Rodney James Pimentel Memorial Scholarship

There's a unique silence that falls upon a person when they feel unseen, like standing behind soundproof glass while life unfolds vibrantly on the other side. Having known that isolating quiet intimately, my deepest commitment is to pierce through it for others – to offer the simple, profound acknowledgment: "I see you. You are here. Your experience is valid." When asked how I would guide a loved one through the labyrinth of a major life decision, the most honest answer lies not in hypothetical scenarios, but in lived experience. My mother's battle with thyroid cancer became the crucible where I learned what true support looks like. When the diagnosis arrived, it brought a wave of fear that threatened to drown us both. Amidst the whirlwind of appointments and medical terminology, my own feeling of helplessness was acute. What could I offer? I realized quickly that beyond practical help, what she needed most was to be seen – not just as a patient defined by illness, but as herself, scared yet courageous. My response wasn't to offer solutions or false optimism. It was to simply be there. To sit with her in the sterile waiting rooms, holding her hand, acknowledging the tremor I felt there. It was to listen, truly listen, not just to her words but to the fear swimming beneath them, the exhaustion lining her voice. It meant validating her anxieties, saying "It's okay to be scared," rather than dismissing them. It meant witnessing her struggle without flinching, reflecting her strength back to her when she couldn't see it herself. There were no grand gestures, just the steady presence, the quiet affirmation, day after day, that she was not facing this alone, that her experience, in all its difficulty, was seen and held. This, I believe, is the heart of guidance: not directing, but accompanying; not fixing, but validating; ensuring the person feels fundamentally seen in their vulnerability. This intense focus on emotional presence stands in stark contrast to how I initially related to the world my mother navigated with such passion – the world of engineering. As an electrical engineer, her mind worked in schematics and solutions; she saw the world as a series of intricate systems waiting to be understood, problems waiting to be solved. For a long time, this analytical realm, the foundation of STEM, felt alien to me. It seemed like another language I couldn't master, reinforcing that old, familiar feeling of invisibility. The confidence required, the precision, the seemingly innate grasp of complex concepts – it all contributed to a sense of inadequacy, a belief that I didn't belong in that structured, logical space my mother loved. Yet, witnessing her confront cancer through that same engineering lens shifted something profound within me. Even facing illness, her instinct was to understand the system, to find the variables, to seek the solution. It wasn't denial; it was her way of asserting agency, of seeing even this terrifying unknown as a problem that could, potentially, be solved. Seeing her apply this mindset didn't dictate my future, but it undeniably opened a door, revealing the power and elegance in dissecting complexity. It sparked a curiosity in me—a fascination not just with her world, but with the grandest, most complex systems imaginable. Aerospace engineering, with its challenges of flight and exploration, began to captivate my own imagination. So, while my mother's resilience illuminated the path, my decision to pursue aerospace stems from my own desire to tackle these immense puzzles, to find my own voice within the language of engineering she first introduced me to. Confronting my STEM inadequacy became less about simply connecting with her, and more about equipping myself for the challenges that now genuinely excite me. This journey reshaped my understanding of STEM and myself. To students wrestling with similar feelings of inadequacy, my advice is this: Find your 'why'. Connect your studies to something deeply personal – a desire to understand, to connect, to solve a problem that matters to you. Let that purpose make the field feel less like an external expectation and more like an internal quest. Seek out mentors and collaborators who recognize your unique perspective, because diverse viewpoints are crucial to innovation. And remember that engineering, at its heart, is about finding pathways forward. My mother, the electrical engineer, showed me that in her world, everything invited inquiry, everything potentially held a solution – a complex circuit, a challenging math problem, and yes, even cancer. As I look towards the sky, towards the intricate challenges of aerospace, I carry her unwavering conviction: in the elegant dance of physics, in the vastness of space, and within the deepest human struggles, there is always a solution waiting to be engineered.