The Person Who Pushed Me Toward My Future There is a version of my life where I never came to the United States. Where I stayed in Ethiopia, settled into something familiar, and never applied to Roosevelt University. That version of my life felt very real until Bitanya told me I was wrong. Bitanya and I started dating in tenth grade in Ethiopia. She was sharp, warm, and the kind of person who saw potential in people before they saw it in themselves. We grew close in the way that only young people in love can deeply, completely, with the kind of trust that makes you feel safe enough to be honest. She knew my dreams before I fully admitted them to myself. And when the opportunity to apply to study in the United States came across my path, she was the first person to tell me I had to do it. I was not going to apply. I had reasons fear, uncertainty, and the comfort of what I already knew. Leaving Ethiopia meant leaving everything familiar: my language, my culture, my family, and her. I told myself it was too far, too uncertain, too much of a risk. Bitanya did not accept that. She pushed me, encouraged me, and refused to let me talk myself out of a future she could see more clearly than I could. Because of her, I applied. Because of her, I got in. Because of her, I am sitting in Chicago today as a freshman at Roosevelt University, building a life I once almost walked away from before it started. Our relationship ended not in bitterness, but in honesty. When I got to the United States, we both understood that the distance and the difference in where our lives were heading made a long-term relationship difficult. It was one of the hardest conversations I have ever had. But it was also one of the most mature. We chose to respect what we had built rather than let it collapse under the weight of distance and expectation. We still talk regularly. The love transformed into something quieter a friendship rooted in genuine care for each other's growth. What Bitanya taught me about relationships is something I carry into every connection I build today. She showed me that the most meaningful relationships are not the ones that make you comfortable — they are the ones that make you better. A person who truly cares about you will push you toward your potential even when it is inconvenient for them. She encouraged me to leave, knowing it meant we could not be together in the way we had been. That is not a small thing. That is one of the most generous acts one person can offer another. I build connections differently now because of her. I try to show up for people the way she showed up for me with honesty, with belief in their potential, and without holding them back for my own comfort. Whether in friendships, in my studies at Roosevelt, or one day in the businesses I hope to build back in Ethiopia, I want to be the kind of person who helps others see what they are capable of. Bitanya gave me that model. The least I can do is pass it forward.

Growing up in Ethiopia, I learned early that opportunity is not equally distributed. I watched brilliant, hardworking people around me neighbors, relatives, young men and women full of potential struggle not because of a lack of talent or drive, but because of a lack of access. Access to capital, to education, to systems that could help them turn their dreams into reality. That experience did not discourage me. It ignited something in me. It made me understand, at a foundational level, why economic equity is not just a policy issue it is a matter of human dignity. Sgt. Albert Dono Ware's legacy is built on three pillars: service, sacrifice, and bravery. Though I did not grow up with a direct military connection, I have come to understand that these values are not exclusive to the battlefield. My parents sacrificed everything to bring me to the United States. They left their comfort of the familiar so that I could stand where I stand today, as a freshman at Roosevelt University in Chicago, building a future that once felt impossibly out of reach. That is its own kind of service. That is its own kind of bravery. Sgt. Ware's story reminds me that courage shows up in many forms, and that the people who carry communities forward are often those who give the most while asking for the least. As an African immigrant in the United States, I have witnessed firsthand the gap between the potential of our community and the resources available to us. African immigrants and African Americans together represent one of the most resilient, entrepreneurial, and culturally rich populations in this country yet systemic barriers continue to limit access to business funding, property ownership, generational wealth, and financial education. Economic inequity is not an accident. It is the result of decades of policy decisions, and it will take intentional, targeted policy reform to reverse it. The reforms I believe are most critical center on closing the racial wealth gap through entrepreneurship and small business development. Access to capital remains one of the biggest barriers facing Black-owned businesses. Studies consistently show that Black entrepreneurs are denied business loans at disproportionately higher rates than their white counterparts, even when controlling for creditworthiness. I believe we need expanded Community Development Financial Institution (CDFI) funding, mentorship pipelines that connect young entrepreneurs of African descent with established business leaders, and financial literacy programs embedded in high schools and universities in underserved communities. My personal vision is deeply connected to these goals. I intend to open my own restaurants and hotels in Ethiopia businesses that create local employment, celebrate Ethiopian culture and hospitality, and build generational wealth for my family and community. But that vision starts here, in Chicago, in the classroom, and in the lessons I learn as a college student navigating systems that were not originally designed with people like me in mind. Every skill I develop here in business, in leadership, in finance I intend to carry back home and use in service of my community. Driving this kind of change requires the right stakeholders at the table. I believe local government officials, Black-led community organizations, university business programs, and private sector investors all have a role to play. Organizations like the African diaspora business councils, chambers of commerce, and cultural community centers serve as critical bridges between institutions and the people those institutions are meant to serve. When these groups work together rather than around each other real, lasting economic transformation becomes possible. Sgt. Ware gave his life in service of something larger than himself. I carry that spirit not through military service, but through my commitment to building something a business, a legacy, a bridge between Ethiopia and the United States that will outlast me and benefit others. I am grateful for the opportunity this scholarship represents, and I am committed to honoring it through the work I do, both here at Roosevelt University and in every community I have the privilege to serve.