“If you're not first, you're last.” Talladega Nights: The Ballad of Ricky Bobby was a movie that spoke life into me when I was younger. Reese gives this message to his son while completely intoxicated, turning the line into satire in a film built on competition and chaos. But somehow, it stuck with me. It became a joke, a mantra, and eventually a mindset. I want to be the best — not for bragging rights, but for impact. Attending Alabama Agricultural and Mechanical University has shown me exactly how much work it takes to stand out, to be considered, and to be taken seriously in the fields I want to enter especially as a woman. Coming from a single‑parent household, I watched my mother struggle, sacrifice, and fight for my brother and me while earning her master’s degree. She showed me what resilience looks like in real time. She showed me that education is not just a pathway — it’s a lifeline. And because of her, I learned early that my goals had to be bigger than myself. I’ve also learned the power of civic engagement. I’ve marched in protests where people demanded that their voices be heard. I’ve stood beside individuals fighting for their problems to be acknowledged. Those moments taught me that public service isn’t just a career path — it’s a responsibility. It’s showing up when people need you, even when you’re tired, even when the world feels heavy. My educational goals are simple on paper but powerful in meaning: I want to graduate. I want to support my mom the way she supported me. I want to become the kind of woman people look at and feel inspired to be better than — not out of competition, but out of possibility. My professional goal is to become a diplomat serving developing nations and expanding access to education around the world. A modern‑day Malala, if you will. I know my goals sound ambitious, maybe even unrealistic to some, but that’s exactly how I live. I don’t dream small. I don’t shrink myself. I chase the things that scare me because those are the things that matter. My commitment to service is also shaped by loss. My father passed away from pancreatic cancer when I was nine years old. I watched him have a stroke on our kitchen floor, and I did my best to explain what was happening to the paramedics. My biggest regret is that I never spoke to him while he was in that hospital bed. But I know he sees me now — every accomplishment, every step forward, every moment I choose purpose over fear. His memory pushes me to do something meaningful in this world. If I can help one person or a million, I’ll know I honored him. This spring, I crossed into the greatest sorority: Sigma Gamma Rho Sorority, Inc. Our slogan, “Greater Service, Greater Progress,” is not just a phrase — it’s a lifestyle. I aspire to be like the sorors who helped my family when my dad passed, who checked on me when I first arrived at school, who made sure I had the tools I needed to succeed. They modeled what service looks like in action: compassion, consistency, and community. Through Sigma Gamma Rho, I’ve found a deeper purpose. I’ve found a sisterhood that aligns with everything I want to become. My commitment to civic and public service is not performative. It is not something I do for recognition or résumé lines. It is woven into my upbringing, my losses, my victories, and my dreams. I serve because people once served me. I show up because people once showed up for my family. And over the years, that commitment has turned into real, consistent action. As a member of the AAMU Honors Program, I’ve supported both the university and the Huntsville community through service events, academic outreach, and programs designed to uplift students who look like me. Through Sigma Gamma Rho, I’ve worked on national initiatives like Operation Big Bookbag, providing school supplies to families who need them; Project Cradle Care, supporting new mothers with essential baby items; and our partnership with St. Jude, helping raise awareness and resources for children fighting life‑threatening illnesses. Outside of my sorority, I’ve also traveled to the Tennessee Teen Institute to help teenagers learn how to make smarter choices and build safer futures. These aren’t just activities — they’re proof that service is my lifestyle. I give because giving is how communities survive, and how they grow stronger. In the spirit of Ricky Bobby, I’ve learned that being “first” isn’t really about winning — it’s about showing up with purpose. I started this essay with a joke, but the truth is simple: I just want to make life better for people. Whether I’m serving through AAMU Honors, supporting families through Sigma Gamma Rho’s national projects, or helping teens build safer futures, I’m creating the kind of impact I want to carry into my career as a diplomat. I’m not racing anyone; I’m building a life that matters that leaves a trail of progress behind me. If that makes me the best, then great. But, I'm really just trying to be the kind of woman my younger self would cheer for.

Charity matters because you never know what someone is going through. Today, someone lost their mother. Someone just got fired. Someone found out they lost government assistance. Someone was diagnosed with cancer. When I was nine, I lost my father to pancreatic cancer. At the time, I had no idea that charities existed to help families like mine. My mother was struggling financially—trying to afford a home, care for two children, and cover funeral expenses. But people stepped up. They helped when my brother and I needed backpacks and school supplies. They showed up when my mother was working multiple jobs and needed someone to take care of us. When we were on the brink of homelessness, people were there. That’s why charity is so important to me—it’s the reason I am where I am today. Having food to eat, clothes to wear, and people to lean on made all the difference. And in the future, I will give back. I am inspired to become a diplomat because I believe in giving others the same opportunities I had. Education should not be a privilege—it should be a given. I am blessed, and I want others to feel that same security. I want to create change.

“Start here, go anywhere.” If there’s one lesson Alabama A&M has instilled in me, it’s the truth behind those words. No matter what happened in the past, you can build something new. Your potential is limitless. You can achieve anything you set your mind to. I study Political Science with a minor in Communications Media at Alabama A&M, but choosing this path wasn’t easy. I’ve always been indecisive. As a high school senior, I struggled to choose a major, a school—terrified that I’d make the wrong decision or disappoint those around me. Then, one day, my mom suggested an unofficial tour of A&M. I was annoyed—I already had a long list of schools, and adding another felt exhausting. But everything changed when I stood at the top of the hill and looked down at the campus. In that moment, I knew: this was my school. As I walked through A&M, I heard the words that would shape my journey: “Start here, go anywhere.” I’ve always loved history, but I had no idea how to turn that passion into a career. Losing my father at nine and growing up in a single-parent household meant I watched my mother work two jobs to support my brother and me—all while putting herself through school. Her perseverance pushed me forward, though I still felt lost. Then, during my time at A&M, I randomly attended a study abroad meeting. There, I met a diplomat. That single moment changed everything. Suddenly, I knew exactly what I wanted to do. This is why I’m committed to continuing my education. I was never considered the “smart” kid in class. I spent time in special education classrooms because I struggled with reading and writing, all while my family faced financial hardship. Despite it all, I made it through. I graduated high school. I joined the A&M Honors Program. I became part of SGA. But I didn’t do it alone—it was my community, my people, the voices cheering me on from the sidelines, that kept me going. I aspire to become a diplomat because I believe in equity—because it isn’t fair that so many don’t have the opportunities I’ve fought to access. I want to change that. But to create change, I need a voice. And to have a voice, I need education. It isn’t about money or prestige—it’s about impact. It’s about helping others who were once in my shoes. I will continue my studies in Political Science, earn my master’s degree from A&M, and then pursue my doctorate. This path isn’t just about serving others—it’s about representation. Growing up, I rarely saw Black women in the federal government. That must change. I want to be part of that change. I want to be young, Black, and gifted. Education matters to me. And I will not stop until every student, regardless of their circumstances, has the opportunities I once feared I’d never find. “Start here, go anywhere.” I’ve already started. And I’m well on my way to anywhere

I was born into a loving, basic family. I had a mom, dad, and brother. We all had our family challenges. My dad’s side didn’t like my mom, and my mom’s side didn’t like my dad. Both my parents had to work two jobs to make a stable income, and we were homeless for weeks on end. Like I said, the basics. But that never mattered to me because I had everything that I needed with three simple people.  Adversity came in two forms for me. The first was school. I hated it—not because of disinterest, but because I struggled. I couldn’t read or write, and no matter how hard I tried, I failed. Teachers didn’t help; their disapproval and my classmates’ awareness of my struggles made me extremely embarrassed. However, my brother excelled. He was a genius, solving complex math problems effortlessly while I struggled even to start. The school once called my parents in, suggesting I should be held back a grade while my brother should skip ahead. That moment marked the first time I felt like a failure, even without understanding the word. I wondered why I had to be the “dumb” child, why everybody always had to worry about me. Family members, with condescension masked as concern, would say, “Bless her heart. Let’s hope she grows up pretty to marry rich.” One person stood by me though: my dad. I remember when he would try to help, sitting down to read Maya Angelou’s Phenomenal Woman. He believed in me when no one else did. But then came my second adversity—losing him. At nine, I witnessed him having a stroke. I did my best to explain it to my mom over the phone as she rushed home. My dad, just 39 when he passed, was diagnosed with pancreatic cancer. Watching him in the hospital was terrifying, but there were beautiful moments too. Once, after weeks of silence, he spoke again—his first word was my name, Alivia. When he passed away, I was shattered. I didn’t even understand death, but I felt his absence deeply. Puberty brought the full weight of that grief. After his death, life forcefully moved me forward. We moved to a new state, and in sixth grade, I met Ms. Jalensky, my history teacher, my fallen angel. She helped me grieve, process my emotions, find my voice, and stand up for me when nobody else did. My brother supported me too, teaching me math and science. My mom remained a pillar of strength. And I learned to persevere, asking for help despite the difficulties. Their support and determination transformed my life. I graduated in the top 11% of my high school class with distinction and highest honors. I was president of multiple organizations including the National Honor Society and Student Government Association. I earned enough credits in high school to begin college as a second-semester sophomore. It has taught me to never give up. Never. No matter what anybody says or how hard it may be. I still have my challenges, but that has never once stopped me and won’t. The advice that I have to anyone in similar circumstances would be that it’s okay. That's it. It’s okay that you don’t know. It’s okay that it hurts. It’s okay to cry. It’s okay to not know the right answer. Everything will be okay. Life is not meant to be easy, but just know that everything will fall into place when it needs to fall into place. I’m going to do my best and so should you. And you.

Something that has always interested me would be Lucy in Charlie Brown. She has a stand that has "The doctor is in/out". That would be my unique contribution, minus the ten cent fee. I feel that when people think about mental health, there is always a negative connotation around it. That mental isn't real or it is for "crazy" people. This feeling is especially evident in the Black communities where there are typically low-income households or the same negative connotation around it. I feel like if there were a "doctor is in" program that would allow more people to feel the need to get help. Growing up, I never got therapy even though I desperately needed it for a couple of reasons. Some were the two I mentioned above and another was the fact that I was scared. I was scared that my therapist would tell other people, especially my mom, or they would think that my problems weren't "significant enough". It wasn't until later that I realized I was drowning in my own thoughts and needed to get help. I think that if there were a site or a place(s) where people can go freely and anonymously talk about their problems there would be a significant mental health increase for those people who need the support. I think as a community we need to educate the importance of mental health more and learn to make yourself a priority to see growth.