"Begin the morning by saying to yourself, I shall meet with the busybody, the ungrateful, arrogant, deceitful, envious, unsocial. All these things happen to them by reason of their ignorance of what is good and evil. But I who have seen the nature of the good that it is beautiful, and of the bad that it is ugly, and the nature of the wrongdoer himself, that it is akin to me—not only of the same blood or seed, but that it participates in the same mind and portion of the divine—can neither be harmed by any of them, for no one can involve me in what is degrading, nor can I be angry with my kinsman, nor hate him. For we are made for cooperation, like feet, like hands, like eyelids, like the rows of the upper and lower teeth. To act against one another then is contrary to nature." - Marcus Aurelius, Meditations, Book II.1 In Book II of Meditations, Marcus Aurelius lays bare a philosophy of radical empathy and internal sovereignty, arguing that true peace comes not from changing others but from mastering one's own response to them. Through the metaphor of human interconnectedness and the inevitability of cruelty, Aurelius insists that anger is a failure of understanding—and that virtue lies in refusing to return hostility, even when it is fully deserved. At first glance, Marcus Aurelius sounds almost exhausted. As if he’s psyching himself up for a day of human interaction he knows will be disappointing. But his words are not resignation. They are a Stoic war cry, a daily mental calibration rooted in the belief that external chaos cannot touch a soul anchored in reason. The emperor-philosopher opens with a warning: brace yourself for people who will be selfish, abrasive, and unjust. This is not pessimism. It’s preparation. Aurelius is not telling us to expect the worst so we can hate the world more efficiently. He’s teaching emotional immunity. The moment you anticipate imperfection in others, you strip it of its power to offend you. You’re no longer surprised by ugliness. And if you’re no longer surprised, you’re no longer ruled by your reaction to it. But the brilliance of this paragraph lies in what follows: Marcus does not stop at tolerance. He demands kinship. The people who wrong you, he says, are "akin to me"—not metaphorically, but biologically, spiritually, rationally. Like fingers on the same hand. Like teeth in the same jaw. He destroys the fantasy that we are separate from those we disdain. And in doing so, he builds a moral obligation: if we are truly part of the same body, then harming one another is self-mutilation. Retaliation is not strength. It’s dysfunction. That’s the radical core of his thought. The true Stoic does not merely hold their tongue. They genuinely refuse to hate. They understand that cruelty comes from ignorance, and ignorance is not evil—it’s a form of blindness. In this way, Marcus Aurelius isn’t just prescribing patience. He’s demanding moral clarity. If you see the good clearly, he says, then you must also see why others cannot. And if you see why they cannot, you lose the right to detest them. This is not soft philosophy. It's hard, gritty work. It asks you to swallow your pride when insulted, to rein in your ego when disrespected, and to extend grace where none has been earned. But that is precisely what makes it noble. In a world that rewards outrage and revenge, Marcus Aurelius offers a razor-sharp alternative: self-possession. There was a time in my life when waking up meant bracing for chaos. In my house, peace was a fragile thing. People didn’t talk—they exploded. If someone didn’t like what you said, something might be thrown. Rage was the default setting. So I learned early on that emotional survival meant anticipation. Reading Marcus Aurelius later in life, I realized I’d already internalized the first half of his message: "You will meet the deceitful, the arrogant, the unsocial." That part, I knew. What I didn’t know—what no one had ever taught me—was that I could meet them without losing myself in the process. That paragraph from Meditations hit me like a revelation wrapped in restraint. He doesn’t give permission to be angry, even when anger is justified. He doesn’t tell you to fight fire with fire. He tells you that the fire doesn’t have to burn you at all. That’s a terrifying kind of freedom. In my past, survival depended on reading other people’s moods like weather forecasts. But Marcus offered a different kind of control—the power to hold my center no matter what storm walked through the door. He taught me that not responding is not weakness. It’s wisdom. I carried that philosophy into college. At Baylor, where people didn’t live in survival mode, I had to unlearn the reflex to expect harm and relearn how to engage without fear. That mindset gave me space to lead. Not as someone who needs to dominate the room, but as someone who can listen without defensiveness. It taught me how to extend empathy without excusing cruelty. That distinction changed everything. Because the truth is, when you’ve lived through real pain, it’s easy to justify becoming hard. Marcus Aurelius challenged me to stay soft—and strong. His words didn’t just shape how I deal with people. They reshaped how I see myself. I’m not a victim of other people’s chaos anymore. I don’t orbit their moods. I know who I am, and I carry that certainty like armor. Not heavy, but unshakable. That is the legacy of Marcus Aurelius for me: the belief that being unbothered is not apathy, but discipline. And that true leadership starts with how you govern your own mind.

If you ask most people what their biggest fear is, I’m sure you’ll hear the standard spiel of the inane horrors that haunt us in the dark. Spiders. Drowning. Being buried alive. Killer clowns. You get the idea. In fact, if you'd asked me this question about 6 years ago, I would have told you that my biggest fear is...ants. Yes, ants. The micro-sized, six-legged specks that invade your picnic and your peace of mind. Why? Honestly, I have no idea. Maybe it was the way they move like they’re plotting something. Maybe it was childhood trauma. Either way, they freaked me out. But now? God, I’d sell my soul to go back to the days when ants were the villains of my nightmares. Because now, my biggest fear isn’t something crawling under my bed. It’s a phone call. You know the type of call I’m talking about--the one that turns your blood to ice before the phone even finishes ringing. The one that makes your hands shake and your heart punch through your chest like it’s trying to escape. The call that tells you your older brother--your God-given best friend, your partner in crime, the one who raised you on sarcasm, body slams, and chocolate bars--has died. Not in an accident. Not from an illness. But by suicide. That phone call is an unsettling whisper that follows me everywhere. Because I’ve already received it. Twice. Two times, in the span of just a few months, my brother tried to take his own life. The first time shattered me. The second time? It unmade me. Because by then, he was getting help. Real help. Therapy, support, everything you hope for when someone you love finally admits they’re not okay. And still… it wasn’t enough. Do you know how terrifying it is to witness someone be offered a lifeline and still feel like they're drowning? To see someone receive more support than most ever get, and still decide the world would be better without them in it? That’s the thought that haunts me now. That’s what rings in my ears when the phone buzzes after midnight. I’m scared that the next call will be the last one. No second chances. No ER visits. No apologies. Just silence. In the past few years, mental health stopped being just a buzzword and became deeply personal. It reshaped how I move through the world. I no longer mistake a smile for a sign that someone’s okay. I’ve learned to check in with intention, ask questions that matter, and listen past the automatic “I’m fine” that so many people use as a shield. I’ve come to understand that mental illness doesn’t announce itself. It doesn’t wear a label or arrive when it’s convenient. It hides in plain sight, often behind the familiar faces of the people we’ve loved and laughed with our entire lives. More than anything, my personal experience with mental health has given me direction. It’s the reason I’m pursuing medicine--specifically military medicine. I want to work with veterans battling PTSD, people who know what it’s like to carry wounds no one else can see. I’m not interested in checking boxes or masking symptoms. I want to be the kind of physician who truly sees people. The one who shows up before it's too late. If I can stop even one person from becoming a devastating phone call, then all of it--the fear, the grief, the heavy lessons--will have meant something.

I come from a household that has spent nearly the last 8 years surviving solely on social security checks and government-funded aid. My mom was diagnosed with cancer around the very same time that she was pregnant with me. Unable to continue work due to her long recovery periods, heavy medications, and chemo treatments, my mother was forced to quit her job as an OR technician. Little did she know that this predicament would become a reoccurring nightmare. Even though she recovered from her initial bout of cancer, throughout the course of about 13 years, my mother has been diagnosed with four different types of cancer. Each time, my family and I have had to go through the same troubling emotions and routine as we try to provide her with the best possible care. Looking after my mom and making sure that she was comfortable in the midst of unbearable pain was a very difficult task to undertake. Yet despite the difficult circumstances, my mother has always pushed me to dream big and work hard. I want to pursue a college degree and become a doctor so that I can honor my mother and everything that she stands for. My career aspiration for the future is to become a psychiatrist. Becoming a psychiatrist and being able to help people overcome their adversities is a very rewarding job to pursue because it offers hope to many. I will be able to help a lot of grieving and misunderstood people, as well as study the effects of mental illnesses on everyday life to find ways to overcome them. Going to college and getting a good education will be a vital part of my journey. Once I start college, I plan on majoring in biochemistry and neuroscience. I think these two majors will help me prepare for my future as a psychiatrist. I am optimistic about my future and the possibilities that lay before me because I know that I have the power to choose my own destiny. One goal I am currently working on is to apply for as many scholarships as possible because I know that my parents can't afford my college tuition on their own. Although the process is very tedious and requires a strenuous amount of time and effort, there hasn't been a single moment where I've felt like giving up. Applying for scholarships and being dedicated to the process is something that I am willing to do a million times over if it means that I am able to learn and get a good education. This scholarships truly mean a lot to me and my family and I sincerely wish that I am given a chance to go to a good college and make a difference in the world. I’m not going to be that poor kid who builds her life on a foundation of broken dreams and unfulfilled aspirations. I want to be successful in life and will continue to work hard to achieve my dreams.

In our society, everyone has freedom of speech and is entitled to their own beliefs. However, these contradictory opinions lead to an endless barrage of arguments that stem from an "us versus them" mindset. At some point in our history as the United States of America, we have stripped ourselves bare of the morals we once held close. Now it's a perpetual debate of who's right and who's wrong as we distance ourselves from the people who don't look, think, or act as we do. We are a people divided amongst ourselves, an issue validated time and time again over the last couple of years. I believe the three fundamental flaws of our society is our ineptitude to see from a different perspective, the inability to sympathize with people who don't share our beliefs, and the disregard for those less fortunate than ourselves The legacy I hope to leave in this world is one that teaches others about the importance of acceptance. I promise myself and those around me that I will never allow society or my personal opinions to lead me to prejudiced decisions. I hope that through my life and my actions, I can teach people that the only way to live happily and reconstruct the fragmented parts of society is to let go of our preconceptions and not judge others at face value. If we can move on with this mindset, we will be able to achieve a level of solidarity that can mend the relationships that have been torn apart by years of disputes and disagreements. I hope that my life will serve as an example of how accepting the people around us for who they really are will make the world a better place.