My story begins as an immigrant who came to the United States with my family in search of opportunity. Like many before me, my parents made sacrifices so that I could pursue an education they never had. Growing up, I watched them work tirelessly, and their determination instilled in me a deep sense of responsibility: to make the most of every chance given to me, not only for myself but for those who came before me and those who will come after. One constant throughout my life has been my Buddhist faith. Buddhism has taught me that our actions carry meaning and that good deeds create good outcomes. This belief in karma shaped how I grew up: always striving to be a good person first, before any title or achievement. I learned that success is not only measured by personal milestones, but also by the positive impact we create for others. That perspective has guided the way I view education, service, and my future career. My passion lies in medicine, specifically dermatology. I am drawn to this field because skin conditions often go beyond physical health because they can affect confidence, identity, and quality of life. I want to be the kind of doctor who not only treats illnesses but also restores dignity and hope. Experiences as a pharmacy technician and volunteer exposed me to the importance of empathy in patient care. Listening carefully, showing compassion, and treating people with respect are skills that no textbook can teach but that make all the difference. Like many immigrants, I faced challenges adjusting to a new environment. From navigating a different language and culture to managing financial obstacles, nothing came easily. Yet those challenges became lessons in resilience. I learned how to adapt, how to persist even when the odds felt stacked against me, and how to build community wherever I went. Those experiences gave me the confidence to lead and to mentor others facing similar struggles. I’ve supported peers in student organizations, volunteered in my community, and worked to embody the values of curiosity, humility, and perseverance. Looking ahead, my aspirations reach beyond becoming a doctor. Once I achieve stability in my career, I plan to give back to the children in Vietnam who, like me, dream of more but often lack the resources to achieve it. Many do not have enough food, let alone the chance to pursue education. My hope is to support schools, provide scholarships, and help ensure that kids have the opportunities my family worked so hard to secure for me. Ultimately, my story is one of gratitude, resilience, and hope. I am proud of the obstacles I have overcome, but I am even more motivated by what lies ahead. Every experience from my upbringing, my faith, and my journey as an immigrant has prepared me to pursue medicine with purpose. My aspiration is not only to succeed but to create opportunities for others, carrying forward the same cycle of sacrifice and generosity that made my own path possible.

Buddhism has been a part of my life for as long as I can remember. Growing up in this faith, I was taught that every action has meaning and that our choices shape not only our own lives but also the lives of those around us. The idea of karma that good deeds bring good outcomes has always stayed with me. Because of this, I have lived with the belief that to achieve anything worthwhile, I must first be a good person. This guiding principle has shaped how I treat others, how I face challenges, and ultimately, how I see my future in medicine. Being an immigrant, I know firsthand what it feels like to face barriers and uncertainty. Moving to the United States was both exciting and difficult. At times, it was easy to feel out of place. In those moments, my Buddhist faith grounded me. I reminded myself that challenges are part of the journey, and how I respond to them determines what I learn and who I become. When I struggled with schoolwork, I saw it not as failure but as a lesson in patience. When I faced language or cultural differences, I leaned on compassion, reminding myself that kindness opens doors even when words fall short. These small practices, rooted in Buddhism, have made me stronger and more focused on the type of person and doctor I want to be. To me, medicine is not just about diagnosing illness or prescribing treatment. It is about listening, understanding, and caring for people when they are most vulnerable. My faith has taught me to see the humanity in every individual, regardless of their background or circumstances. I know that being a doctor requires scientific knowledge and technical skills, but it also requires empathy, humility, and integrity. I believe that by putting people first and practicing compassion in every interaction, I can provide the kind of care that patients truly need. Another important teaching of Buddhism is that success is not only measured by personal achievement but by how much you give back. That is why one of my biggest goals, once I become financially stable in my career, is to support children in Vietnam who do not have the same opportunities I have been given. I think often of kids who cannot afford to go to school or who struggle to have enough food each day. Education and nourishment are basic needs, yet they are still out of reach for so many. My hope is to donate resources to schools, support scholarship programs, and help provide meals for children. Even small acts can create ripples of change, and I want my career to give me the means to make those ripples as wide as possible. In many ways, my Buddhist faith is the thread that connects my past, present, and future. It taught me to live with compassion, it shapes my vision of what it means to be a good doctor, and it inspires me to give back to the community that raised me. Just as Buddhism teaches that every action matters, I want my actions as a physician and as a community member to leave behind more good than I found.

When I think about Malgorzata’s story as a student who left her home country to pursue education in the United States, I can’t help but see my own journey reflected in hers. Like her, I came here as an immigrant with the hope of building a brighter future through education. The path has not always been simple. It has been filled with uncertainty, moments of doubt, and the challenge of adjusting to an entirely new culture. Yet, these very challenges have also shaped my determination and my belief that education is the key that can open doors to opportunities that would otherwise remain closed. One of the first ways I relate to Malgorzata is in the experience of leaving behind family, friends, and the comfort of a familiar environment. When you move to another country for school, you quickly realize that everything you once took for granted from language and customs to small daily routines must be relearned in a new context. It can be isolating at times, and I imagine Malgorzata, like me, had to learn how to find strength in moments of loneliness. For me, this challenge pushed me to build resilience and to find community wherever I could, whether through school organizations, volunteer opportunities, or friendships formed with other students who shared similar experiences. Another challenge we share is balancing our identities. As immigrants, we carry the traditions and values of our home countries, but we also want to adapt and succeed in the U.S. academic system. This balancing act is not always easy. I have faced the struggle of feeling caught between two worlds: wanting to honor my roots while also fitting into a new environment. Like Malgorzata, I have learned to embrace both sides of my identity, realizing that my background gives me perspective, strength, and a unique voice in the classroom and beyond. Financial barriers are another area where I can relate. Education in the U.S. is expensive, and as an immigrant, resources are often limited. Scholarships, work opportunities, and careful planning have been essential in helping me move forward. This reality taught me the value of discipline and sacrifice. Every hour I spend studying, every opportunity I chase, is a reminder that I am working not just for myself but also to honor the sacrifices my family made to give me this chance, something I believe Malgorzata understands deeply as well. In these ways, I see myself in her story. Both of us share the courage it takes to start over in a new country, the persistence to face obstacles head on, and the hope that through education, we can change not only our own lives but also the lives of others. While the details of our journeys may differ, the essence is the same: we are immigrants who dared to dream of a better future and are willing to work tirelessly to achieve it. That is why I feel so connected to Malgorzata’s challenges. They remind me that I am not alone in this path, and that there are many like us who prove every day that determination, resilience, and the pursuit of education can overcome even the toughest barriers.

1. My career goal is to become a dermatologist dedicated to improving patient care and expanding access to specialized treatment, particularly in underserved communities. Receiving this award would help me pursue medical training without the burden of financial barriers, allowing me to focus fully on developing the expertise and leadership skills needed to make a meaningful impact in healthcare. My path so far reflects persistence and adaptability. As a first generation student, I navigated systemic barriers while excelling academically and building a strong foundation in the sciences. Beyond academics, I worked as a pharmacy technician, gaining hands-on experience with patient care, insurance navigation, and medication management. This role sharpened my communication skills and taught me the importance of empathy in healthcare delivery. I’ve also demonstrated leadership and service through mentoring peers, volunteering with local community health initiatives, and participating in student organizations where I supported others pursuing pre-medical paths. These experiences reinforced my commitment to healthcare equity and my ability to bring people together to solve problems. Surmounting challenges and giving back to others has defined my journey and will continue to shape my work as a future dermatologist. 2. ACHE of Southern California’s mission to advance healthcare leadership, access, and equity aligns deeply with my own goals as a future dermatologist. I aspire not only to provide clinical expertise but also to advocate for broader access to dermatological care, which is often limited for marginalized populations. As someone who has witnessed disparities in healthcare firsthand, I am committed to addressing inequities in preventive skin health and treatment of chronic conditions that disproportionately affect underserved communities. ACHE of SoCal emphasizes leadership and collaboration across the healthcare system, values I seek to embody throughout my career. By engaging in mentorship, service, and patient advocacy, I hope to carry forward this mission and use my platform to improve both clinical outcomes and healthcare equity. Ultimately, my goal is to lead with the same vision that ACHE of SoCal promotes: improving the health of our communities through service, innovation, and inclusive leadership. This alignment between my personal aspirations and ACHE’s purpose inspires me to contribute meaningfully to both patients and the broader healthcare system.

Growing up as a first-generation Vietnamese American student, I’ve always carried the weight of my family’s sacrifices on my shoulders but not in a bad way. More like a reminder. A reminder of where I come from, why I study so hard, and who I’m doing all this for. My parents came to the U.S. with very little. English wasn’t our first language at home, and navigating anything whether it was school paperwork, health insurance forms, or even getting internet access always felt like a battle. We lived paycheck to paycheck, and there were times when we had to choose between fixing the car or buying groceries. I remember going to school with hand-me-downs that didn’t fit quite right and having to say no to field trips or extracurriculars because we simply couldn’t afford them. But those struggles built a certain kind of fire in me. I learned to be resourceful, to push past embarrassment, and to focus on what I could control: my education, my attitude, and my dreams. From a young age, I was obsessed with skin. That might sound strange, but it’s true. I used to sit in front of the mirror and notice every little bump, every scar, every patch of hyperpigmentation. I didn’t understand why some kids never had breakouts, while others like me and my friends always struggled with painful acne that made us self-conscious. What made it worse was that so much of the skincare advice online or on store shelves wasn’t made for people who looked like me. As someone with melanin-rich skin, I noticed that treatments that worked for others sometimes made my skin worse. I started asking questions: Why is there so little representation of Asian or other non-white skin tones in dermatology? Why aren’t more skincare products tailored for different races? And why do we see the same limited beauty standards pushed everywhere? That curiosity became something deeper, a passion. I started reading dermatology articles, following skincare researchers, and even watching medical lectures online for fun. I realized dermatology isn’t just about beauty; it’s about health, identity, confidence, and equity. Skin conditions can deeply affect someone’s mental well-being, and being able to treat those conditions, especially in communities that are often overlooked means everything to me. But getting here hasn’t been easy. Being a pre-med student as a first-gen college student is a challenge in itself. I didn’t grow up around doctors. I don’t have family connections in medicine. I’ve had to figure it out step by step like how to study for organic chemistry, how to apply for shadowing, how to network, how to build a CV, how to stay motivated when the workload gets overwhelming. I work part-time jobs to help support my family while managing a full course load. Sometimes I stay up all night juggling school and responsibilities. Sometimes I doubt myself. But every time I feel like quitting, I remember who I am doing this for. My dream is to become a dermatologist who represents and serves everyone, especially patients of color who often get left behind in medical research and treatment. I want to contribute to more inclusive dermatology research, creating treatment options that reflect the diversity of skin across all races and ethnicities. I want to educate people who feel confused or ashamed about their skin, especially young teens growing up in immigrant households like mine, where skin problems are often dismissed or misunderstood. I’m particularly interested in pigmentation disorders, acne scarring, and how different skin tones respond to treatments like lasers, chemical peels, or prescription medications. I want to make sure that no one walks into a dermatologist’s office and feels like they’re an afterthought just because their skin doesn’t match the textbook examples. Long-term, I want to open a clinic in an underserved area somewhere that offers affordable, culturally competent dermatology care. I want my patients to see someone who understands not just their skin but their story. I want to show younger Vietnamese and other minority students that yes, it’s possible to break into medicine, even if no one in your family has done it before. I want to mentor students like me and advocate for more inclusive medical training in schools. Being Vietnamese, being first-gen, and being someone who’s had to struggle for every opportunity, I see those not as obstacles, but as fuel. They’ve taught me how to work hard, stay humble, and keep my eyes on the bigger picture. I may not have the same resources or connections as others, but I have purpose. And that purpose is what drives me to keep going, even when it’s tough. I believe medicine especially dermatology needs more diversity, not just in patients, but in providers, researchers, and voices at the table. Our skin tells a story. And I want to be the kind of doctor who listens, who understands, and who helps people feel proud in their own skin.

Mental health wasn’t something we talked about in my family. Growing up in a first-generation immigrant household, conversations around emotions often felt taboo. Strength meant staying silent, pushing through, and pretending things were fine. But as I got older, I realized how damaging that silence could be, not just for me, but for so many people in my community. That realization sparked my passion for mental health, and it's the reason I want to pursue a career that not only helps people heal but also breaks down cultural and systemic barriers to care. I want to become a mental health professional who centers culturally responsive, trauma-informed care. My goal is to work at the intersection of psychology, community organizing, and policy, creating safe, accessible spaces for marginalized individuals, especially BIPOC, LGBTQ+, and immigrant communities who are often left out of mainstream conversations about mental wellness. The current mental health system wasn’t built with us in mind, and I want to be part of the generation that helps change that. This passion is deeply personal. I’ve seen loved ones struggle in silence, unable to access resources due to stigma, language barriers, or financial constraints. I’ve also wrestled with my own anxiety, and it wasn’t until I had the courage to seek therapy that I understood the power of being seen, heard, and validated. It made me wonder, what if everyone had access to that kind of support? What if healing wasn’t a privilege, but a right? Academically, I’ve grounded this passion through psychology coursework, research assistant positions, and volunteer work. One project that left a deep impact on me involved studying the effects of racial trauma on youth identity development. The research was eye-opening, but what struck me most were the real stories behind the data like stories of pain, resilience, and strength. That experience reinforced the importance of representation in both research and practice. Outside the classroom, I co-led a campus mental health initiative focused on destigmatizing therapy among students of color. We hosted workshops, peer support circles, and collaborated with local therapists to offer free sessions. The most rewarding part wasn’t the turnout, it was the conversations. Hearing someone say, “I thought I was the only one,” reminded me why this work matters. Diversity and inclusion are not just buzzwords to me, they’re the foundation of equity in mental health care. I plan to advocate for training programs that prioritize cultural humility, expand bilingual and bicultural services, and push for policy changes that fund community-based mental health initiatives. Whether it’s through counseling, research, or public policy, I want to challenge the one-size-fits-all model and help build a system that honors everyone’s story. My journey into mental health began with silence, but it’s turning into something powerful like a voice, a purpose, and a commitment to helping others find healing on their own terms.

There’s something oddly calming about whisking up a cup of matcha. Maybe it’s the way the bright green powder swirls into the water, or how the bitter, earthy smell hits my nose before I even take the first sip. Either way, drinking matcha has become more than just a habit, it’s a ritual that brings me peace, focus, and joy in the middle of life’s chaos. I didn’t always drink matcha. Like most people, I started with coffee, lots of it. The quick energy was great at first, but I started noticing the crash that came with it. I’d feel jittery, anxious, then suddenly exhausted. I needed something smoother. That’s when I stumbled into the world of matcha. At first, it was just curiosity. I saw photos online, matcha lattes with perfect foam, trendy cafes serving matcha everything, and I figured, why not give it a try? The first time I made matcha at home, I did it wrong. No whisk, no sifter, just dumped it into hot water and stirred with a spoon. It clumped, tasted grassy, and I almost gave up on it. But something about it stuck with me. Maybe it was the color that vibrant green felt alive. Or maybe it was the idea of slowing down and doing something with intention. I did some research, watched a few videos, and learned how to make it properly. Now, it’s a whole process. I heat the water to just the right temperature not boiling. I sift the matcha so there are no clumps, then whisk it in a zigzag motion until it foams. The act itself is meditative. It forces me to slow down. No phone, no rush. Just me and the matcha. That’s what I love most about it, it makes me pause. Drinking matcha also gives me a different kind of energy. It’s not a jolt like coffee. It’s more of a steady, clear-headed focus. That’s thanks to L-theanine, an amino acid in matcha that promotes calm without drowsiness. It helps me concentrate, especially when I’m studying or working on something creative. It’s like my brain is alert but not stressed, a rare feeling these days. Beyond the physical and mental effects, matcha also has a cultural richness I admire. It’s been used in Japanese tea ceremonies for centuries not just as a drink, but as a spiritual practice. There’s respect in the way it’s made and shared. I’m not saying I’m doing a full-on tea ceremony every morning, but I try to honor that spirit of mindfulness. Even a small ritual like making matcha reminds me to be present. So yeah, I drink matcha because it tastes good, helps me focus, and makes me feel calm. But more than that, it’s become a little daily reminder that taking a few moments for yourself, even just to make tea is worth it. In a world that’s always go-go-go, matcha helps me breathe.

One technology that continues to inspire me is telemedicine. While it’s not new, the way it has evolved and expanded, especially during the COVID-19 pandemic, shows how technology can break down barriers and make healthcare more accessible, equitable, and human-centered. Growing up in a low-income, immigrant household, going to the doctor wasn’t always simple. It involved long travel times, missed work hours, and sometimes, avoiding care altogether due to fear of costs or language barriers. I remember watching my parents hesitate to book appointments because they weren’t sure if they could explain their symptoms properly, or if they could afford the visit. These moments stuck with me. Telemedicine has the power to change that. It brings healthcare to people wherever they are, whether it’s a student juggling classes, an elderly patient who struggles with mobility, or an immigrant parent who feels more comfortable accessing services from the safety of their home. It can reduce transportation costs, lower no-show rates, and make follow-up care easier. When combined with features like language interpretation or personalized health portals, it becomes even more inclusive. What inspires me most is the idea that a screen and a stable internet connection can create a lifeline for someone in need. And as a future medical professional, I see how this technology can help close gaps in care for marginalized communities. It’s not about replacing in-person visits altogether, it’s about expanding options and making healthcare more flexible and patient-centered. Telemedicine also intersects with neuroscience in exciting ways. For example, patients with neurological or mental health conditions can receive regular support through virtual check-ins, which is especially helpful for those in rural or underserved areas. It removes the stigma of walking into a clinic and makes treatment more consistent. Of course, there are challenges, like access to reliable internet or digital literacy, but those are problems we can solve with better infrastructure and education. The potential is too great to ignore. To me, telemedicine is more than a convenience, it’s a symbol of what compassionate innovation looks like. It shows how technology, when designed with empathy and equity in mind, can help heal not just individuals, but systems. That’s the kind of impact I want to be part of as I pursue a career in medicine.

As a first-generation college student and the child of Vietnamese immigrants, entering higher education often feels like walking into a room where everyone else already knows the rules. From the beginning, I’ve had to figure things out on my own like how to apply for financial aid, register for classes, find internships, and even what questions to ask. There were no family roadmaps or college stories passed down. I had to build mine from scratch. This outsider perspective has shaped every step of my journey. While some of my peers came into college already knowing about pre-med timelines, MCAT prep, and research opportunities, I started with none of that. I had to learn quickly and lean on trial and error. But that also made me resourceful and resilient. I’ve learned how to navigate challenges, ask for help, and seek out communities that support students like me. It hasn’t been easy, but I’m proud of how far I’ve come and how much I’ve grown. Being the child of immigrants also gives me a different lens on what education means. For my parents, education was the dream they sacrificed so much for. They worked long hours in physically demanding jobs, not for themselves, but so I could have opportunities they never had. Every exam I study for and every late night I spend working toward my goals is rooted in their sacrifices. It’s not just about me earning a degree, it’s about honoring the journey that brought me here. My experiences have also deeply influenced my future goals. I want to become a physician who understands the struggles of families like mine, those who don’t speak the language fluently, who are nervous about asking questions, who delay care because they can’t afford it. I want to be a bridge between medicine and the communities that are too often left behind. My long-term goal isn’t just to treat patients, but to advocate for health equity and cultural understanding in the medical field. Still, I sometimes worry whether I truly belong in spaces where few look like me or share my background. Imposter syndrome is real. But I remind myself that being an outsider also gives me a unique voice, one that’s rooted in empathy, determination, and lived experience. Education has changed my life, and I hope to use it to change the lives of others. My journey hasn’t been traditional, but it’s been real and that’s what drives me forward.

My interest in neuroscience began with a very simple question: how do our thoughts, emotions, and behaviors arise from the brain? But as I’ve grown older and reflected on my upbringing, I’ve realized that my curiosity about the brain was also deeply personal. I grew up as the child of Vietnamese immigrants, often stepping into adult roles to help my parents navigate the healthcare system. I wasn’t just translating words, I was translating fear, confusion, and hope. These early experiences made me realize how powerful communication and understanding are in medicine. They also made me want to be part of that system, not just to help others navigate it, but to change it from within. As a first-generation college student majoring in neuroscience at UC Riverside, I’ve worked hard to carve a path for myself in a field where people like me are underrepresented. Neuroscience gives me a window into how we experience the world, recover from trauma, and heal through both medicine and care. I’m especially interested in how neurological conditions can impact underserved communities, where access to early diagnosis or treatment is often limited. My long-term goal is to become a physician who not only treats patients but also advocates for culturally competent care and equity in healthcare delivery. Being an underrepresented minority in this field is both challenging and motivating. There are moments when I feel the weight of being the “first” and/ or “only” in the room. But I also know that my perspective matters, that someone who understands the cultural and socioeconomic barriers faced by many patients can make a real difference. I want to be a role model for younger students, especially girls of color, who might not see themselves represented in science or medicine yet. Financial adversity has been part of my story too. I’ve balanced school with part-time jobs and unexpected responsibilities, like paying for my dog’s surgery and rent using my refund money. I’ve learned how to budget, prioritize, and ask for help when needed. A scholarship would relieve some of that financial pressure, allowing me to focus more on academics, clinical experience, and preparing for the MCAT. Ultimately, I’m not just pursuing a degree but I’m pursuing a purpose. I want to build a career rooted in compassion, curiosity, and representation. This scholarship would help me keep moving forward, not just for myself, but for everyone I hope to serve.

Growing up in a Vietnamese immigrant household, I often found myself translating medical documents, asking questions on behalf of my parents at doctor appointments, and navigating a system that wasn’t designed with families like mine in mind. Those experiences taught me early on how intimidating and inaccessible healthcare can feel, especially when language, culture, and socioeconomic barriers are at play. It’s what first sparked my interest in medicine, and why I’ve chosen to study neuroscience at UC Riverside as I prepare to pursue medical school. Neuroscience fascinates me because it helps us understand the brain, the control center of everything we do, think, and feel. I’m drawn to how neurological and psychological factors intersect in a person’s health, and I want to be the kind of doctor who treats people with empathy and context, not just symptoms. In the short term, my goal is to continue gaining clinical experience, strengthen my academic foundation, and find mentorship through programs that support underrepresented pre-med students. In the long term, I hope to become a physician who serves low-income and immigrant communities, with a focus on closing cultural and communication gaps in patient care. Being an underrepresented minority in this field adds both weight and meaning to my career goals. There are very few doctors who look like me or understand the lived experiences of people from my background. That lack of representation can have real consequences, misunderstandings, misdiagnoses, or a simple lack of trust in the healthcare system. I want to be part of the change. I want younger students to see someone like me in a white coat and believe that they, too, belong in medicine. And I want my future patients to feel heard, safe, and understood. Financially, this journey is not easy. I’ve been working while in school to support myself, and any extra income often goes to essential expenses like rent, food, and helping with my family’s needs. This past year, unexpected veterinary bills and housing costs stretched my savings thinner than I anticipated. A scholarship like this would not only reduce financial stress, but also allow me to focus more on my academic and professional development. I could afford MCAT prep materials, reduce work hours during critical semesters, and even take on unpaid research or volunteer opportunities that are vital for med school applications. Ultimately, I see this scholarship not just as financial support, but as an investment in someone who wants to give back. I carry my community with me in everything I do, and I’m committed to creating a future where more people, regardless of background, have access to compassionate, culturally competent healthcare.