For Camila Taguado-Martinez, senior year has been a season of recognition—of both how far she’s come and how far she still plans to go.

This fall, she’ll be attending Monmouth College, just a few blocks from where she’s grown up, but an entire world removed from where her journey began.

“I’ll be majoring in biology,” she says. “Probably pre-med. Maybe pediatrics. But I’m keeping my eyes open. I know college will be different, and I want to be ready for whatever path opens.”

That open-mindedness is part of Camila’s quiet strength. She carries herself with calm, but not hesitation. The accolades she’s earned—including being named an Illinois State Scholar—have helped validate something she’s always tried to believe: that hard work, even when it’s lonely or overwhelming, matters.

“There were nights I’d be crying over homework,” she says, “or pushing through stress and trying to get it all right. Being named a State Scholar—it felt validating. Like all of it counted.”

Her parents saw it, too.

“They’ve always told me how proud they are,” she says. “And I’m proud of them. They’re my heroes.”

Camila’s admiration for her parents runs deep. Her father is a hardworking factory employee. Her mother is her emotional anchor. Both have poured themselves into giving their children a better life than the one they knew.

“I hear their stories of childhood, the challenges they faced,” she says. “And it makes me want to rise—to not have to go through the same things, but also to honor what they’ve done to get me here.”

One of the key moments in Camila’s story happened back in third grade. She was struggling with multiplication, and although she was fluent in English, her home life was centered in Spanish. That year, she had a bilingual teacher—Ms. Patton—who changed everything.

“She saw I was struggling,” Camila says. “And she found ways to help that made sense to me. She sat me in the front. She helped me connect. And because she could speak Spanish, it just clicked.”

That moment—a teacher showing up at just the right time in just the right way—set her on a new trajectory. Today, Camila is tackling pre-calculus and trigonometry with confidence.

But math is only one facet of her story.

Camila is also an artist and a musician. She draws. She paints. She plays piano—both in class and at home. “It’s how I unwind,” she says. “When stress builds up, I go to the piano.”

She’s even been part of the production tech crew for both the school play and musical this year, managing lights, sound, and mics with quiet precision behind the curtain.

“I liked being part of something,” she says. “Even if it wasn’t center stage, I knew I was helping make it happen.”

What’s perhaps most remarkable about Camila is how she’s evolved.

“I was very shy when I was younger,” she says. “I kept to myself. I was afraid to reach out. But now—now I’m starting to break out of that shell. I’ve learned it’s okay to talk. It’s okay to be seen.”

That growth wasn’t accidental. It came from her friends, who uplift each other with genuine joy. It came from teachers who saw more than test scores. And it came from a little brother who, whether he says it or not, has been watching closely.

“I try to inspire him,” Camila says. “I remind him to focus. To care about school. I help him with his math homework. I want him to know it’s possible.”

Looking back, she’d tell her younger self something simple and profound:

“It’s going to be okay. You don’t have to be afraid.”

Because today, Camila isn’t just ready for college.

She’s ready to take up space.

To speak up.

To step forward—on her own terms.