Growing up in an Indian family, I was surrounded by stories that painted Pakistan as an adversary—an idea rooted in decades of historical conflict. My parents avoided Pakistani-owned businesses, cheered against their cricket team, and discouraged friendships with Pakistani peers. As a kid, this confused me. When I asked why, the dismissive explanation, “We just don’t like them,” only fueled my curiosity. Refusing to accept this bias, I chose to challenge it. As Vice President of the Share Overseas Club, I found an opportunity to do more than just disagree with my community’s prejudices. In 2022, when catastrophic floods submerged one-third of Pakistan and displaced millions, I organized a fundraising campaign to deliver crucial aid. It wasn’t easy. My parents protested the idea of helping India’s “enemy.” Friends told me I was stepping into dangerous political territory. But I kept going. I partnered with my mosque, reached out to South Asian student groups across the country, and launched social media campaigns. In just a few weeks, we raised over $75,000 for flood relief. At first, I thought that money would be the most important outcome. But the real impact came quietly. My parents, skeptical at first, began asking questions about the people affected—children who had lost their homes, families without clean drinking water. One night, my dad forwarded me a link to a Pakistani aid organization. No words. Just the link. That was the moment I realized: ethics isn't just about grand declarations. It's about making the hard choice when no one’s watching. It’s about putting people before politics, and principles before pride. Organizing that fundraiser meant more than raising money—it meant choosing compassion in the face of inherited prejudice. And that choice slowly opened minds. While my family's perspective has shifted, I know these deeply rooted biases continue to divide millions of others. But I also know change is possible—when someone is willing to go first. This fall, I’ll begin the Direct Medical Program at the University of Illinois Chicago, with a guaranteed seat at UIC’s College of Medicine. As I take my first steps toward becoming a physician, I carry this experience with me. It’s taught me that being ethical doesn’t just mean following rules—it means challenging them when they’re built on injustice. It means advocating for the patient no one wants to treat, listening to the story no one wants to hear, and offering care even when the world says to look away. At the time, I was just a teenager trying to help people I’d never met. But now, I see that moment for what it really was: my first act of ethical leadership. It shaped not only who I am, but the kind of physician I’m striving to become—one who doesn’t just treat illness, but who helps heal division.