I am a 38-year-old first-generation college student, spouse, and father who has taken the long way around to medicine. I grew up curious about how minds and bodies work while also navigating life as a neurodivergent kid with ADHD. School did not always know what to do with that, but it raised questions about learning, behavior, and why some people flourish in a system while others are left behind. Watching my grandfather live with dementia, and my grandmother with Alzheimer's disease, sharpened those questions and made them personal. I became less interested in abstract curiosity and more focused on how to reduce suffering for real people and families. That is why I am majoring in Psychology and Chemistry pre-med at Ohio University while working full-time and raising a baby. I started back to school while my wife was pregnant, finished my second semester with a newborn, and am now completing my first full-time semester with an infant at home. It is exhausting, and it is exactly where I want to be. These experiences have shaped my core values of curiosity, empathy, and grit, and my passion for human health and wellness as my life’s work. For me, empathy is not just feeling for someone. It is choosing to make space for their full story, even when it is inconvenient or uncomfortable. I learned that in a small used bookstore that I ran in my hometown. On the surface, it was a place for paperbacks and coffee, but in reality, it became a space where people tested whether I would truly see them. Kevin was one of the first to teach me that. When he began coming in, I was wary. His delivery was very direct, and his questions were probing, and in a tense political climate, I was protective of the shop as a safe space. Over time, I learned that he was not trying to provoke me. He was a warehouse worker who had lived a life of art, music, and advocacy and who simply wanted a friend. He brought in books to donate, and we spent hours talking about ideas, sometimes disagreeing, always respectfully. As he grew thinner and paler, he mentioned his cancer almost casually, more interested in our next conversation than in being treated as a tragedy. After he died, I realized how much it had meant to him to be treated as a whole person rather than as “a cancer patient” and how much it had meant to me to be trusted with his story. Kim taught me a different side of empathy. She was well known downtown long before she began transitioning. I was honored when, before she presented as female, she sat in my shop and shared her intention to pursue gender affirming care. She talked about wanting to feel whole, about the mix of support and hurt from people who had known her for years, and about the difficulty of finding psychiatrists and counselors who truly understood trans patients. In the bookstore, my job was not to give advice or turn her into a symbol. It was to listen, to use her name and pronouns, to let her vent about clinics and shoes that never fit, and to offer a space where she could talk about dresses, favorite cafes, and the parts of her life that had nothing to do with diagnosis codes. Knowing she chose my store as a place to be fully herself taught me that empathy can look like steady, ordinary presence over time. These experiences shape how I think about empathy in my future medical career. Patients will arrive with complicated histories, with identities that have been questioned, and with fears they may not yet have words for. Empathy will mean seeing beyond labels, respecting how people name themselves, and creating space for safety before solutions. Working through a human-centered lens will mean asking what each encounter feels like from their side of the room and shaping my communication, pace, and decisions around that reality. The bookstore taught me to sit with people as they are. Medicine will give me the tools to pair that presence with effective care.

I was raised to believe that where you start in life doesn’t define where you’ll end up, but it does shape how you choose to help others. As a first-generation college student and future physician, I carry with me a deep understanding of what it means to navigate systems not built with people like me in mind. And because of that, I’ve made it my mission to serve those who are too often overlooked or underserved by the healthcare system. I’m currently pursuing a degree in psychology at Ohio University with plans to attend medical school and become a psychiatrist. My interest in medicine started early, sparked by monthly science books my parents subscribed me to before I could even read. I would spend hours flipping through images of planets, animals, and the human body, captivated by the complexity of life and the power of healing. That early curiosity never left me, it just grew more focused as I learned how mental health, trauma, and access to care can profoundly shape a person’s life. But my path hasn’t been easy. I was diagnosed with ADD as a child and spent years struggling to find the right balance of medication, structure, and support. I often felt like my brain worked against me, racing ahead in some areas, stalling out in others. I’ve also had to navigate the financial realities of college largely on my own. Being first generation means there’s no family playbook for higher education. Everything I’ve achieved so far has been the result of perseverance, trial and error, and learning how to advocate for myself. Those challenges have become the foundation of my purpose. I plan to use my career in medicine to make healthcare more human, more empathetic, more accessible, and more inclusive. I want to work in underserved communities, particularly with children and adolescents, helping them manage mental health issues early and fully. I want to be the kind of doctor who doesn’t just treat symptoms, but understands the social, emotional, and cultural roots of a person’s pain. Like Catrina Celestine Aquilino, I believe justice and care should never depend on where someone was born or what circumstances they come from. I want to extend my reach across communities, crossing boundaries of class, race, and geography to bring compassionate care to those who need it most. In the future, I also hope to work on public health initiatives and policy reform, helping reshape systems that too often fail vulnerable populations. What stands out to me most about Catrina’s legacy is the way she cast her circle wide, learning from other cultures, listening to unheard voices, and offering her brilliance with generosity and humility. That’s the model I hope to follow in medicine. Not just to practice, but to serve. Not just to cure, but to connect. Receiving this scholarship would not only support my journey to medical school, but it would also connect me to a legacy of courage, compassion, and justice. It would remind me that no matter the obstacles I’ve faced, I have a responsibility to reach back, reach out, and help others find their way forward.

I wasn’t born into a family of doctors, but I carry the dreams of one. My grandmother was a candy striper who eventually became a phlebotomist, or as she proudly called herself, a “veena puncturist.” She was drawn to medicine, driven by compassion and curiosity, and if life had offered her more opportunities, I believe she would have become a physician. That dream, unrealized in her lifetime, lives on in me. I want to become a medical doctor because I believe healing is about more than diagnosing conditions, it’s about seeing people fully. From the time I was a child, flipping through monthly science books before I could even read, I was fascinated by the human body and mind. That early wonder transformed into a deep desire to understand people and help them through some of the hardest moments of their lives. Over time, my passion focused on psychiatry, where I hope to provide care to underserved communities often left behind by our healthcare system. But getting here hasn’t been easy. I’m a first-generation college student, and navigating higher education has meant facing challenges at every turn. I’ve had to figure out everything, from how to fill out financial aid forms to how to balance work and coursework, all on my own. The path to medicine is already demanding, but when you’re also carrying the weight of financial strain, every step forward feels like a fight. Preparing for medical school has been one of the most rewarding and difficult experiences of my life. Between tuition, textbooks, MCAT prep, and the looming cost of applications and travel, the financial barriers are real and ever-present. Still, I push forward because the end goal isn’t just a title, it’s a mission. I want to become the kind of doctor who brings care to communities where it’s often absent, especially when it comes to mental health. I want to be a consistent, trustworthy presence in the lives of people who feel invisible. The story of Emanuel “Manny” Weiner resonates deeply with me. Like my grandmother, he had the heart, intellect, and drive for medicine but was held back by financial constraints. I often think about how many brilliant, compassionate people are never given the chance to become the doctors they could be. That thought doesn’t discourage me, it motivates me. It reminds me that every scholarship, every ounce of support, matters. The challenges I’ve faced have shaped me into someone who will not just be a doctor, but a deeply empathetic one. I’ll walk into every exam room carrying not only my knowledge, but also the understanding of what it means to struggle, to be unseen, to have to fight for every opportunity. And I’ll use that understanding to listen more closely, to advocate more fiercely, and to serve with a level of care that goes beyond clinical treatment. This scholarship would not only lighten my financial burden, but it would also affirm the legacy I carry and help me turn generational limitations into lifelong impact.