My college plan is to dual enroll in Portland State University and Portland Community College (specifically the Sylvania Campus) in order to take culinary classes while also taking business and hospitality classes. Portland is known for having a very strong culinary scene, and due to its urban environment, there are many successful small businesses and large corporations, which will allow for many internship opportunities.
With this education, I'm planning on opening a fine-dining restaurant that creates personalized meals for each customer or party based on a short series of questions they answer while making a reservation. But this isn't a new idea. So instead, I plan to put this restaurant on wheels. Think of it like a restaurant in an RV, where it can drive out to various locations, and can expand when parked to have a functioning kitchen and a beautiful dining room. This way, more people have access to this glorious type of dining.
My desire to cook wasn't just something I was born with. Out of everything that could've triggered this passion in me, it was when I first learned the fundamental derivative formula. If you know differential calculus, I'm not talking about the power formula. I'm talking about the good ol f'(x)=lim(h->0)[(f(x+h)-f(x))/h]. This was the first formula my calculus teacher taught me to take the derivative of a polynomial function. It was probably the most time-consuming formula I had ever learned in my entire high school life (and yes, I've done long division and the quadratic formula).
At first, I found it very tedious. But once we were taught the much easier alternative known as the power formula, it made everything feel bland. I realized that deep down, I actually enjoyed that journey of taking the derivative the traditional way. It made the process feel intentional. It made me feel one with the math. And realizing you get the right answer after using that traditional formula was far more satisfying than doing it after the power formula.
This connects perfectly with my passion for cooking. In this day, many people resort to buying premade meals or takeout, simply because it's faster and easier. But for me, I enjoy the journey of cooking. I enjoy slow braising a pork shoulder in a Dutch oven for 4 hours rather than throwing it into an Instant Pot. I enjoy baking my own slices of sourdough bread rather than just buying it from the store. I enjoy the pressure of knowing that I need to put effort and intention into making the perfect medium-rare steak, and to be able to use the remains in the pan to make a unique sauce. Because at the end of the day, there's much more accomplishment in making some homemade noodles and stock rather than buying a pack of Instant Ramen.
With this passion that the fundamental derivative formula has given me, I believe it will make me succeed very well in my dream career. When customers pay for a meal at a fine-dining restaurant, they don't just want to be fed. They want to be taken care of with intention, step-by-step, throughout the night. If you work as a fine-dining chef or waiter just to make money, the customers are going to feel that in their meals and service, and won't be satisfied. If you put yourself under pressure to ensure that you carefully satisfy everything without missing a step--like in the fundamental derivative formula--your customers will feel that effort in their service, and you'll feel much more fulfilled at the end of the night.
My career goals involve pursuing a degree in biology with a pre-physician assistant focus at the University of Portland. After completing my bachelor's degree and having a successful education journey, I will earn certification to become a medical assistant, which will help earn hands on clinical experience, much needed for physician assistant school.
With medical assistance as a steppingstone, I can hopefully make significant connections with healthcare professionals, which could open opportunities for mentorship or shadowing. In the end, I hope these experiences will help me successfully complete PA school, so that I can finally be able to chase a career as a surgical physician assistant.
The first time I learned the quadratic formula was memorable but when I really understood it that, that was unforgettable.
I still remember walking into my Algebra 2 class as a sophomore to sit at my usual desk in the front right side of my teacher's room. Twirling my mechanical pencil between my fingers, the faint scratch of lead against paper as I wrote down the strange, chaotic equation:
y=(−b±√(b2−4ac))/(2ac).
It looked impossible at first, a forest of symbols and squares and roots. But as the teacher walked through it step by step describing how sometimes factoring can be impossible, something clicked. Not all at once, but like the slow, satisfying turn of a lock. That was when I truly started to love math.
Up until then, school had felt like a race I was just keeping pace in. I was good enough at reading, okay at history, decent in science. But math, math was different. It was mine. It felt like walking into a room full of noise and finding the one voice you instantly understand. It was the first time I realized I had a strength, not just in solving for x, but in facing something that looked impossible and finding my way through it.
The quadratic formula didn’t just teach me about parabolas. It taught me about patience. About trust. It showed me that no matter how complicated a problem seemed, there was a path waiting quietly beneath the surface, if I stayed calm enough to find it.
And sometimes, when solving carefully enough, you can come to discover not just one way forward, but two, a heads up that life, too, can offer more than one answer if you’re willing to look for them.
That small moment, just a pencil, a piece of paper, and a problem bigger than anything I’d seen before, changed the way I saw myself. Not just as a student, but as someone capable of untangling hard things. Someone who doesn’t turn away when the solution isn’t obvious.
As I prepare to begin college, I carry that quiet confidence with me. Not every problem will be neat. Not every path will be clear. But I know now that I have the tools to work through them, one careful step at a time.
And in the future, when I become a physician assistant, I hope to bring that same clarity to medicine and steady ability of problem-solving to people: to listen closely, to work carefully, and to help find solutions, even when they seem hidden at first.
