The Space Between Words

My grandmother speaks a dialect of Spanish that is thick with the slang of her small mountain village in Mexico. My father speaks a formal, academic Spanish learned in a university classroom. My mother, who grew up in Los Angeles, speaks a rapid-fire Spanglish, switching between languages mid-sentence without a second thought. I grew up in the space between their words, and my first real skill was translation.

This was not the formal translation of a United Nations interpreter. It was a messy, intuitive, and deeply personal act. When my grandmother told a long, winding story about a neighbor’s goat, I learned to translate not just her words, but the twinkle in her eye and the mischievous tilt of her head for my father, who would otherwise miss the joke. When my father tried to explain a complicated financial document to my mother, I learned to strip away the jargon and find the simple, direct meaning she needed. I became a linguistic and emotional bridge, learning that true communication is not about finding the perfect word, but about understanding the person behind it.

My role as the family translator shaped my identity. In school, this skill manifested in unexpected ways. I was not the loudest voice in a group project, but I was the one who could listen to three different, conflicting ideas and find the common thread that united them. I could sense the hesitation in a quiet classmate’s voice and gently ask the question that would allow them to share their brilliant idea. My talent was not in speaking, but in creating the space for others to be heard. I learned that every person speaks their own unique dialect, a language shaped by their background, their passions, and their fears. My skill is in learning to listen to it.

This has become the central focus of my life. In my work as a peer mentor, I sat with a freshman who was struggling with chemistry. He insisted he was just “bad at science.” But as I listened, I heard something else. He spoke with incredible passion about building intricate model airplanes, describing the physics of lift and the chemical properties of the glue he used. He was not bad at science; he just spoke a different scientific dialect. I did not teach him chemistry. Instead, I helped him translate his existing knowledge, connecting the principles he already understood from his hobby to the formulas in his textbook. He finished the year with a B plus.

I am a translator of ideas and a builder of bridges. It is a quiet skill, one that does not always show up on a resume. But I believe it is the skill that allows a diverse community to become a true community. At Georgetown, I want to continue this work. I want to be the student in a study group who helps connect the complex theories of a sociology class to the real-world experiences of my peers. I want to be the roommate who can hear the homesickness hidden in a short, clipped sentence. My background has taught me that the most important things are often said in the space between words. I have spent my life learning to listen there.

The Ethics of a Fruit Fly

In my sophomore biology class, we studied the genetics of fruit flies. We learned about dominant and recessive traits, mapping how eye color was passed down through generations. The work was fascinating, a perfect puzzle of dominant and recessive alleles. But as I stared at the Punnett squares, a different kind of question began to bother me. We were manipulating the lives of these tiny creatures, deciding which ones would breed and which would be discarded, all for the sake of our own understanding. The experiment was scientifically sound, but was it right?

That question, which my teacher could not answer, is what draws me to Georgetown’s College of Arts & Sciences. My interest is not just in biology, but in the complex space where scientific discovery meets human values. I do not want to just learn the mechanics of genetic engineering; I want to ask what our responsibility is as we gain the power to rewrite life itself. This requires more than a science education. It requires an integrated one, an education in the Jesuit tradition that Georgetown champions.

I envision myself majoring in Biology, diving deep into the curriculum and seeking research opportunities at the Georgetown University Medical Center. I am particularly fascinated by the work of Dr. Elena Casey on the cellular mechanisms of aging. Her research into how cells decline over time is scientifically compelling, but it also raises profound philosophical questions. What does it mean to extend life? What is the value of a life lived longer, but perhaps with diminished quality? To explore these questions, I would need to step outside the science lab and into the philosophy department. I would want to take courses like “Bioethics and the Law” with Professor Robert Bies, learning how society has grappled with these issues. This is what Georgetown’s commitment to an integrated education means to me: the ability to study the “how” in one building and the “why” in another.

This approach reflects the Jesuit value of Cura Personalis, or care for the whole person. To me, this also means caring for the whole of a problem. A scientific solution without ethical consideration is incomplete. At Georgetown, I would not be forced to choose between being a scientist and being a humanist. I could be both. I hope to join the Bioethics Research Library and contribute to its work, bringing the perspective of a young scientist who believes that our moral compass must evolve as quickly as our technical capabilities. My core intellectual interest lies in the questions that have no easy answers. I want to spend my undergraduate career not just learning the facts, but exploring the values that give those facts meaning.

The Language of Water

The first time I truly understood the concept of a border was not from a map, but from a conversation with my uncle. He is a farmer in California’s Imperial Valley, and his life is dictated by the flow of the Colorado River. He explained to me that the water in his irrigation canals is the same water that, hundreds of miles upstream, carves the Grand Canyon, and hundreds of miles downstream, is supposed to reach farms in Mexico. He spoke of the complex web of treaties, rights, and desperate negotiations that govern every drop. I realized then that this single river was a source of life, a political battleground, and a fragile thread connecting millions of people across a border they could not see.

My motivation to study international affairs stems from this realization: that the world’s most critical challenges are not contained by lines on a map. They are shared resources, shared crises, and shared fates. A drought in one region can cause a famine in another, sparking a refugee crisis that destabilizes a third. To dedicate my life to global service, I need an education that understands these deep, systemic connections. This is why I am drawn to the Walsh School of Foreign Service.

At SFS, I plan to major in Science, Technology, and International Affairs (STIA), focusing on the intersection of environmental science and global policy. The curriculum is perfectly designed to explore the issue that first captured my imagination. I could study the science of water management in a class on environmental science while simultaneously learning about the political frameworks that govern transboundary resources in a course on international law. This interdisciplinary approach is essential. The solution to the Colorado River’s problems is not just a better irrigation system or a new treaty; it is a complex integration of both.

Georgetown’s location in Washington D.C. provides an unparalleled laboratory for this work. I hope to secure an internship at the State Department’s Bureau of Oceans and International Environmental and Scientific Affairs, applying what I learn in the classroom to real-world policy challenges. I am also drawn to the work of Professor Joanna Lewis at the intersection of energy, environment, and innovation in China. Her research on how developing nations are tackling climate change is exactly the kind of forward-looking, solutions-oriented work I want to be a part of.

My ultimate goal is to work on water diplomacy, helping to craft and implement agreements that ensure this essential resource is managed equitably and sustainably. This is not just a technical challenge; it is a human one. It requires scientific understanding, political savvy, and a deep sense of empathy for all stakeholders. The Walsh School, with its rigorous academics, its commitment to service, and its location at the heart of global policymaking, is the only place I can imagine preparing for this future. I want to learn the language of water, in all its scientific, political, and human complexity.

The Business of Belonging

Every Saturday, my father transforms our garage into a makeshift bicycle repair shop. He is not a businessman; he is a retired mechanic who loves to tinker. Our neighbors, many of whom are recent immigrants, bring him their children’s bikes with broken chains and flat tires. My father never charges for his labor, but I noticed that many of the families were hesitant to accept a free service. There was a pride and a dignity that made them want to contribute.

My motivation for studying business sparked in that garage. I saw an opportunity not to make a profit, but to solve a human problem. I proposed a new model to my father: a “pay what you can” system. I created a simple coffee can with a slot in the top and a small, hand-painted sign that read, “Your contribution keeps our tools working.” The results were immediate. Some families dropped in a few quarters, others a few dollars. One woman, a talented baker from El Salvador, started bringing us a bag of fresh pan dulce every weekend. The can never collected much money, but it transformed the dynamic. It was no longer charity; it was a community exchange. Our neighbors felt a sense of ownership, and my father’s hobby became a true neighborhood hub.

This experience taught me that business is not just about financial transactions; it is about creating systems that allow people to interact with dignity and purpose. I want to study business to learn how to build organizations that are not only profitable, but also create value for their communities. This is why I am drawn to Georgetown’s McDonough School of Business, with its emphasis on principled leadership and its global perspective.

At McDonough, I want to focus on social entrepreneurship. I am excited by the prospect of taking classes like “Business and Social Justice” and learning how to apply analytical business skills to some of the world’s most pressing problems. I am particularly inspired by the work of the Business for Impact center and its focus on creating sustainable and ethical business models. I would love to participate in the Global Business Fellows program, learning firsthand how different cultures approach the relationship between commerce and community.

My goal is to one day start a company that provides affordable, sustainable transportation solutions for underserved communities, perhaps a bike-share program that uses a community-based model similar to the one I developed in my garage. To do this, I need more than just a strong foundation in finance and marketing. I need an education that is grounded in ethics, that understands the global context of business, and that believes business can be a powerful force for good. McDonough, with its Jesuit values and its commitment to creating leaders who serve society, is the perfect place to begin this journey.