Aspiring Chef · Inquisitive Entrepreneur · Dot Connector
Personal essays revealing who Elan is — his values, challenges, creativity, and vision for the future.
Can we all agree that a freshly baked chocolate chip cookie is like nothing else in the world? Crafting a delicious dessert and then getting to share my creation with others really lit a spark in me. So much so that, in junior year, I took my hobby to the next level by launching a cookie business. My goal was to make money, so the first time I went to the grocery store, I was shocked. The cost of ingredients added up so quickly, I couldn’t believe it. I grabbed the cheapest butter I could find, generic sugar and flour—any option that was affordable. Then there was the moment of truth when I hitched my cookie bag over my shoulder and started to sell my creations. The vulnerability was overwhelming. Would my peers judge me too harshly? Would people even want to buy the cookies? The first time a student I didn’t know ran after me in the hall, waving furiously and asking if I was the “cookie guy,” I knew I had something special.
While I was selling out every day, the cookies did not always behave the way I wanted. They spread too thin, browned too quickly, and lost their softness by the end of the day. One afternoon, I splurged on French butter. The difference was immediate. The dough came together beautifully. I swapped in organic brown sugar and high-quality unbleached flour. The cookies had more depth of flavor, were richer, and undeniably better. The problem? They now cost three times as much to make.
I was stuck between quality and affordability.
Around this time, I remember walking into the living room to find my parents watching Jon Stewart interview Maria Ressa, the Filipino journalist and Nobel Peace Prize winner. My dad, also Filipino, leaned over and said proudly, “You should watch this.” Stewart compared social media to processed food: cheap, addictive, and stripped of nutrients. “Without facts, you can’t have truth. Without truth, you can’t have trust,” Ressa agreed. The idea stuck with me.
I began noticing the parallel everywhere. Just like baking, the quality of what we put into our minds matters. Since the end of freshman year, I’ve been inspired to get myself more involved politically. This didn’t just mean engaging with my peers about political or environmental issues, but also attending protests, participating in public discussions, and joining clubs like Model United Nations. Having the opportunity to travel also shed light on new topics and the variety of challenges that people from nations outside of the U.S. were facing. These activities gave me relevant views to help educate myself on matters of the world and placed me in environments with a diverse set of perspectives. I found myself with a passion for human rights and sustainability issues that might not have happened without such eye-opening experiences.
Back in the kitchen, I made a choice. I raised my prices. I explained why my cookies cost more, where the ingredients came from, how they were made, and why quality mattered. To my surprise, people still bought them. They valued honesty and craftsmanship. I learned that accessibility doesn’t have to mean cutting corners; it can mean transparency and trust.
That lesson guides how I see my future. I want to study political and environmental science not just to understand systems, but to challenge them thoughtfully. Knowledge, like good ingredients, is only powerful when it’s real. I want to contribute work that’s informed, ethical, and intentional—work that feeds people’s minds the way my baking feeds their joy.
And my cookies? They still sell out.
If given the chance to change history for both my community and the world, I would seek solutions to the global hunger crisis as well as food waste. Though we as humans love to categorize issues as environmental, humanitarian, or ethical, these two enormous obstacles in mankind’s path are truly one and the same. When looking at the hundreds of billions of pounds of food wasted alongside the 34 million people struggling with food insecurity in the U.S. alone, it becomes clear that the issue is not production, but distribution. On a global scale, the problem only worsens, which starkly contrasts the lack of political urgency worldwide. I would aim to establish food as a human right everywhere on Earth, as it is essential to sustaining a democracy and government in the first place, and I believe policymaking is the most effective method to achieve this.
Our current systems allow waste and need to coexist while attempting to place blame on scarcity. If I could redirect history, I would push for policy at both national and international levels to treat food as a natural right and as critical infrastructure. Food recovery systems would be mandated, research into and implementation of preservation and redistribution technologies would be funded, and corporate and government supply chains would be made transparent to protect workers, the food itself, and those who are hungry. Accessibility and sustainability would be my top priorities, with profit serving only as a secondary factor.
While philanthropic actions and volunteer work contribute greatly to addressing global issues, it is a fact that policy accelerates progress. When governments declare necessities such as water, public education, or healthcare to be fundamental rights, systemic change begins. This is why I believe policymaking is so important and must be placed in the hands of individuals who are curious, persistent, and committed to solving issues like hunger. George Washington University’s proximity to policymakers matters to me because they transform ideas like those in this essay into real, government-mandated solutions.
I want to develop the same skills that many world leaders and policymakers possess—the ability to project morality and empathy through legislation grounded in science and data. Food should not be charity, nor a privilege that can be taken away, and governments should reflect that belief. By changing history, I would ensure that this truth is recognized and that responsibility is instituted the right way.
I’m very interested in campuses where I can see myself growing, both intellectually and internally. Occidental not only carries values such as a strong commitment to social justice and diversity that would support my development and education, but also bridges academic discussion and learning in the classroom with hands-on experiences like the Campaign Semester. This is especially appealing for someone like me studying public policy and seeking civic engagement.
Being able to actively participate, in addition to learning conceptually through lessons, fits my learning style and aligns with how I want to progress through my education. I believe hands-on, real-world experiences are some of the best ways to supplement training and research.
Aside from that, I find the small liberal arts format and the charmingly intimate, walkable campus also contribute to why I’m so drawn to Occidental. I know how important interdisciplinary learning is as well, and I am eager to experience political science through lenses such as sociological, historical, and environmental perspectives within a flexible liberal arts system.
I’ve always been a smart kid. I took any opportunity for extra credit and my hand would shoot up for every question in class. Freshman year was easier than everyone said it would be, and I was so confident going into sophomore year. That’s why, when my grades started dropping, I brushed it off as an anomaly. As my grades fell from certain A’s to barely C’s and then D’s, I felt like I was looking at someone else’s report card. The worst part was that I would swing from being completely apathetic to my situation to spiraling over it. When I got my first-ever F, I blamed everyone but myself.
Realizing I needed a change wasn’t a bright lightbulb going off like in the movies. It was a quiet moment in the middle of the day. Something flipped, and I knew inactivity wasn’t the answer. I didn’t etch out every single hour of my day as part of my study plan like I used to—I did something more impactful. I talked with all my teachers, conveying an openness I wasn’t capable of before. I kept track of my progress, celebrating the small victories as they came to me. I clawed my way back to high test scores and trudged through piles of late work.
By junior year, I had a grip on my life and the good grades to show for it. Nevertheless, the real shift was internal. I took the words of Winston Churchill to heart — “perfection is the enemy of progress.” I needed to take one step at a time toward being better. It’s the tiny decisions to put my phone down or attend a study group that really matter.
My first day at Polytechnic High School was a bewildering, confusing mess to my still middle-school brain. I wasn’t sure where I was meant to fit in. I watched my water polo teammates I had practiced with all summer settle into groups, find friends, and establish connections. It seemed everyone but me had found a place.
I may have missed many opportunities during my four years, but I’ve learned to ask questions—to inquire about how to get what I need or want. Now, I’m faced with a new challenge: being a senior mentor for my freshman water polo teammates going through this disorienting process. I swore that they wouldn’t face their first day with swirling questions or uncertainty. I gladly clarified anything without making them feel belittled.
The most important words I could give them were these: always ask questions. Knowing firsthand how much silence could hold you back, I pushed them to express their curiosity rather than repress it out of shame. One of them asked me for tips and pre-game strategies, and I told him all I knew about diet, stretching, and mentality. Once game day rolled around, he was the top scorer for his team. To me, leadership means not always having every answer, but giving others the voice to ask.
Can we all agree that a freshly baked chocolate chip cookie is like nothing else in the world? I’m more of a chef, but baking is where I really get to stretch my creativity. Crafting a delicious dessert and then getting to share my creation with others really lit a spark in me. I’ve always been fascinated by food and its power to bring people together and to serve as a medium for cultural expression.
Cooking is a culmination of what I’ve learned from those I love. From my dad and his grilling, to my grandma’s traditional Filipino style, it is a creative outlet to try new flavors and ingredients. Recently, I’ve taken my hobby to the next level by launching a cookie business. I enjoy unraveling the engaging puzzle that is recipe crafting by balancing flavors and creating menus. Working with challenging ingredients like matcha, ube, or frangipane, tests my creativity and sharpens my skills.
What started as simple chocolate chip cookies quickly became a means to connect with generations and cultures I didn’t expect. To me, creativity means doing what I love and sharing it with my community.
For as long as I can remember, I had always wanted to be an astronaut. As a child, I had every planet and its moons memorized. I loved astronomy so much, that no one could take that away. This was until my freshman year of environmental science, government and economics classes. All of these courses felt like a turning point. I realized how important it is to me to actively find ways to help the planet and the people on it.
Environmental science made me aware of the scale of challenges we face. Government shed light on how to work through these issues using policy, debate and cooperation. Since then, I’ve been getting more involved politically. This went beyond engaging with my peers about political or environmental issues, but attending protests, engaging in public discussions, and joining clubs like Model United Nations.
Now, when I look where I want to be, it’s somewhere making a deeply positive change. Knowledge may be power, but for me it goes beyond that, it’s also about motivation and action to create progress.