I never expected a uniform to teach me who I truly was. Before joining the military, I saw service as something external rules to follow, commands to obey, a way to earn benefits and structure. What I didn’t anticipate was how deeply it would challenge and transform my sense of identity, resilience, and understanding of the country I swore to protect. The military became a mirror. In training, in the field, and in moments of isolation, I was forced to confront both my strengths and weaknesses. I learned that true discipline isn’t just about doing what’s expected it’s about showing up when no one’s watching, pushing through exhaustion, and staying grounded under pressure. I discovered a version of myself that could persevere through discomfort, adapt in chaos, and lead with purpose. I gained confidence that wasn’t based on titles or achievements, but on knowing I could be relied on by others and by myself. My view of who I am shifted from someone trying to prove their worth to someone who understands it deeply. At the same time, my perception of the United States matured in unexpected ways. Before enlisting, patriotism felt abstract flags, holidays, and pride. But being immersed in a team of individuals from all walks of life gave me a more complex, honest view of our nation. I served alongside people with vastly different upbringings, beliefs, and reasons for being there. We didn’t always agree, but we stood for a shared mission. That taught me that America isn’t just an ideal it’s a constant work in progress. The military also exposed the contradictions of our country. I saw systemic inequalities that some of my peers faced even in uniform. I witnessed the bureaucracy that sometimes slowed progress, and the emotional toll of service on families and mental health. But I also saw the heart of what makes this country resilient: people who show up, fight for better, and care deeply about protecting each other. My love for the U.S. became less about blind loyalty and more about engaged citizenship a commitment to uphold its best values while acknowledging where it falls short. In the end, the military didn’t just change how I view myself and my country it reshaped how I move through the world. It gave me a strong foundation built on self-awareness, empathy, and resolve. I no longer see challenges as obstacles, but as opportunities to grow and contribute. And I see my country not as a finished product, but as something worth serving, questioning, and striving to improve.

My name is Akira, and I am a first-generation college student majoring in Public Health. I’m also a Black woman who has witnessed firsthand how inequities in healthcare can impact individuals and families not in abstract statistics, but in lived experiences. I come from a family and community where people often delay or avoid medical care due to lack of trust, systemic barriers, or feeling unheard. These early observations became the seeds of my passion for maternal and child health, particularly in addressing the Black maternal mortality crisis in the United States. Throughout my undergraduate career, I’ve combined academic knowledge with hands-on experience to better understand and combat health disparities. This summer, I’m completing my Applied Public and Leadership Experience (APLE) by working with a nonprofit organization that focuses on reproductive justice and culturally competent maternal care. We’re involved in initiatives that connect underserved women with doulas, improve access to prenatal education, and support systemic changes to ensure more respectful, patient-centered care. Hearing the stories of women who felt ignored or mistreated during their pregnancies has moved me deeply and motivated me to be a part of changing that narrative. My long-term goal is to become a certified nurse-midwife. I chose this path because it aligns both with my academic interests and my personal values. Nurse-midwifery is grounded in holistic, evidence-based care that centers the needs of the patient. In a system that often fails Black and Brown mothers, midwives can be life-saving advocates. I want to be that kind of provider someone who not only delivers care but listens, uplifts, and empowers. But my impact won’t stop at clinical care. I plan to continue working with community-based organizations, lead health education initiatives, and mentor young women of color pursuing healthcare careers. I’m also interested in influencing policy to improve access to midwifery services and culturally competent providers in low-income and rural communities. Public health taught me that individual health is shaped by community context. That’s why I believe true change requires both bedside compassion and systemic advocacy. Outside of academics and clinical goals, I am also dedicated to supporting my family by sharing health knowledge and encouraging preventive care, which helps create a ripple effect of wellness. Ultimately, I want to make the world a safer, more just place for mothers and their children starting with the communities that raised me. I’m not just building a career; I’m answering a calling.

In America, giving birth can be a death sentence, especially if you’re a Black woman. That isn’t a headline from the past it’s a present-day reality backed by decades of data and the lived experiences of far too many. Despite being one of the wealthiest nations in the world, the United States continues to have an unacceptably high maternal mortality rate, and Black women are impacted the most. They are nearly three times more likely to die from pregnancy-related causes than white women, regardless of socioeconomic status or education level. These aren’t just medical oversights they are the consequences of deeply rooted systemic racism, implicit bias, and historical neglect. As a public health student, I’ve explored this issue in both academic and real-world contexts. Through my coursework, I’ve studied maternal health disparities, public health policy, and the structural barriers that contribute to unequal outcomes. But it wasn’t until I began my APLE (Applied Public and Leadership Experience) this summer that the issue became deeply personal. I’m currently working with a nonprofit that addresses maternal and child health inequities. Our projects focus on connecting mothers to community-based support, promoting doula care, and advocating for culturally competent providers who reflect and respect the communities they serve. Hearing the stories of women who were ignored or mistreated during pregnancy and childbirth has only deepened my resolve. This experience has helped me clarify my future: I want to become a nurse-midwife. I believe in the midwifery model of care, which emphasizes listening, prevention, and respect values that are critical to addressing disparities in maternal outcomes. As a nurse-midwife, I want to create safer, more empowering experiences for birthing people, especially those from marginalized communities. My passion for addressing Black maternal mortality is personal. As a Black woman pursuing a career in healthcare, I feel a responsibility to be part of the solution. I’m committed to improving maternal health outcomes through public health advocacy, clinical care, and community engagement. I believe that every mother deserves to survive childbirth and to feel safe. What draws me most to this issue is the intersection of health, equity, and justice. Black maternal mortality is not just about medicine it’s about whose pain is believed, whose lives are valued, and who gets to feel safe during one of the most vulnerable moments of life. Through my work in public health and my future in nursing, I’m committed to being part of a generation that changes that reality.

Over the next five years, I plan to make a positive environmental impact by combining wellness, food education, and community outreach all through the lens of public health. As someone working toward my MPH and pursuing a career in epidemiology, I’ve become increasingly aware of how deeply connected our health is to the health of our environment. I want to be part of a movement that helps people care for both at the same time. One area where I see the most opportunity is in how we eat. The food system has a huge environmental footprint, from the way food is produced and transported to how much of it gets wasted. But it’s also a space where change is personal and possible starting in our kitchens and communities. I want to help make sustainable eating more approachable, especially for everyday people who are trying to eat better on a budget. I plan to create educational workshops and online content focused on plant-based, low-waste meals that don’t require expensive ingredients or fancy equipment. These meals will be rooted in health and cultural relevance designed for real people and real households. The goal is to show that sustainable eating isn’t just a lifestyle trend, but a way to improve our health while caring for the planet. As someone with a background in public health, I’ll use data and behavior change strategies to guide how I present this information so it sticks and spreads. Reducing food waste is another key area I’ll focus on. So much food ends up in the trash when it could have been eaten, shared, or composted. I want to collaborate with local food banks, farmers markets, and even restaurants to find ways to redirect leftover or imperfect food to people who need it. I also plan to host simple cooking and storage classes to help families make the most of what they already have at home. These are small shifts, but they add up. A big part of my plan also includes using social media and digital tools to reach more people. I know not everyone can attend a class in person, so I want to meet people where they are on their phones. I’ll create short videos, infographics, and meal prep ideas that are fun, useful, and rooted in public health principles. It’s not about perfection it’s about progress. If I can inspire someone to try meatless Mondays, start a compost pile, or support a local farmer, that’s a win. As I grow in my public health career, I also want to work with schools, community organizations, and healthcare providers to advocate for broader change. That might mean pushing for healthier, more sustainable food options in public institutions or helping create programs that make fresh produce more affordable. My long-term goal is to build systems that support health and sustainability as the norm, not the exception. At the heart of it all, I care about people. I believe we can’t talk about environmental change without talking about wellness, equity, and access. My hope is that the work I do whether it’s through community programs, online education, or future public health roles helps create a culture where caring for the planet and caring for ourselves go hand in hand. With the support of this scholarship, I’ll be able to continue building the tools and connections I need to turn these ideas into action. I’m excited for what the next five years hold and I’m ready to get to work.

I proudly served in the United States Air Force as a 4E0X1 Public Health Technician. During my service, I held the rank of Staff Sergeant (E-5) and was stationed at both Beale Air Force Base in California and Incirlik Air Base in Turkey. My role centered around protecting the health of service members through disease prevention, food and facility inspections, epidemiology, and occupational health. Serving in this capacity taught me discipline, adaptability, and the importance of safeguarding community health values that continue to guide me today. Currently, I’m pursuing a Bachelor’s degree in Public Health, and I plan to continue on to earn my Master of Public Health (MPH) immediately after graduation. Eventually, I intend to transition into a clinical career, likely in nursing or as a physician assistant, where I can apply both my military training and academic foundation to serve vulnerable populations. My ultimate goal is to integrate my public health experience with hands-on patient care to improve outcomes for underserved communities, especially in maternal and child health. My military service profoundly shaped these goals. Working in public health in the Air Force gave me a front-row seat to the real-world impact of prevention, education, and accessible healthcare. Whether I was conducting food safety inspections on base or supporting population health surveillance overseas, I saw how small interventions could have large-scale effects. These experiences lit a fire in me to continue serving not in uniform, but in scrubs and with compassion. Yet the path hasn’t been easy. Like many veterans transitioning to civilian life, I’ve faced a series of challenges. Adjusting from a highly structured military environment to the flexibility (and uncertainty) of academia has taken time. Financial strain during periods between GI Bill payments, limited access to veteran-specific mental health care, and the emotional toll of starting over in a new field have tested my resilience. Additionally, balancing full-time education with part-time work and personal obligations hasn’t always been smooth but the perseverance instilled in me during my service helps me stay focused and committed. Much like John, whose legacy includes giving back to his community, I, too, believe that service doesn’t end when the uniform comes off. I am deeply committed to supporting my community in meaningful ways. I volunteer with Habitat for Humanity, contributing to projects that provide safe and affordable housing for families in need. I’ve also mentored fellow veteran students, helping them navigate college benefits, find academic resources, and transition successfully into civilian life. Faith is central to who I am, and I regularly volunteer through my church, participating in food drives and support groups for women. These acts of service are not just extracurricular they’re essential to who I am. John’s example reminds me that we all have a responsibility to leave things better than we found them. Whether I’m on a construction site, in a classroom, or at a patient’s bedside, I strive to lead with integrity, humility, and purpose. The Air Force may have shaped the foundation, but it’s my passion for community and healing that’s building the future I envision. This next chapter of my life as a student, veteran, and future healthcare leader is one I approach with gratitude, vision, and a heart still committed to service.

My faith has always been the anchor in my life, especially in times when leadership was not just expected but essential. It is through faith that I’ve come to understand that true leadership is servant-hearted. It’s about showing up with integrity, even when no one is watching. It’s about lifting others up, not to glorify yourself, but to glorify God through your actions. My leadership style reflects this: quiet, compassionate, yet grounded in strength, resilience, and vision. One defining moment where I led others through faith happened during my military service. I was stationed away from home, in an environment where stress, burnout, and loneliness were common. The unspoken expectation in the military is to be tough, keep emotions in check, and focus on the mission. But I started noticing subtle signs colleagues withdrawing, tempers flaring, and an overall heaviness that weighed on our unit. I prayed for direction, asking God to show me how I could make a difference without overstepping boundaries or pushing people away. Instead of preaching, I leaned into my faith through action. I started checking in on people asking how they were really doing, listening without judgment, and offering prayer when invited. Slowly, people opened up. I found myself encouraging others to talk through their stress and offering hope when they felt like they had none. Eventually, a small group of us began gathering informally to pray and support each other. What started as a few conversations turned into a community of connection, resilience, and encouragement. That experience taught me that leadership doesn’t always look like giving orders or standing in front of a crowd. Sometimes it’s about quietly living out your faith, being consistent, and creating a safe space for others to show up as they are. My faith gave me the courage to be vulnerable first and through that, others found the strength to be honest and heal. This moment continues to shape my vision for the future. As I transition from military life to public health and eventually into nursing, I know I want to carry this faith-based leadership into every space I enter. I want to lead in clinics, hospitals, and community settings not just with clinical skill, but with spiritual sensitivity and moral conviction. I believe that healthcare especially maternal and community health needs more professionals who understand that healing goes beyond the physical. It includes the emotional and spiritual, too. As a woman of color, I also understand how important representation is. I want to be a leader who models faith and professionalism for the next generation of girls who need to see that strength and compassion can coexist. Whether mentoring students, advocating for underserved mothers, or simply being present for someone during a crisis, I want people to know that my leadership is rooted in something greater than myself. Faith reminds me that every person I encounter has inherent worth and purpose. It reminds me to serve, even when it’s hard. It reminds me to be patient, even when progress is slow. And most of all, it reminds me that I’m never walking alone. In the future, I hope to lead teams in healthcare that reflect these same values where people feel seen, supported, and spiritually grounded in the work they do. My faith doesn’t just influence my leadership it defines it.

My journey has never followed a straight path but it has always been driven by purpose. As a first-generation college student, a woman of color, and a proud veteran of the United States Air Force, I’ve learned to navigate spaces where people like me are underrepresented and often underestimated. But I’ve also learned that every barrier can become a building block with the right tools, support, and belief in something greater. Growing up, education wasn’t something that was always prioritized in my community. I didn’t have examples of people who looked like me attending college, much less talking about careers in public health, nursing, or medicine. What I did have, though, was a deep desire to serve others and that led me to enlist in the military. It was there that I discovered the power of discipline, resilience, and leadership. But it was also where I began to see health disparities play out in real time whether in access to quality care, the stigmas around mental health, or the challenges of supporting women through pregnancy and postpartum while serving. These experiences sparked something in me: a passion to enter the healthcare field not just to treat, but to advocate, educate, and reform. Today, I am pursuing my Bachelor’s in Public Health with a 3.7 GPA and a spot on the Dean’s List. I’ve volunteered with Habitat for Humanity, worked in community health outreach, and taken on projects that highlight racial and maternal health disparities especially those that disproportionately impact Black women. My lived experience as a woman of color, paired with my academic and military background, uniquely equips me to bring compassion and cultural understanding to healthcare settings. My long-term goal is to become a nurse with a strong foundation in public health, ultimately specializing in maternal and child health to reduce preventable deaths and empower women from underserved communities. But reaching this goal has not been easy. As a nontraditional student, I carry the weight of adult responsibilities rent, bills, and navigating a reduced summer income due to GI Bill limitations. While the military has given me some educational benefits, they don’t cover everything, and I am also working to pay off debt while staying in school full-time. Financial barriers are real, and they often threaten to delay or derail my progress. That’s why this scholarship would mean more than just money it would be a lifeline, a vote of confidence, and a push forward at a time when I am giving everything I have to stay on course. More importantly, this scholarship would represent a shared mission: the belief that women of color deserve the chance to thrive. That we are not defined by our pasts or limited by our circumstances. That education can be the catalyst not only for personal growth but for transforming the lives of those we serve. I want to be part of that legacy. I want to be the healthcare provider who sees, hears, and advocates for women like me. And I want to mentor the next generation of girls who need someone to say, “You can.” This scholarship is about more than achieving my dreams it’s about creating a ripple effect of hope, healing, and empowerment. Thank you for believing in the power of our stories. I promise to pay it forward.

Life doesn’t get easier—I’ve just gotten stronger. From military service to navigating higher education as a nontraditional, first-generation student, I’ve learned that resilience isn’t something you’re born with; it’s something you build, brick by brick, moment by moment, even when it feels like the whole world is stacked against you. One of the most defining lessons in resilience came early in my military career. I remember arriving at basic training overwhelmed and uncertain. As one of the few women of color in my unit, I felt the weight of expectations and isolation at the same time. But instead of shrinking, I rose. I pushed through mental and physical challenges, proving to myself and others that I belonged there. That season taught me how to meet adversity with grace, grit, and the determination to finish strong even when everything in me screamed to quit. That same mindset followed me into my academic journey. Balancing school with personal responsibilities, part-time work, and health challenges hasn’t been easy. But I’m proud to say that I currently hold a 3.7 GPA, have earned a place on the Dean’s List, and continue to grow academically and personally. Each grade I’ve earned reflects more than just study hours it reflects late nights of doubt turned into determination, and the ability to keep going even when life tries to derail you. But I believe true success isn’t just measured in personal wins it’s measured in how you uplift others, especially when they’re facing adversity of their own. That’s why I make it a priority to give back. One way I’ve done this is through volunteering with Habitat for Humanity. Working with families in need of safe housing is humbling and energizing. Whether I’m hammering nails in the sun or painting walls side by side with future homeowners, I’m reminded that community is built not only with tools but with compassion. There’s a deep sense of pride that comes from physically building a space that someone else will one day call “home.” Beyond that, I also try to be a consistent source of encouragement for those in my academic and local community. I’ve helped classmates navigate Veterans Affairs paperwork, shared resources for managing chronic illness in school, and mentored younger students from underserved backgrounds. Sometimes lending a hand isn’t about big gestures it’s about showing up, listening, and saying, “You’re not alone.” Success, to me, isn’t just about rising above my own struggles it’s about turning my strength into a ladder for someone else. I’ve learned how to thrive in difficult seasons by leaning into the values the military taught me: service, sacrifice, and resilience. I don’t wait for perfect conditions to give back I find ways to help even in the midst of my own storms. I’ve come a long way, but I’m far from finished. My goal is to become a nurse with a strong foundation in public health, especially in underserved communities. Every obstacle I’ve faced has sharpened my sense of purpose, and every life I’ve touched through service has fueled my drive to keep going. In times of adversity, I don’t just endure I adapt, I lead, and I lift others as I climb. That’s not just how I’ve survived life’s challenges it’s how I’ve succeeded.

My military experience fundamentally reshaped how I see service, leadership, and long-term impact. Serving in the military taught me discipline, accountability, and the value of contributing to something bigger than myself. But more than that, it revealed the gaps that still exist in healthcare access, mental health support, and education not only within military populations but also in the civilian communities we return to. Witnessing these disparities firsthand inspired me to return to school and pursue a career in public health. While in the service, I was often the one people came to for support not just for job-related tasks, but for guidance navigating personal and health-related issues. I began to recognize patterns: veterans and service members dealing with untreated trauma, military spouses struggling to find care for their families, and community members facing preventable health challenges. I realized that I wanted to do more than help on a case-by-case basis. I wanted to be part of systemic solutions that address root causes. That’s what led me to public health. Returning to school has been both a personal and strategic decision. I’m pursuing my Bachelor’s in Public Health, with plans to go on for a Master of Public Health (MPH). My focus is on health equity, particularly in underserved communities, including veterans, people of color, and rural populations. My military background gives me a unique perspective: I know how policies play out on the ground, how critical leadership is in moments of crisis, and how resilient yet vulnerable communities can be without the right support systems. In the future, I plan to work in community health education and advocacy, possibly with a nonprofit or a state-level public health department. I want to help bridge the gap between policy and lived experience, ensuring that health initiatives are culturally competent, trauma-informed, and accessible. I also hope to be a mentor to other veterans transitioning into higher education or civilian careers, because I know how overwhelming that shift can be. The military gave me the structure and confidence to pursue higher education with purpose. Now, school is giving me the tools to transform that purpose into action. I believe real change starts at the community level, and with the education I’m receiving, I intend to be a part of that change creating programs, pushing for reforms, and advocating for those who are too often left behind. My time in uniform showed me what service looks like. Now I’m learning how to serve in new ways by empowering, educating, and uplifting others.

During my first year, I silently struggled with anxiety and asthma both of which were triggered by stress and an overwhelming course load. I wanted to prove to myself and others that I was capable of handling everything on my own, so I avoided asking for help. Instead, I tried to push through, believing that I just needed to work harder and stay strong. But eventually, the pressure caught up with me. My grades began to slip, my health deteriorated, and I realized I was physically and emotionally burned out. That period of my life was incredibly humbling. I felt like I had failed not only in academics but also in managing my responsibilities and well-being. I questioned my ability to succeed and wondered if I truly belonged in college. However, it was in that low point that I began to understand the true meaning of resilience. Success, I learned, doesn’t come from perfection or from doing everything alone. It comes from knowing when to pause, when to ask for support, and when to give yourself grace. Eventually, I reached out for help. I connected with my academic advisor, received accommodations for my asthma, and began working with a mental health counselor. Through these small but significant steps, I began to rebuild. My grades improved, but more importantly, so did my confidence and my ability to cope. I developed healthier habits around self-care, time management, and communication. I stopped seeing help as a weakness and started recognizing it as a strength. I also started participating more in class discussions and student-led initiatives, realizing I had something valuable to contribute. This experience changed the way I define success. It’s no longer just about academic achievement; it’s about balance, self-awareness, and growth. I’ve become more empathetic and patient, both with myself and with others, especially those navigating invisible struggles. I now bring this empathy and resilience into every environment I’m in whether it’s the classroom, the workplace, or my community. I’ve also grown more confident in advocating for others, especially in public health spaces where mental and physical health challenges often go hand in hand with academic and professional barriers. Looking back, I’m grateful for that difficult season because it shaped me into someone who doesn’t give up easily. I’ve learned that setbacks are not dead ends, but rather redirections. They teach us who we are and what we’re capable of overcoming. As I move forward in my academic and professional journey, I carry this lesson with me: challenges are inevitable, but growth is always possible. And that growth is often the foundation for true leadership not just in our personal lives, but in the communities we aim to serve.

When I moved to Oʻahu, I quickly realized how deeply environmental issues especially flooding impact daily life in island communities. I had never lived in a place so vulnerable to heavy rains, flash floods, and rising sea levels. One of my first experiences with flooding here was during a storm that caused road closures, power outages, and significant damage in a nearby neighborhood. I wasn’t directly affected, but I remember watching families evacuate, community volunteers filling sandbags, and local agencies scrambling to respond. That moment opened my eyes to how much a single flood can disrupt people’s lives and how vital it is to have systems in place before disaster strikes. What stood out to me the most wasn’t just the physical damage, but the emotional weight and stress people carried. Many families I spoke to had experienced similar flooding before and didn’t feel confident that enough was being done to protect their homes. That frustration, combined with their resilience, shaped how I began to see flood management not just as a technical issue, but as a matter of justice, preparedness, and trust. As a public health student, I began connecting what I saw on the ground with what I was learning in class. Flooding doesn’t just ruin property; it increases the risk of disease, displaces vulnerable populations, and places mental and financial strain on those least able to recover. I became passionate about how public health and floodplain management could work together to not just respond to floods, but to empower communities before they happen. Living here has taught me that solutions must be both sustainable and community-driven. I’ve worked with local nonprofits that focus on culturally rooted outreach and education, and I’ve seen how effective communication and trust-building can transform how people prepare for environmental risks. These experiences helped me develop strong skills in outreach, coordination, and culturally competent advocacytools I believe are essential in any flood management strategy. My goal is to be part of a new wave of professionals who view floodplain management through a public health and equity lens. I want to help communities especially those historically underserveddevelop the tools, knowledge, and infrastructure to stay safe. I also want to contribute to policies that reflect the lived realities of people facing these threats every season. Flooding is not just a climate issueit’s a human one. I bring a unique perspective informed by personal relocation, academic training in public health, and on-the-ground nonprofit experience. I’m committed to turning what I’ve learned in the classroom and in the community into lasting change that protects both people and the environment.