Welcome to My Journey—a personal collection of reflections that trace my path from childhood curiosity to engineering ambition. This space is more than a timeline; it’s where my lived experiences, challenges, and small victories come together. Through stories and heart-to-heart moments, I invite you to walk beside me as I figure out life, learning, and everything in between.
Roots & Values
How love, hustle, and a loud little girl shaped the voice I have today.
I grew up in Hemet, California—a small desert town where everyone knows everyone and life moves just a little slower. We weren’t rich by any means, but in the ways that mattered most, my family was wealthy. Love was everywhere in our home. It was in the way my mom woke us up with music in the morning, how my dad always came home from work with a joke, and in the way my brother and I were always encouraged to speak up, dream big, and look out for one another. We were loud, close, and very much each other’s people.
From the time I was a toddler, my family said I had energy that couldn’t be contained. “You came out the womb running,” my mom always said, half-laughing, half-exhausted. And she wasn’t wrong—I was curious, driven, and absolutely everywhere. I had a hunger to be involved, to help, to do something. Whether it was cleaning up after class, handing out papers, or volunteering to read out loud, I found joy in being a part of things. I wasn’t trying to be the favorite—I just genuinely loved showing up and making things easier for others.
My teachers noticed. They saw something in me early on that I hadn’t fully understood yet: a little girl with a big heart. Mrs. Julian used to tell me I was a creative soul who always wanted to help. She saw how much I loved thinking outside the box and bringing people together. Mr. Finale saw that spark, too—he often told me how eager I was to learn and how naturally I stepped into the role of helping others understand what I already had. They didn’t just teach me math or reading; they taught me to believe in the kind of person I already was.
But childhood didn’t stay simple forever.
My mom was diagnosed with Cauda Equina Syndrome, a rare and serious spinal condition that left her disabled. One day she was up like any other parent—doing chores, dancing in the kitchen, dropping us off at school—and the next, she couldn’t walk without pain. Suddenly, my superhero mom needed help sitting, standing, reaching, even just getting through the day. I was still a kid, but I felt the weight of thousands of pounds.
Watching someone so strong, so full of light, become physically vulnerable was confusing and heartbreaking. It changed how I saw the world—and it changed how I saw myself. My dad, brother, and I became her team. We adjusted our lives, sometimes silently, sometimes through tears, always with love. I remember pushing her wheelchair through crowded stores, heating up meals, reaching for what she couldn’t, and trying to make her laugh on the hard days. There were moments I wished I could fix everything. But instead, I learned what it meant to be present. To show up. To carry not just your own weight, but the weight of someone you love.
Seeing my mom in pain cracked something open in me, but it didn’t break me. If anything, it built something stronger: a deep sense of empathy, a grounded resilience, and a quiet understanding that people carry more than they show. That experience—watching her strength even in her most painful moments—planted something in me. A sense of responsibility, yes, but also purpose. I learned what it meant to keep going even when life hands you something you never asked for. And through it all, my parents continued teaching me the values they always lived by: work hard, take every opportunity, be kind, and speak up for those who can’t.
That chapter—equal parts joy and heartbreak—became the foundation of who I am today. And it continues to guide how I show up in the world: with love, with grit, and with heart.
College Bound at 12
From solving math problems to sparring in the ring—AVID, Math Counts, and my mom’s diploma shaped it all.
By middle school, I was already dreaming about college. I didn’t just want to go—I needed to. The idea of higher education meant everything to me: opportunity, independence, a path forward. So I poured myself into AVID, a college-readiness program that became more than just an elective. It was a family. I rose through the program, eventually becoming AVID President, and with that came responsibility, pride, and a stronger sense of purpose. AVID helped me visualize a future that didn’t stop at high school graduation—and I was determined to get there.
This was also the time I realized I wanted to become an engineer. At the time, I was convinced it would be mechanical engineering—probably because I liked the way the name sounded and because I loved math. I really loved math. I joined Math Counts, a club where we stayed after school solving advanced math problems and eventually competed against other schools. The problems were challenging, but I loved the feeling of pushing myself. It made me feel capable, focused, and in control of my own growth.
Outside of school, my dad signed my brother and me up for boxing—and that became a whole new kind of challenge. The discipline, the training, the community in the gym... I fell in love with it. My coaches were uplifting and saw something in me I hadn’t fully seen in myself yet. With every jab, every round, and every moment I got back up after missing a combo, I started building real confidence—physically and mentally.
And while I was growing in so many new ways, something beautiful was happening at home too.
My mom, despite everything she was going through, enrolled in adult school to earn her high school diploma. It was such a bold, powerful decision. But it wasn’t easy. She struggled, especially with math—and since I had somehow been labeled "the smart one" in our family, I became her unofficial tutor. The thing is… I didn’t know half the material either. I had to teach myself advanced math just to be able to explain it to her. There were tears, arguments, moments of frustration on both ends—but we never quit. And when my mom walked across that stage and held her diploma in her hands, I cried harder than I expected. She did it. We did it. To this day, it’s one of the proudest moments of my life.
Middle school wasn’t just about discovering what I wanted to be. It was about becoming someone—someone driven by purpose, community, and an early understanding that growth often comes with a little struggle and a lot of heart.
No Time to Waste
The years I learned how much I could handle—and how much I could give.
By the time I entered high school, I already knew the stakes. College wasn’t a maybe for me—it was the only option. I understood early on that scholarships would be my ticket, and I was determined to do everything in my power to earn them. That meant working harder, showing up more, and staying focused while the world around me felt like it was moving in a million directions.
I enrolled in my school’s automotive program, not just because I was curious, but because I needed a backup plan. If I couldn’t go straight to a university, I could work at a dealership and attend community college while still moving forward. That program changed everything for me. There was a small electrical unit embedded in the coursework—and that’s where my eyes were opened to something new: electrical engineering. The spark (literally) was instant. That was the moment the switch flipped, and I knew I had found something I wanted to explore further.
Outside the classroom, I threw myself into leadership and community service. I joined ASB and served as Class President for my final two years. It was in that role that I really found my voice and my place. I led major fundraisers and school events, managing teams, setting goals, and ultimately raising over $20,000 for my class. It was chaotic, exciting, and meaningful—everything I love about leadership. I had also been planning to graduate early with my closest friends, who were a year older than me, but then COVID hit. Suddenly, everything changed. In the end, I made the decision to stay the extra year and graduate on time—and it was the right call. I not only got to walk the stage, but I also got to give a speech at my graduation—something I’ll never forget.
During this time, politics were erupting around us, and I felt like my peers deserved to be informed and empowered. A few friends and I co-founded two clubs: a Feminist Club and a Young Democrats Club. One focused on civic education—helping students understand the importance of voting and the policies that would soon affect us. The other was rooted in action: we organized period drives and clothing drives for local women’s shelters and unhoused communities. It was our way of giving back and speaking up for those who often go unheard.
I was also a four-year member of Key Club, dedicating my time to community service, which felt like a natural extension of who I was and how I was raised. And when I turned 16, I got my first job at Little Caesars. That paycheck meant a lot. It meant I could help buy essentials for the house, clothing for myself and my brother, and carry a bit of the load with pride. I didn’t just want to help—I needed to.
And somehow, in between all of that, I was on the varsity wrestling team. Not only did I compete, but I also helped run youth practices before my own, offering support and mentorship to the next generation. I had already tried boxing, MMA, Muay Thai, and jiu-jitsu, but nothing challenged me mentally and physically quite like wrestling. It tested me in ways nothing else had—and it sharpened my discipline to a whole new level.
Looking back, I honestly don’t know how I balanced it all: AP classes, dual enrollment, work, friends, leadership, family responsibilities, and sports. But I did it. And I did it with intention, drive, and a heart that never stopped caring about those around me. High school wasn’t easy, but it was where I learned I could handle more than most, and still find ways to give.
Becoming Her
College, culture shock, and choosing to stay the course.
I chose Cal Poly San Luis Obispo because of a full-ride scholarship I earned through my high school accomplishments and GPA. It was an amazing opportunity—one I’m incredibly grateful for. But if I’m being honest, my first year was nothing like I expected. I had never toured the campus. I didn’t know what the environment would be like. I just knew it had a great engineering program and that I was walking in with some college credit already under my belt.
What I didn’t realize was how humbling it would be.
For the first time in my life, I struggled. I had never really learned how to study because I had always just figured things out. But at Cal Poly, I was suddenly surrounded by students with every resource you could think of—tutors, prep programs, industry family connections, private school backgrounds, you name it. They had support I didn’t even know existed. I felt behind before the race even started.
It took my entire first year to unlearn that shame and figure out what worked for me. I had to learn how to study, how to pace myself, how to advocate for help when I needed it. By second year, I finally felt like I had a routine that worked. But even then, not everything smoothed out. The social transition was just as jarring. I’ve always been outgoing, able to make friends anywhere—but here, I was often met with coldness. I felt racism and sexism in classrooms where I should have felt safe. It was subtle sometimes—other times, not so much. Either way, it made me doubt whether I belonged.
Then, another shift: the owners of my childhood home decided to sell. That meant my mom had to move—and she decided to relocate to SLO so we could stay together. With that, I officially became her primary caretaker. That role came with weight, responsibility, and moments of overwhelm—but it also gave me an unshakable reason to stay grounded.
In the middle of all that, I found something that lit me up again: power systems. During my third year, I took EE 255 and EE 295, and I fell in love with the lab equipment and hands-on applications. That spark made me feel connected to my major in a new way. Power just made sense to me—and I loved seeing theory come alive in a real, physical space.
College hasn’t been easy. Even with a solid study routine and clearer goals, I still hit walls. When I do, I go home. I FaceTime my siblings. I talk to my mom. I visit my nephews. I remind myself who I’m doing this for—and who I want to become.
I’m incredibly proud of how far I’ve come. I’ve stuck to my plan, achieved milestones that once felt impossible, and never stopped growing through the discomfort. I’m still figuring out exactly what path I want to take within electrical engineering—it’s such a broad field—but I know I’m eager to keep learning. My goal is simple: build a stable, meaningful life, one that feels just as good as it looks. A life where I thrive, but never forget where I started.
Getting There
My first internship—and everything it took to show up.
I landed my first real internship this summer at Code Consultants, Inc. (CCI) in El Segundo, CA—a small but mighty firm with a heart to match. From day one, I felt the difference. The team wasn’t just brilliant; they were kind, down-to-earth, and intentional. It was the first time I truly saw what it means for a company to care about its people—and it changed the way I think about the kind of environment I want to build my career in.
This internship didn’t just mark a new step professionally—it was also my first time living fully on my own and being completely financially independent. No car. No safety net. Just me, figuring it out. I wake up at 4:30am every day to catch the 6am bus, arrive at work by 7:30am, clock out at 5pm, and don’t get home until nearly 7pm. Then it’s dinner, a deep breath, maybe some TV or family FaceTimes—and I do it all over again the next day. It’s exhausting. It’s empowering. It’s real life.
My boss, Chris Prueher, wasn’t just a principal—he became a mentor who genuinely saw and appreciated my effort. He consistently showed gratitude for my work ethic, my initiative, and the energy I brought to the team. That kind of recognition meant the world, especially in my first professional setting. It made me feel seen—not just as an intern, but as someone with potential. His support reminded me that being a hard worker still matters, and that showing up with heart doesn’t go unnoticed. His words stuck with me on the long bus rides and in quiet moments between tasks.
This internship showed me how much I value company culture. Being part of a supportive, grounded team means more than perks or titles—it’s about energy, trust, and knowing your work matters. I don’t just want to “make it” in engineering—I want to make it somewhere that feels human.
And the thing I’m most proud of? I got this internship on my own. No family connections, no lucky break. Just my resume, my persistence, my networking, and the personality I bring into every room. That means something to me. I’m proud of my work-life right now—not because it’s perfect or easy, but because I built it myself.
Every early morning, every mile, every moment of doubt I push through—it’s all part of that journey. And I’m just getting started.
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