Pierson Family Scholarship for U.S. Studies

SATURDAY MORNINGS: WITH FOURS 20. Draw the blinds and set the timer; it's another Saturday morning. For my family, the last day of each week meant reviewing, tidying, and planning—consistently as a heartbeat. But, as soon as my mum's door opened that day, I amplified the ABBA Gold album with our SONY HT-S20R subwoofer. Jumping out from behind the parlor chairs with my siblings and dad to shout "Happy Birthday," my mum was genuinely taken aback. Mum had instilled in us the value of consistency, so few things surprised her. Even then, as we swayed to the pop-disco that animated every Saturday morning of our childhood, I counted the dessert trays on the walnut-brown center table—four. 16. 4±1-year-old, on a rainy Saturday morning, I laid out the sixteen chess pieces for each player, opening the game with my older sister. Losing all eight pawns halfway to the other side, I threw a tantrum, striking her with our wooden chess board. Moving to the suburbs four years later, I realized the chess board and 'tetchy-me' were misplaced in transit. My mum, acknowledging my temper and sweet tooth, had taken a four-month baking class and taught me to channel my energy into kneading dough and practical activities. From crafting recipes to martial arts, I understood my emotional patterns, reaching the other side: once a tetchy pawn, now a noble knight. Though neither clad in shiny armor nor legendary as Sir Galahad, I enlivened student council meetings and community get-togethers with homemade treats. 12. Four hours past noon [4:00 pm], my siblings and I began our 12-minute walk to the community church. Tending the barren fields in our new suburban residence had replaced board games on Saturday mornings; for the evenings, I learned catechism or trained altar servers. Interacting with ecosystems, natural or human, I became enthralled by the intricate balance and interdependence that governed both, eager to understand the underlying (neural) processes and be part of such stories. Armed with my mum's green fingers, I moved on from fertilizing our fields with guano and preparing herbal remedies to starting an ornamental garden at our community church and an eco-club in high school. 8. Multiplying by ten [80] equals the number of senior students enrolled in my high school pioneer peer-tutoring sessions, and by a hundred [800], estimates the number of students I represented as the Head Boy on the Student Council. As these journeys progressed to a close, I matched my interests with the next step: college and career. Doing this consistently, as with my Saturday morning chores, I realized that whatever I had embarked on, my mum had inspired me to see it through to completion. However, the end appeared elusive for higher education in my home country—Nigeria. Frequent academic strikes and political tensions had rendered the system inconsistent, spanning more than four years. Even then, pursuing a neuro-engineering career was not feasible—bioengineering was barely a nascent field. 4. Snapping back to the present as I review my course schedule on this fine Saturday morning, I dare to complete Ian Fleming's quote: "Once is a chance, twice is a coincidence, thrice is a pattern" with "quarce is a factor." Regarding higher education, four is one of the pinnacles of academic excellence [GPA] I aim for, besides being the typical span of years. Armed with the advanced resources and stable environment of a U.S. education, I aspire to combat neurodegeneration—increasing life expectancy—by my fourth year at college. Upon graduation, I would continue at medical school and launch my biotech company, ODIAX—"Odia" is my family name, and "X" marks the problems we'd solve.

"CHECK THE DICTIONARY" Staring at me unapologetically while I doodled with my little orange pencil in my notebook, my father reiterated, "Check the dictionary." The clock chimed two hours to midnight, yet all attempts for him to define the dozen-and-one words in my fourth-grade vocabulary assignment proved futile. Dad believed they were mere combinations of alphabets, so I needed to roll up my sleeves. Now and then, when Dad insisted that my siblings and I peruse the dictionary for such answers, we always found them in there. I became accustomed and then looked forward to playing Scrabble on Saturday mornings and receiving encyclopedias and puzzles, not video games, as presents. Indifferently, then eagerly perusing these, I gradually understood that no solution was elusive. There is always an answer. But how do I find it? Growing up with my paternal family of philosophers, I learned to seek the rationale behind concepts. Playing ball games demanded spatial awareness and proprioception; drawing, my favorite pastime, insisted on continuing a dot across a blank paper. To even exist within my comfort zone, I desired to understand the underlying principles, as everything seemed to have one — its algorithm. If every seemingly new idea were a slight modification or yet-predictable application of a basic concept, wouldn't every challenge be surmountable once I grasped the algorithm? Was I running on an algorithm? Bird-watching or Rubix-cubing, I considered such possibilities, taking my brain on a wild joyride while appreciating [cyclical] problem-solving patterns. Developing an interest in neural processes, I stumbled upon a WIRED article on Irish neurosurgeon Phil Kennedy, who — in an attempt to induce synthetic communication in ALS patients — hacked his brain and almost lost his mind. Enthralled by the possibility of fusing a career in medicine with engineering, I recall dragging my thirteen-year-old self out of bed the following day, having stayed up late, eager to debate the ethical concerns with my eighth-grade class. Leading such conversations in my high school community catalyzed my interest in neuro-engineering. Still, as this field is yet nascent in my home country — Nigeria — I feared these ideas would only go as far as insightful break-time conversations, and once again, seeking my father's counsel to surmount this, I learned to "step back." I embraced 'earthcare,' starting with dissolving non-biodegradable polymeric foams (salvaged from appliances' packaging) in petrol to produce homemade styrofoam glue for leather shoes and boiling homegrown 'acalypha wilkesiana' as an herbal remedy for my younger cousin's dermatitis then moving on to synchronously pioneering an ornamental garden in my community church and the Friends of Nature Club in high school. Opening myself to the joys of ambiguity, I revitalized my curiosity through the nuances of ecosystems [nature's balancing act] and insightful interactions in the communities I created. By stepping back, I gained two significant insights. The first was the focal point of my diverging interests — restoration. My "restorative" instincts had kicked in to combat challenges in my family and communities and now, ultimately influence my post-graduate plans — designing sustainable nano-biopolymers to reduce amyloid build-up accounting for most neurodegenerative diseases, ultimately increasing life expectancy, perhaps right from the embryo. The second was that I could get closer to these dreams by stepping farther from my comfort zone, perhaps as far as 30.57˚N and 92.33˚W from my home country — the United States. Through higher education in the United States, I aim to continue my quest in its diverse and innovative communities, where each mild gesture or grand measure refines the quality of knowledge and broadens my horizon, tapering my fears.