Biology quenches my insatiable thirst for knowledge. In class, my hand spent more time in the air than by my side. In biology, I felt like I had finally met my soulmate. Biology attracted, inspired, captivated, and challenged me. I knew I would study biology for the rest of my life. I would even learn to spell plastoquinone for it! I enrolled in AP Biology my junior year and fully immersed myself in the world of DNA, organelles, photosynthesis, and more. Despite being the youngest in my class, I became a passionate presence. Through my unrelenting pursuit of knowledge, I developed a close relationship with my teacher. I attended office hours regularly, read every page of assigned reading, took meticulous notes, and was a leader during labs. I studied countless hours, became closely acquainted with Hank Green’s Biology Crash Course videos, conducted my own personal research, listened to podcasts, and searched for ways to get involved in the biomedical field as a student. I applied to eight different internships/research opportunities in January of my junior year. Unfortunately, all were canceled or moved online. Eventually, however, I was offered a position with Cope Health Solutions, where I became a Junior Health Scholar, enhancing patient care and assisting nurses for over 160 hours at Swedish Hospital. As I round on patients, answer call lights, and aid physicians, my life’s aspirations become concrete and tangible. For me, the personal stakes are high. The solution to the problem I crave so desperately to solve is deep in the vast knowledge of biology: a cure for Alzheimer’s Disease. I aspire to devote my professional career to studying and finding a cure for Alzheimer’s. In college and beyond, I envision myself ensconced in labs and collaborating with colleagues to develop this cure. When I was thirteen, my grandfather was diagnosed with Alzheimer's. I remember him as two men: the warm, bubbly second father who taught me how to fish, and the cold stranger who one day forgot my name. Towards the end of his life, I witnessed the excruciating waning of his spirit, soul, and mind. But, he never forgot how to smile. Selflessly, even on his final days, he decided to be brave for me. For years, I had mourned the loss of my grandfather. To me, Alzheimer’s was a fate worse than death; he was gone before he was gone. I objectively researched Alzheimer's Disease in great depth and developed an intimate, twisted relationship with it. A deep understanding of Alzheimer’s will be my most potent weapon against it. Through my high school Biology courses, I was inspired to my ultimate goal: becoming a neurosurgeon. As I strive to cure Alzheimer’s, my days will also be dedicated to assuring families that their loved one’s brains are healthy, their memories intact, and their unique personalities protected. My Papa has passed on, and I yearn to feel him squeezing my hand and saying “Abby, I love you.” To the best of my abilities, I will work to provide this opportunity to the 5.8 million Americans currently struggling with Alzheimer’s. I will not settle for anything less magical.

A staggering one-third of all teenagers suffer from an anxiety disorder, including me. For years, I doubted I was funny enough, smart enough, kind enough, good enough. Worst of all, I felt alone. Worried nobody would understand, I struggled internally. In September this year, when designated a “Speaker” for my Senior Pilgrimage Retreat, I was asked to share my own metaphorical “baggage.” Immediately, my anxiety came to mind, but this felt too personal, too intimate, too vulnerable to share. To 200 of my peers, I feared appearing flawed, imperfect, weak. Then, I remembered the statistic. One-third - 66 of my fellow seniors - suffer from an anxiety disorder. Like me, many of them understand the panic attacks, the intrusive thoughts, the cycle of avoidance, the sleepless nights. My baggage is also their baggage. Delivering this speech was not a burden, but an opportunity. In my speech, I divulged the deepest parts of my struggle with anxiety to my senior class. I described my crippling panic attacks. I recounted nights crying in my mother’s arms screaming until my throat hurt. I chronicled hours of therapy, meditation, and prayer. I exposed my greatest insecurities, innermost thoughts, and ultimate triumph. The effect was immediate. My peers sat up straighter in their chairs. No one smirked. No one laughed. Everyone clapped. Some cried. In my ten-minute speech, I offered solidarity to my peers who are burdened by anxiety. In my vulnerability, I said “you are not alone,” “I understand,” and “I empathize.” These words stuck with my peers. Afterward, I received numerous texts saying how relatable my story was and thanking me for my candor. I now receive countless texts from my peers in their times of anxiety and help them through their crises. I became a “safe” person to confide in. I not only lightened my own load, I offered to carry theirs, too. My speech was only the beginning. Since then, I strive to help destigmatize mental health and to help others know that asking for help is a sign of strength, not of weakness.

A staggering one-third of all teenagers suffer from an anxiety disorder, including me. For years, I doubted I was funny enough, smart enough, kind enough, good enough. I cried myself to sleep, didn't eat for days, was unable to leave my bed. Worst of all, I felt alone. Worried nobody would understand, I struggled internally. In September this year, when designated a “Speaker” for my Senior Pilgrimage Retreat, I was asked to share my own metaphorical “baggage.” Immediately, my anxiety came to mind, but this felt too personal, too intimate, too vulnerable to share. To 200 of my peers, I feared appearing flawed, imperfect, weak. Then, I remembered the statistic. One third - 66 of my fellow seniors - suffer from an anxiety disorder. I was painfully aware of the toll anxiety took on my life. I watched my spirit wane away. But, I was oblivious to how universal my struggles were. In seventh grade, one of my closest friends confided in me her struggle with body dysmorphia. In eighth grade, a friend of a friend committed suicide, sending shockwaves through Seattle. In ninth grade, my friend shared her own journey with depression; A dark cloud hung over her that we all could not see. As a sophomore, I saw my best friend's scarred wrists; She had been cutting. One of our nation's greatest failings is the widespread deteriorating of its citizens' mental health Delivering this speech was not a burden, but an opportunity. In my speech, I divulged the deepest parts of my struggle with anxiety to my senior class. I described my crippling panic attacks. I recounted nights crying in my mother’s arms and screaming until my throat hurt. I chronicled hours of therapy, meditation, and prayer. I exposed my greatest insecurities, innermost thoughts, and ultimate triumph. The effect was immediate. My peers sat up straighter in their chairs. No one smirked. No one laughed. Everyone clapped. Some cried. In my ten-minute speech, I offered solidarity to my peers who are burdened by anxiety. In my vulnerability, I said “you are not alone,” “I understand,” and “I empathize.” This is my activism. It means listening with an open ear and a compassionate heart. It means being present for others. It means standing outside in the 30-degree weather while my friend has a panic attack. It means three am drives to lie in the bathroom with my friend while she cries. My words stuck with my peers. Afterward, I received numerous texts saying how relatable my story was and thanking me for my candor. I now receive countless texts from my peers in their times of anxiety and help them through their crisis. I became a “safe” person to confide in. My speech was only the beginning. I not only lightened my own load, but I also offered to carry theirs, too. As I have now learned to manage my anxiety, my life's goal is to create a more empathetic, accepting world. I dare of a world in which asking for help is not frowned upon. A world in which mental health days are just as tolerated as sick days. A world in which young girls don't look in the mirror and hate themselves. A world in which young boys aren't pushed to their limits, and then some. I dare of a world in which mental health support is always accessible.

He appears in my dreams often, a sunlit figure standing tall and self-assured. We bury our feet into the sand and race up the beach. Or, he peers over my shoulder as I doodle a mermaid for his refrigerator. Better yet, he is pushing me on the swings as I reach out and grab a cloud. I squish it between my fingers, and then offer it to him as a gift. Now, the only place I find my Papa is in my dreams. He was diagnosed with Alzheimer’s Disease when I was thirteen. This was not a shock. He had already started exhibiting all the dreaded symptoms of Alzheimer’s: irritability, personality changes, struggling to complete daily tasks. I remember him as two men: the warm, bubbly second father who taught me how to fish, and the cold stranger who one day forgot my name. I witnessed the excruciating waning of his spirit, soul, and mind. Still, a pillar of selflessness, he summoned all his inner strength to keep a smile plastered on his face. If Papa could be this brave for me, I needed to be brave for him. He inspires my greatest dream: researching and curing Alzheimer’s Disease. In college and beyond, I envision myself ensconced in labs and collaborating with colleagues to develop a treatment for this volatile disease. I began, and continue to, objectively research the disease in great depth, developing an intimate, twisted relationship with it. Each week, I spend hours reading through the University of Washington's Alzheimers Disease Research Centers newsletters, attend seminars/talks about the disease, and review recent research/findings. A deep understanding of Alzheimer’s will be my most potent weapon against it. Through my high school Biology courses, I was inspired to another my ultimate goal: becoming a neurosurgeon. As I strive to cure Alzheimer’s, my days will also be dedicated to assuring families that their loved one’s brains are healthy, their memories intact, and their unique personalities protected. Each day presents a chance to realize my two greatest goals. By completing a Virtual Research Training Program with Seattle Children’s Hospital, I developed a greater understanding of the research routes available to me in college while also delving into laboratory procedures and the complex topics of Public and Global Health, Immunology, and Biology. With Swedish Medical Center, I am accumulating over 160 hours aiding nurses and physicians in providing an excellent patient experience as a Junior Health Scholar. Fittingly, my first shifts were on the Neuro Telemetry floor. This grant would go towards my own laboratory research in college, providing an opportunity to continue to pursue a cure. My Papa has passed on, and I yearn to feel him squeezing my hand and saying “Abby, I love you.” To the best of my abilities, I will work to provide this opportunity to the 5.8 million Americans currently struggling with Alzheimer’s.

Geneticist Mary-Claire King inspires me to dare, and bigger still. She serves as a beacon of hope to young girls aspiring to be geneticists, chemists, biologists, physicists. While working at the University of California Berkeley, she discovered a single gene on chromosome seventeen that plays an important role in many types of breast cancer. Her discovery enabled women with a family history of breast cancer to obtain more complete information about their likelihood of developing the disease. This discovery has, and continues to be, useful to other genetic illness researchers. Using her intimate, engaged knowledge of genetics, she extended her sphere: studying deafness, helping to identify the remains of those killed in civil conflicts in Argentina and El Salvador, and aiding in the reconstruction of prehistoric human migration patterns. The tenacious, logical, and empowered Dr. King uses her talents for the good of humanity while advancing society through her research. Currently, her laboratory at the University of Washington focuses on inherited breast and ovarian cancer, the genetics of schizophrenia, and Mendelian disorders in children. What I admire most about Dr. King is not her scientific achievements, but her perseverance. In the relentless face of sexism, she persisted. In 1976, King applied for an assistant professorship at the School of Public Health at UC Berkeley. Though universities were trying to hire more women, there was great push-back from those unaccustomed to women in positions of authority running their own labs. King recognizes that she is “absolutely a child of affirmative action.” Upon being hired, the division head told her, “I just want you to know that you are only here because of these new regulations, and we are really scraping the bottom of the barrel in hiring you.” To this, King replied, “We’ll see how long you feel that way!” She believed in herself, and that was enough. Despite the systematic sexism that relegates women to the margins of medicine and STEM, I dare mighty things. For you Dr. King, I dare. Having faced stares of disbelief from my peers when they learn of my career goals - becoming a neurosurgeon and researching Alzheimer’s Disease - I dare of a world in which women can drive the fields of STEM. I dare of a world in which the nearly six million people worldwide living with Alzheimer’s Disease can remember the names of their loved ones. At the University of Virginia, I plan to major in Biology and minor in Neuroscience. These courses will serve as the bedrock of my personal and professional endeavors. Afterward, I will attend medical school, as I progress towards neurosurgery. I envision myself ensconced in labs and collaborating with colleagues to develop a cure for Alzheimer’s. I am committed to assuring families that their loved one’s brains are healthy, their memories intact, and their unique personalities protected. Like Dr. King, I know I can make the world a better place through science. Mostly, I hope to encourage young girls to dare as big as I do.