Pauleen Sol
Application Essay
“Wait, let’s create a budget for this project.”
Hi! I’m Pauleen, and I’m often called Ate Pau despite being younger than those who call me that. This baffles me to this day. They say they like to refer to me with that nickname because they see me as more mature, a caring and dedicated leader, and at first glance, I act older than them. I beg to differ. I might be the most immature student in Quezon City Science High School, as I sometimes still engage in baby talk. I’m also immature in the sense that I shy away from opportunities, especially in leadership.
It’s not that I doubt or don’t recognize my capabilities and talents. I once volunteered to lead a class musical performance on a whim because I knew I had the heart and determination to plan, organize, prepare, and execute to make the project a success. I also ran for a student leader position in Junior High at the last minute, bringing only my hope, willingness, and desire to serve my batchmates and school.
As I’m writing this, I realize that most, if not all, of my fondest memories stem from my impulsiveness. I didn’t think much about what would happen to me with the responsibilities attached to the roles I took on. I was not shy but had an attitude of “I’m not alone in this. I have them (classmates and my family) to support me.”
While I’m glad to have had that perspective when deciding to take on leadership roles and that I seized those opportunities, I want to chastise myself for making my family suffer from stress to support me, anxiety about what might unexpectedly happen, and the shame of not being able to provide the money needed to cover the expenses of my projects. I’m disappointed in myself for putting my family in those mental states just for the sake of doing what I wanted.
I really like to lead. It’s like I’m born to do it. However, I’m not born with the financial support to fulfill it. That’s why I’m thankful for the ANI scholarship. I’m currently a research leader of a very financially demanding project, and because of this scholarship, month after month, I am able to create a fund in preparation for our experiments. It eases my worries about the future, not only because of the financial help, but also because the founders are equally supportive of me in my research endeavors. They’re just one email away. They once helped me with my qualitative research by giving their thoughts on our research proposal, and I’m very grateful for their efforts.
I’m glad to have come this far. I have only months left before I graduate from Kisay. While I regret my impulsiveness, I treasure the experiences that transpired from it. But now, thanks to ANI, I have become more capable of believing in myself and knowing that I can do it.
Exit Essay – Tassel Worth the Hassle
They say, “The tassel was worth the hassle.” And while I can finally relate to that classic saying, the irony is: I lost my tassel minutes before graduation. So, like a true QueSci student, I improvised. I reached for the air on my right and swung an imaginary tassel to the left. That moment, funnily enough, might be the best summary of my six-year journey here—imperfect, but still meaningful (except for being clumsy enough to lose the tassel and occasionally losing my temper, of course).
At first, I was honestly annoyed. I wanted everything to go perfectly, especially on such a big day. But then I looked around. I saw the glowing faces of my classmates, heard their shared laughter, felt the genuineness in their congratulations to their friends… and in that moment, I forgot to be irritated. I smiled. Because beyond the tassels and the ceremony, it was really the camaraderie, the inside jokes, the quiet solidarity we built through years of chaos, that made it all worth it.
No one really sees what went into reaching this point: the all-nighters, the last-minute revisions, the rejections, the breakdowns, the overthinking. So many moments asking myself, “Is it even worth it? I’d graduate anyway…” But I kept going, quietly and very stubbornly. That quiet persistence? That’s my version of the tassel. Even if no one else sees it, even if I forget the details someday, I’ll always know what it took to get here.
I used to think graduation was just about the speeches from our teachers and representatives from the Department Office. But somewhere along the way, maybe while laughing with my classmates as we sang our Graduation Song, I realized it’s so much more than that. Graduation is really about recognizing the invisible victories. It’s about choosing to keep going with the help of others (like my family and ANI), even when nothing makes sense.
So I move forward. I picture the tassel still in my hand, and when I swing it to the left, I imagine a new path unfolding. Still uncertain. Still under construction. But mine.
They say, “The tassel was worth the hassle.” And while I can finally relate to that classic saying, the irony is: I lost my tassel minutes before graduation. So, like a true QueSci student, I improvised. I reached for the air on my right and swung an imaginary tassel to the left. That moment, funnily enough, might be the best summary of my six-year journey here—imperfect, but still meaningful (except for being clumsy enough to lose the tassel and occasionally losing my temper, of course).
At first, I was honestly annoyed. I wanted everything to go perfectly, especially on such a big day. But then I looked around. I saw the glowing faces of my classmates, heard their shared laughter, felt the genuineness in their congratulations to their friends… and in that moment, I forgot to be irritated. I smiled. Because beyond the tassels and the ceremony, it was really the camaraderie, the inside jokes, the quiet solidarity we built through years of chaos, that made it all worth it.
No one really sees what went into reaching this point: the all-nighters, the last-minute revisions, the rejections, the breakdowns, the overthinking. So many moments asking myself, “Is it even worth it? I’d graduate anyway…” But I kept going, quietly and very stubbornly. That quiet persistence? That’s my version of the tassel. Even if no one else sees it, even if I forget the details someday, I’ll always know what it took to get here.
I used to think graduation was just about the speeches from our teachers and representatives from the Department Office. But somewhere along the way, maybe while laughing with my classmates as we sang our Graduation Song, I realized it’s so much more than that. Graduation is really about recognizing the invisible victories. It’s about choosing to keep going with the help of others (like my family and ANI), even when nothing makes sense.
So I move forward. I picture the tassel still in my hand, and when I swing it to the left, I imagine a new path unfolding. Still uncertain. Still under construction. But mine.
And that, I think, is more than enough.
And that, I think, is more than enough.
