“Échale ganas mija” A saying that suddenly makes my dad and I the same age. Except the words come from the soul of a boy who had to leave the sixth grade because his family couldn’t afford school anymore. It is a three-word phrase buried in the hearts of Hispanic students around the world, that carries the pride and sacrifice of our mothers and fathers. As a first-generation Mexican American student, the accessibility and privilege of higher education bears significant meaning, not only for myself, but for the community I represent. The past four years in high school have furnished my immense love for science. Everything in it is meaningful. Even if your results contradict prior hypotheses or if they come out insignificant, everything is a small contribution to a bigger picture. My passion for it can be expressed through the John F. Kennedy quote: “We choose to go to the moon in this decade and do the other things—not because they are easy, but because they are hard.” Despite the intimidating truth of its immense domain, with every lesson and opportunity granted to me, I excitedly imagine myself carving a bit deeper into the massive mountain of knowledge there is to learn. The surreal feeling of walking the steps that past and current scientists have paved is a privilege to be living. The aspiration to catch up and pave my own is something that motivates me to pursue an education in medicine. While interning at the Houston Methodist Hospital, the emotional resilience of patients and their loved ones struck my heart and made me comprehend the heavy need for Hispanic representation and Spanish speakers in healthcare. Effective support from caregivers often distinguishes a positive experience from an agonizing one during vulnerable times, especially for Hispanic patients struggling with language barriers, insurance, and citizenship status. A familiar face in scrubs or a white coat matters to patients struggling to navigate medical services. Going back to my mother’s small, rural village in Queretaro, Mexico was also a reminder of a painful truth. The shortage of healthcare workers and infrastructure in Mexico is hurting medical accessibility for its most sensitive patients. I witnessed the isolation from critical healthcare that indigenous communities face in Latin America. For instance, my blind 76-year-old granduncle, Lidio, must hitchhike alone to Jalpan, the nearest city, every 15 days for a replacement of his CGM sensor. Pursuing a career as a physician would grant me the power to contribute to marginalized populations in both nations. All the while, it would allow me to transform my current passion for biology and chemistry into efforts in treatment, research and innovation, public health, and patient advocacy. I aspire to one day create initiatives for medical students in both Mexico and the US to travel to isolated Latin-American communities to offer medical aid, something I also plan to do myself in upcoming years. However, my goals would remain dreams without sufficient funding for an undergraduate degree and, eventually, medical school. I fight for my education because I walk alongside the little girl my mother once was—because I carry the culture, hope, trauma, and support of generations before me. My dad’s motivating words have driven me to extraordinary opportunities. I hope that someday they can help me elevate his community in return.