it isn’t. Soccer was the one thing that was sort of normal during a year of abnormality and virtual everything. And it was a life saver for me until the fourth game of the season when I was fouled from behind, went down and felt a snap in my left arm. Broken. Surgery. Pins and Plates. Out for most of the rest of the season. Ugh! But I went to every game, and for maybe the first time, I began to really understand that being a part of the team didn’t just mean scoring a goal, getting an assist, or blocking a shot. It also meant being there to support my other teammates through everything that they were going through - whether good or bad. So from that fall forward I started to pay attention to the morale of the players. There was a practice where there were a couple of my teammates jawing at each other on the field. After I took one of them aside to ask what was going on. He said that the other player told him he didn’t deserve to be on the team, and that he didn’t have a left foot. I said that he would not have made the team over all the kids that were cut if he wasn’t good enough, and that pretty much everyone on the team, including myself, had to work on their weaker foot! He laughed and said that was probably true. This year, one of my classmates had a very rough senior season, as he did not find much time on the field and also battled a couple of nagging injuries. The joy of playing seemed to be taken from him and he debated quitting soccer entirely. I saw how much joy this teammate had while playing before the senior varsity season, and I knew how frustrated he was. In chatting with him after practices I talked about my freshman year and my injury, and also about how roadblocks can be tough to get over. I talked about how different and better the coaching was on the travel team, and that he shouldn’t let a few bad months change the way he viewed one of his favorite activities. After a few conversations and some informal kick arounds with the new recruits on the travel squad, he changed his mind and stayed on our travel team and is playing with joy once again. It is really great to see. So, here I am, months away from graduating. And even though my high school soccer career is over, I will take with me the love of the game and the leadership lessons I learned through the years. I have learned how to be a better person and teammate. And the lessons I learned on the field without the ball at my feet will serve me well as I deal with a college roommate, dorm life, and juggling my academics away from home.

“Can you call me? I’m having a crisis.” Sitting at the dinner table, I receive an ambiguous text from my friend Max. After scarfing down the last few bites of my Greek salad, I speed over to the staircase, head into my bedroom, and throw on my headphones. Max joins the FaceTime and guiltily confesses that he has started dating our friend Evan’s ex. Despite the many thoughts and questions swirling through my mind, I stay silent, letting Max finish giving his perspective before I speak. Seeing how this stress has weighed on Max’s mind, I know to comfort him before moving forward. “The fact you’ve come to talk about this shows how much you care about Evan, and I admire your concern for how this could hurt him.” With Max visibly calmer, we begin to discuss the best way of approaching Evan about the topic. I know what you’re thinking: the ‘crisis’ at hand represents the passing problems within a high school friend group. And while this situation will likely be forgotten soon, I can’t help but worry that handling it poorly could hurt my friends. As my friend group’s de facto advice giver, I use listening skills to help ensure emotional well-being. My transition into this unofficial position came somewhat naturally. I established a habit of staying up late on FaceTime with my friends. These late-hour conversations naturally invited more personal, introspective discussions. As my friends placed more trust in my judgment, I found myself confronted with more complicated topics. When one of my most pensive friends expressed her latest feelings of existential dread, I employed the knowledge I acquired from psychology and philosophy podcasts like The Sisyphus 55 Podcast to help present alternative ways of approaching life. And when my closest friend returned from a visit to a crisis center, I gave her a space to express her thoughts, feelings, and experiences without judgment. Whether a call lasts five minutes or three hours, I leave feeling fulfilled to have helped a friend reach greater comfort in their day-to-day lives. Progressing throughout high school, I hoped to find a way to help bring said comfort to an even larger audience of people. I entered into an internship at the district office of Congressman Andy Kim, where I provided first-hand service to hundreds of individuals that I never knew personally. Throughout my time at the internship, I found myself employing the same techniques I had developed over three years within my circle of friends. Each caller to the office represented an entire life story, a request for aid and support during a time of immense hardship. I answered calls about Social Security issues, homelessness, Medicare, and even an international child abduction case. The people I spoke to felt unheard and, at times, deeply frustrated. Through each conversation, I made sure to serve as an outlet for both emotional and governmental support. I sent out resource guides and contact information for assistance groups, explained legal barriers so that each constituent could decide on plans that would best address their personal crises, and, most importantly, I provided an open ear in their government, making sure they know that their struggles aren't being ignored. I plan to pursue a career in public interest law and will advocate for the introduction of trust and care to the broader American government. By adding components of active listening and personal connections to our nation’s support systems, we can ensure that Americans no longer feel underserved and underrepresented. I will promote these improvements so that our government truly reflects the ideal of being “for the people.”

“Whoever saves one life, saves the world entire,” as the biblical paraphrasing goes - and several of the characters in the Netflix series I am going to leave you running to turn on evoked that feeling in me as I was watching. “All the Light We Cannot See” is a four-part series that was adapted from the novel by the same name by author Anthony Doerr. The book lyrically portrays a young, blind French woman who is assisting the French resistance during World War II, and a young German orphan whose genius with radios sucks him in to the Nazi regime, despite his innocence and kind-hearted nature. Both the book and the series effortlessly weave back and forth between the stories of these two protagonists across time and geography until the inevitable moment when their lives become entangled with each other. Little did either innocent know that they both had come to love a man they grew up hearing over the radio airwaves. The man was the young blind girl’s uncle, and his radio messages were those of a wise self-taught philosopher of sorts who had seen his own fair share of evil, having served in World War I. He suffered severe post-traumatic stress disorder as a result, consequently reliving battle scenes and being triggered by loud sounds such that he had ceased being able to leave his own flat in France. This courageous man, played in the show by Hugh Laurie (the actor who also played the sardonic genius Dr. House) is finally drawn out from his own torment by his impetuous niece when she arrives at his home with her father as they seek refuge from Nazi forces in Paris. The young girl is ultimately able to persuade her uncle to leave his home despite his long-held fears, thereby circuitously setting the wheels in motion for him to rescue the German boy, who in turn brings things full circle by rescuing the young blind girl from a vicious Nazi pursuer. The uncle was kind, and gentle, and he inspired the best from those he touched as well as in those who merely listened to his words over the radio airwaves. The young German boy was a relative innocent despite being co-opted into the Nazi regime - and he was able to save the life of another innocent. The young French girl herself, despite being blind, was not without her strong capabilities, and through her utilization of the radio airwaves was likely responsible for saving hundreds, if not thousands of lives herself. This story evoked the horror of Nazi Germany, but it also made clear how much beauty and wonder there is in the world, and how much there is to live for. The story is about perseverance and helping others, and love. Everyone would benefit from both reading it and seeing the story depicted on screen, and I can’t recommend it enough, particularly at a time of high global conflict such as that we face today. There is much we can still learn from history, even where it is fictionalized.

“It’s not worth it. You need to calm down.” That has become my mantra. I’m the calming factor on the field to talk my teammates off the ledge when things get heated and the de facto counselor off the field to keep them motivated when they are going through rough times. I have come to enjoy these roles almost as much as playing the game. I’ve played soccer since I was three. Ultimately came the high school team; and freshman year was a relative disaster. 2020 - you would think that would be enough said. But it isn’t. Soccer was the one thing that was sort of normal during a year of abnormality and virtual everything. And it was a life saver for me until the fourth game of the season when I was fouled from behind, went down and felt a snap in my left arm. Broken. Surgery. Pins and plates. Out for most of the rest of the season. Ugh! But I went to every game, and for maybe the first time, I began to really understand that being a part of the team didn’t just mean scoring a goal, getting an assist, or blocking a shot. It also meant being there to support my other teammates through everything that they were going through - whether good or bad. So from that fall forward I started to pay attention to the morale of the players. There was a practice where there were a couple of my teammates jawing at each other on the field. After I took one of them aside to ask what was going on. He said that the other player told him he didn’t deserve to be on the team, and that he didn’t have a left foot. I said that he would not have made the team over all the kids that were cut if he wasn’t good enough, and that pretty much everyone on the team, including myself, had to work on their weaker foot! He laughed and said that was probably true. This year, one of my classmates had a very rough senior season, as he did not find much time on the field and also battled a couple of nagging injuries. The joy of playing seemed to be taken from him and he debated quitting soccer entirely. I saw how much joy this teammate had while playing before the senior varsity season, and I knew how frustrated he was. In chatting with him after practices I talked about my freshman year and my injury, and also about how roadblocks can be tough to get over. I talked about how different and better the coaching was on the travel team, and that he shouldn’t let a few bad months change the way he viewed one of his favorite activities. After a few conversations and some informal kick arounds with the new recruits on the travel squad, he changed his mind and stayed on our travel team and is playing with joy once again. It is really great to see. So, here I am, months away from graduating. And even though my high school soccer career is over, and I must also wave goodbye to my time in travel soccer, I will take with me the love of the game and the lessons I learned through the years. I have learned how to be a better person and teammate. And the skills I learned on the field without the ball at my feet will serve me well as I deal with a college roommate, dorm life, and juggling my academics away from home.

“Can you call me? I’m having a crisis.” Sitting at the dinner table, I receive an ambiguous text from my friend Max. After scarfing down the last few bites of my Greek salad, I speed over to the staircase, head into my bedroom, and throw on my headphones. Max joins the FaceTime and guiltily confesses that he has started dating Ellie, our friend Evan’s ex. Immediately, questions flood my mind. Why did Max have to start dating the one person Evan has had feelings for? How will Evan take the news? Has he even moved on? How could knowledge of their relationship impact Evan emotionally? Despite the many thoughts and questions swirling through my mind, I stay silent, letting Max finish giving his perspective before I speak. Seeing how this stress has weighed on Max’s mind, I know to comfort him before moving forward. “The fact you’ve come to talk about this shows how much you care about Evan, and I admire your concern for how this could hurt him.” With Max visibly calmer, we begin to discuss the best way of approaching Evan about the topic. I know what you’re thinking: the ‘crisis’ at hand represents the passing problems within a high school friend group. And while this situation will likely be forgotten within a year, I can’t help but worry that handling it poorly could hurt my friends. As my friend group’s de facto advice giver, I use listening skills to help ensure emotional well-being. My transition into this unofficial position came somewhat naturally. Early on in my friendships, I established a habit of staying up late on FaceTime with my friends. These late-hour conversations naturally invited more personal, introspective discussions. As my friends placed more trust in my judgment, I found myself confronted with deeper, more complicated topics. When one of my most pensive friends expressed her latest feelings of existential dread, I employed the knowledge I acquired from psychology and philosophy podcasts like The Sisyphus 55 Podcast to help present alternative ways of approaching life. And when my closest friend returned from a brief visit to a crisis center, I gave her a space to express her thoughts, feelings, and experiences without judgment. Whether a call lasts five minutes or three hours, I leave feeling fulfilled to have helped a friend reach greater comfort in their day-to-day lives. I know the feeling of existential dread myself all too well. The first year of the pandemic brought it on for me, and the isolation from my friends at the same time as the onsite of puberty was, shall we say, less than completely ideal. I’m very lucky that I had a good support structure with my parents, but at the time I didn’t want to talk to them. I did talk to my friends some, and that helped, and realizing that it helped me to have them listen, it made me want to be there to support others. Progressing throughout high school, I hoped to find a way to help bring comfort to an even larger audience of people. I entered into an internship at the district office of Congressman Andy Kim, where I provided first-hand service to hundreds of individuals that I never knew personally. Throughout my time at the internship, I found myself employing the same techniques I had developed over three years within my circle of friends. Each caller to the office represented an entire life story, a request for aid and support during a time of immense hardship. I answered calls about Social Security issues, homelessness, Medicare, unemployment, veterans’ needs, and even an international child abduction case. The people I spoke to felt unheard and, at times, deeply frustrated. Through each conversation, I made sure to serve as an outlet for both emotional and governmental support. I sent out resource guides and contact information for assistance groups, explained legal barriers so that each constituent could decide on plans that would best address their personal crises, and, most importantly, I provided an open ear in their government, making sure they know that their struggles aren't being ignored. As I progress through education and into a career, my goal is to attend law school so that I can enter into a public service position where I can advocate for the introduction of trust and care to the broader American government. By adding components of active listening and personal connections to our nation’s support systems, we can ensure that Americans no longer feel underserved and underrepresented. I will promote these improvements so that our government truly reflects the ideal of being “for the people.”

“Can you call me? I’m having a crisis.” Sitting at the dinner table, I receive an ambiguous text from a friend. I speed into my bedroom, and throw on my headphones. Max joins FaceTime and guiltily confesses that he has started dating our friend Evan’s ex. I stay silent, letting Max finish giving his perspective. Seeing how this stress has weighed on Max’s mind, I know to comfort him before moving forward. “The fact you’ve come to talk about this shows how much you care about Evan, and I admire your concern for how this could hurt him.” With Max visibly calmer, we begin to discuss the best way of approaching Evan about the topic. I know what you’re thinking: the ‘crisis’ at hand represents the passing problems within a high school friend group. And while this situation will likely be forgotten within a year, I can’t help but worry that handling it poorly could hurt my friends. As my friend group’s de facto advice giver, I use listening skills to help ensure emotional well-being. When one of my most pensive friends expressed her latest feelings of existential dread, I employed the knowledge I acquired from psychology and philosophy podcasts like The Sisyphus 55 Podcast to help present alternative ways of approaching life. And when my closest friend returned from a visit to a crisis center, I gave her space to express her thoughts without judgment. Whether a call lasts five minutes or three hours, I leave feeling fulfilled to have helped. I hoped to find a way to help bring comfort to an even larger audience of people. I started an internship at the district office of Congressman Andy Kim, where I provided first-hand service to hundreds of individuals. Throughout my internship, I found myself employing the same techniques I had developed within my circle of friends. Each caller to the office represented an entire life story, a request for aid and support during a time of immense hardship. I answered calls about Social Security, homelessness, Medicare, and even an international child abduction case. The people I spoke to felt unheard and frustrated. I made sure to serve as an outlet for both emotional and governmental support. I sent out resource guides and explained legal barriers so that each constituent could decide on plans that would best address their issue, and, most importantly, I provided an open ear in their government, making sure they know that their struggles aren't being ignored. I plan on studying Government in college, and then attending law school. As I progress through life, I will use what I learn to advocate for the introduction of trust and care to the broader American government. By adding components of active listening and personal connections to our nation’s support systems, we can ensure that Americans no longer feel underserved and underrepresented. By pursuing a career in public service I will do my part to ensure that our government truly reflects the ideal of being “for the people.”

“The Hate U Give,” is a movie based on the book by Angie Thomas, a book which has notably been banned in some states. I watched this movie (and then read the book) after my parents said that me and my brother should watch it (which we did, as a family). I thought the movie was really compelling, and I found that the book was even more so. The Hate U Give is meant to educate people about the dangers of racism, and it is very evocative in doing so. Both the movie adaptation and the book provoke a profound sense of sympathy and grief for the main character, Starr, a high school girl who is a good student at a fancy private school, but who comes from a neighborhood that doesn’t exactly mesh up with private school feel. Starr witnesses her friend, Khalil die when a police officer shoots him under the belief that the hairbrush that is in Khalil’s hand is a weapon. Starr instinctively understands immediately that Khalil would not have been shot had they been white, as it is the young black man that is seen as an automatic threat to police. Following the death of her childhood friend, the remainder of the movie and book follow Starr as she struggles to recover from her grief, and to reconcile her feelings about racism and discrimination. She realizes she is effectively living a double life between her mostly white private school existence, where she has a white boyfriend, and her home life in a predominantly black neighborhood. Starr wants to take action against the officer who was responsible for unjustifiably slaying her friend, but her family tries to deter her because they fear for her safety. Starr ultimately cannot be fettered from doing the right thing, and bravely stands up to reveal what happened to her dead friend. The drama intensifies when a protest regarding Khalil’s death takes a turn towards violence and results in a riot. In a crazy turn of events, a gang run by a black drug lord locks Starr and her boyfriend and young brother into a shop and lever them there to die in a fire. The backstory behind the connection between the drug lord and Starr is way too long to get into here, but involves both Khalil and Starr’s father. Needless to say, Starr and crew free themselves from the flames, but are still imperiled by the drug lord. The dramatic end of the movie involves a standoff between Starr’s baby brother, who gets his hands on a gun, and the police. Fortunately, Starr has the presence of mind to step in between them to avert another tragedy. But the scene is a too real reminder about gun violence and the dynamics at play between race and the police. The movie adaptation did a great job with portraying the feeling and spirit captured by the book, and I would highly recommend. I can’t say I understand the states or schools that have banned this book. While it portrays violence, it advocates against it, not for it. And while it vilifies racism it doesn’t seem to me that it actively seeks to vilify police as a whole. To me, the message is a good one and more people should hear it.

“Can you call me? I’m having a crisis.” Sitting at the dinner table, I receive an ambiguous text from my friend Max. After scarfing down the last few bites of my Greek salad, I speed over to the staircase, head into my bedroom, and throw on my headphones. Max joins the FaceTime and guiltily confesses that he has started dating our friend Evan’s ex. Despite the many thoughts and questions swirling through my mind, I stay silent, letting Max finish giving his perspective before I speak. Seeing how this stress has weighed on Max’s mind, I know to comfort him before moving forward. “The fact you’ve come to talk about this shows how much you care about Evan, and I admire your concern for how this could hurt him.” With Max visibly calmer, we begin to discuss the best way of approaching Evan about the topic. I know what you’re thinking: the ‘crisis’ at hand represents the passing problems within a high school friend group. And while this situation will likely be forgotten soon, I can’t help but worry that handling it poorly could hurt my friends. As my friend group’s de facto advice giver, I use listening skills to help ensure emotional well-being. My transition into this unofficial position came somewhat naturally. I established a habit of staying up late on FaceTime with my friends. These late-hour conversations naturally invited more personal, introspective discussions. As my friends placed more trust in my judgment, I found myself confronted with more complicated topics. When one of my most pensive friends expressed her latest feelings of existential dread, I employed the knowledge I acquired from psychology and philosophy podcasts like The Sisyphus 55 Podcast to help present alternative ways of approaching life. And when my closest friend returned from a visit to a crisis center, I gave her a space to express her thoughts, feelings, and experiences without judgment. Whether a call lasts five minutes or three hours, I leave feeling fulfilled to have helped a friend reach greater comfort in their day-to-day lives. Progressing throughout high school, I hoped to find a way to help bring said comfort to an even larger audience of people. I entered into an internship at the district office of Congressman Andy Kim, where I provided first-hand service to hundreds of individuals that I never knew personally. Throughout my time at the internship, I found myself employing the same techniques I had developed over three years within my circle of friends. Each caller to the office represented an entire life story, a request for aid and support during a time of immense hardship. I answered calls about Social Security issues, homelessness, Medicare, and even an international child abduction case. The people I spoke to felt unheard and, at times, deeply frustrated. Through each conversation, I made sure to serve as an outlet for both emotional and governmental support. I sent out resource guides and contact information for assistance groups, explained legal barriers so that each constituent could decide on plans that would best address their personal crises, and, most importantly, I provided an open ear in their government, making sure they know that their struggles aren't being ignored. I plan to pursue a career in public interest law and will advocate for the introduction of trust and care to the broader American government. By adding components of active listening and personal connections to our nation’s support systems, we can ensure that Americans no longer feel underserved and underrepresented. I will promote these improvements so that our government truly reflects the ideal of being “for the people.”

Just two of the significant learnings from the many books I’ve read are the importance of understanding about other cultures and different perspectives, and the relevancy of history to contemporary events. I’ve also gained a deep appreciation for how words may be used to influence, inform, inspire, and entertain others, among many other actions. The books I have read have transported me to countries I’ve never visited, and have served as a time machine to the past as well as the future. I’ve been able to visit outer space and worlds of wonder. I’ve observed battles and witnessed miraculous scientific achievements. I’ve laughed out loud from some of the hilarious stories I’ve read, and I have had moments where I have cried so hard I could barely breathe while reading a tear jerker. I’ve made the mistake of reading something scary right before bed, only to cower under the covers in a cold sweat, making sure to keep all my limbs tucked tightly in lest a hand make a grab from under the bed. (Thanks so much, Stephen King, for all the lost sleep and nightmares, 😂). All of this is to say that I truly love to read and can’t imagine a world without books. Reading great books inspired my own desire to become an exceptional writer. Throughout high school I directed the passion I have developed for the written word toward cultivating my own skill as a budding journalist. I started out as a staff writer for my high school’s newspaper, focusing primarily on global commentary. My high school journalism experience culminated in my being selected as Managing Editor during my senior year. Looking toward the future, I plan to hone my writing skills even further, particularly focusing on writing designed to persuade and advocate for others. As an intended Government and Philosophy double major, I know that my undergraduate curriculum will include reading many amazing books covering these fields, including works by Plato, Machiavelli, Hobbes, Nietzsche, Rawls, and many other authors. I anticipate that I will be able to draw upon the teachings of these authors to further develop my own writing capabilities. Given my plans to attend law school and then pursue a career in public service, reading will comprise a significant portion of my waking hours for the foreseeable future. I look forward to continuing to be transported through time and space, and to being exposed to a rich variety of perspectives and experiences as I continue my academic studies.

“Can you call me? I’m having a crisis.” Sitting at the dinner table, I receive an ambiguous text from my friend Max. After scarfing down the last few bites of my Greek salad, I speed into my bedroom, and throw on my headphones. Max joins FaceTime and guiltily confesses that he has started dating our friend Evan’s ex. Despite the many questions swirling through my mind, I stay silent, letting Max finish giving his perspective before I speak. Seeing how this stress has weighed on Max’s mind, I know to comfort him before moving forward. “The fact you’ve come to talk about this shows how much you care about Evan, and I admire your concern for how this could hurt him.” With Max visibly calmer, we begin to discuss the best way of approaching Evan about the topic. I know what you’re thinking: the ‘crisis’ at hand represents the passing problems within a high school friend group. And while this situation will likely be forgotten within a year, I can’t help but worry that handling it poorly could hurt my friends. As my friend group’s de facto advice giver, I use listening skills to help ensure emotional well-being. My transition into this unofficial position came somewhat naturally. Early on in my friendships, I established a habit of staying up late on FaceTime with my friends. These late-hour conversations naturally invited more introspective discussions. As my friends placed more trust in my judgment, I found myself confronted with deeper, more complicated topics. When one of my most pensive friends expressed her latest feelings of existential dread, I employed the knowledge I acquired from psychology and philosophy podcasts like The Sisyphus 55 Podcast to help present alternative ways of approaching life. And when my closest friend returned from a brief visit to a crisis center, I gave her space to express her thoughts and experiences without judgment. Whether a call lasts five minutes or three hours, I leave feeling fulfilled to have helped a friend reach greater comfort in their day-to-day lives. Progressing throughout high school, I hoped to find a way to help bring comfort to an even larger audience of people. I started an internship at the district office of Congressman Andy Kim, where I provided first-hand service to hundreds of individuals. Throughout my time at the internship, I found myself employing the same techniques I had developed over three years within my circle of friends. Each caller to the office represented an entire life story, a request for aid and support during a time of immense hardship. I answered calls about Social Security issues, homelessness, Medicare, and even an international child abduction case. The people I spoke to felt unheard and, at times, deeply frustrated. Through each conversation, I made sure to serve as an outlet for both emotional and governmental support. I sent out resource guides and contact information for assistance groups, explained legal barriers so that each constituent could decide on plans that would best address their personal crises, and, most importantly, I provided an open ear in their government, making sure they know that their struggles aren't being ignored. As I progress through life, I will advocate for the introduction of trust and care to the broader American government. By adding components of active listening and personal connections to our nation’s support systems, we can ensure that Americans no longer feel underserved and underrepresented. I will pay forward any scholarship money I receive by pursuing a career in public service in order to ensure that our government truly reflects the ideal of being “for the people.”

“Can you call me? I’m having a crisis.” Sitting at the dinner table, I receive an ambiguous text from my friend Max. After scarfing down the last few bites of my Greek salad, I speed into my bedroom, and throw on my headphones. Max joins FaceTime and guiltily confesses that he has started dating our friend Evan’s ex. Despite the many questions swirling through my mind, I stay silent, letting Max finish giving his perspective before I speak. Seeing how this stress has weighed on Max’s mind, I know to comfort him before moving forward. “The fact you’ve come to talk about this shows how much you care about Evan, and I admire your concern for how this could hurt him.” With Max visibly calmer, we begin to discuss the best way of approaching Evan about the topic. I know what you’re thinking: the ‘crisis’ at hand represents the passing problems within a high school friend group. And while this situation will likely be forgotten within a year, I can’t help but worry that handling it poorly could hurt my friends. As my friend group’s de facto advice giver, I use listening skills to help ensure emotional well-being. My transition into this unofficial position came somewhat naturally. Early on in my friendships, I established a habit of staying up late on FaceTime with my friends. These late-hour conversations naturally invited more introspective discussions. As my friends placed more trust in my judgment, I found myself confronted with deeper, more complicated topics. When one of my most pensive friends expressed her latest feelings of existential dread, I employed the knowledge I acquired from psychology and philosophy podcasts like The Sisyphus 55 Podcast to help present alternative ways of approaching life. And when my closest friend returned from a brief visit to a crisis center, I gave her space to express her thoughts and experiences without judgment. Whether a call lasts five minutes or three hours, I leave feeling fulfilled to have helped a friend reach greater comfort in their day-to-day lives. Progressing throughout high school, I hoped to find a way to help bring comfort to an even larger audience of people. I started an internship at the district office of Congressman Andy Kim, where I provided first-hand service to hundreds of individuals. Throughout my time at the internship, I found myself employing the same techniques I had developed over three years within my circle of friends. Each caller to the office represented an entire life story, a request for aid and support during a time of immense hardship. I answered calls about Social Security issues, homelessness, Medicare, and even an international child abduction case. The people I spoke to felt unheard and, at times, deeply frustrated. Through each conversation, I made sure to serve as an outlet for both emotional and governmental support. I sent out resource guides and contact information for assistance groups, explained legal barriers so that each constituent could decide on plans that would best address their personal crises, and, most importantly, I provided an open ear in their government, making sure they know that their struggles aren't being ignored. As I progress through life, I will advocate for the introduction of trust and care to the broader American government. By adding components of active listening and personal connections to our nation’s support systems, we can ensure that Americans no longer feel underserved and underrepresented. I will pay forward any scholarship money I receive by pursuing a career in public service law to ensure that our government truly reflects the ideal of being “for the people.”

“Can you call me? I’m having a crisis.” Sitting at the dinner table, I receive an ambiguous text from my friend Max. After scarfing down the last few bites of my Greek salad, I speed into my bedroom, and throw on my headphones. Max joins FaceTime and guiltily confesses that he has started dating our friend Evan’s ex. Despite the many questions swirling through my mind, I stay silent, letting Max finish giving his perspective before I speak. Seeing how this stress has weighed on Max’s mind, I know to comfort him before moving forward. “The fact you’ve come to talk about this shows how much you care about Evan, and I admire your concern for how this could hurt him.” With Max visibly calmer, we begin to discuss the best way of approaching Evan about the topic. I know what you’re thinking: the ‘crisis’ at hand represents the passing problems within a high school friend group. And while this situation will likely be forgotten within a year, I can’t help but worry that handling it poorly could hurt my friends. As my friend group’s de facto advice giver, I use listening skills to help ensure emotional well-being. My transition into this unofficial position came somewhat naturally. Early on in my friendships, I established a habit of staying up late on FaceTime with my friends. These late-hour conversations naturally invited more introspective discussions. As my friends placed more trust in my judgment, I found myself confronted with deeper, more complicated topics. When one of my most pensive friends expressed her latest feelings of existential dread, I employed the knowledge I acquired from psychology and philosophy podcasts like The Sisyphus 55 Podcast to help present alternative ways of approaching life. And when my closest friend returned from a brief visit to a crisis center, I gave her space to express her thoughts and experiences without judgment. Whether a call lasts five minutes or three hours, I leave feeling fulfilled to have helped a friend reach greater comfort in their day-to-day lives. Progressing throughout high school, I hoped to find a way to help bring comfort to an even larger audience of people. I started an internship at the district office of Congressman Andy Kim, where I provided first-hand service to hundreds of individuals. Throughout my time at the internship, I found myself employing the same techniques I had developed over three years within my circle of friends. Each caller to the office represented an entire life story, a request for aid and support during a time of immense hardship. I answered calls about Social Security issues, homelessness, Medicare, and even an international child abduction case. The people I spoke to felt unheard and, at times, deeply frustrated. Through each conversation, I made sure to serve as an outlet for both emotional and governmental support. I sent out resource guides and contact information for assistance groups, explained legal barriers so that each constituent could decide on plans that would best address their personal crises, and, most importantly, I provided an open ear in their government, making sure they know that their struggles aren't being ignored. As I progress through life, I will advocate for the introduction of trust and care to the broader American government. By adding components of active listening and personal connections to our nation’s support systems, we can ensure that Americans no longer feel underserved and underrepresented. I will pay forward any scholarship money I receive by pursuing a career in public service in order to ensure that our government truly reflects the ideal of being “for the people.”

Everyone should read “All the Light we Cannot See,” by Anthony Doeer. This book lyrically portrays a young, blind woman who is assisting the French resistance during World War II, and a young German man whose genius with radios sucks him in to the Nazi regime, despite his innocence and kind-hearted nature. The book weaves back and forth between the stories of these two protagonists across time and geography until the inevitable moment when their lives become entangled with each other. Little did either know that they shared a love of a man they both grew up hearing over the radio airwaves. The man was the young blind girl’s uncle, and his radio messages were those of a wise philosopher who had seen his own fair share of evil, having served in World War I. This courageous man, whose niece saved him from his own torment and convinced him that he was able to leave his home despite his long-held fears, set the wheels in motion to rescue the German boy, who in turn rescued the young blind girl. “Whoever saves one life, saves the world entire,” as the biblical paraphrasing goes - and this man evoked that feeling in me when I was reading this beautiful novel. He was kind, and gentle, and inspired the best from those he touched. This novel evoked the horror of Nazi Germany, but it also made clear how much beauty and wonder there is in the world, and how much there is to live for. This book is about perseverance and helping others, and love, and everyone would benefit from reading it.

“Can you call me? I’m having a crisis.” Sitting at the dinner table, I receive an ambiguous text from my friend Max. After scarfing down the last few bites of my Greek salad, I speed into my bedroom, and throw on my headphones. Max joins FaceTime and guiltily confesses that he has started dating our friend Evan’s ex. Despite the many questions swirling through my mind, I stay silent, letting Max finish giving his perspective before I speak. Seeing how this stress has weighed on Max’s mind, I know to comfort him before moving forward. “The fact you’ve come to talk about this shows how much you care about Evan, and I admire your concern for how this could hurt him.” With Max visibly calmer, we begin to discuss the best way of approaching Evan about the topic. I know what you’re thinking: the ‘crisis’ at hand represents the passing problems within a high school friend group. And while this situation will likely be forgotten within a year, I can’t help but worry that handling it poorly could hurt my friends. As my friend group’s de facto advice giver, I use listening skills to help ensure emotional well-being. My transition into this unofficial position came somewhat naturally. Early on in my friendships, I established a habit of staying up late on FaceTime with my friends. These late-hour conversations naturally invited more introspective discussions. As my friends placed more trust in my judgment, I found myself confronted with deeper, more complicated topics. When one of my most pensive friends expressed her latest feelings of existential dread, I employed the knowledge I acquired from psychology and philosophy podcasts like The Sisyphus 55 Podcast to help present alternative ways of approaching life. And when my closest friend returned from a brief visit to a crisis center, I gave her space to express her thoughts and experiences without judgment. Whether a call lasts five minutes or three hours, I leave feeling fulfilled to have helped a friend reach greater comfort in their day-to-day lives. Progressing throughout high school, I hoped to find a way to help bring comfort to an even larger audience of people. I started an internship at the district office of Congressman Andy Kim, where I provided first-hand service to hundreds of individuals. Throughout my time at the internship, I found myself employing the same techniques I had developed over three years within my circle of friends. Each caller to the office represented an entire life story, a request for aid and support during a time of immense hardship. I answered calls about Social Security issues, homelessness, Medicare, and even an international child abduction case. The people I spoke to felt unheard and, at times, deeply frustrated. Through each conversation, I made sure to serve as an outlet for both emotional and governmental support. I sent out resource guides and contact information for assistance groups, explained legal barriers so that each constituent could decide on plans that would best address their personal crises, and, most importantly, I provided an open ear in their government, making sure they know that their struggles aren't being ignored. As I progress through life, I will advocate for the introduction of trust and care to the broader American government. By adding components of active listening and personal connections to our nation’s support systems, we can ensure that Americans no longer feel underserved and underrepresented. I will pay forward any scholarship money I receive by pursuing a career in public service in order to ensure that our government truly reflects the ideal of being “for the people.”

“Can you call me? I’m having a crisis.” Sitting at the dinner table, I receive an ambiguous text from my friend Max. After scarfing down the last few bites of my Greek salad, I speed into my bedroom and throw on my headphones. Max joins FaceTime and guiltily confesses that he has started dating our friend Evan’s ex. Despite the many questions swirling through my mind, I stay silent, letting Max finish giving his perspective before I speak. Seeing how this stress has weighed on Max’s mind, I know to comfort him before moving forward. “The fact you’ve come to talk about this shows how much you care about Evan, and I admire your concern for how this could hurt him.” With Max visibly calmer, we begin to discuss the best way of approaching Evan about the topic. I know what you’re thinking: the ‘crisis’ at hand represents the passing problems within a high school friend group. And while this situation will likely be forgotten within a year, I can’t help but worry that handling it poorly could hurt my friends. As my friend group’s de facto advice giver, I use listening skills to help ensure emotional well-being. My transition into this unofficial position came somewhat naturally. Early on in my friendships, I established a habit of staying up late on FaceTime with my friends. These late-hour conversations naturally invited more introspective discussions. As my friends placed more trust in my judgment, I found myself confronted with deeper, more complicated topics. When one of my most pensive friends expressed her latest feelings of existential dread, I employed the knowledge I acquired from psychology and philosophy podcasts like The Sisyphus 55 Podcast to help present alternative ways of approaching life. And when my closest friend returned from a brief visit to a crisis center, I gave her space to express her thoughts and experiences without judgment. Whether a call lasts five minutes or three hours, I leave feeling fulfilled to have helped a friend reach greater comfort in their day-to-day lives. Progressing throughout high school, I hoped to find a way to help bring comfort to an even larger audience of people. I started an internship at the district office of Congressman Andy Kim, where I provided first-hand service to hundreds of individuals. Throughout my time at the internship, I found myself employing the same techniques I had developed over three years within my circle of friends. Each caller to the office represented an entire life story, a request for aid and support during a time of immense hardship. I answered calls about Social Security issues, homelessness, Medicare, and even an international child abduction case. The people I spoke to felt unheard and, at times, deeply frustrated. Through each conversation, I made sure to serve as an outlet for both emotional and governmental support. I sent out resource guides and contact information for assistance groups, explained legal barriers so that each constituent could decide on plans that would best address their personal crises, and, most importantly, I provided an open ear to government, making sure they knew their struggles aren't being ignored. As I progress through life, I will advocate for the introduction of trust and care to the broader American government. By adding components of active listening and personal connections to our nation’s support systems, we can ensure that Americans no longer feel underserved and underrepresented. An undergraduate degree, followed by a law degree, will allow me to pursue a career in public service so I may ensure that our government truly reflects the ideal of being “for the people.”

“Can you call me? I’m having a crisis.” Sitting at the dinner table, I receive an ambiguous text from my friend Max. After scarfing down the last few bites of my Greek salad, I speed into my bedroom and throw on my headphones. Max joins FaceTime and guiltily confesses that he has started dating our friend Evan’s ex. Despite the many questions swirling through my mind, I stay silent, letting Max finish giving his perspective before I speak. Seeing how this stress has weighed on Max’s mind, I know to comfort him before moving forward. “The fact you’ve come to talk about this shows how much you care about Evan, and I admire your concern for how this could hurt him.” With Max visibly calmer, we begin to discuss the best way of approaching Evan about the topic. I know what you’re thinking: the ‘crisis’ at hand represents the passing problems within a high school friend group. And while this situation will likely be forgotten within a year, I can’t help but worry that handling it poorly could hurt my friends. As my friend group’s de facto advice giver, I use listening skills to help ensure emotional well-being. My transition into this unofficial position came somewhat naturally. Early on in my friendships, I established a habit of staying up late on FaceTime with my friends. These late-hour conversations naturally invited more introspective discussions. As my friends placed more trust in my judgment, I found myself confronted with deeper, more complicated topics. When one of my most pensive friends expressed her latest feelings of existential dread, I employed the knowledge I acquired from psychology and philosophy podcasts like The Sisyphus 55 Podcast to help present alternative ways of approaching life. And when my closest friend returned from a brief visit to a crisis center, I gave her space to express her thoughts and experiences without judgment. Whether a call lasts five minutes or three hours, I leave feeling fulfilled to have helped a friend reach greater comfort in their day-to-day lives. Progressing throughout high school, I hoped to find a way to help bring comfort to an even larger audience of people. I started an internship at the district office of Congressman Andy Kim, where I provided first-hand service to hundreds of individuals. Throughout my time at the internship, I found myself employing the same techniques I had developed over three years within my circle of friends. Each caller to the office represented an entire life story, a request for aid and support during a time of immense hardship. I answered calls about Social Security issues, homelessness, Medicare, and even an international child abduction case. The people I spoke to felt unheard and, at times, deeply frustrated. Through each conversation, I made sure to serve as an outlet for both emotional and governmental support. I sent out resource guides and contact information for assistance groups, explained legal barriers so that each constituent could decide on plans that would best address their personal crises, and, most importantly, I provided an open ear in their government, making sure they know that their struggles aren't being ignored. As I progress through life, I will advocate for the introduction of trust and care to the broader American government. By adding components of active listening and personal connections to our nation’s support systems, we can ensure that Americans no longer feel underserved and underrepresented. I will pay forward any scholarship money I receive by pursuing a career in public service in order to ensure that our government truly reflects the ideal of being “for the people.”

“Can you call me? I’m having a crisis.” Sitting at the dinner table, I receive an ambiguous text from my friend Max. After scarfing down the last few bites of my Greek salad, I speed over to the staircase, head into my bedroom, and throw on my headphones. Max joins the FaceTime and guiltily confesses that he has started dating our friend Evan’s ex. Despite the many thoughts and questions swirling through my mind, I stay silent, letting Max finish giving his perspective before I speak. Seeing how this stress has weighed on Max’s mind, I know to comfort him before moving forward. “The fact you’ve come to talk about this shows how much you care about Evan, and I admire your concern for how this could hurt him.” With Max visibly calmer, we begin to discuss the best way of approaching Evan about the topic. I know what you’re thinking: the ‘crisis’ at hand represents the passing problems within a high school friend group. And while this situation will likely be forgotten within a year, I can’t help but worry that handling it poorly could hurt my friends. As my friend group’s de facto advice giver, I use listening skills to help ensure emotional well-being. My transition into this unofficial position came somewhat naturally. Early on in my friendships, I established a habit of staying up late on FaceTime with my friends. These late-hour conversations naturally invited more personal, introspective discussions. As my friends placed more trust in my judgment, I found myself confronted with deeper topics. When one of my most pensive friends expressed her latest feelings of existential dread, I employed the knowledge I acquired from psychology and philosophy podcasts like The Sisyphus 55 Podcast to help present alternative ways of approaching life. And when my closest friend returned from a brief visit to a crisis center, I gave her space to express her thoughts and experiences without judgment. Whether a call lasts five minutes or three hours, I leave feeling fulfilled to have helped a friend reach greater comfort in their day-to-day lives. Progressing throughout high school, I hoped to find a way to help bring said comfort to an even larger audience of people. I entered into an internship at the district office of Congressman Andy Kim, where I provided first-hand service to hundreds of individuals that I never knew personally. Throughout my time at the internship, I found myself employing the same techniques I had developed over three years within my circle of friends. Each caller to the office represented an entire life story, a request for aid and support during a time of immense hardship. I answered calls about Social Security issues, homelessness, Medicare, and even an international child abduction case. The people I spoke to felt unheard and, at times, deeply frustrated. Through each conversation, I made sure to serve as an outlet for both emotional and governmental support. I sent out resource guides and contact information for assistance groups, explained legal barriers so that each constituent could decide on plans that would best address their personal crises, and, most importantly, I provided an open ear in their government, making sure they know that their struggles aren't being ignored. As I progress through life, I will advocate for the introduction of trust and care to the broader American government. By adding components of active listening and personal connections to our nation’s support systems, we can ensure that Americans no longer feel underserved and underrepresented. I will promote these improvements so that our government truly reflects the ideal of being “for the people.”