The Future I Want to Build I know what it feels like to begin again. I was born and raised in Ethiopia, where I earned a Bachelor of Science in Public Health and received a Gold Medal for Academic Excellence. When I moved to the United States, however, my previous success did not remove the challenges in front of me. I had to adjust to a new culture, a different educational system, financial pressure, and the fear that my accent or language barriers might cause others to underestimate me. Still, I refused to let those challenges define the limits of my future. One of the people who continually reminds me of what is possible is my brother-in-law, Daniel Negash Ajema. He also came from a small Ethiopian town and arrived in the United States as a young adult. His path was not easy, but he continued moving forward. He earned his bachelor’s degree in political science from the University of Washington and later graduated with honors from Seattle University School of Law. He became a King County deputy prosecuting attorney and eventually built a respected legal career serving people in the Seattle area. What inspires me most is not simply his professional success. It is the distance he traveled to reach it. When I feel overwhelmed by tuition, work, demanding courses, or the pressure of building a career in a second language, I remember his journey. His life reminds me that struggle is not evidence that I do not belong. Sometimes struggle is evidence that I am still climbing. Today, I am a full-time undergraduate nursing student at the University of Washington. Before entering nursing school, I maintained a 3.97 cumulative GPA, earned the Dean’s List twice, and received President’s List recognition for four consecutive quarters at North Seattle College. I have achieved this while working to support myself and adapting to life as an immigrant student. These accomplishments matter to me, but the impact I hope to make matters more. My goal is to become a psychiatric nurse serving adolescents and young adults, particularly those struggling with substance use, addiction, and mental-health challenges. Too many young people are judged for their behavior before anyone asks about the pain underneath it. I want to become the nurse who listens without shame, recognizes the person behind the diagnosis, and helps patients believe that recovery is still possible. My education will allow me to combine my public-health background with psychiatric nursing practice. I hope to provide evidence-based care, support prevention and early intervention, educate families, and connect vulnerable young people with long-term community resources. I may not be able to transform every life, but helping even a few people reclaim their health, dignity, and direction would be meaningful work. This scholarship would reduce the financial pressure of balancing nursing school with employment and allow me to devote more energy to clinical growth. More importantly, it would support a vision larger than my own success: becoming a skilled and compassionate nurse who gives others the same message my brother-in-law’s journey gives me, your beginning does not determine your ending.

The moment that best represents my journey toward higher education did not happen in a classroom. It happened behind the counter of a gas station in Shoreline, Washington, only weeks after I arrived in the United States in November 2022. I had immigrated from Addis Ababa, Ethiopia, with the goal of continuing my education, but survival came first. My first job in America was working as a cashier at a 76 gas station. Every conversation required concentration because I was still adapting to a new language environment, culture, and unfamiliar systems. At times, I wondered how someone who had graduated with a Gold Medal for Academic Excellence in Public Health in July 2019 could suddenly feel uncertain in such ordinary moments. Yet those long shifts taught me something powerful: progress does not begin with comfort. It begins with persistence. Education has always been my path forward. Before immigrating, I completed my Bachelor of Science in Public Health in Addis Ababa in 2019, graduating with the highest academic distinction in my class. That achievement reflected years of discipline, late nights studying, and a strong belief that education could create opportunity not only for me but also for the communities around me. However, building a future in the United States required starting again from the beginning. In 2023, I enrolled at North Seattle College while supporting myself financially and adjusting to a completely new academic system. Balancing work and demanding science courses required discipline and focus. Many nights, I studied after long shifts, determined not to let circumstances limit my goals. I learned how to manage my time carefully, organize priorities, and stay focused even when the path forward felt uncertain. Through persistence, I completed my prerequisites with a 3.97 GPA, earning Dean’s List recognition in Spring 2024 and Fall 2024, and President’s List honors for four consecutive quarters from Winter 2025 through Fall 2025. These milestones meant more than academic recognition; they represented proof that resilience can transform uncertainty into opportunity and that determination can turn difficult beginnings into meaningful progress. Alongside my studies, I transitioned into healthcare. In July 2024, I began working as a Medication Technician in a memory care facility in Shoreline. Supporting older adults living with dementia changed my understanding of service. Many residents experience confusion, anxiety, and the gradual loss of independence. In those moments, compassion matters as much as clinical skill. Sometimes, the most meaningful care is patience, reassurance, and dignity offered to someone who may not remember your name tomorrow. These experiences reminded me that healthcare is not only about treatment but also about protecting a person’s dignity and humanity during vulnerable moments. These experiences strengthened my commitment to healthcare and to communities that often face barriers to quality care. My background in public health taught me that health outcomes are shaped not only by medicine but also by education, prevention, and access. Today, I am continuing this path as a Bachelor of Science in Nursing student at the University of Washington, preparing to serve individuals and families through compassionate, evidence-based care while strengthening my clinical knowledge and professional leadership. My long-term goal is to specialize in psychiatric and behavioral health nursing, particularly in addiction recovery and community mental health. Mental health challenges often remain untreated in underserved communities due to stigma, limited resources, and cultural misunderstanding. As a Black immigrant student who has navigated cultural and systemic barriers myself, I want to help create environments where patients feel understood, respected, and supported while receiving high-quality and culturally responsive care. Throughout my journey, ambition and discipline have guided me, but impact remains my ultimate goal. Whether mentoring younger students at church, encouraging classmates navigating academic stress, or supporting patients during vulnerable moments, I believe success becomes meaningful when it helps others move forward as well. The encouragement I once received from mentors and community members inspires me to offer the same support to others pursuing their own goals. Receiving this scholarship would significantly reduce the financial pressure of continuing my education. As a first-generation, low-income student, I expect to rely on substantial student loans to complete my nursing degree. Financial support would allow me to focus more fully on academic excellence, clinical training, and community engagement. More importantly, this scholarship would represent an investment in the values that shaped my journey: perseverance, responsibility, and the determination to turn opportunity into service. The road from a gas station counter in 2022 to a nursing student at the University of Washington has not been easy. Still, it has strengthened my commitment to education and community impact. Through resilience, discipline, and a dedication to helping others, I hope to transform my experiences into a career that improves lives and expands access to compassionate healthcare for the communities that need it most.

When I think about the moment that changed my life the most, it's the day my brother never came home. In 2011, when I was in seventh grade, my older brother Daniel drowned while swimming in a river near our village called Huluka Wenz. He was only about twenty-one years old. To others, he may have been just another young man swimming with friends on a hot day, but to me, he was much more. He was my only brother, my protector, and the person who made me feel safe in the world. Growing up, I always felt stronger when he was around. Even though I had sisters, he was the one who stood beside me like a shield. I was not afraid of anyone or anything when he was near. He supported me, defended me, and believed in me. To a younger brother, that kind of presence feels unbreakable. I believed he would always be there. The river where the accident happened, Huluka Wenz, runs near our village. In one part of the river, there is a deep section where the water looks calm and still, almost like a pool at rest. People often go there to swim, wash clothes, or relax during the heat of the day. But the water is deeper than it appears. In our community, there are even old stories that say spirits live in that part of the river and pull swimmers down. Whether those stories are true or not, many lives have been lost there. That day, my brother went swimming there with friends and never returned. When the news reached us, it felt impossible to accept. Losing him at such a young age left a deep silence in my life. I had already experienced loss in my family before, but losing my only brother during my early teenage years shook my confidence and emotional stability. The person I relied on for protection and encouragement was suddenly gone. For a long time, I struggled with fear, sadness, and uncertainty. The absence of someone who had always stood beside me forced me to face the world differently. I had to learn how to stand on my own. Over time, however, that painful experience also shaped a new strength inside me. Losing my brother so early taught me that life can change suddenly and that we cannot always depend on others to carry us forward. I began learning how to rely on myself, how to face challenges directly, and how to keep moving forward even when life feels unfair. Years later, when I immigrated to the United States to continue my education, that inner resilience became one of my greatest strengths. Starting over in a new country required courage and independence. I had to adapt to a new culture, a new education system, and financial challenges while building my future step by step. The strength I developed after losing my brother helped me face those difficulties without giving up. Today, I am pursuing nursing because I want to serve people during vulnerable moments in their lives. Loss has taught me how fragile life can be and how deeply families are affected when tragedy happens. My brother is still the person I think of when I need courage. Although he is no longer physically beside me, the strength he gave me continues to guide the way I live my life. Losing him changed me forever, but it also taught me perseverance, determination, and the importance of continuing forward even after unimaginable loss. In that way, my brother’s memory continues to shape the person I am becoming.

When I think about cancer, I do not first think about hospitals or medical terms. I think about my aunt Tsehay. She was my mother’s younger sister, but to us she felt like another mother. When I was very young, Tsehay spent much of her time caring for me and my sisters. My parents worked long hours, so she often stayed with us during the day. Some of my earliest childhood memories are shaped by her presence. She was gentle, creative, and incredibly patient with children. Even though she never had children of her own, she loved us with a warmth that made our home feel safe. Tsehay had a quiet personality. She did not seek attention, yet everyone around her felt her kindness. She would sit with us while we played, help us with small tasks, and turn ordinary afternoons into moments of laughter. At that age I did not realize how important she was to our lives. To me she was simply someone who was always there. In 2006 everything changed. I was only eight years old and in the second grade when Tsehay became seriously ill. At that time I did not understand what cancer meant. I only noticed that the energetic and caring person who had once watched over us was slowly becoming weaker. The adults around me spoke in worried voices, and many days our home felt heavy with sadness. Her passing came during an already painful time for our family. It happened only about a year after we had lost my father. My mother had not yet recovered emotionally from that loss, and our family was still trying to stabilize. Losing Tsehay during that time made everything even harder. She had been one of the people helping hold our family together, and suddenly she was gone too. For a child, loss is confusing. I did not understand why someone who loved us so deeply had suddenly disappeared. As I grew older, I began to understand more about illness and cancer. That understanding brought a new kind of grief. I realized cancer had taken one of the most important people in my childhood before I was old enough to appreciate her presence. Sometimes I imagine how different life might have been if Tsehay had lived longer. My mother had only one sister, and from my father’s side I was never very close to many relatives. Losing Tsehay felt like losing the main branch of family support that surrounded us when we were children. Cancer left a deep emotional mark on my life because it took someone who represented comfort, love, and stability during my childhood. Today I am studying nursing at the University of Washington with the goal of serving patients and families during their most vulnerable moments. My experience with loss has taught me that healthcare is not only about treatment but also compassion, communication, and emotional support. Although cancer took my aunt from us too early, her kindness continues to shape my purpose. The love she showed when I was a child still guides the way I hope to care for others.

I still remember standing behind a gas station register in Shoreline only weeks after arriving in the United States in November 2022. A customer spoke quickly, smiling and expecting a simple response, while I silently translated every word in my head before answering. By the time I understood, the moment had already passed. In that moment, I felt the reality many first-generation students experience, not only learning academics, but learning how to belong in an unfamiliar system without guidance. I did not yet understand college pathways, financial aid, or whether higher education here was possible. I only knew education could change my future. I was born and raised in Addis Ababa, Ethiopia, in a family where studying in the United States was never part of our experience. I became the first in my family to navigate higher education in a completely new country and academic system. Unlike continuing generation students who inherit college knowledge, I had to learn everything independently while supporting myself financially. Within weeks of arriving, I worked as a cashier while adapting to a new culture and expectations that often felt overwhelming. Instead of allowing uncertainty to define me, I treated every challenge as preparation. In 2023, I enrolled at North Seattle College while continuing to work. I learned how to study strategically, seek guidance, and ask questions without fear. Step by step, confusion turned into confidence. I completed my prerequisites with a 3.97 GPA, earning Dean’s List honors twice and President’s List recognition for four consecutive quarters. Today, as an undergraduate nursing student at the University of Washington, I often reflect on how unimaginable this moment once felt while standing behind that register. Being a first-generation student shaped not only my academic journey but also my understanding of empathy. Navigating systems alone makes you aware of how many people feel invisible simply because they lack guidance or familiarity. My experiences strengthened my ability to listen carefully, adapt across cultures, and connect with people from different backgrounds. These qualities now guide my work as a Medication Technician in memory care, where patience, emotional awareness, and clear communication matter as much as clinical skill. My strength lies in bridging understanding between people who feel disconnected from systems meant to help them. Whether supporting immigrant community members at St. Michael Ethiopian Orthodox Tewahedo Church, helping classmates navigate academic expectations, or reassuring patients who feel confused or afraid, I naturally step into roles that build trust. I understand uncertainty firsthand, which allows me to meet others with compassion rather than judgment. As a future nurse, I plan to use these skills to help build a more empathetic and understanding global community through healthcare. Nursing allows science and humanity to meet in real time. My goal is to specialize in mental and behavioral health, supporting individuals who often feel marginalized or misunderstood. By combining clinical knowledge with cultural sensitivity and lived experience, I hope to create environments where patients feel heard, respected, and safe. Education, for me, represents more than personal success. It represents access and possibility for others who come from backgrounds like mine. I hope to mentor future students, especially immigrants and first generation learners, showing them that belonging in higher education and professional spaces is possible. The Harry and Mary Sheaffer Scholarship supports students who must go beyond traditional expectations simply to remain in school. Receiving this scholarship would reduce financial pressure while allowing me to continue building a career dedicated to empathy, service, and global understanding, helping others feel less alone in unfamiliar systems and more connected within a compassionate community.

I was seven years old when loss first entered my life in a way I could not fully understand. My father, Alemu Nurga, had once been a respected soldier and later a skilled gold merchant and jewelry craftsman in Ethiopia. To others, he was disciplined and creative. To me, he was simply the steady presence that made childhood feel safe. I remember watching his hands transform raw metal into something beautiful, never imagining how quickly illness would take that strength away. Alcohol slowly changed the rhythm of our home. As a child, I did not understand addiction or disease. I only sensed tension, confusion, and the quiet fear that something was wrong. Over time, his health declined due to alcohol related liver cirrhosis. The strong man I admired grew weaker, and I watched illness reshape someone I loved before I was old enough to process grief. When he passed away in 2005, our world changed overnight. My mother, who had been a housewife, suddenly carried the responsibility of raising five children alone. His death did not only bring sadness. It created a lasting absence that followed me into every stage of life. Growing up without a father meant learning independence earlier than expected. I often felt vulnerable in ways I could not explain, searching for reassurance or guidance that was no longer there. For years, I quietly questioned whether I was doing enough or whether stability could disappear again without warning. Loss shaped my inner world long before it shaped my ambitions. At the same time, witnessing my mother rebuild our lives transformed how I understood strength. She woke early, worked tirelessly, and carried grief privately while protecting us emotionally and financially. She attempted to continue my father’s jewelry business while learning responsibilities she had never planned to carry alone. Watching her taught me that resilience is not dramatic. It is choosing to continue each day despite exhaustion and uncertainty. Her perseverance became the example that slowly replaced fear with determination. Losing my father also changed how I see other people’s struggles. I learned early that pain is often invisible. Families can appear normal while carrying deep hardship behind closed doors. This awareness shaped my empathy and later influenced my decision to pursue healthcare. I became drawn to helping individuals navigating grief, instability, or emotional vulnerability because I understood how deeply loss can affect a person’s confidence and direction. Years later, when I immigrated to the United States in November 2022, I faced another period of uncertainty. I began working as a cashier at a gas station in Shoreline while adapting to a new culture and education system. Step by step, I enrolled at North Seattle College, completed my prerequisites with a 3.97 GPA, and was eventually accepted into the University of Washington School of Nursing. Each achievement felt like proof that loss had not weakened me but quietly prepared me to endure transitions. My father’s absence continues to influence how I live today. It made me sensitive to the emotional needs of others and deeply aware of how quickly life can change. As a future nurse, I want to support patients and families during moments when fear and uncertainty feel overwhelming. I understand that healing is not only medical treatment but also presence, reassurance, and dignity during vulnerable moments. The Brooks Martin Memorial Scholarship honors resilience after loss, and that idea reflects my journey. Losing my father left me vulnerable yet determined, shaping my compassion, perseverance, and purpose. Through nursing, I hope to transform personal grief into service, helping others find strength during moments when life feels most uncertain.

I may not fit a single aesthetic label, but my journey itself has been alternative shaped by migration, cultural transition, and learning to belong in spaces where I once felt invisible. My path into STEM did not begin in a laboratory or a lecture hall. It began with displacement, adaptation, and the quiet determination to carry my identity into environments where I often felt like an outsider. I was born and raised in Addis Ababa, Ethiopia, where my early academic life centered on public health and community responsibility. When I moved to the United States in November 2022, everything familiar disappeared overnight. I was no longer the accomplished student I had been. Instead, I stood behind a cash register at a gas station in Shoreline, Washington, learning a new culture while trying to survive financially and emotionally. In that moment, STEM felt distant and almost unreachable. Yet that experience became the foundation of my alternative journey into healthcare. Entering the American education system required rebuilding confidence from the beginning. I enrolled at North Seattle College in 2023 while working long hours, slowly transitioning from cashier to Medication Technician in a memory care unit. My path into nursing was not linear or traditional. I learned science not only through textbooks but through real human experiences, assisting vulnerable residents, responding to emergencies, and witnessing how healthcare exists in imperfect, emotional, and deeply human environments. That hands on learning shaped my understanding of STEM as something lived rather than abstract. Being an immigrant also meant constantly navigating cultural differences. Communication styles, classroom expectations, and workplace dynamics often felt unfamiliar. At times I felt invisible or misunderstood, especially as someone balancing spirituality, personal reflection, and scientific education. Instead of separating those parts of myself, I learned to integrate them. My spiritual background taught me compassion and meaning, while science gave me tools to act effectively in moments of crisis. Together, they formed a worldview that values both evidence and empathy. My interest in mental and behavioral health grew directly from these experiences. I became deeply aware of how many people feel like outsiders in society patients struggling with mental illness, addiction, trauma, or displacement. Having experienced cultural and personal transition myself, I developed a strong sensitivity toward individuals who feel unseen or judged. In healthcare, I want to be a professional who recognizes that difference is not weakness but perspective. STEM fields need people who understand emotional complexity as much as biological systems. Throughout my education, I discovered that being alternative is not always about appearance but about perspective and resilience. My journey from immigrant worker to nursing student required adapting continuously while holding onto my identity. Completing my prerequisites with a 3.97 GPA and earning admission into the University of Washington School of Nursing felt almost unreal because I remember studying after late shifts, wondering whether I truly belonged in academic spaces. That uncertainty became motivation rather than limitation. I believe the future of STEM, especially healthcare, depends on individuals who bring diverse lived experiences into scientific spaces. Innovation and compassion grow when professionals understand different cultures, struggles, and ways of thinking. My background allows me to approach patients not only as clinical cases but as whole human beings shaped by stories, environments, and identity. The Goths Belong in STEM Scholarship celebrates those who exist outside narrow expectations. My alternative identity comes from crossing cultures, rebuilding purpose, and choosing empathy as strength. I hope to contribute to healthcare as a nurse who bridges science and humanity, proving that STEM becomes stronger when people who once felt like outsiders are finally allowed to belong.

The moment that most clearly shaped my path toward nursing did not happen in a classroom. It happened during a dinner shift in a memory care unit, when routine suddenly turned into an emergency. It was a Sunday evening around 5 p.m., and I was working as the assigned Medication Technician in the memory care unit. At that time, there was no nurse physically present on the floor, so I was coordinating multiple responsibilities at once. I was managing medication passing, documenting reports, organizing supplies, and helping caregivers during dinner service. The environment felt busy but normal until one resident suddenly began choking while eating. Everything changed within seconds. For a brief moment, fear appeared, but training and responsibility took over. I immediately initiated the choking response protocol, assessed the resident, and called for assistance while directing nearby staff. At the same time, I contacted emergency services and continued following instructions while monitoring the resident’s condition. I coordinated another staff member from a neighboring unit to assist until paramedics arrived. The room felt loud and tense, yet I focused internally on staying calm, controlling my emotions, and acting step by step rather than reacting to panic. When emergency responders finally took over, I realized how much had happened in only a few minutes. The incident ended safely, but what stayed with me was not relief alone. It was understanding the weight of responsibility that healthcare requires. Remaining calm under pressure was not about confidence or courage. It was about preparation, teamwork, and commitment to protecting another person’s life when they cannot protect themselves. That experience became a turning point in how I see my education and future career. I immigrated to the United States in 2022 and began rebuilding my life while working to support myself. Starting as a cashier and later becoming a Medication Technician taught me that growth often happens through real work rather than ideal circumstances. Each responsibility, whether cleaning, coordinating care, or responding to emergencies, required both physical effort and thoughtful decision-making. Like Jore Lund’s philosophy of learning through hands-on effort, I learned that meaningful progress comes from showing up ready to work, learn, and improve every day. Since then, I have pursued nursing education with renewed purpose, completing prerequisites with a 3.97 GPA and earning admission into the University of Washington School of Nursing. My goal is to become a nurse who combines practical skill with intellectual discipline, someone willing to engage fully in the demanding, imperfect reality of caring for people. The choking incident taught me that service is not abstract. It happens in urgent, messy, real-life moments where calm thinking and physical action must work together. That lesson continues to guide how I study, work, and serve others. I want to build a career defined not only by knowledge, but by reliability, teamwork, and the willingness to step forward when others need help most.

I was seven years old when my life changed in a way I did not fully understand at the time. My father, Alemu Nurga, had once been a respected soldier during the Ethiopia-Somalia conflict and later became a skilled gold merchant and jewelry craftsman. To others, he was disciplined, creative, and hardworking. To me, he was simply my father, a calm presence whose hands could transform raw metal into something beautiful. But behind our home’s quiet routines, alcohol slowly began to change the rhythm of our family life. As a child, I remember confusion more than explanations. I sometimes saw disagreements between my parents that I was too young to understand. Even though my father remained loving and deeply cared for us, his health gradually declined due to alcohol related liver cirrhosis. The strong man who once worked tirelessly began losing energy, and I watched illness reshape someone I admired. When he passed away in 2005, grief arrived suddenly, and my mother, who had been a housewife, became solely responsible for raising five children overnight. Our home transformed from stability into uncertainty. Financial pressure replaced security, and childhood felt shorter than it should have been. I often wondered what kind of person I might have become if my father had lived longer and guided me through important stages of life. Yet the person who truly reshaped my future during those years was my mother. My mother’s resilience became the foundation of our survival. She faced grief while carrying responsibilities that once belonged to two parents. She attempted to continue my father’s jewelry business while caring for us emotionally and financially, waking early, working constantly, and rarely allowing us to see fear, even when circumstances were uncertain. Watching her taught me that strength is not loud. It is consistently practiced every day, even when exhausted. Growing up in a single-parent household shaped how I understand hardship and empathy. I learned independence early and understood that education would become my path toward stability. My mother never described her sacrifices as extraordinary, yet her endurance shaped my ambition more than any lesson could. Years later, when I immigrated to the United States in November 2022, I faced a similar test. I began working as a cashier at 76 gas station in Shoreline, WA, while adapting to a new language and education system. At that time, attending the University of Washington felt unimaginable. Step by step, I enrolled at North Seattle College, completed my prerequisites with a 3.97 GPA, and was eventually accepted into the University of Washington School of Nursing. Each milestone felt like proof that resilience learned in childhood continues to shape my future. Being raised in a single-parent home shaped my purpose. Experiencing loss and watching my mother rebuild our lives taught me compassion toward people facing invisible struggles. My goal as a future nurse is to support individuals and families during vulnerable moments, especially those navigating hardship, grief, or instability. I want patients to feel supported the way my mother supported us, with patience, dignity, and care. A future where I do good means transforming resilience into service. Through nursing, mental health advocacy, and community support, I hope to help others stand again during difficult seasons of life. My father’s absence shaped my questions, but my mother’s strength shaped my direction. Because of her, hardship did not end our story. It became the beginning of purpose.

Research, to me, represents one of the most powerful forms of service because its impact extends far beyond a single patient or a single moment of care. A compassionate clinical decision may change one life today, but strong research has the ability to influence policies, treatments, and outcomes for generations. That belief began during my public health education in Addis Ababa, Ethiopia, where I learned that many of the health systems we rely on today exist because someone asked careful questions years earlier and pursued answers with persistence. Since then, I have viewed research not only as academic work but as a long conversation across time, where discoveries made today quietly protect lives decades into the future. I am currently an undergraduate nursing student at the University of Washington, building upon a foundation in public health where I graduated with a Gold Medal for Academic Excellence. My early research exposure included work as a data collector with a national public health institution, where I saw how structured data transforms individual stories into measurable evidence capable of guiding national health decisions. That experience changed how I understood impact. Research not only describes problems. It shapes prevention strategies, funding priorities, and healthcare access long after a study ends. My passion for research comes from this lasting influence. Clinical care addresses immediate suffering, but research creates systems that prevent suffering from repeating. Philosophically, I am drawn to research because it allows compassion to operate at scale. A single well designed study can influence guidelines, inform screening programs, and improve survival outcomes for thousands of people who will never know the researcher’s name. That quiet and enduring impact deeply motivates me. Breast cancer research, particularly triple-negative breast cancer, represents an area where this impact is urgently needed. Breast cancer remains the most commonly diagnosed cancer worldwide, with approximately 2.3 million new cases and 685,000 deaths reported in 2020, and projections estimating nearly 3 million cases annually by 2040. In the United States alone, an estimated 321,910 new invasive cases and 42,140 deaths are expected in 2026, with one in eight women facing a lifetime risk. These numbers represent not statistics but families, caregivers, and communities experiencing profound loss. Triple-negative breast cancer is especially devastating because it lacks targeted hormonal treatments, making outcomes more uncertain and highlighting the critical need for innovative research approaches. My interest in breast cancer research also connects to my broader public health perspective. Cancer outcomes are not determined only by biology but by access, early detection, education, and equity. As an immigrant and first-generation student who has witnessed healthcare disparities across systems, I am motivated to explore how research can reduce gaps in screening and treatment outcomes among underserved populations. I want to contribute to studies that integrate clinical science with population-level prevention, ensuring that advances reach communities that historically benefit the least. During my nursing education, I plan to actively participate in university research initiatives, clinical research assistant roles, and interdisciplinary collaborations focused on oncology and patient outcomes. My long-term goal is to work at the intersection of nursing practice and research, helping translate scientific discoveries into compassionate bedside care while contributing to studies that improve survivorship and quality of life. Research honors patients not only by treating disease but by refusing to accept current limits as final. Supporting breast cancer research means investing in a future where diagnosis carries less fear and more certainty. Through research, I hope to contribute to discoveries that extend beyond my own career, creating knowledge that continues to protect lives long after individual efforts are complete.

One of the strongest influences shaping my educational and professional goals has been my father, a veteran whose life reflects both service and entrepreneurship. Growing up in Ethiopia, I first knew him simply as a calm and disciplined father. Only later did I understand that the quiet strength guiding our household was formed during his years as a soldier in the Ethiopia-Somalia conflict. His military experience was not something he spoke about with pride or drama. Instead, it appeared in his daily habits, his leadership, and the steady way he carried responsibility for others. My father served as a senior ground officer, supervising soldiers in unpredictable and high-pressure environments. From him, I learned that leadership meant protecting those under your care and remaining calm when others felt uncertainty. Even as a child, I noticed how carefully he made decisions. He believed actions should consider long-term consequences rather than short-term comfort. Those lessons shaped how I approach challenges today, especially as an immigrant student navigating a new country and education system. After the war, my father faced a different kind of challenge. He had to rebuild a civilian life from the ground up. Rather than remaining defined by conflict, he transformed military discipline into entrepreneurship. He became a merchant, later working in gold exploration and jewelry craftsmanship before opening his own jewelry business. Watching him transition from soldier to business owner taught me that entrepreneurship is not only about profit but about resilience, creativity, and responsibility toward family and community. He approached business like a mission, planning carefully, solving problems patiently, and treating customers with integrity. I saw firsthand how entrepreneurship could create stability and opportunity even after hardship. His journey deeply influenced my own educational path. When I moved to the United States in November 2022, I had to begin immediately with survival work, taking my first job as a cashier at a gas station in Shoreline, Washington. At that time, attending the University of Washington felt unimaginable. Yet I carried the mindset I learned from my father. Discipline, consistency, and patience mattered more than circumstances. While working, I enrolled at North Seattle College in 2023 and completed my nursing prerequisites with a 3.97 GPA, earning placement on the Dean’s List twice and the President’s List four consecutive times. Today, being accepted into the University of Washington School of Nursing feels like the continuation of a legacy built through perseverance. My father’s military service taught me endurance and responsibility, while his entrepreneurial journey showed me how to transform hardship into growth. These lessons shape my goal of becoming a nurse who not only provides clinical care but also thinks innovatively about improving access to healthcare and supporting underserved communities. Entrepreneurship, to me, means creating solutions that improve lives, whether through healthcare initiatives, community education, or future leadership roles that expand patient support systems. More than anything, my father showed me that service does not end when a uniform is removed. It evolves into building, mentoring, and creating opportunities for others. His example continues to guide how I study, work, and plan my future. Through nursing, I hope to carry forward both sides of his legacy, the discipline of a veteran and the vision of an entrepreneur, by serving communities with compassion, resilience, and purpose while creating meaningful impact beyond myself.

The first time I realized how difficult learning could feel was not in a classroom, but behind a gas station register. A customer spoke quickly, smiling and expecting a simple response, while I stood silently translating every word in my head before answering. By the time I understood, the moment had already passed. I remember feeling embarrassed, not because I lacked effort, but because my mind was working twice as hard just to keep up. I moved to the United States in November 2022 and had to begin surviving immediately. Within weeks, I started my first job as a cashier at a 76 gas station in Shoreline, Washington. English was not part of my upbringing in Addis Ababa, Ethiopia, and suddenly, language shaped everything: confidence, communication, and learning itself. Every interaction required intense concentration. While others spoke naturally, I was decoding meaning, tone, and expectation at the same time. Learning felt slower and heavier, and many moments were quietly discouraging. Standing behind that register, the idea of someday studying at the University of Washington felt distant and almost unimaginable. Instead of avoiding difficulty, I chose to face it daily. The cashier job became my training ground. Each conversation improved my listening and confidence. Mistakes stopped feeling like failure and started becoming practice. Slowly, hesitation turned into growth. At the end of 2023, I began classes at North Seattle College while continuing to support myself financially. Balancing school with work as a low-income immigrant student required discipline I had never tested before. I learned how to study strategically, ask questions without fear, and adapt to an unfamiliar academic system. Over time, persistence replaced uncertainty. By 2025, I completed my prerequisites with a 3.97 GPA, earning Dean’s List recognition twice and President’s List honors for four consecutive quarters. Those achievements felt deeply meaningful because I remembered the version of myself translating conversations behind the gas station counter, unsure how far education could take me. My professional path grew alongside my academic one. I transitioned from cashier work into healthcare as a Medication Technician in a memory care facility. There, communication mattered even more than perfect language. Many residents struggled with memory loss or confusion, and I discovered that patience and clarity mattered more than flawless words. My earlier challenges unexpectedly became strengths. Because I knew what it felt like to struggle to understand, I learned to slow down, listen carefully, and ensure others felt respected and safe. Today, being accepted into the University of Washington School of Nursing still feels unreal at times. I often think back to those early days behind the register, when this future seemed impossibly far away. The journey was not easy, but difficulty became the very process that shaped my discipline and resilience. The challenge of adapting to a new language and academic system changed how I understand learning itself. Intelligence is not defined by speed, but by persistence when progress feels slow. What once felt like a limitation became the foundation of my growth, shaping me into a student and future nurse committed to empathy, perseverance, and service. As a future nurse, I hope to support patients who feel overwhelmed or unheard, especially those navigating unfamiliar systems as I once did. My experience taught me that growth often begins where comfort ends. The obstacles I faced did not stop my path forward. They strengthened it, transforming challenge into purpose and preparing me to create meaningful impact through healthcare.

I was seven years old when I first learned that life can change before a child understands why. My father, Alemu Nurga, was a respected gold merchant and jewelry designer whose hands shaped raw metal into beauty and meaning. At home, however, alcohol slowly changed the rhythm of our family life. As his health declined from alcohol related liver cirrhosis, I watched a strong man gradually lose strength and independence. When he passed away in 2005, grief arrived together with responsibility, and childhood ended earlier than expected. My mother, who had been a housewife, suddenly became the sole provider for five children. Stability disappeared almost overnight, replaced by financial uncertainty and emotional loss. Without fully understanding it at the time, I began adapting to circumstances that required maturity beyond my age. The absence of a father meant growing up without the guidance many children rely on, and I often wondered who I might have become if life had unfolded differently. Over time, however, I realized that hardship was quietly shaping resilience within me. Watching my mother persevere taught me that strength is often quiet and consistent rather than dramatic. I learned to take responsibility for my own direction, understanding early that education would become my path toward stability and purpose. While many of my peers were supported by structured guidance, I learned to create discipline internally. Academic effort became more than achievement; it became a way to reclaim control over a future that once felt uncertain. Grief also reshaped how I understand people. Seeing how alcohol affected someone I loved taught me that struggles are rarely simple and that compassion must exist alongside accountability. Instead of developing resentment, I developed empathy and curiosity about healing. These experiences later guided my decision to pursue healthcare, where resilience, patience, and understanding are as important as technical knowledge. Today, as an undergraduate nursing student, I recognize that my ambition and perseverance were formed through years of adapting to challenges rather than avoiding them. Balancing education, financial responsibility, and personal growth required persistence grounded in necessity. Each academic milestone represents not only personal success but also the continuation of a journey shaped by loss, determination, and hope. My father’s life and absence continue to influence the person I am becoming. From him, I inherited creativity and a work ethic. From losing him, I gained independence, resilience, and a deep sense of purpose. His story reminds me that adversity does not define a person’s limits but can become the foundation for growth and meaningful contribution. Continuing my education is my way of honoring my family’s sacrifices and transforming hardship into impact. The challenges I faced did not close my path forward. Instead, they taught me how to move forward with intention, compassion, and the determination to build a future defined not by loss, but by possibility.

The moment I truly understood what nursing means did not happen in a classroom. It happened during a quiet shift while working as a Medication Technician, when a patient became anxious during a routine task. What calmed them was not medication or instruction, but patience, reassurance, and a steady presence. In that moment, I realized healing often begins when someone feels safe and understood. Nursing, to me, became more than a profession. It became the practice of creating trust during vulnerability. My path toward healthcare began through public health. I earned a Bachelor of Science in Public Health in Ethiopia, graduating with a Gold Medal for Academic Excellence. Public health shaped my understanding of prevention, equity, and the broader social factors that influence health outcomes. While I valued population-level impact, I felt drawn toward more direct patient interaction where compassion and clinical skill meet in real time. Nursing allows me to translate knowledge into immediate care, combining scientific understanding with human connection. Immigrating to the United States required rebuilding my academic and professional journey, adapting to a new culture, and supporting myself financially. As a first-generation and low-income student, balancing full-time study with healthcare work demanded discipline and resilience. Maintaining strong academic performance while working long shifts strengthened my confidence that nursing is not simply an academic goal but a lifelong commitment rooted in perseverance and service. My interest in pediatric nursing comes from recognizing how uniquely children experience illness. Children often cannot fully express fear or discomfort, yet they rely deeply on the emotional environment created around them. A pediatric nurse provides more than treatment by offering calm reassurance, clear communication, and emotional safety. I am drawn to the opportunity to help children feel secure during unfamiliar and frightening experiences, knowing that small acts of patience and kindness can significantly shape their recovery. Pediatric care also extends beyond the child to the entire family. When a child is ill, parents and caregivers often carry anxiety and uncertainty alongside them. Pediatric nurses help families understand care plans, navigate emotional stress, and feel empowered rather than overwhelmed. My background in public health reinforced how family stability and education influence long-term health outcomes. Supporting families during difficult moments aligns with my belief that healthcare is most effective when compassion includes everyone affected. My long-term goal is to practice nursing that integrates strong clinical competence with empathetic communication across diverse communities. Pediatric nursing represents an opportunity to influence health early in life, supporting children during critical developmental stages while fostering trust in healthcare systems. Positive early healthcare experiences can shape lifelong attitudes toward wellness and medical care, and I hope to contribute to creating those experiences. As an immigrant student pursuing nursing education while working to remain financially stable, educational costs present ongoing challenges. This scholarship would reduce financial strain and allow me to focus more fully on clinical learning and professional growth. More importantly, it would support my commitment to becoming a pediatric nurse who provides reassurance, dignity, and compassionate care to children and families during some of their most vulnerable moments. Nursing represents service grounded in empathy and responsibility. Pediatric nursing allows that service to reach individuals at the earliest stages of life, where care has the power not only to heal illness but to build confidence, resilience, and trust that lasts far beyond the hospital setting.

The cost of my education is not an abstract number to me. It is something I calculate constantly, shaping how I plan my days, my work schedule, and my future. Pursuing a nursing degree at the University of Washington represents both opportunity and responsibility, and I approach it with clear awareness of the financial commitment required to complete it. As a first-generation immigrant and Black African student rebuilding my academic path in a new country, I quickly learned that success here requires more than academic ability alone. Adjusting to a different education system while navigating language nuances, cultural expectations, and financial independence added layers of challenge that many students never have to consider. These experiences sharpened my understanding of what my degree truly demands, not only intellectually but financially. My annual educational cost is approximately $53,000, and current projections show that I may need close to $63,000 in private student loans to complete my nursing program. Because of this reality, every decision I make now is focused on minimizing long-term debt. I work while studying, balancing rigorous coursework with responsibilities as a Medication Technician in a memory care facility. The role is emotionally and physically demanding, yet it allows me to support myself while gaining clinical experience that strengthens my future career. Working during school is my first and most consistent strategy for managing debt. Instead of relying entirely on loans for living expenses, I use my income to cover daily necessities whenever possible so borrowing remains limited primarily to tuition gaps that cannot be avoided. Understanding my financial reality has also made me highly intentional about planning. For example, my Spring academic budget alone totals approximately $21,324, including $13,858 in tuition and fees, $4,039 for housing, $2,096 for food, and additional transportation and academic expenses. Seeing these numbers clearly transforms debt from something distant into something actionable. Rather than postponing responsibility, I actively reduce borrowing wherever possible through disciplined budgeting and careful prioritization. Another major part of my plan is aggressive scholarship pursuit. I treat scholarship applications as an essential extension of my education because each award directly replaces future loan interest. Maintaining a strong academic record, including a 3.97 GPA and repeated academic honors, allows me to remain competitive for funding opportunities. Every scholarship earned reduces financial pressure and allows me to focus more deeply on clinical training and academic excellence instead of financial stress. Equally important is long-term career planning. Nursing offers stable employment and meaningful opportunities to serve communities in need. My goal is to specialize in psychiatric and behavioral health nursing, a field with growing demand and strong pathways toward structured loan repayment programs such as income-driven repayment and Public Service Loan Forgiveness. Aligning my career goals with sustainable repayment options ensures that my commitment to service also supports financial stability over time. Outside academics, I live intentionally and modestly, avoiding unnecessary expenses, protecting my financial health for the future. Returning to school as an adult learner has given me a strong sense of urgency and responsibility. I understand how unmanaged debt can delay major life milestones, and I am determined to graduate with both professional readiness and financial control. Education, for me, is not simply personal advancement. It is preparation to serve individuals facing vulnerability, mental health challenges, and instability with compassion and skill. By working, planning strategically, and pursuing scholarships relentlessly, I am addressing student debt now rather than leaving it to define my future. This scholarship would directly reduce my reliance on loans and help ensure that my nursing career begins grounded in purpose, stability, and the freedom to serve others fully.

Faith, for me, has never been an abstract belief. It has been a quiet foundation that carried me through uncertainty when life felt unstable. As a financially underprivileged, first-generation immigrant student pursuing nursing education in Washington State, my journey toward higher education has been shaped not only by academic ambition but by spiritual endurance grounded in my Christian faith. I grew up in Ethiopia in a family where faith was lived daily through perseverance rather than spoken loudly. After losing my father at a young age, our family faced sudden emotional and financial hardship. My mother became solely responsible for raising five children, and I witnessed strength expressed through sacrifice and prayer. During that time, I learned that faith does not remove hardship but gives meaning and direction within it. Watching my mother continue forward despite uncertainty shaped my understanding of resilience and responsibility. When I later immigrated to the United States to continue my education, I encountered a different kind of challenge. I had to rebuild my academic path while adapting to a new culture, language environment, and financial reality. Supporting myself while studying full-time required discipline and constant time management. There were periods when exhaustion and pressure felt overwhelming, especially during intense anatomy exam seasons when balancing work shifts, coursework, and personal responsibilities demanded everything I had. In those moments, faith became my stabilizing force. Prayer and reflection helped quiet anxiety and refocus my purpose when doubt appeared stronger than confidence. Serving at St. Michael Ethiopian Orthodox Tewahedo Church in edmonds-Washington became one of the most grounding parts of my life. The church offered more than spiritual practice; it became a community that restored balance during transition. Participating in services and supporting church activities allowed me to remain connected to faith and culture while building a sense of belonging in a new country. Through service, I learned that faith grows strongest when expressed through community care and shared responsibility. My faith has also shaped how I define success. Academic achievement, including maintaining strong grades and advancing toward my nursing degree, represents more than personal accomplishment. It represents preparation for service. My long-term goal is to become a psychiatric nurse focused on mental health and addiction recovery, areas where compassion, patience, and understanding are essential. Having witnessed how emotional suffering and stigma affect individuals and families, I believe faith allows healthcare providers to approach patients with humility and empathy beyond clinical treatment alone. The Jim Maxwell Memorial Scholarship is deeply meaningful to me because it reflects values that mirror my own journey: faith, service, and commitment to empowering students despite financial limitations. Financial assistance would reduce the burden of educational expenses and allow me to focus more fully on clinical training, academic excellence, and continued service within my community. Looking ahead, I plan to use my faith as a guiding force throughout my nursing career. Nursing, to me, is an expression of ministry through science and compassion. I hope to serve patients not only by addressing illness but by offering reassurance, dignity, and emotional support during vulnerable moments. Just as faith sustained me during uncertain seasons, I want my presence to bring calm and hope to those facing their own struggles. Faith has not removed obstacles from my life. Instead, it has strengthened my ability to walk through them with purpose, gratitude, and determination. Every challenge has reinforced my belief that education and service are gifts meant to uplift others. Through faith, perseverance, and commitment to serving my community, I hope to continue growing into a healthcare professional who reflects compassion, resilience, and unwavering dedication to helping others thrive.

The first person who taught me what unconditional love feels like was not a teacher or a mentor. It was my aunt, my mother’s sister, who loved us as if we were her own children. Long before I understood the meaning of loss, she was one of the safest places in my childhood. She was always there, quietly supporting my mother by helping raise us, watching over us when our parents were busy, and filling our home with warmth that made ordinary days feel protected. My aunt never had children of her own, yet no one loved children more deeply than she did. She poured that love into us completely. When we were young, she became a second mother in every sense. She helped with daily routines, comforted us when we were sick, and celebrated small achievements as if they were great victories. She never asked for recognition or acted as though her sacrifices were extraordinary. Loving us was simply part of who she was. When ALS entered her life, everything changed slowly and painfully. At first, it appeared as small physical changes that seemed temporary. Over time, the disease began taking away the strength and independence that defined her. Watching someone so full of life gradually lose control of her body was heartbreaking. ALS reshaped our entire family. The woman who once cared for everyone began needing care herself, and accepting that reality was incredibly difficult. What hurt most was knowing she still carried the same loving heart while her body failed her. She remained gentle and emotionally present even when speaking or moving became exhausting. I struggled to understand why someone who gave so much love had to endure such suffering. Even now, it is hard to accept that she is gone. Her death came too early, leaving a silence in our family that still feels unreal. Losing her deeply affected my educational journey. Grief followed me into classrooms, study sessions, and moments when concentration should have come easily. There were times when I felt emotionally drained, balancing academic responsibilities while processing a loss that never felt finished. Yet her memory also became motivation. She believed strongly in education and often encouraged us to pursue opportunities she never had. Continuing my studies felt like honoring her love and sacrifices. Her illness changed how I see caregiving and compassion. Witnessing ALS up close showed me how important patience, dignity, and emotional support are during illness. Small acts of kindness from caregivers meant everything to our family. Those experiences strengthened my commitment to healthcare and deepened my empathy toward individuals facing life-altering conditions. I learned that care is not only medical treatment but also presence and humanity during vulnerable moments. Although I am not formally involved with ALS organizations yet, her experience has inspired me to raise awareness through conversations within my community, especially among families unfamiliar with neurological diseases. Sharing her story has become my way of keeping her memory alive while helping others understand the emotional impact of ALS. This scholarship would help reduce financial pressure while I continue my education and carry the emotional weight of loss. More importantly, it would allow me to pursue a path shaped by her influence. My aunt taught me that love is measured by how deeply we care for others. Even though ALS took her from us, the compassion she lived by continues to guide my goals and the person I am becoming.

One of the strongest influences in my life has been my father, a man whose discipline was shaped long before I was born during his years as a soldier in Ethiopia. Growing up, I did not first understand him as a veteran. I simply knew him as a calm and steady presence in our home, a man who carried responsibility naturally and expected integrity without needing to raise his voice. Only later did I realize that many of the values he lived by were formed during war. My father served as a senior ground officer during the Ethiopia-Somalia conflict, commonly known as the Ziad Bari war. He led and supervised groups of soldiers in difficult and unpredictable conditions. He rarely described combat itself, but he often spoke about responsibility. He believed leadership meant protecting the people under your care, staying calm when others felt fear, and making decisions that considered the well-being of many rather than the comfort of one. Even as a child, I sensed that his quiet confidence came from experiences far greater than ordinary life. When the war ended, my father returned home and rebuilt his life. Instead of remaining defined by conflict, he transformed military discipline into creativity and entrepreneurship. He became a merchant and later worked in gold exploration and jewelry craftsmanship, eventually opening his own jewelry business. Watching him transition from soldier to businessman taught me that strength is not only shown in battle but also in rebuilding, adapting, and creating stability for a family. He was remarkably skilled with his hands. Whether repairing tools, designing jewelry, or solving practical problems, he approached every task with patience and precision. As a child, I noticed he treated work almost like a mission. Every action had an intention, and every plan required preparation. Failure was never an excuse to quit, but an opportunity to improve strategy. Over time, I understood that this mindset reflected the habits of someone trained to remain focused under pressure. The lessons he taught were rarely spoken about directly. They appeared through daily example. He woke early, honored commitments, and believed discipline created freedom rather than restriction. When challenges arose, he never reacted with panic. He paused, observed, and acted carefully. That quiet resilience shaped how I approach adversity today. I learned that courage does not always look dramatic. Sometimes it looks like consistency and responsibility. As I grew older, I began to understand how deeply his military experience influenced his identity as a father and mentor. The leadership he practiced in service became leadership within our family. The endurance he developed during war became the perseverance he needed in business and life. Most importantly, his sense of duty extended beyond himself. He believed success meant lifting others and protecting family. Today, as I pursue higher education and prepare for a healthcare career, I recognize how much of my mindset traces back to him. The discipline required in demanding environments, the responsibility toward those who depend on you, and the ability to remain calm in a crisis reflect lessons I learned from watching his life. His journey showed me that service does not end when a uniform is removed. It continues through the way a person lives and cares for others.

The moment I understood that nursing was more than a profession happened during a quiet evening shift while working as a medication technician in a memory care facility. A resident held my hand after receiving her medication and simply said, “Thank you for being patient with me.” It was a small moment, but it revealed something powerful. Healing is not always dramatic. Sometimes it is consistency, presence, and kindness offered when someone feels vulnerable. In that moment, I realized nursing is built on compassion expressed through action. My journey toward nursing began long before entering a hospital. I grew up near Addis Ababa, Ethiopia, where community support was essential to survival. Families helped one another through illness, hardship, and financial struggle because resources were limited but generosity was abundant. Watching people care for each other shaped my understanding of service at an early age. Later, I pursued a Bachelor of Science in Public Health and graduated with a Gold Medal for Academic Excellence. Public health taught me how prevention and education improve entire communities, but I wanted to serve individuals directly during their most difficult moments. Nursing became the natural path that connected science, empathy, and human connection. Immigrating to the United States transformed my journey. I rebuilt my academic path while adapting to a new culture and supporting myself financially. As a first-generation and low-income student, balancing work and rigorous coursework required resilience. While maintaining strong academic performance and earning admission into the University of Washington nursing program, I continued working in healthcare to sustain my education. These experiences deepened my respect for people who quietly sacrifice so others can succeed, much like Mighty supported his daughter’s dream of becoming a nurse. Working in senior care strengthened my calling. I witnessed patients facing cognitive decline, loneliness, and chronic illness. Nurses were often the steady presence guiding both patients and families through uncertainty. I learned that nursing is not only a clinical skill but also emotional leadership. A calm explanation, a reassuring tone, or simply listening can restore dignity when illness takes control away from a person. Those moments confirmed that I want to dedicate my life to being someone patients can rely on during vulnerable times. My long-term goal is to specialize in psychiatric and behavioral health nursing, focusing on mental health and addiction recovery. My background in public health allows me to understand how social conditions influence health, while nursing allows me to intervene directly with compassion and evidence-based care. I want to support individuals who feel unseen or misunderstood and help them rebuild stability and hope. If I could create something fun to make the world better, I would design community wellness spaces that combine health education, counseling, and social connection in welcoming environments rather than clinical settings. These spaces would include peer support activities, wellness workshops, and culturally inclusive conversations about mental health. Healing often begins when people feel safe enough to talk, laugh, and connect without fear of judgment. Mighty’s story reflects the power of generosity and belief in another person’s future. My own journey has been supported by people who encouraged me when challenges felt overwhelming. Receiving this scholarship would help ease the financial burden of nursing school and allow me to continue pursuing a career centered on compassion, service, and giving back. My goal is to honor that generosity by becoming a nurse who not only treats illness but also uplifts the lives of others with the same kindness that shaped my path.

The first sentence I learned to say confidently in America was not from a classroom. It was from a grocery store counter, standing behind a register, trying to understand a customer while silently translating every word in my mind. I grew up in a community near Addis Ababa, Ethiopia, in a family and neighborhood where English was not part of daily life. Communication happened in our own languages, shaped by culture and shared understanding. When I arrived in the United States, I realized language was more than vocabulary. It represented confidence, belonging, and access. Even simple conversations required effort because I was thinking before speaking, afraid of misunderstanding or being misunderstood. Education had always been central to my life. In Ethiopia, I earned a Bachelor of Science in Public Health and graduated with a Gold Medal for Academic Excellence, reflecting years of discipline and commitment to learning. Public health helped me understand how social systems influence health outcomes, but I wanted to continue my education in an environment where healthcare innovation and patient-centered care were constantly evolving. That goal inspired me to pursue higher education in the United States. The transition brought challenges beyond academics. Language barriers followed me into classrooms, workplaces, and daily interactions. To overcome this, I intentionally placed myself in situations that required communication growth. After arriving in Seattle, I worked in customer service as a cashier. At first, conversations felt intimidating, but repetition became my teacher. Each interaction improved my confidence, and slowly fear turned into familiarity. I learned that communication is not about perfect English but about persistence and willingness to engage. One of my greatest inspirations has been my brother in law, who has lived in Seattle for more than twenty-three years and built a successful career as a respected attorney. Coming from a background similar to mine, he demonstrated that language and cultural barriers are temporary obstacles rather than permanent limits. Watching his journey reassured me that growth comes through adaptation and consistency. These experiences shaped how I approach challenges today. I became more willing to ask questions, seek support, and advocate for myself academically and professionally. I am now a nursing student at the University of Washington, continuing a path that connects my public health foundation with direct patient care. My long-term goal is to become a nurse who helps bridge communication gaps between healthcare systems and diverse communities, especially immigrants who may feel overwhelmed navigating medical environments. I want patients to feel understood and respected regardless of language or cultural background. My public health education allows me to see health from a systems perspective, while nursing allows me to support individuals directly during vulnerable moments. As an international student from a low-income background, financial challenges remain significant, but they strengthen my determination. Every step I have taken, from adapting to a new language environment to succeeding academically in a new country, has reinforced my belief that education creates opportunity and impact. Pursuing higher education in the United States represents both personal growth and responsibility. After graduation, I plan to serve diverse communities as a nurse while advocating for equitable and culturally aware healthcare, ensuring that others facing barriers similar to mine feel seen, heard, and supported.

The first time I realized how hard it is to use your voice in America, I was standing on the side of the road after a hit-and-run accident, holding my phone and not knowing who would believe me. I had not been in the United States for long. Everything still felt new: the roads, the systems, even the way people communicated. The other driver fled the scene, leaving me shocked and confused. The fault was clear, witnesses agreed, yet the hardest part was not the accident itself. It was what came after. Phone call after phone call with insurance companies left me feeling invisible. Every conversation felt like a test of language, confidence, and familiarity with systems I did not yet understand. I was transferred between departments, asked for documents I did not know existed, and spoken to in technical terms that made me feel small. I remember ending one call feeling frustrated and powerless, wondering how something so clearly unfair could still leave me struggling to be heard. For the first time since arriving in America, I realized that fairness is not always automatic. Sometimes it depends on whether you can advocate for yourself. At first, I hesitated to speak firmly. I worried about sounding disrespectful or saying the wrong thing. In my culture, patience and humility are valued, especially when dealing with authority. But silence only prolonged confusion. Eventually, I began asking clearer questions, requesting explanations, and calmly repeating my situation until someone truly listened. Each conversation became easier. My confidence grew not from anger, but from clarity. During this time, my older brother became my anchor. He reminded me that understanding systems takes time and that using my voice is not confrontation, it is self-respect. He helped me organize information and approach communication with calm persistence instead of frustration. With his guidance, I learned that advocacy is not about raising your voice louder; it is about refusing to disappear from the conversation. When the claim finally moved forward, the outcome mattered less than what I had learned. That moment was never just about a car accident. It was about realizing how many people experience unfair treatment simply because they are unfamiliar with systems, language, or power structures. Since then, I have noticed myself stepping forward when others hesitate. At school, I speak up when students feel confused about policies or expectations. At work as a medication technician, I advocate for residents when I feel their concerns are not fully heard. I do this because I remember what it felt like to stand alone, unsure how to be understood. Communication, I learned, is not only a skill, it is responsibility. When you find your voice, you begin to recognize when others are struggling to use theirs. As a nursing student pursuing a bachelor’s degree, this lesson shapes my future goals. Healthcare systems can be overwhelming, especially for immigrants and low income families. Nurses often become translators not just of language, but of fear and confusion. I want to be a nurse who ensures patients feel heard, respected, and informed, especially those who feel intimidated by complex systems the way I once did. The hit-and-run incident taught me that confidence is built through moments when you choose to speak despite uncertainty. My voice today carries empathy because it was shaped by frustration, patience, and growth. I once stood silently on the roadside feeling powerless. Now, I understand that using your voice can transform not only your own experience, but the experiences of those around you.

The first time my family realized something was wrong with my older brother, we did not call a doctor. We prayed harder. In the community where I grew up, in a town neighboring Addis Ababa, Ethiopia, mental illness was rarely understood as a medical condition. Sudden behavioral changes were explained through spiritual language. People spoke about curses, evil spirits, or moral weakness rather than neurological or psychiatric disease. When my brother began changing after substance use, withdrawing from reality, and behaving in ways we could not understand, our family responded with faith rituals, holy water, and spiritual intervention. We believed we were protecting him. We were losing critical time. By the time he was finally taken to a psychiatric clinic, he was diagnosed with schizophrenia. That moment forever reshaped my understanding of health. Mental illness does not isolate itself within one person. It quietly transforms the emotional structure of an entire family. I did not only witness my brother struggle. I slowly lost the brother who once guided me, laughed with me, and made me feel safe. The illness created a distance that love alone could not bridge. What remains most painful is knowing that earlier intervention might have changed his outcome. Mental health professionals later explained that early psychiatric treatment often reduces long-term severity. Our delay was not caused by neglect. It was caused by stigma, misunderstanding, and a society that blended mental illness with spirituality while lacking awareness of medical care. This experience fundamentally changed how I see the world. Physical illnesses receive sympathy and urgency, while psychological suffering is often hidden behind silence. Families hesitate to seek help because they fear judgment or believe suffering must be endured privately. I learned that stigma is not simply an opinion. It is a barrier that postpones healing. As I grew older, I noticed that my curiosity naturally turned toward psychology, human behavior, and conversations about counseling. I wanted to understand what had happened, not only medically but socially and emotionally. My academic path began in public health and has now led me to nursing education in the United States. My goal is to become a nurse who integrates physical and mental healthcare, recognizing that emotional health is inseparable from overall well-being. My brother’s illness also reshaped my relationships. I listen more carefully now. I recognize that people often carry invisible struggles behind ordinary interactions. Instead of asking what is wrong with someone, I learned to ask what may have happened to them. This shift created deeper empathy and patience in how I connect with others. Personally, the experience forced me to confront grief and confusion that I did not initially understand. For years, I suppressed those emotions because mental health conversations felt uncomfortable and unfamiliar. Over time, I realized that silence strengthens stigma. Healing began when I allowed myself to acknowledge emotional pain openly and without shame. Today, my aspiration as a future nurse is directly rooted in this journey. Nurses are often the first professionals patients encounter during moments of vulnerability. A nurse who recognizes early psychiatric warning signs can change the trajectory of a life. I want to be that person who helps families recognize symptoms early and seek care before misunderstanding becomes irreversible loss. Destigmatizing mental health requires cultural sensitivity as much as clinical knowledge. Many immigrant and traditional communities interpret mental illness through spiritual frameworks. Faith can offer comfort and resilience, but it should exist alongside medical understanding, not in place of it. My purpose is to help bridge that gap by educating families in ways that respect cultural identity while encouraging evidence-based care. My brother’s story not only exposed me to suffering. It gave my life direction. His experience shaped my compassion, strengthened my sense of responsibility, and defined my commitment to healthcare. Mental health is no longer an abstract issue to me. It is personal, urgent, and deeply human. The mission of the Ethel Hayes Scholarship is to bring darkness into light. Sharing stories like mine is part of that process. When mental health is spoken about openly, fear begins to dissolve and people seek help sooner. I cannot rewrite my brother’s past, but I can help create a future where fewer families wait in uncertainty before reaching for support. If my career allows even one person to receive understanding and treatment earlier than my brother did, then his struggle will become more than a loss. It will become a source of awareness, compassion, and healing for others.

Health does not begin in hospitals. It begins in moments when someone feels seen, understood, and guided toward better choices. I realized this while helping people around me navigate healthcare questions that had little to do with illness itself but everything to do with access, trust, and understanding. Many individuals were not avoiding care because they did not value their health, but because they felt overwhelmed by systems they did not fully understand. That realization shaped my decision to pursue nursing and become someone who connects healthcare knowledge directly to the community. My journey began in Addis Ababa, Ethiopia, where I earned a Bachelor of Science in Public Health and received a Gold Medal for Academic Excellence. Public health taught me that prevention and education are as powerful as treatment. After immigrating to the United States, I rebuilt my academic path while adapting to a new culture and education system. Through persistence and discipline, I maintained strong academic performance and earned admission to the University of Washington nursing program. These experiences strengthened my belief that healthcare professionals must serve not only individual patients but also the communities surrounding them. Working as a Medication Technician in a memory care facility transformed my understanding of nursing. I witnessed how patients often needed reassurance, patience, and clear communication just as much as medication. Many residents struggled with confusion or loneliness, and I learned that dignity and compassion can improve a person’s experience even when illness cannot be reversed. Nurses became educators, advocates, and steady sources of comfort. This showed me that nursing is not only clinical practice but also human connection and guidance. I am pursuing a nursing degree because it allows me to combine my public health background with direct patient care. My long-term goal is to specialize in psychiatric and behavioral health nursing, focusing on mental health and addiction support. Mental health challenges remain heavily stigmatized, especially within immigrant and underserved communities. Having experienced a cultural transition myself, I understand how fear, misunderstanding, and lack of trust can prevent individuals from seeking help. As a nurse, I hope to reduce these barriers through culturally responsive care, education, and early intervention. I also hope to serve as a community health ambassador beyond clinical settings. I plan to participate in outreach efforts that promote preventive health education, mental health awareness, and health literacy, empowering individuals to make informed decisions before crises occur. When communities understand healthcare, they engage earlier, communicate openly, and experience better outcomes. My goal is to help people feel confident navigating healthcare rather than intimidated by it. Balancing rigorous nursing education while working in healthcare has shown me the dedication required to become an effective nurse. Every patient interaction reinforces my purpose and reminds me that resilience can be transformed into service. Receiving this scholarship would reduce financial pressure and allow me to focus more fully on clinical training and community engagement. Nursing, for me, is not simply a profession but a lifelong commitment to strengthening communities through compassion, education, and accessible care.

The first time I understood how nursing can open doors, it happened during a quiet medication pass in senior care. A resident I had cared for many times looked at me with confusion and asked, “Who are you?” In that moment, I realized nursing is not only about administering the right medication at the right time. It is about being the steady person in front of someone whose world keeps changing. I saw how a nurse’s calm voice, patience, and presence can bring safety when memory, pain, or fear takes everything else away. My passion for nursing started earlier through public health. I earned my first degree in Addis Ababa, Ethiopia, graduating with a Gold Medal for Academic Excellence in Public Health. That training shaped how I see health, not just as treatment, but as prevention, education, access, and equity. After immigrating to Washington, I rebuilt my academic path in a new system while working to support myself. I maintained a 3.97 GPA at North Seattle College, earned multiple President’s List and Dean’s List honors, and was admitted to the University of Washington nursing program. That journey taught me that open doors often come after long nights, sacrifices, and discipline, and that the purpose of those doors is service. Working as a Medication Technician has made nursing personal. I have watched patients struggle with chronic illness, cognitive decline, loneliness, and anxiety. I have also seen how nurses lead, not loudly, but consistently. The nurses who inspired me most were not only clinically sharp, they were emotionally intelligent. They could explain a plan without rushing, notice subtle changes, and make families feel heard. That combination of competence and compassion is what I want to bring into my career. My long term goal is to specialize in psychiatric nursing, with a focus on addiction recovery and behavioral health counseling. I care deeply about mental health because I have seen how untreated depression, trauma, and substance use can quietly damage a person’s life long before anyone calls it a crisis. I want to work in settings where patients often feel judged or dismissed, and I want to be the nurse who treats them with dignity while still holding high clinical standards. My background in public health also pushes me toward prevention, helping patients build long term stability, not just survive a hard week. Although the scholarship prefers applicants focusing on OB GYN, women’s health will still be part of my impact. In mental health and addiction care, I want to be especially competent with realities many women face, including postpartum depression, intimate partner violence, trauma histories, and the mental health burden that can follow pregnancy complications or reproductive loss. I hope to collaborate closely with OB GYN teams so mental health screening, early intervention, and compassionate support become normal, not optional, especially for underserved patients. Beverly J. Patterson’s legacy matters because it reflects what I believe about nursing. When you commit to caring for people well, doors open, not only for your career, but for the patients who need someone steady. My goal is to become that nurse, clinically strong, emotionally present, and committed to improving outcomes for people who often get left behind.

1. Personal inspiration for pursuing a career in nursing The moment I understood why nursing truly mattered did not happen in a classroom. It happened during a quiet medication pass while working in senior care. I approached a resident I had cared for many times before, greeted her gently, and she looked at me with confusion and asked, “Who are you?” In that moment, I realized nursing is not only about treatment or medical knowledge. It is about standing beside people when illness changes their reality and offering stability when familiarity disappears. My journey toward nursing began earlier through my academic background in public health in Addis Ababa, Ethiopia, where I earned a Gold Medal for Academic Excellence. Public health taught me how prevention, education, and access shape the health of entire communities. After immigrating to the United States, I rebuilt my academic path while adapting to a new education system while supporting myself financially. Through persistence and discipline, I maintained a 3.97 GPA and earned admission into the University of Washington nursing program. While academic success strengthened my confidence, direct patient care gave my education purpose. Working as a Medication Technician allowed me to witness vulnerability closely. I cared for individuals facing chronic illness, cognitive decline, loneliness, and uncertainty. I observed how nurses changed those experiences through calm communication, patience, and genuine presence. The nurses who inspired me most were not only clinically skilled but deeply attentive to the emotional needs of their patients. They reassured families and created moments of comfort even during difficult circumstances. Nursing became the natural intersection between my public health foundation and my desire to serve individuals directly. I am motivated by the opportunity to combine science, critical thinking, and compassion to improve lives in meaningful ways. My goal is to become a nurse who strengthens both patient outcomes and patient confidence, ensuring that every person feels respected, heard, and safe during vulnerable moments. Nursing, for me, is a lifelong commitment to service, growth, and impact within the communities I serve. 2. What human touch means to me and its impact on patient care To me, human touch represents the difference between receiving medical treatment and truly feeling cared for. Human touch is not limited to physical contact. It is the ability to communicate empathy, dignity, and reassurance through presence, tone, patience, and sincere attention. It reminds patients that they are individuals with fears, hopes, and stories, not simply diagnoses or tasks within a busy healthcare environment. Healthcare settings can make patients feel vulnerable and powerless. Unfamiliar routines, physical discomfort, and uncertainty about outcomes often create anxiety and isolation. Human touch restores connection within those moments. A nurse who sits at eye level, listens without interruption, or explains a procedure calmly can transform fear into trust. These small actions communicate safety and respect, allowing patients to feel emotionally supported while receiving clinical care. Through my work in senior care, I learned that patients often remember how they were treated long after they forget medical details. Some residents repeat questions many times due to memory loss. Each repetition becomes an opportunity to choose patience and compassion. Responding kindly protects dignity and reassures the patient that they are valued. Human touch means recognizing that what feels routine to a caregiver may feel overwhelming to a patient experiencing confusion or pain. Human touch also influences health outcomes. When patients feel respected and understood, they communicate more openly, follow treatment plans more consistently, and engage actively in their recovery. Trust becomes part of the healing process. Compassion reduces stress and helps patients feel secure enough to participate in their own care. As a future nurse, I want human touch to define my practice. My goal is to combine strong clinical knowledge with genuine compassion that patients can feel immediately. In moments of illness, people may forget procedures or terminology, but they remember how a nurse made them feel. Providing comfort, dignity, and reassurance is the lasting impact I hope to bring to every patient and every community I serve.

My motivation for pursuing advanced education in nursing comes from a clear realization that healthcare excellence requires continuous learning, clinical growth, and a commitment to improving patient outcomes beyond basic care. Early in my healthcare experience, I understood that compassion alone is not enough. Patients depend on providers who combine empathy with strong clinical knowledge, updated medical training, and the ability to apply evidence-based practice across diverse medical conditions. This understanding inspired me to pursue higher education in nursing so I can develop the advanced skills necessary to provide safe, informed, and impactful care throughout my career. I began my academic journey in Addis Ababa, Ethiopia, where I earned a Bachelor of Science in Public Health and received a Gold Medal for Academic Excellence. Public health shaped how I view medicine as both prevention and treatment. After immigrating to the United States, I rebuilt my academic path, adapted to a new educational system, and supported myself financially. Through persistence and discipline, I maintained a 3.97 cumulative GPA, earned multiple President’s and Dean’s List recognitions, and was admitted into the University of Washington nursing program. Returning to school as an adult learner required resilience, time management, and long-term commitment, but it strengthened my drive to grow professionally and contribute meaningfully to healthcare. My decision to pursue nursing is grounded in the belief that modern healthcare demands clinicians who continue learning throughout their careers. Nursing intersects with multiple specialties, such as cardiology, emergency medicine, pain management, chronic disease care, and women’s health, all of which require up-to-date knowledge and clinical competence. Working as a Medication Technician while studying has allowed me to witness how rapidly patient needs evolve and how essential continuing education is for safe practice. These experiences have motivated me to pursue advanced education not only to become a registered nurse but to build a strong clinical foundation that will support lifelong professional development and future specialization in psychiatric and behavioral health nursing. Ambition and drive have guided my journey, but impact remains my ultimate goal. My background in public health and nursing has shaped my commitment to improving mental health access and supporting individuals facing substance use challenges and behavioral health barriers. I aim to provide care that integrates clinical expertise with prevention-focused education, helping patients achieve long term stability rather than temporary treatment alone. As healthcare systems become more complex, nurses must serve as educators, advocates, and critical thinkers who bridge medical knowledge with patient understanding. Advanced education equips me with the tools to fulfill that responsibility. This scholarship would directly support my ability to continue progressing as a dedicated adult learner. As a first-generation and low-income student, I balance rigorous coursework with employment in order to finance my education. Financial assistance would reduce reliance on private loans and allow me to invest more time in clinical preparation, professional training opportunities, and academic excellence. Support from an organization committed to continuing medical education is especially meaningful because it reflects the same values guiding my career: lifelong learning, professional growth, and improving healthcare outcomes through education. Higher education represents more than personal advancement for me. It is an investment in the patients and communities I will serve. By strengthening my clinical knowledge and expanding my professional capabilities, I aim to create a lasting impact through compassionate, informed, and continuously evolving nursing practice. This scholarship would help transform that commitment into sustained progress as I continue working toward becoming a skilled nurse dedicated to excellence, education, and meaningful patient care.

The first time I understood the true power of STEM was not in a laboratory, but in watching how science could determine whether a person received healing or continued to struggle without answers. I saw how preventable illnesses and untreated mental health conditions affected communities lacking access to education and culturally responsive care. In that moment, science stopped being abstract knowledge and became a tool for justice. That realization shaped my decision to pursue a career in healthcare through STEM. My academic journey began with earning a Gold Medal for Academic Excellence during my Bachelor of Science in Public Health in 2019. That recognition represented persistence more than talent. Education became my pathway to service and upward mobility. After continuing my studies in Washington state, I rebuilt my academic foundation within a new educational system while supporting myself financially and adapting to a different culture. Despite these transitions, I maintained a 3.97 cumulative GPA, earning placement on the Dean’s List twice and the President’s List for four consecutive quarters before entering the University of Washington undergrad nursing program. I chose nursing because it represents STEM in action. Modern nursing integrates biology, pharmacology, clinical technology, and data-driven decision making to improve patient outcomes in real time. My public health background strengthened my understanding that science must extend beyond hospitals and into communities where disparities begin. STEM education gives me the ability to translate scientific knowledge into prevention, education, and equitable care. My long-term goal is to specialize in psychiatric nursing and mental health care, focusing on addiction recovery and community-based interventions. Mental health disparities continue to disproportionately affect underserved populations, yet access to informed and compassionate treatment remains limited. Through evidence-based practice and research, I aim to bridge the gap between scientific advancement and community accessibility. I want to help transform healthcare from crisis response into prevention rooted in scientific understanding and early intervention. Resilience has been central to my path in STEM. While completing rigorous science coursework, I worked full time as a Medication Technician in a senior care facility, caring for vulnerable patients while maintaining academic excellence. Balancing clinical responsibility with demanding coursework required discipline, time management, and emotional endurance. These experiences strengthened my scientific curiosity and reinforced my purpose: STEM is most meaningful when it directly improves human lives. The principle of “Lift As We Climb” reflects how I approach both education and leadership. I have mentored peers navigating unfamiliar academic systems and supported younger students adjusting to higher education expectations. Representation in STEM matters because visibility creates possibility. When students see someone who has overcome similar barriers succeeding in science and healthcare, they begin to believe they belong there as well. My goal is to expand that sense of belonging by mentoring future healthcare professionals and promoting STEM pathways within underserved communities. Pursuing STEM is not only a career choice for me; it is a responsibility. Through nursing, research, and community outreach, I intend to reduce health disparities, expand access to mental health resources, and inspire others to pursue scientific careers that serve humanity. As I continue advancing, my success will not be measured solely by personal achievement, but by how many others rise alongside me. By lifting others as I climb, I hope to contribute to a more equitable, innovative, and compassionate future shaped by STEM.

Some of the hardest moments of faith do not happen during crisis, but during ordinary decisions when responsibility and belief seem to compete with each other. One Sunday morning, standing between a major Anatomy and Physiology exam and my commitment to serve at church, I faced a choice that quietly reshaped how I understand faith, discipline, and perseverance. My academic journey began when I earned a Gold Medal for Academic Excellence in 2019 during my Bachelor of Science in Public Health at Bethel Medical College in Addis Ababa. Years later, after continuing my education in Washington state, I found myself rebuilding my academic path while adapting to a new culture, managing financial responsibilities, and pursuing rigorous coursework. Although I had succeeded academically before, starting again in a new environment tested both my confidence and resilience. During one academic quarter, I was enrolled in Anatomy and Physiology, one of the most vast and demanding courses I had ever taken. An important exam was approaching, and I felt unprepared despite long hours of studying. That same weekend coincided with my regular Sunday service at St. Michael Ethiopian Orthodox Tewahedo Church in Edmonds, where I consistently volunteered and supported church activities. I felt torn between two responsibilities. Logically, skipping service to gain more study time seemed reasonable. Emotionally and spiritually, however, I felt that faith should not disappear when life becomes busy. I chose to continue serving that Sunday instead of stepping away from my commitment. I reminded myself that time ultimately belongs to God, and that faith requires consistency even during pressure. I trusted that if I used my remaining time wisely and stayed faithful to my responsibilities, my efforts would still bear fruit. Serving that day did not reduce my workload, but it changed my mindset. I returned home calmer, more focused, and less driven by anxiety. That shift made a difference. I studied with renewed clarity, organized my preparation carefully, and entered the exam with confidence rather than fear. When I later received a high score in the course, I understood that faith had strengthened my discipline rather than competing with it. Faith did not replace effort; it gave me peace and resilience while working through difficulty. My faith continues to shape how I serve others. At St. Michael Church, I actively support youth and community members, often helping newcomers navigate academics and adjust to unfamiliar educational systems. Many young students struggle silently with pressure and uncertainty, and I try to offer encouragement and guidance whenever I can. These experiences taught me that faith is lived through service, mentorship, and compassion toward others. Today, I am a nursing student at the University of Washington maintaining a 3.97 GPA, earning repeated President’s and Dean’s List honors while working as a Medication Technician to support myself. My background in public health shaped my commitment to prevention, equity, and mental health care. I aspire to specialize in psychiatric nursing, supporting individuals facing mental health and addiction challenges through compassionate care grounded in both science and empathy. Nabi Nicole’s legacy of faith, counseling, and service deeply resonates with my journey. Like her, I believe faith calls us to remain committed even when circumstances challenge our priorities. The Sunday I chose service over fear became a reminder that faith strengthens perseverance and gives meaning to hard work. That lesson continues to guide my ambition to serve others through nursing and community care. Receiving this scholarship would reduce financial pressure and allow me to continue pursuing my education while remaining committed to faith, service, and uplifting others through both professional care and community support.

The first time I truly understood dementia was not in a classroom. It was during a medication pass. I work as a medication technician in a senior care facility, many of our residents living in memory care. One afternoon, I approached a resident I had spoken to countless times before. I greeted her gently, as I always did. She looked directly into my eyes, searching and confused, and asked, “Who are you?” It was not the first time I had been forgotten. But it was the first time I felt the weight of what Alzheimer’s really does. It does not just erase facts. It dissolves relationships. It rearranges reality. It quietly rewrites identity. Growing up with a background in public health, I had learned about chronic diseases statistically, prevalence rates, risk factors, neurodegeneration pathways. But dementia is not a statistic. It is watching someone’s personality slowly loosen from the anchor of memory. It is seeing families grieve a person who is still alive. It is learning to introduce yourself to the same resident every day with the same warmth, knowing tomorrow you will be a stranger again. In memory care, I have seen different forms of cognitive decline, agitation, wandering, emotional withdrawal, sudden fear, and quiet resignation. I have seen adult children speak to their parents with patient tenderness, repeating stories their parent once told them. I have seen spouses sit silently for hours, holding hands with someone who no longer remembers their name but still recognizes the comfort of touch. Dementia does not only affect the brain. It transforms entire family systems. What I have learned most deeply is this: dignity matters more than memory. When a resident cannot remember my name, I still kneel to eye level. When someone repeats the same question ten times, I answer it ten times. When a resident becomes frustrated, I remind myself that confusion feels like being trapped inside a room with no doors. My job is not only to administer medication. It is to protect humanity. Now, as a full time Bachelor of Science in Nursing student at the University of Washington, I approach dementia not only as a caregiver but as a future clinician and researcher in training. My coursework in pathophysiology, neuroscience, and aging has deepened my understanding of the biological mechanisms behind cognitive decline, but my work in memory care continues to ground that knowledge in lived human experience. Working in senior care has made Alzheimer’s and dementia personal to me. I see how urgently we need better early detection, stronger caregiver support systems, and more culturally competent education in communities that often misunderstand cognitive decline as normal aging. As someone from an immigrant background, I have also witnessed how stigma and lack of awareness prevent families from seeking help early. Cognitive decline is sometimes hidden in silence. My background in public health fuels my scientific curiosity. Why do some individuals decline rapidly while others remain stable for years? What environmental, vascular, metabolic, and social determinants intersect with neurodegeneration? How can we integrate preventative strategies earlier in life rather than only reacting in late stages? Dementia has taught me that healthcare must operate on two levels, compassionate care today and scientific advancement for tomorrow. My long term vision is to work in neurology focused clinical settings while actively engaging in research initiatives related to aging and cognitive health. I intend to continue serving in memory care throughout nursing school and remain involved in dementia related clinical practice after graduation. Whether through bedside nursing, clinical research coordination, or interdisciplinary collaboration, I want to stand at the intersection of patient care and scientific discovery. Many underserved communities lack access to neurologists, early cognitive screening, or caregiver resources. This is not just a medical gap. It is a structural one. I hope to contribute to systems level improvements that prioritize prevention, early intervention, and culturally responsive education. Henry Respert’s legacy reminds me that behind every diagnosis is a family. A mentor. A parent. A protector. Dementia does not discriminate by profession, strength, or character. It can affect anyone. That reality makes research not optional but necessary. Each shift I work in memory care strengthens my resolve. Every forgotten name reinforces my commitment. Every family member who says, “Thank you for being patient,” reminds me that small acts of empathy matter, but systemic change matters more. Alzheimer’s has taught me patience. It has taught me humility. It has taught me that the brain, the very organ that defines who we are, is both powerful and fragile. But most importantly, it has given me direction. I do not want to simply witness cognitive decline. I want to study it. Understand it. Intervene earlier. Advocate louder. Support caregivers better. And contribute to a future where fewer families experience the slow grief of watching someone fade. This scholarship would not only ease the financial burden of my education at the University of Washington. It would affirm that the work happening in memory care rooms, in quiet medication passes, and in late night caregiver conversations matters. It would allow me to continue building the clinical and research foundation necessary to transform lived experience into meaningful impact. Alzheimer’s may steal memory, but it has given me purpose. And that purpose will shape the rest of my career.

My name is Amanuel Nurga, and I am a Washington state resident and full time nursing student at the University of Washington pursuing a career in psychiatric nursing with a focus on substance use disorder treatment and addiction rehabilitation. Originally from Addis Ababa, Ethiopia, I completed my Bachelor of Science in Public Health before continuing my academic journey in the United States. My path has been shaped by resilience, service, and a deep commitment to mental health advocacy within underserved communities, particularly among Black men facing substance use and behavioral health challenges. The first time I realized the power of simply listening was not in a classroom, but in quiet conversations with people who felt unseen. Growing up in Addis Ababa and later rebuilding my academic path in Washington state, I have seen how mental health struggles and substance abuse often remain hidden behind pride, stigma, and survival. I learned early that compassion is not weakness. It is leadership. As a Black male immigrant, my journey has required resilience at every stage. I earned a Gold Medal for Academic Excellence while completing my public health degree in Ethiopia. After relocating to the United States, I continued my education while working and adapting to a new academic system. At North Seattle College, I earned Dean’s List honors twice and President’s List recognition for four consecutive quarters, maintaining a 3.97 GPA. Today, I am pursuing nursing with a focused commitment to psychiatric and behavioral health care. Beyond academics, service has remained central to my identity. I have consistently supported peers navigating academic pressure, cultural transitions, and personal hardship. Whether mentoring fellow immigrant students, offering guidance to classmates balancing work and school, or engaging in conversations around mental health awareness, I strive to create environments where Black men feel safe to speak openly. I understand the silent weight many carry, particularly around mental health and substance use, and I intentionally position myself as someone who listens without judgment. Immediately after graduation, I plan to work in psychiatric units, specifically focusing on counseling individuals struggling with substance abuse. My long term goal is to advance in psychiatric nursing while specializing in addiction rehabilitation and behavioral counseling. I want to work directly with underserved populations, particularly Black men who often experience barriers to culturally responsive care. Too often, addiction is treated solely as a behavioral failure rather than a complex intersection of trauma, systemic stress, and untreated mental health conditions. I intend to change that narrative through compassionate clinical practice and evidence based counseling. Michael Pride Jr.’s legacy of giving his time, energy, and compassion to others resonates deeply with me. My background in public health, my nursing education, and my lived experience collectively position me to serve with both clinical competence and cultural humility. Scholarship support would directly reduce financial strain during this rigorous program and allow me to fully dedicate myself to clinical training and community service. Thank you sincerely for considering my application and for continuing to invest in Black male students who are committed to healing, leadership, and service.