New Beginnings Immigrant Scholarship

I've always thought it was ironic that I'm Caribbean, but I don't know how to swim. My family comes from Cuba and Puerto Rico, islands surrounded by water. Although I was born in the United States, I grew up understanding that the ocean meant something different to my family. It represented leaving behind familiarity in exchange for possibility. They crossed borders, languages, and cultures so that I could grow up with opportunities they never had. Ironically, I've never learned how to swim. Every time I step into deep water, my first instinct is panic because I don't trust that I'll stay above the surface. In many ways, that's what being the child of immigrants has felt like. Growing up in Elizabeth, New Jersey, I watched my parents work tirelessly to build a life from the ground up while learning to navigate a country that wasn't built for them. English wasn't the language spoken at home, so I often became the translator in doctors' offices, helping explain forms and conversations long before I understood the medical terminology myself. I watched my parents smile politely when they didn't fully understand what was being said because asking another question felt intimidating. Those moments taught me that language can be just as powerful a barrier as money. As a first-generation college student, I've carried their sacrifices with me into every classroom. Today, I'm a Neurobiology and Spanish double major at Penn State, earning a Spanish for Healthcare Certificate, working as a certified phlebotomist, volunteering in the emergency department at Rahway Hospital, and conducting neuroscience research in Penn State's Brain Tracking Lab. None of those accomplishments happened because the path was easy. They happened because my family taught me that courage isn't the absence of fear—it's continuing to move forward despite it. My career aspiration is to become a bilingual physician specializing in immunology while serving underserved communities. I want families like mine to leave medical appointments feeling confident instead of confused. I want children to focus on being children instead of carrying the responsibility of translating complicated medical conversations. I also hope to grow Project Cura Cuba, an initiative dedicated to collecting medical supplies for underserved communities, because access to healthcare should never depend on where someone was born. People often describe immigration as crossing an ocean. I think the harder journey begins after you arrive. It's learning a new language, navigating unfamiliar systems, building a life from very little, and believing your children can dream bigger than you ever had the chance to. My parents crossed the water so I could cross every door that once seemed closed to our family. I've never learned how to swim. But because of my family's courage, I've learned something even more important: how to keep moving forward even when the water feels deeper than I expected. One day, I hope to be the physician who reaches back into that water—not just to treat illness, but to help other immigrant families find their footing, their voice, and the confidence that they belong exactly where they are.

As my eyes grew heavy and my head began to float, I rested my forehead against the table, gripping its legs for balance. Minutes later, I woke up on the floor with my sister hovering over me, splashing cold water on my face, fear etched into her expression. That moment marked the beginning of countless neurology appointments and my first experience navigating the U.S. healthcare system as a recent immigrant. At sixteen, newly arrived in the United States while my parents remained abroad, I often longed for them during those visits. Instead, I found reassurance in my neurologist, Dr. Laura. Sensing my anxiety in the waiting room, she gently asked why I was there by myself and whether I had eaten that day. After listening carefully to my history, she explained that a prior concussion was causing episodes of syncope and migraines. We reviewed a treatment plan together, and she encouraged me to keep a symptom diary, research my condition, and return with questions. What stayed with me was not just her clinical expertise, but her recognition of me as a whole person, young, frightened, and navigating an unfamiliar system. Through trust and compassion, Dr. Laura empowered me to take ownership of my health, and in doing so, planted the first seed for my future in medicine. Motivated by that experience, I began volunteering with my local fire department as a junior brigade member and later trained as an EMT. I wanted to understand what it meant to show up for people in moments of vulnerability. One EMS call remains vivid. We responded to an elderly man, Ian, whose cancer had relapsed after chemotherapy. He was curled on the couch in pain, refusing to move. As my team prepared the stretcher, I asked him about the television show playing, "NCIS", and watched his expression soften as he eagerly recounted the plot. While he talked, we gently transferred him, and during transport I monitored his vitals while the paramedic managed his pain. When we reached the emergency department and transferred his care, Ian smiled and told me “you better watch the show.” Moments later, as physicians rushed behind the curtain to stabilize him, I stood outside feeling helpless. That feeling, wanting to do more, clarified my desire to become a physician who can accompany patients through their most uncertain moments. In college, I majored in neuroscience to better understand the biological foundations of illness, while continuing to seek the human stories behind disease. Through the Engaged Humanities Initiative, I explored how culture, language, and storytelling shape health experiences, particularly for marginalized communities. Interviewing patients and physicians and studying social determinants of health helped me contextualize my own immigrant experience within broader systems of inequity. I led health literacy initiatives and community outreach programs aimed at reducing barriers to care. After college, I extended this work by leading a stroke nonprofit organization, where I created a virtual community for stroke survivors and caregivers nationwide. Each week, I facilitate conversations with physicians, therapists, and community leaders about recovery, prevention, and emerging therapies. Watching survivors gain confidence to ask informed questions continually reminds me of Dr. Laura’s encouragement years ago, to be curious, engaged, and empowered in one’s own care. My immigrant journey has taught me resilience, adaptability, and the importance of compassionate guidance within unfamiliar systems. These experiences have shaped my aspiration to become a physician who listens deeply, validates lived experiences, and integrates personalized care. Just as I was once supported during my most vulnerable moments, I hope to be a steady presence for patients navigating illness, uncertainty, and transition.