If you were to ask my parents what stood out about me as a kid, they’d say it was my ability to talk someone’s ear off. Family, friends, strangers on the subway; if you were breathing and had opposable thumbs, I was striking up a conversation. I could turn a hello into a full-blown discussion, and small talk into storytelling. Little did I know, that same chatty nature would eventually become the foundation of my career and one of my biggest strengths.
I’m first-generation in this country, so higher education wasn’t just a goal, it was a dream deeply rooted in my parents’ sacrifices. They didn’t have the opportunities that they believed I one day would. When your parents come from another country, they often don’t have the luxury of chasing personal dreams. Their focus becomes survival, stability, and building something better for the next generation. I didn’t fully grasp that growing up. It wasn’t until I found myself in college, walking across a campus, attending lectures, and participating in student life, that I realized just how much I was experiencing a life my parents might never know for themselves.
Looking back on my early education, I can confidently say I was a strong student. In elementary and middle school, I genuinely enjoyed learning. I understood the material easily, earned great grades, and was eager to raise my hand in class. My curiosity was never-ending, and I had a natural drive to excel. But everything shifted in high school.
I attended Classical High School, a college preparatory school in Providence with a prestigious reputation. From the outside, it seemed like the perfect place for a motivated student like me. But on the inside, it was a very different story. The teachers had a “tough love” approach, and while some may have benefited from that pressure, many others- including myself, began to shrink under it.
Teachers would imply that if you couldn’t keep up, you didn’t belong. Some even said outright, “If you don’t get this, you should be at Central High next door.” Statements like that weren’t just damaging, they were discouraging. Instead of planting seeds of confidence, they sowed doubt. And over time, that doubt grew louder than my own voice. I still wanted to go to college, but I began to question if I was smart enough, good enough, or even deserving of that dream.
My parents were supportive in every way they could be, but there were limits to what they knew. Their knowledge of the college process was shaped by language barriers, cultural differences, and lack of access. They wanted so badly to guide me but didn’t always know how. It was a lonely road, and I didn’t have a clear map to follow.
Then, everything changed during my junior year. A representative from the University of Rhode Island came to speak to our class about the Talent Development Program. I remember sitting in that room, feeling both skeptical and curious. But as the presentation unfolded, something clicked. The representative walked us through the entire college process: how to apply, what the academic requirements were, what came after submitting your application, and who to reach out to with questions. They spoke plainly, honestly, and with a deep understanding of what students like me needed. That 45-minute presentation taught me more than any of the meetings I’d had with my high school guidance counselor. It was the first time I felt like college was not just a vague idea, but an actual possibility.
Technology, too, has been a major part of my journey, though I didn’t always realize it. It’s constantly evolving, changing the way we live, learn, and communicate. Before taking this class, I’d say I had a decent handle on technology. I mean, I’ve never really known life without it. But if I’m being honest, I wasn’t using it to its full potential. According to Scott Noon’s framework, I’d probably fall into the “techno-traditionalist” category. I used technology every day, sure, but I wasn’t pushing its boundaries or seeing how it could improve my life or work.
That’s changed now. This class helped me reframe my relationship with technology. I began to understand that I wasn’t just a consumer of digital tools, I could be a creator, too. That mindset shift was huge.
And that’s where the idea for our podcast came in. The more I reflected on my educational journey, the more I realized I wasn’t alone. So many students are told they should go to college, but they’re never taught how. The process is overwhelming, full of confusing steps and unspoken rules. There’s this massive gap between ambition and access, and I wanted to help bridge it.
My experience working as a campus tour guide in the admissions office opened my eyes even more. I saw firsthand how little support some families had. I noticed how many students had questions they were afraid to ask or didn’t know who to ask. I decided to step in. I gave the first-ever all-Spanish campus tour at URI in 2018, translated documents for families, and helped organize information sessions in Providence for families who couldn’t travel to Kingston. It wasn’t just about giving tours, it was about empowering people with information.
That’s what our podcast is all about. Maya and I want to walk students through each stage of the college journey. We want to cover everything, from the Common App, to college essay writing, to how to pick a major, apply for financial aid, and understand what resources are available once they’re enrolled. College access shouldn’t be a privilege. It should be a right.
Students perform better when they feel supported. They thrive when they know someone is in their corner. With podcasts, we can give them information that’s accessible, portable, and personal. They can listen on the bus, during lunch, at home, whenever they need it. It’s like having a mentor in your earbuds.
In class, we read articles that really shaped my thinking on media literacy. Marc Prensky’s “Digital Natives vs. Digital Immigrants” made me think about myself and my parents. I grew up in a world where technology was always around. Sure, it wasn’t as advanced as it is now, but I was there as it evolved—and I learned alongside it. That made me a so-called Digital Native. My parents, on the other hand, had to adapt to a new country and new tech, often at the same time. They’d fall into Prensky’s “Digital Immigrant” category.
At first, I agreed with Prensky’s ideas. But then I read Spiegel’s “Prensky Revisited,” and it opened my eyes to the gray area. Just because someone grows up with tech doesn’t mean they’re skilled at using it. And just because someone didn’t grow up with tech doesn’t mean they can’t learn it. Spiegel’s point really resonated with me—our education system hasn’t done enough to teach students how to actually use the technology at their fingertips. We’re surrounded by tools, but not always taught how to wield them.
Another major influence on me was Rita Pierson’s TED Talk, “Every Kid Needs a Champion.” I’ve seen it multiple times, and each time it hits home. It’s a reminder of why I do what I do. In her talk, she shares a mantra she had her students repeat:
“I am somebody. I was somebody when I came. I'll be a better somebody when I leave. I am powerful, and I am strong. I deserve the education that I get here. I have things to do, people to impress, and places to go.”
She believed that if students said it enough, they’d start to believe it. And she was right. There’s something incredibly powerful about having someone believe in you, especially when you’re struggling to believe in yourself. Hope is contagious, and once it’s planted, it grows.
That’s what Maya and I want to be through our podcast. We want to be champions for students. We want to cheer them on while giving them the real, tangible steps to reach their goals. It’s one thing to inspire students, but it’s another to walk beside them and help clear the path.
Before this class, I never would have imagined myself creating digital content. A podcast felt so out of reach, mostly because I didn’t know how to start. Brittany’s podcasting lesson was a turning point. She introduced us to Adobe Podcast and let us explore. Maya and I jumped in, pressed record, and just talked. Eight minutes later, we had a full episode. It felt natural. It felt like us. And more importantly, it felt like something that could actually make a difference.
We discovered how easy it was to edit, cut what didn’t work, and even add music. It wasn’t perfect, but it was ours. And it was just the beginning.
What started as a class final project has now grown into a meaningful mission. Through this podcast, we’re using our voices, something I’ve always been good at, to help others find theirs. And that, to me, is the true power of education.
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