To many, college is a next step. To me, it’s a milestone generation in the making.
I am a first-generation college student, a Syrian refugee, and a woman in STEM pursuing a degree in pharmacy. My educational journey began not in a classroom, but on foot, walking nearly 85 kilometers with my family to escape the war in Daraa, Syria. That journey was over 110,000 steps, each one carrying fear, hope, and the determination to survive. We fled airstrikes, walked through shattered streets, and finally reached safety in the Zaatari refugee camp in Jordan. I was only six years old, but I knew that education would be my way forward.
When we resettled in the United States, I didn’t speak English. Every day was a challenge, from learning a new language to navigating unfamiliar school systems with no family history of higher education to guide me. My parents, who never had the opportunity to attend college, could not help with financial aid forms or course selection. I had to learn everything from scratch, what AP classes were, how to write a résumé, and why SATs mattered.
Being a first-generation student means more than being the first to attend college. It means building a future without a blueprint. It means translating school emails for your parents while figuring out how to apply for scholarships late into the night. It means balancing cultural expectations with academic demands and carrying the dreams of your family with every step forward.
But it also means being resilient.
I’ve taken every opportunity to give back to the community that welcomed me. I’ve worked as a junior counselor for a summer program supporting newly resettled refugee youth, helping them adapt to their new environment. I’ve helped organize cultural and educational events, prepared meals for those in need, and supported local organizations that promote inclusion and youth leadership. I currently work as an IT assistant while studying full-time in a demanding academic program. Every job, every volunteer shift, every late night spent studying has been fueled by the belief that my success is not mine alone, it belongs to my family, my community, and every young person who dreams of doing more than just surviving.
This scholarship would ease a financial burden that weighs heavily on my education. But more than that, it would affirm that my journey, and that of so many first-generation students, is seen and valued. It would allow me to focus on becoming a healthcare provider dedicated to community health and health equity. I hope to one day return to refugee communities to serve not just as a pharmacist, but as a source of hope.
Being first-generation means being first, but never the last. It means paving a path so others can walk it more easily. I’m proud to be that person, and with your support, I’ll go even further.
Essay
Being a first-generation college student means breaking a cycle that has existed in my family for generations. I grew up in poverty in a war-torn country where survival came before dreams. Education was a privilege most could not afford, and my parents—though loving and hardworking—did not have the resources or knowledge to guide me through school. From a young age, I learned to be independent, resilient, and to fight for a better life, even when the path forward was unclear.
When I came to the United States, I faced a new world filled with challenges. I had to learn a new language, adapt to a new culture, and navigate systems that were completely unfamiliar to me. I didn’t have family members who could offer advice about college applications, financial aid, or career planning. My hardships became the foundation of my strength and compassion for others who face similar battles.
Today, I am pursuing my Master’s degree in Clinical Mental Health Counseling at the University of Phoenix. Achieving this goal has been one of the most meaningful accomplishments of my life. I currently work nearly 80 hours a week as a crisis therapist, supporting individuals who are homeless, struggling with addiction, or facing severe mental health challenges. The work is demanding, but it reminds me daily why I chose this path. Having lived through trauma and scarcity myself, I understand the pain of feeling forgotten, and I strive to offer empathy, stability, and hope to those who need it most.
My dream is to open a trauma-informed center that provides accessible, culturally sensitive counseling to people who have endured unimaginable hardship—immigrants, veterans, and individuals battling trauma or substance use. I want to build a space where healing feels possible and where people are treated with dignity, no matter their background or income. I believe that mental health care should not be a luxury but a human right.
This scholarship would mean far more than financial assistance—it would represent validation of my journey and acknowledgment of the perseverance it took to get here. As someone who grew up with very little support, every opportunity I’ve earned has come through hard work, faith, and determination. This award would help relieve the financial burden of tuition and allow me to focus more deeply on my studies, clinical practice, and community outreach. With this support, I could expand my impact and continue helping those who have no one else to turn to.
Being a first-generation student symbolizes hope and transformation. It means carrying both the dreams of my parents and the responsibility to create a better future for others. Though I came from poverty and uncertainty, I have built a life grounded in resilience, empathy, and purpose. I want my journey to show others—especially those who feel powerless—that it’s possible to rise beyond where you come from. With this scholarship, I can continue turning my hardships into healing and my determination into meaningful change for those who need it most.
eing a first-generation student means stepping into a world no one in my family has had the chance to enter. It means walking into classrooms without someone at home who can explain financial aid, college systems, or what the future might look like. It means learning every step alone but refusing to let that stop you. For me, being first-generation has never been about pressure. It has been about opportunity, sacrifice, and the belief that I could build a life different from the one I was born into.
When I left Iran at seventeen, I came to the United States completely alone. No financial support. No guidance. No safety net. I worked from early morning to late at night, walked nearly an hour to my job, saved every dollar, and taught myself how to survive in a new country while trying to earn an education. I often felt invisible struggling quietly while trying to keep up with students who had families helping them, who had homes to go back to, who weren’t worried about how they would pay rent or buy groceries the next day. The odds were against me, but every challenge I faced became the reason I kept going.
What drives me today is the same thing that kept me going back then: the belief that education can change everything. I became the first in my family to attend college, the first to pursue a graduate degree, and soon, the first to earn a doctoral degree. I chose the field of medicine because I know what it feels like to be unseen, unheard, and unsupported and I want to be the kind of provider who makes sure no patient ever feels that way.
My dream is to become a Physician Assistant and ultimately a PA educator, serving underserved, immigrant, and low-income communities. I want to provide compassionate medical care, teach future healthcare providers, and advocate for families who face the same barriers I faced when I first arrived in this country. I want to be living proof to other first-generation students especially young women, immigrants, and students of color that your starting point does not define your future.
But pursuing higher education as a first-generation, low-income student comes with real financial barriers. I have supported myself every step of the way, and the weight of student loans is heavy especially as I enter my Doctor of Medical Science program. This scholarship would relieve part of that burden and allow me to continue my education without sacrificing my ability to focus, serve my community, and move toward my long-term goals.
Being first-generation is not easy. But it has made me stronger, more resilient, and more determined. With your support, I will continue building the future my family never had the opportunity to imagine.
Being a first-generation student means choosing to climb a staircase no one before you has ever seen, with no one ahead to call back directions. I grew up in Poughkeepsie in a household where survival took priority over planning for the future. There were no savings accounts, no financial buffer, and no one who could explain what FAFSA or course registration even meant. I entered higher education the way many first-generation students do, by learning the rules while already living the consequences.
What people rarely see is how isolating it can feel to be the first. There is no one to check whether a decision is wise, no one to warn you before you sign a binding document, no one who has walked the path you are trying to navigate. I have cried in financial aid offices, signed loan agreements I had to trust, gone to class after working overnight, and stretched groceries to make tuition work. None of that appears on a transcript, but it shapes who you become.
Even in the middle of that instability I continued to serve others. I taught reproductive health to girls who had never been told their bodies belonged to them. I supported vaccine access work in Argentina so children I will never meet might live to dream. I did not wait for stability before contributing. I gave while still building, because I know what it feels like to need help and not have it.
Being first-generation is not just an identity. It is responsibility. It is carrying the possibility that you may become the point where your family’s story changes direction. This scholarship would not create my motivation. It would relieve the constant strain that comes from advancing without a safety net. Students like me do not lack ambition. We carry ambition and burden at the same time.
You would not only be supporting one student. You would be helping interrupt a pattern that has persisted for generations. You would be allowing someone who has already built from scarcity to continue building without risking collapse to do so. If I have been able to create this much with uncertainty under my feet, imagine what is possible when that ground is finally steady.
