I think I am someone who really likes to help people, and that is what I will bring to the community. For example, in high school, sometimes the cafeteria line was long and people were waiting. I thought maybe it could be better, so I told some friends about it.

We kind of talked about solutions, like maybe making the line faster, but nothing really happened. Still, it showed me that I care about these issues, and I will try to care at university too.

I also like to meet new people and share ideas, so I think I will contribute by just being friendly and open-minded. Overall, I believe I will add positive energy and maybe also some new perspectives. I’m not perfect, but I always try, and I hope to bring this attitude to the campus community.

Campus life runs on minutes; ours were slipping away in the line at lunch. By October, lines were fourteen minutes on average, zero budget, and zero personnel. I treated it as an ops problem, focusing on clipboard times at each station, the daily demand curve, and employee interviews.

The fix was easy but methodical—QR pre-orders, five-minute windows, and a paper kiosk for students who didn’t have phones. I pilot-tested with two homerooms, A/B-tested copy (“pick up in five” did better than “ETA”), trained up volunteers, and built a dashboard to indicate overloads.

Three weeks later, wait fell to five minutes; by spring, 600+ weekly orders ran smoothly. What I bring is the process: see, measure, design in constraint, and build a playbook others can follow.

On campus, I’ll partner with dining and student government to codify ’90-minute process sprints,’ publish templates, and host open ‘failure labs’ so fixes outlast me. My goal isn’t headlines; it’s time returned to learning.

Since forever I liked computers and the internet and security and stuff, so obviously this was a big opportunity for me, in many ways that are hard to explain but important. My community college didn’t really have a class about “how to keep things safe online,” which was kind of surprising, but also fine because I just learned it myself on YouTube and random blogs, etc. I watched a bunch of videos about hacking (the legal kind) and also encryption (which is basically like secret codes, kind of). This taught me many lessons.

Later I did an internship at a small startup company where I helped with passwords and emails and things like that. First I looked at the system, and then I drew a diagram that showed arrows going around, which was helpful because arrows show movement. After that I added stronger protection and also another layer, and we decided to change keys sometimes, which is obviously smart. The support team kind of had less questions after, I think, and my document got used again somewhere probably, which proves impact.

Back at school I ran a workshop called “What does the lock icon even mean??” We made a tiny chat app that was private (not fully finished, but it worked if you followed the steps exactly). People liked it and said “cool,” and some even did security puzzles later which means it was inspiring.

Overall this educational opportunity was very educational. It helped me grow as a person and student and future computer scientist, and I learned to take initiative and leadership and collaboration. At UC I will continue to work hard, learn a lot, and do all the things necessary to succeed in life and make a difference.

My community college did not offer a course on how the internet safeguards information. Instead of waiting, I created the opportunity for myself. I set up an independent math practice, engaged in weekend security-puzzle competitions, and got an internship with a small privacy-tech firm. Together, these were my “course”: learn, build, and share.

I learned most effectively by crafting little “lock-and-key” programs that encrypted a message—then flipping roles and trying to break them like a friendly hacker. With each flaw I found, I fixed it and documented the lesson in plain, step-by-step notes. This cycle translated large ideas into something I could tinker with, not just memorize.

In the early times, I used the same approach to a simple sign-up function. I designed a simple diagram of the way names, emails, and passwords flowed through the system, identified weaknesses, and suggested three solutions: more secure protection of passwords, a second layer of security when we stored sensitive data, and a frequency of changing the “keys.” I collaborated with a senior engineer to implement the solutions, incorporating easy-to-follow labels and checks to make the system difficult to manipulate. My solutions were checked in, support queries stopped, and my one-page risk map was taken on a future design review.

Upon my return to campus, I organized a workshop called “What does the lock icon mean?” We built a tiny private conversation in which only the sender and receiver could view the messages, and I distributed the code together with a plain-English guide. Several classmates then went on to create security puzzles with that starter kit.

This experience altered my learning. When there isn’t a course, I now set goals, find mentors and resources, and test what I’ve learned against the world. At UC, I aim to apply the learn-build-share habit to security and systems projects, creating tools that make privacy easy for average users and safe by default for developers.

When I got to community college I saw a lot of stuff happening and also not happening, which was honestly confusing but also inspirational in a way. Japanese students were kind of around, but also invisible, like you could see them but also you couldn’t (metaphorically). People ate alone, sometimes at tables, sometimes not, and the campus had buildings and offices and some kind of resources that were resourceful, but none of them were, you know, specifically specifically for us. One person told me “I go straight home because I don’t know who to talk to,” and that really hit me in the feels and also the brain, so I decided something should be done by me, personally.

Therefore, I founded a club called the Japanese Student Association (JSA), which I was the president of (founder/president/leader/manager—many hats). Our goals were: reduce isolation a lot, create friendships both cross-cultural and regular, and help with transfer paths (UC and others, etc.), and also general success and happiness metrics that are hard to measure but we felt them. We made a three-year plan, or maybe it was one year, I don’t remember exactly because planning is dynamic.

My strategy was basically the product method but also common sense: listen (sometimes), design (quickly), test (lightly), iterate (if time). We did a welcome BBQ—there was food like hot dogs and other foods—and it was good vibe wise. I made fliers in two languages and also in spirit. We collaborated with clubs, sort of. Turnout wasn’t the best at first, but then we did Language Exchange Night every week with cards that had questions like “What is your favorite food?” which is a classic question that works. Professors said things in class about it (thanks). Attendance went up and down but generally up (9 to 28 to 14 to 22, etc., midterms were a factor).

At the same time, we also did academic supports. Workshops about majors and essays and those agreements that articulate (the name is long). I made a “Transfer Starter Guide” that had deadlines and links and some bullet points that were helpful if you read them. We posted on Instagram and Discord where people scroll; views were seen. For sustainability, I created a cabinet of five (sometimes six) and a one-page playbook with budget, risks, roles, snacks. We got like $1,200-ish from student government and maybe two grants; the exact number is pending but around there.

By the end, membership was 63 (active/inactive mixed), we hosted 12 events (depending how you count a sub-event), and 250+ participants (maybe unique, maybe total). A survey proved 92% “more connected,” 76% “made a non-Japanese friend,” and 100% “had opinions.” Some people transferred after, which shows impact, and we also received an Inclusion thing (certificate/award/plaque—anyway it exists). We set up a handoff so leadership wouldn’t just stop when I left, because that would be bad.

What I learned is that community building is empathy and also execution and consistency and vibes and showing up. You meet people where they are (physically and emotionally), then remove frictions until belonging is basically automatic, which is easier said than done but we said it and then kind of did it. I will continue doing this sort of difference-making in the future times ahead, in general.

In my first semester at a community college, I observed a consistent pattern: Japanese international students—sparse and spread out across classes—ate alone, stayed away from clubs, and silently returned home. The college had excellent overall facilities, but nothing that was particularly tailored to our language and cultural needs. Following one of my classmates, when she said to me, “I go directly home because I don’t know to whom I should speak,” I understood the price of isolation to be greater than loneliness; it was lost chances to practice English, build friendships, and prepare to transfer.

To turn that around, I founded the Japanese Student Association (JSA) and served as its first president. Our goals were measurable and straightforward: reduce isolation, increase cross-cultural friendships, and aid transfer pathways for Japanese students. We created a three-year projection: reach most of the Japanese student population, organize regular bilingual events, and produce informative guides for transfers and college life.

I approached it as if designing a product for people: listen first, then design, test, and refine. We began with a welcoming barbecue planned with the student life office and food services to coordinate permits and dietary needs. I distributed bilingual invitations throughout ESL classes and collaborated with other cultural clubs to promote mixed attendance. When early events drew primarily Japanese students, I shifted my approach: I co-hosted weekly Language Exchange Night with the ESL department, matched students by design (using conversation cards and rotating partners), and asked professors to announce sign-ups, which resulted in 9 to 28 weekly attendances in a month.

In parallel, I built support for transfers and scholars. With the transfer center, I organized workshops on choosing majors, writing personal insight questions, and reading articulation agreements. I revised a bilingual “Transfer Starter Guide” (deadlines, campus resources, sample timelines) and posted it on our Instagram and Discord. For the sustainability of JSA, I employed a five-member cabinet, developed a one-page event playbook (budgeting, risk assessment, and roles), and received $1,200 in funding through the student government and two small grants. We tracked basic metrics—attendance, new-to-campus attendees, and post-event survey—and used them to adjust format and timing.

By the end of the year, JSA boasted 63 active members, hosted 12 events, and involved more than 250 individual participants on campus. A short survey (n=47) showed 92% felt more connected to campus; 76% indicated they had at least one non-Japanese friend as a result of attending JSA events. The Language Exchange turned into a weekly program operated by volunteers, and our barbecue evolved into a co-cultural fair with three other clubs. After transfer workshops, some students reported having better plans. Subsequently, 12 members transferred to four-year colleges, including UC campuses, and noted that the guide and peer revisions boosted their confidence. Student life recognized JSA for “Advancing Inclusion,” and we established a formal leadership transition so the succeeding team could take over when I transferred.

I learned that community-building is empathy and execution: bring people where they are, then remove obstacles until belonging feels natural. Most of all, I saw the way a small, focused group can shift campus culture—one meal, one conversation, one clear direction at a time. It’s the kind of difference I hope to keep making: functional, accessible, and lasting.