Bick New Jersey Scholarship

When I moved from Alexandria, Egypt, to Jersey in 2023, I felt like I had arrived in a place I knew only through movies. Growing up, America was where Spider-Man swung between skyscrapers, where the streets of New York never slept, and where possibility seemed endless. But when I finally arrived, reality looked different. My family was living in an overcrowded apartment with my retired grandparents. Money was tight. I was adapting to a new language, a new school system, and an entirely different culture. At first, I felt out of place. Then New Jersey slowly became home. The more I explored, the more I fell in love with the state. I spent weekends playing soccer at Rahway River Park, hiking through Duke Farms, fishing at Lake Hopatcong, playing chess at the Woodbridge Public Library, and enjoying the beaches along the Jersey Shore. I began to understand why so many people loved this place. Sometimes I envy those who grew up here. Yet that feeling quickly turns into gratitude. New Jersey welcomed me when I was trying to rebuild my life. The apartment where my family lived was small, crowded, and noisy, but it became the foundation of my future. A tiny desk in the corner became my laboratory. There, I taught myself electronics using ESP32s and Raspberry Pis. I edited videos for nonprofits, created biology animations, and explored engineering projects late into the night. I learned to make the most of every square foot available to me. Over time, those small daily efforts grew into opportunities I never imagined. I became a QuestBridge Finalist, worked in laboratory operations at Hims & Hers Health, participated in research experiences, attended meetings with university researchers, competed in engineering competitions, started developing my own software platform, and began pursuing patents for inventions designed to improve safety and healthcare. The greatest lesson New Jersey taught me is that success does not depend on where you start. Innovation can begin at a small desk in a crowded apartment just as easily as it can begin in a world-famous laboratory. This fall, I will attend NJIT to study Biomedical Engineering. My goal is to bridge medicine and technology to create devices that improve lives and make healthcare more accessible. One day, I hope to build a medical technology company and bring meaningful innovations to patients around the world. This scholarship would help me continue that journey. It would allow me to focus more of my energy on learning, research, and building solutions that can serve others. Alexandria will always be part of who I am. It holds my childhood, my family history, and many of my happiest memories. But New Jersey gave me something equally important: the opportunity to grow into the person I want to become. And perhaps one day, a technology that improves healthcare for thousands of people will trace its origins not to a famous university lab, but to a small corner desk in a crowded New Jersey apartment.

Growing up in New Jersey means living surrounded by drive, diversity, and relentless energy. In the Garden State, nothing is handed to you; you have to work for every inch of progress. For me, living here as a Black young woman and the daughter of an immigrant pastor has meant learning early on how to navigate life without a safety net. My father came to New Jersey on an R2 visa to shepherd a church, carrying the weight of supporting a family of seven on a minister’s humble income. Financial security was never guaranteed, and our tight budget meant that my siblings and I had to build our own futures. People around me often notice that I’m "too serious" or that my head is constantly in my books. But in a fast-paced state like Jersey, academic focus is my strategy for survival. Maintaining a straight-A average is my way of proving that my financial circumstances won't dictate my destination. The biggest test of my resilience came when I faced the heartbreaking loss of my best friend. Sitting in that hospital room, feeling completely powerless to alter the outcome, altered my life forever. Grief could have easily derailed my focus, but I chose to push through by turning that pain into purpose. I realized I never wanted to stand by helpless while someone suffered, which solidified my ultimate calling: becoming a registered nurse. To process that grief, I also authored and published a devotional book, Held When Life Feels Too Hard, creating a practical tool of comfort for other young people facing emotional distress. Pushing through that dark season proved to me that even when life feels heavy, I have the power to create hope. My goal is to earn my nursing degree and serve in underrepresented New Jersey communities—specifically advocating for low-income, Black, and immigrant families who often face systemic healthcare barriers. Beyond bedside care, I plan to use my story as an author and healthcare provider to mentor young women across our state, showing them that limited resources do not cap their potential. However, the cost of higher education is a massive hurdle. My dad simply cannot afford college tuition for five dependents, and because of our visa journey, every scholarship matters immensely. Winning this scholarship would relieve a overwhelming financial burden from my family and directly fund my nursing tuition. It would allow me to keep my focus entirely on my studies so I can graduate, step into healthcare, and give back to the New Jersey community that raised me. My story is built on faith, hard work, and bouncing back from loss—and this scholarship is the bridge that will help me turn my drive into a lifelong career of saving lives.

“How many representatives serve in the U.S. House?" I felt my face get hot, my palms sweaty, as I sank into a pile equally composed of embarrassment and shame. I had no idea. Looking around the room during my first time at the Ali Leadership Institute Fellowship based in Jersey City, I quickly realized I wasn’t alone. Each of us in the room, predominantly first-generation youth from Hudson County’s diverse communities and public schools, shared that same gap: we’d never been taught that civic engagement was for us. Growing up in New Jersey has meant learning how many worlds can exist within a few miles. I was born in Jersey City, raised in Bayonne, and educated in a county where dozens of languages, cultures, and ambitions intersect every day. In Hudson County, Polish bakeries, family-owned bodegas, mosques, churches, formed a mosaic of culturally-rich perspectives that shaped how I understand community. Driven by an openness to learn ignited a spark in me: to bring together communities through civic engagement. Yet, being raised as a first-generation Polish-American, politics never seemed to be a part of our dinner table conversations. From a young age, I have been learning how to navigate the blending of two cultures, two languages, and two sets of norms. Having immigrated from Poland, my parents have worked hard in pursuit of stability in an unfamiliar country; civic systems often felt distant, designed for others and not for families like mine. Still, I realized that, coming from an immigrant family, being civically literate shouldn’t feel inaccessible and exclusive. Instead of allowing that embarrassment to silence me, I transformed it into curiosity. Paired with a passion for creating opportunities for those in my community, these realizations are why I founded Project Coin: a student-led initiative centered around providing practical and engaging resources that combine financial education with a civic-oriented approach as a means of making civic and financial education more accessible to youth, especially in Hudson County. As the teen who once didn’t even know how many Representatives serve in the House, I hope to continue creating spaces for fostering civic dialogue and embracing the diverse New Jersey that I grew up in. Fueled by a passion for youth-led change, I hope to build a career at the intersection of business and policy, developing systems that expand economic opportunity rather than reserving it for those who already know how to navigate them. Serving as a Civic Engagement Coach for Citizens & Scholars, a Princeton-based organization, has only solidified this belief. This scholarship would allow me to pursue an undergraduate degree with a substantial reduction in financial pressure so that I can focus on what truly matters: growing my curiosity by diving deep into business and public policy, expanding Project Coin, and pursuing service-oriented opportunities rather than making every decision around cost. Ultimately, it would help me transform the way I learn from the various New Jersey communities that have actively shaped me, while leveraging that education to create opportunities for others.

Moving to New Jersey after my mother died was the hardest decision I've ever made, but it's one I'm endlessly grateful for. I grew up in City Heights, San Diego, raised by a single mother who taught Latin and worked constantly just to keep us afloat. Money was never guaranteed, some weeks I wondered if we'd have enough for gas, let alone a burger at Carl's Jr. I started earning my own money young, cleaning shoes at eleven so I could buy my first pair of Jordans, then working my first real job at a sushi restaurant at sixteen, saving $6,500 tucked into cash-tip envelopes my coworker decorated with stickers. That money wasn't just for me, it was for rent, for car repairs, for keeping our small family together when nothing else felt steady. Our relationship was complicated. I loved my mother fiercely, but our house was also marked by real pain, moments that were hard on both of us in ways I'm still making sense of. I carry my father's wallet, worn and sun-faded, from a man I barely knew before he died of cancer when I was four. That wallet is some days the only proof he existed at all, and it reminds me of the kind of person I want to become: someone who shows up, who provides, who doesn't disappear. When my mother passed away, I had to leave the only home I'd ever known and move across the country to New Jersey to live with family I barely remembered: an aunt I hadn't seen in years, a grandmother whose stories I was hearing for the first time. It was disorienting and lonely at first. But it was also the beginning of something I didn't expect: a family history I finally got to claim. I learned about my grandfather, a veteran and NYU graduate who worked overseas until a stroke changed his life. I learned about my great-grandfather, a Jewish immigrant who fled Russia during the fall of the Tsar to build something better in America. Each of their wallets, worn and different, carried through hardship, tells me the same thing: sacrifice built the life I now get to live. New Jersey gave me the chance to rebuild. I now attend the same high school my mother once did, I've spoken with my representatives about issues I care about, and I've found a place in Montclair's Jewish community that I didn't know I was looking for. None of it erases what came before: the instability, the grief, the years of learning to take care of myself. But it gave that pain a direction. This scholarship would mean I could keep building toward a future in finance, a field I fell for the moment I first understood compound interest, without the constant fear that money will run out before opportunity does. I'm not asking for a handout. I'm asking for the chance to finish what every wallet in my family started.

Growing up in New Jersey has shown me the power of community. Although the state is known for its diversity, I did not fully understand what that meant until I joined NJ SEEDS, a college access program that brought together first-generation, highly motivated students from across New Jersey. For the first time, I found myself surrounded by peers who shared many of the same experiences, dreams, and challenges that I did. Instead of feeling like I had to prove that I belonged, I found a community that encouraged me to use my voice. Before joining SEEDS, I often hesitated to speak up in class. Growing up in a Spanish-speaking household, I sometimes worried that saying the wrong thing would make me stand out. Even when I had ideas to contribute, I often kept them to myself. At SEEDS, I met students from different cities and backgrounds who were equally passionate about learning. Through classroom discussions and collaborative projects, I realized that every person's perspective added value. Slowly, I began raising my hand more, sharing my ideas confidently, and believing that my voice deserved to be heard. That confidence followed me back into my own school, where I became more involved in discussions, leadership opportunities, and community service. Living in New Jersey has also given me access to healthcare professionals who changed the direction of my life. After learning that two birthmarks on my hands contained atypical, precancerous cells, I underwent a mole excision. I was nervous, but one of the nurses caring for me comforted me throughout the procedure. As a future STEM Hispanic student, seeing her practice the profession I wanted to pursue reminded me that compassionate care goes beyond medical treatment; It is about making patients feel safe, heard, and understood. Her kindness transformed one of my most frightening experiences into one that inspired me. That experience pushed my desire to pursue a degree in nursing. I hope to become the kind of healthcare professional who not only provides excellent medical care but also offers reassurance during moments of uncertainty. This scholarship would help me turn my passion for science and patient care into a lifelong career serving communities across New Jersey. Just as New Jersey has given me opportunities, support, and a sense of belonging, I hope to center my future goals to improving the lives of others through compassionate, patient-centered care.

Hoboken has always felt familiar to me. Even though I grew up in Bayonne, I spent so much time in Hoboken that it never felt separate. My mom worked there too, so I was always tagging along. Some of my earliest memories are simple ones like running around Pier A Park, sitting by the water at Sinatra Park, or walking down Washington Street after a doctor’s appointment. Those little routines made the city feel like part of my everyday life. Growing up between the two towns, I started paying attention to the way people treated each other. Someone was always checking on a neighbor, helping a mom lift a stroller onto the bus, holding a door, or sharing snacks at the playground. No one acted like they were doing anything special. It was just how people were. Those moments stuck with me. They taught me to pay closer attention to people because you never really know what someone is going through. That became clearer once my own struggles started. When I was little, I was diagnosed with PANDAS, a rare autoimmune condition that affects your brain after infections like strep. I went from being a typical kid to someone who struggled with anxiety, ocd, tics, and sensory issues practically overnight. On the outside I looked fine, but inside I felt nothing like myself. Some mornings I woke up already exhausted. Headaches, joint pain, and flare ups made me miss activities I cared about, and every time it happened, I felt like I was falling behind my friends. Even after treatment, things didn’t go back to normal right away. It took a long time to find my footing again. But the quiet examples of kindness I grew up seeing pushed me to keep trying. I joined theater even though I was nervous. I joined cheer even when I wasn’t sure I could keep up. I sang at community events and volunteered at senior centers and summer camps. Helping my younger brother, who has special needs, changed me the most. He doesn’t need you only when you feel strong. He needs you every day. That taught me patience and what it really means to show up for someone. All of that is why I want to become a nurse. I know what it feels like to be confused by your own body or overwhelmed by emotions you can’t explain. I also know what a difference it makes when someone responds with patience instead of frustration. My dream is to be that kind of support for someone else, especially kids who feel the way I once did. For my family, this scholarship would ease a huge financial burden. My parents work hard, but college is expensive. Having this support would let me focus on learning without constantly worrying about money. Growing up near Hoboken taught me to care, to notice people, and to show up. I want to bring that same mindset into nursing and help people feel safe, understood, and never alone.

They say that words can build you up or break you down. I didn't know how true that was until a teacher told me, "You have no brain." In that instance, I felt that everything that I had believed about myself: my intelligence, potential, and my future; was slipping away. I didn't let it. I fought back to reclaim my confidence. Growing up in Newark, just across the river from Hoboken, I’ve always felt the pulse of resilience in my community. As a black girl with a Caribbean background from Newark, NJ, I was raised to believe in the power of education. My family taught me that knowledge is sacred, and from a young age, I was always told I was smart. Teachers and relatives would say, “She’s going places.” So when I enrolled in a dual enrollment college course at Donald Payne Tech, I saw it as a chance to prove myself. However, after getting an answer wrong, the teacher, a woman, looked at me and said, “You have no brain.” I froze. That moment shattered my self-esteem and made me question everything I thought I knew about myself. Still, I refused to let that be the end of my story. I went home and made a decision: I was going to prove her wrong, and not just to her, but to myself. I stayed up past my bedtime night after night, studying harder than I ever had. No study groups, no shortcuts. Just me, my notes, and a fire in my chest. By the end of the semester, I earned an A in her class. That experience changed me. It reminded me that my intelligence isn’t defined by one mistake or one person’s opinion. I saw in myself a quiet power and a determination rooted in my culture, my city, and my story. Newark taught me that talent is often overlooked and that you have to fight to be seen. Since then, I’ve leaned into leadership by giving back to my community in meaningful ways. I’ve volunteered at food kitchens, helped feed the homeless, and am currently working with a team to decorate a local middle school for its Fall Festival. These experiences have taught me that leadership isn’t just about speaking up; it’s about showing up. Whether I’m serving meals or helping create joyful spaces for younger students, I lead with empathy, pride, and a deep commitment to uplifting others. This scholarship would help me continue that journey. I plan to major in Business Analytics and join the honors college at a university that aligns with my goals. Financial support would allow me to focus on my studies, pursue internships, and become a business analyst who uses data to create fair, inclusive solutions for communities like mine. That teacher tried to take my crown. Instead, she helped me polish it. And now, I wear it with pride, not just for me, but for every girl who’s ever been told she wasn’t enough.

Growing up in the inner city was quite an experience for me. I grew up in Jersey City, New Jersey. I can truly say my mom and grandparents did a great job of sheltering me from the chaos of the city because I didn’t know the area was considered “not so great” because it was my home. As a kid I thought my city was normal. My mom and grandmom went to work early, so I was left with my Pop Pop. Before school my Pop Pop would sweep in front of his front door. What I learned later was he had to sweep every day because every night someone would throw garbage in front of the door. He would walk me to and from school every day. Everyday we would pass people on the streets, and we would always say hello. And like clockwork the same people were there the next day. What I didn’t know was some of those people were homeless, or just hanging out because they had nothing else to do. On the weekends my Pop Pop and I would take field trips on the bus to the park. I always wondered why we couldn’t just go to the park that was closest to the house. He told me the park we were going to was special. Once I got to middle school, I realized older kids and adults hung out at the closer park partaking in activities that were on the illegal side of nature and my Pop Pop was sheltering me from that. When I meet people and tell them I am from Jersey City immediately they think I should talk a certain way, that I am uneducated or that I am affiliated with certain groups of people. But guess what? In second grade my teacher noticed I was an exceptional student and advised my mom to have me tested for the HOPE program and I passed. Third grade to fifth grade I was a part of the HOPE gifted and talented program. In 6th grade I was accepted into Academy 1 Middle school which is in the top 5% of New Jersey. Now I will be graduating from McNair High School which is the #1 high school in Jersey City and the #5 school in the state of New Jersey. So, despite what some may think, excellent kids do evolve from Jersey City. Living in the inner city made me appreciate the little things. Never let your current circumstances stop you from achieving a better circumstance. Despite my surroundings I made the most of my situation. If someone had told me, I was underprivileged I would have probably laughed because to me I felt rich. Always believe in yourself because I did. Even if you don’t see good in your surroundings at the time, know that better is out there and you can achieve it.

I was born in Hoboken, a city that has always felt like home, even though my family couldn’t afford to stay there. Growing up nearby, in an overpopulated town called Union City, I saw both sides of the city: the charm and opportunity, and the quiet sacrifices it took for my parents, especially my mom, to keep us close to it. Hoboken was where my mom worked long hours, as a factory worker, and as an iron presser in a dry cleaner, and now as a housekeeper for several families. She’s one of the hardest-working people I know; strong, independent, and endlessly selfless. As a kid, I used to feel embarrassed telling people what my mom did for work. Everyone else’s parents had “business” jobs or worked in offices, and it made me look and feel little compared to everyone else. But now that I’m older, I see how much strength it takes to do what she does. My mom’s jobs gave us stability, and her sacrifices taught me what true independence looks like, and to me, that moral is worth more than money will ever be. When my brother and I begged to join Taekwondo, my mom never told us no, even though she knew the classes were expensive. She worked extra hours and shifts to make it possible. Thanks to her hard work, I studied for nine years, and my Taekwondo center became my second home. It taught me perseverance, discipline, and how to lead with compassion, skills I now use every day when I teach and guide my younger students. Unfortunately, I recently decided to quit so I could help with bills. I now work part-time at a dental office, and I don’t earn a lot, but it's everything to me because it allows me to ease her load even a little. Every step I take now is driven by gratitude for her sacrifices. My dream is to become a neonatologist, helping newborns who need the same kind of care and dedication my mother gave me all my life. I want to make her proud, not just by earning a degree, but by building a career that reflects her strength and compassion. This scholarship would mean more than financial help; it would be a reminder that everything my mom worked for wasn’t in vain. It would allow me to continue my education without adding any more financial burden to her stress, and bring me closer to becoming the doctor I’ve always dreamed of being. I may not have grown up in Hoboken, but the lessons born there, hard work, humility, and courage, are what shaped me into who I am today.

I have called Hoboken my home for all seventeen years of my life. I have grown up in a very diverse community with people from all backgrounds. Hoboken High school is considered decently small compared to a lot of schools in the area which has led me to become very close with most of the student body. Due to its size, everyone knows one another, and that taught me the value of connection early on.. I often try to talk to people from different friend groups, countries, and schools since I think just having a simple conversation with someone can brighten up someone’s day or make them feel more included. While I am grateful for the community that I grew up in, it didn’t come without its challenges. As a mixed race individual with a white father and a black mother, I often felt stuck in the middle between identities. Certain individuals that I met from either race made me feel excluded, whether it was getting dirty looks from people at events that mostly had white people in them, or people making assumptions about my intelligence. Even when I would go to events that had a majority of black individuals, the very group of people that many categorized me with, I was often considered “too white” just because of small things like the way that I talk or the fact that I don’t often listen to rap music. People expected me to be a certain way or fit into a stereotype, often making me feel like I did not belong. These experiences made me feel isolated, especially as someone who was naturally quiet and hesitant to stand up for myself. For a long time, I internalized these feelings. It was during the isolation of COVID that I realized that I wanted to talk to people and build relationships with them; I no longer wanted to be a shy and quiet person. When the COVID-19 quarantines ended, I stopped worrying about being “too white” or “not black enough”; I was going to just be myself. I chose instead to embrace every part of my identity and step outside my comfort zone. I became a happier and more confident person. I started to do things that I had never done before. I created a chess club in my school. I interned at JPMorgan Chase. I even performed for my school as the Redwing, our school mascot. These all helped me create my own identity that was not restricted by a black and white world. The Bick Mile Square Scholarship would allow me to continue this growth. As I move on to college, financial support would allow me to pursue my dreams, easing the stress of having to pay for tuition and other expenses. My goal is to pursue International Business or Finance, where I can use my diverse background to understand others, making a more welcoming environment for clients and coworkers.