Christian Fitness Association General Scholarship

Throughout high school, I still could not place a finger on what I was truly passionate about. I’ve grown to have many interests but never any.. passion. Ultimately, it left me wandering without direction. I had all this drive with no destination to drive towards. In the midst of my future concerns, something completely detrimental happened to my life. Suddenly, on April 1st of 2024, during my senior year in high school, my aunt passed away. The melodious joy and laughter of my family stopped abruptly from that day on. Trying to navigate the events that came afterward was all just one big blur. Prom, graduation, class president speech, graduation party, summer, then college felt rushed, like a montage for a scene in a movie. Sometimes I still forget what exactly happened during that time. Going into college was something I feel I rushed into, rather than taking meticulous time to think about my options. I just thought that college was “the ticket to success.” I placed an extreme amount of pressure on that decision, with much of my validation coming from my academics. Thinking about paying for school was one of my biggest stressors. My mom was the only one really helping out with my financial endeavours. My other family members tried to help out as much as they could, but ultimately it wasn’t very much. So it was me and my mom left to pay for school. The only money I brought in was the money I had saved over the past few months, academic scholarships, and a couple of hundred dollars from some of the other scholarship awards I applied to and received. My mom was completely against taking out a loan for school. In all honesty, I believe my two older brothers ruined any kind of trust for financial support. Not sure if it was pity, sympathy, or my prayers, but my mom felt compelled to go ahead and take out a loan for my sake. I ended up going to university for a semester but ultimately withdrew as financial pressures became overbearing, my mental health was depleting, and my sense of identity was becoming progressively more unclear. I felt as though I had no idea who I was, who God created me to be. After finding myself mentally exhausted, challenged, and drained, I sank back into the depths of suicidal thoughts, self-harm, and depression. After meeting doctors and therapists to help figure out why this depressive monster had constantly visited me throughout my life, I was met with the advice to improve my overall health. I elevated my exercise, stress, sleep, and diet to crawl out of the pit I was in. I began to be consistent with treating my body healthily and saw immense improvements. It was then that I realized that this is the life God had designed for everybody to operate most efficiently. I quickly recognized that the undisciplined, unhealthy, and inconsistent lifestyle I had been living was disobedient to God. I had been treating the body I had inherited from God poorly, and so it operated poorly. Little did I know this was the key God used to unlock the door to reveal my passion, overall health and wellness. All it took was an organic experience to set the foundation of my passion. Since I have experienced how impactful a healthy lifestyle has transformed every aspect of my life, I am zealous to guide others to experience that same epiphany through studying exercise science/health sciences. I shed that “someone else will do it” mentality and replaced it with “why not me?” I created a workout plan for my mom to start, and she’s already lost about 10 pounds in 1 month. She frequently talks about how much better she’s been feeling mentally, physically, and emotionally. I also started promoting and encouraging a healthy lifestyle through social media and have received impactful responses thus far. Health corresponds to mental, physical, and spiritual aspects of life. The gracious combination of these three elements creates the efficiency to be a beneficial instrument to God. When I open my own health and wellness facility, I will awaken dormant bodies of instruments to produce the melodious music God curates each soul to play. Financially, this scholarship would be a step toward covering a plan set to change lives, minds, and bodies. It’s an investment within a greater purpose, led by a passionate, dedicated, and willing individual standing confidently at the forefront, inspired to change the world.

I always hated puzzles. Anything over 500 pieces felt like a personal taunt, as if it were daring me to try and reminding me I’d never conquer it. I didn’t know then how much puzzles would shape my life, or how much I would eventually feel like one myself. I especially didn’t know that those scattered pieces would guide me toward a career built on service, showing up for others in their moments of uncertainty, the same ways others once showed up for me. In the summer of 2018, sandwiched between the end of seventh grade and beginning of 8th, my grandfather got diagnosed with stage IV lung cancer. I sat in the waiting room during his radiation appointments working on the same puzzle. Every Single. Day. It became a ritual, the puzzle quietly taunting me. This “relaxing” activity became the backdrop of a summer spent waiting, worrying, and learning that life doesn’t fit together as neatly as the picture on the puzzle box. During those appointments, somewhere between the pieces I forced into place and the ones I lost under the waiting-room chairs, I began to understand that puzzles aren’t really about completion, they’re about patience. They’re about sitting with frustration, showing up even when you want to walk away, and choosing to try again. It was the first time I realized that health, for both patients and families, often happens in the in-between spaces: quiet moments where you have no choice but to keep going piece by piece. In my own childlike way, I was learning what service looked like — being present, being steady, being willing to return to the same difficult place over and over because someone needs you there. A few months later came the infusions. Only 13, I was trying to put on a brave face while holding my grandfather's hand like nothing in the world could scare me. But that mask fell apart the moment he had a chemo allergy. Alarms blared, nurses rushed in, and I remember screaming as he struggled to breathe. That fear, that confusion, became one of the first pieces of the puzzle I still carry today. He didn’t get better, but a part of him stayed with me, teaching me how human it is to want to protect someone, even when you can’t. Being a first-generation American added another piece to my puzzle. My father was diagnosed with type 2 diabetes when I was in preschool, and I grew up translating every medical document he received: appointment notes, lab results, prescriptions. Over time, family friends began asking for my help too. I didn’t realize it then, but I had become a bridge between medicine and my community. Seeing the relief on someone’s face when they finally understood their diagnosis, or fear when they didn’t, taught me how powerful clear communication can be: offering understanding, offering charity, offering dignity. Comprehension became something I prioritized long before I had the vocabulary to call it “patient care”. The first piece of my patient-care puzzle began the summer of 2025 when I volunteered at my local Children’s Hospital. I still remember my sweaty palms, the smell of my disposable mask, and the sting of ten layers of hand sanitizer I kept reapplying as I rehearsed what I’d say to her. When I finally stepped inside, she spoke in soft whispers that reminded me of my younger self. She turned down the art supplies and games I offered, but when I stayed a little longer, she slowly began revealing small pieces of who she was: her love of donuts, strawberries, and her favorite pet Capybara. Week by week, she opened up more. And then one day, because volunteers couldn’t enter during medical procedures, I couldn’t visit her anymore but we still shared brief smiles in passing such like unfinished pieces of a connection that taught me how much meaning can lie in what isn’t said. That memory serves as a reminder that service isn’t always large or hectic and sometimes is simply presence, gentleness, and consistency. That summer inspired me to continue working in oncology and in my senior year of undergrad, I started working as a medical assistant in that same infusion center my grandfather once spent 6 months in. The deja vu was overwhelming with the smells of Oxivir, the rhythmic beeping of chemo pumps, even the same rolling chairs. But everything looked smaller, as if time had shrunken the room. It was a full-circle moment, especially when I walked past the same table where that old puzzle still sits. I walked into that space not just as a frightened child, but someone who could offer reassurance to others the way I once needed it. Seven years later, the pieces haven’t changed. But I have. I chose to pursue medicine because I want to be the kind of physician who listens deeply, who explains without rushing, and who ensures no patient feels lost or intimidated. Even now, I wonder if medicine is truly for me and honestly, I don’t have that answer yet. But I do know that I am at my best when I am serving others; I know compassion, empathy, and respect. And every day when I walk past that same old puzzle, I can’t help but laugh because in so many ways, I’ve become just like it. A collection of pieces slowly coming together, shaped by experiences that don’t always make sense on their own, but are starting to form a picture of the physician I hope to become.