“Yuh head ain’t mek fuh hat alone.” That Bajan saying, passed down through the women in my family, taught me that my mind was made for a purpose. Growing up in a Caribbean household in Newark, I often heard this phrase at the kitchen table, a reminder that intelligence isn’t just about what you know, but how you use your gifts to uplift others. That belief has shaped my identity, my leadership, and the impact I hope to make through my future career. In high school, I discovered how much I enjoy solving problems and helping others succeed. During my biomedical engineering capstone project, I naturally stepped into the role of keeping my team of five organized, ensuring deadlines were met, and making sure every voice was heard. That experience taught me that leadership isn’t about being the loudest; it’s about consistency, empathy, and resilience. It showed me that impact often begins with believing in yourself and creating space for others to do the same. Service has been just as important in shaping who I am. Whether mentoring freshmen, volunteering at food kitchens, participating in breast cancer walks, or helping maintain a community garden, I’ve learned that small acts can create lasting change. These experiences taught me that impact doesn’t always come from grand gestures; sometimes it comes from showing up, listening, and making people feel supported and valued. Academically, I’ve pushed myself to grow. I’ve maintained a 3.921 GPA, earned High Honor Roll, joined the National Honor Society, and completed a Six Sigma Yellow Belt certification to strengthen my foundation in business analytics. My internship as a finance clerk gave me hands-on experience managing accounts payable and receivable, reconciling vendor statements, and ensuring financial accuracy. More importantly, it showed me that data tells a story, and how the person interpreting that data has a responsibility to use it wisely. I realized that behind every number is a person, a need, or a community that deserves to be understood. I am committed to pursuing higher education because I know it will help me grow, challenge my thinking, and give me the skills I need to turn my potential into real impact for others. All of these experiences have shaped my vision for the future. I plan to major in Business Analytics and build a career using data to create solutions that genuinely serve people. I want to help organizations make decisions that are not only efficient, but ethical and community-centered. Through analytics, I hope to identify inequities, improve access to resources, and support programs that address real social needs. My goal is to use data not just to solve problems, but to build systems that are fair, transparent, and inclusive. I carry with me the legacy of the women who raised me and the communities that shaped me. My head was never just for a hat; it was made for impact, and I am committed to making that impact through leadership, service, and a career dedicated to improving lives.

They say that words can build you up or break you down. I didn’t know how true that was until a teacher once told me I had “no brain.” In that moment, everything I believed about myself, my intelligence, my potential, and my future felt like it was slipping away. But I refused to let her words define me. I chose to reclaim my confidence. Growing up in Newark, I’ve always felt the pulse of resilience in my community. As a Black girl with a Caribbean background, I was raised to believe in the power of education. My family taught me that knowledge is sacred, and from a young age, I was always told I was smart. Teachers and relatives would say, “She’s going places.” So when I enrolled in a dual enrollment college course at Donald Payne Tech, I saw it as a chance to challenge myself. But after getting an answer wrong, the instructor looked at me and said I had “no brain.” I froze. That moment shook my self-esteem and made me question everything I thought I knew about myself. Still, I refused to let that be the end of my story. I went home and made a decision: I was going to prove her wrong, and not just to her, but to myself. I stayed up past my bedtime night after night, studying harder than I ever had. No study groups, no shortcuts, just me, my notes, and a fire in my chest. By the end of the semester, I earned an A in her class. What I didn’t expect was how my resilience would impact someone else, my ten-year-old sister. She watches everything I do. She’s already in the Gifted and Talented program, sings in the chorus, and holds a 3.89 GPA in fifth grade. She told me she pushes herself because she wants to go to college like me. When she saw me studying late and refusing to give up after being told I had “no brain,” she said it made her believe she could do hard things too. Hearing that made me realize that resilience doesn’t just change your own path; it can light the way for someone else. Since then, I’ve carried that same resilience into how I serve and lead in my community. I have volunteered at food kitchens, helped feed the homeless, walked for breast cancer to honor the strength of women who are fighting battles we can't see, and worked with a team to decorate a local middle school for its Fall Festival. These experiences taught me that resilience isn’t just about surviving hard moments; it’s about using your strength to uplift others, create safe spaces, and show up for people who may need encouragement the most. My teacher’s words could have broken me. Instead, they revealed my strength and helped me inspire someone I love. My resilience became a lesson not just for me, but for my little sister and for anyone who has ever been underestimated.

They say that words can build you up or break you down. I didn't know how true that was until a teacher told me, "You have no brain." In that instance, I felt that everything that I had believed about myself: my intelligence, potential, and my future; was slipping away. I didn't let it. I fought back to reclaim my confidence. Growing up in Newark, just across the river from Hoboken, I’ve always felt the pulse of resilience in my community. As a black girl with a Caribbean background from Newark, NJ, I was raised to believe in the power of education. My family taught me that knowledge is sacred, and from a young age, I was always told I was smart. Teachers and relatives would say, “She’s going places.” So when I enrolled in a dual enrollment college course at Donald Payne Tech, I saw it as a chance to prove myself. However, after getting an answer wrong, the teacher, a woman, looked at me and said, “You have no brain.” I froze. That moment shattered my self-esteem and made me question everything I thought I knew about myself. Still, I refused to let that be the end of my story. I went home and made a decision: I was going to prove her wrong, and not just to her, but to myself. I stayed up past my bedtime night after night, studying harder than I ever had. No study groups, no shortcuts. Just me, my notes, and a fire in my chest. By the end of the semester, I earned an A in her class. That experience changed me. It reminded me that my intelligence isn’t defined by one mistake or one person’s opinion. I saw in myself a quiet power and a determination rooted in my culture, my city, and my story. Newark taught me that talent is often overlooked and that you have to fight to be seen. Since then, I’ve leaned into leadership by giving back to my community in meaningful ways. I’ve volunteered at food kitchens, helped feed the homeless, and am currently working with a team to decorate a local middle school for its Fall Festival. These experiences have taught me that leadership isn’t just about speaking up; it’s about showing up. Whether I’m serving meals or helping create joyful spaces for younger students, I lead with empathy, pride, and a deep commitment to uplifting others. This scholarship would help me continue that journey. I plan to major in Business Analytics and join the honors college at a university that aligns with my goals. Financial support would allow me to focus on my studies, pursue internships, and become a business analyst who uses data to create fair, inclusive solutions for communities like mine. That teacher tried to take my crown. Instead, she helped me polish it. And now, I wear it with pride, not just for me, but for every girl who’s ever been told she wasn’t enough.

As a Black girl from Newark, NJ with Caribbean roots, I’ve always been surrounded by strength and pride. My family taught me that education is sacred, and from a young age, I was always told I was smart by teachers and relatives, and I believed it. Until one day, someone tried to take that belief away. During my time at Donald Payne Tech, I enrolled in a dual enrollment college course to challenge myself. One day, I got an answer wrong in class, and the teacher looked at me and said, “You have no brain.” I froze. That moment shattered something in me. I’d never been spoken to like that. It was a blow to my self-esteem, and for a while, I questioned everything I thought I knew about myself. But I refused to let that be the end of my story. I went home and decided to prove her wrong. I wasn’t just going to prove it to her but also to myself. I stayed up past my bedtime night after night, studying harder than I ever had. No study groups. No shortcuts. Just me, my notes, and a fire in my chest. By the end of the semester, I earned an A in her class. That experience changed me. It reminded me that my intelligence isn’t defined by one mistake or one person’s opinion. I saw in myself a quiet power, a determination rooted in my culture, my city, and my story. Now, I lead with that same fire. I speak up when others stay silent. I create space for voices like mine to be heard. That teacher tried to take my crown. Instead, she helped me polish it. And now, I wear it with pride, not just for me, but for every girl who’s ever been told she wasn’t enough.