My name is Asma, and I am an immigrant woman from Afghanistan whose life and education were shaped by war. I would describe myself as someone shaped by loss, responsibility, and resilience. Afghanistan, a country where, since 2021, girls and women have been banned from attending school and university. Education was not just difficult for me, it was taken away entirely. Leaving my home was not about choice; it was about survival and the fear that my future would end before it ever began. I lost loved ones, stability, and the basic right to learn. Those experiences deeply shaped my values, gratitude and an unshakable sense of responsibility toward my family. When schools and universities were closed to girls, I felt something inside me break. Studying had always been my hope, and suddenly that hope was illegal. Watching opportunities disappear simply because of my gender left me with grief, anger, and fear. My parents made the impossible decision to leave everything familiar behind so I could have a chance at an education. Their sacrifice is something I carry with me every day, and it is the reason I take my education so seriously now. Although I am not Nigerian, I feel a strong connection to the African and global immigrant diaspora. Many African immigrant stories reflect the same realities I have lived, forced displacement, interrupted education, cultural loss, and the pressure to succeed not just for oneself, but for an entire family. Immigrant women across Africa and beyond often fight quietly for opportunities that should have been guaranteed. That shared struggle creates a deep sense of connection and understanding for me. Living and studying in the United States came with its own challenges. The culture shock was overwhelming. English was not my first language, and communicating in classrooms or social settings often made me anxious. I remember knowing the answers but hesitating to speak, afraid of making mistakes. Adjusting to a new education system, new expectations, and a new culture required constant effort. Over time, these struggles taught me adaptability and patience with myself. Through my educational journey, I’ve gained new perspectives about myself and the world. I learned that strength does not always look confident or loud, sometimes it looks like showing up quietly and continuing even when everything feels heavy. I’ve seen how unequal access to education is globally, and how rare and fragile opportunity can be. I’ve also learned that I am capable of rebuilding, even after having everything taken away. My academic and career goals are rooted in a desire to create stability and give back. I want to build a future where financial insecurity and fear no longer define my family’s life. My parents worked endlessly and sacrificed their own comfort and safety so I could study, and making them proud is one of my greatest motivations. I also hope to support immigrant families who feel overwhelmed navigating systems they were never taught to understand. Receiving this scholarship would ease financial pressure and allow me to focus more fully on my education. More than that, it would affirm that immigrant women, especially those who were denied education simply because of their gender, belong in academic spaces. I carry my past with me, but I am determined to build something stronger from it, for my parents, my community, and myself.

I became an immigrant before I was ready to understand what that really meant. Leaving my home country wasn’t about chasing a dream, it was about safety. We left because staying was no longer an option. I didn’t just leave a place behind; I left people I loved, memories, and a life that ended too suddenly. When I came to the United States, everything felt unfamiliar. I struggled with the language, the culture, and the constant feeling of being out of place. English didn’t come naturally to me, and that made even simple conversations stressful. I remember feeling frustrated when I knew exactly what I wanted to say in my head but couldn’t find the words to say it out loud. It made me feel small and invisible at times. Making friends was another challenge. Back home, connection came easily. Here, I had to learn how to approach people, explain myself, and fit into a culture I didn’t grow up in. There were many lonely moments where I questioned whether I truly belonged. Cultural differences made me second-guess myself constantly, from the way I spoke to the way I carried myself. Being an immigrant also meant financial stress became part of everyday life. My family started from nothing. There was no safety net, no savings, no one to guide us through the system. I had to learn early how to balance college with work and responsibilities at home. Education felt fragile, something that could easily be taken away if money or circumstances changed. Despite all of this, college slowly became the one thing that gave me direction. I didn’t always feel confident, but I showed up. I learned, failed, tried again, and kept going. Over time, I realized I wanted a future built on stability, something my family never had the chance to experience. That’s why I chose to study finance. I want to understand how money works, how systems operate, and how people can protect themselves from constant uncertainty. My career goal is to work in finance and eventually help immigrant and first-generation families who feel overwhelmed by the system. I’ve seen how confusing and intimidating financial systems can be when you’re new to a country. I want to be someone who helps make those systems easier to understand and less frightening. Being an immigrant has shaped everything about me, how I think, how I work, and how I dream. I’ve learned resilience the hard way. I’ve learned how to start over, even when I didn’t feel ready. My journey hasn’t been easy, but it has given me clarity. I don’t take opportunities lightly, and I know how much effort it takes to build something from nothing. I’m still learning. I’m still growing. But I know why I’m here, and I know where I’m trying to go. And for me, that makes all the struggle worth it.

Some losses stay with you in ways that never fully fade. For me, that loss is my friend Leen. She was someone I grew up with back in my home country, someone who understood my world in a way few others could. Losing her to violence rooted in addiction changed the way I see safety, trust, and the fragility of life itself. Leen grew up in a home shaped by fear. Her father struggled with drug use and was often abusive, creating an environment where violence felt unavoidable. Even as children, we understood that her home was not a safe place. She carried that weight quietly, trying to be strong in circumstances no one should have to endure. When she passed away due to violence connected to that environment, it shattered me. It felt unfair and sudden, like her life had been cut short before she ever had a real chance to escape what surrounded her. After her passing, I was overwhelmed by grief and helplessness. I struggled with guilt for surviving when she didn’t, and with the haunting thought that her life could have been different if circumstances had changed. There were moments when I questioned the goodness of the world and felt emotionally numb. Trauma like this doesn’t disappear, it lingers in memories, in fear, and in the way you carry loss forward. To cope, I turned inward. Journaling became a quiet form of survival for me. I wrote letters to Leen that she would never read, describing the things I wished I could have said and the life I hoped she could have lived. Writing helped me release emotions I didn’t know how to speak aloud. It allowed me to process grief at my own pace, without judgment. Over time, journaling helped me understand that pain does not mean weakness, it means love existed. I also practiced moments of reflection and stillness, which became my version of meditation. Sitting with my thoughts, breathing through the heaviness, and allowing myself to feel without running from it helped bring clarity. These practices did not erase the pain, but they softened it. They taught me patience with myself and showed me that healing is not linear. Leen’s story is one of the main reasons I want to continue my education. I want to build a life defined by stability, safety, and purpose, things she was denied. College represents hope to me. It is a way to break cycles of violence and instability, and to honor those we have lost by choosing growth instead of surrender. Education gives me direction when grief tries to pull me backward. The biggest influences in my life are those who have endured hardship with quiet strength, friends like Leen, whose resilience still inspires me, and people who use their voices to speak about healing, justice, and compassion. Even those I have never met but admire for their work in mental health and advocacy remind me that pain can be transformed into purpose. Leen’s life and loss will always be part of me. Through healing practices like journaling and reflection, I carry her memory forward, not in despair, but in determination. I choose to keep going for both of us.

To me, legacy is not about what someone owns or how they are remembered by name, it is about what they pass forward. Legacy lives in the values we carry, the choices we repeat or reject, and the impact we leave on people we may never meet. It is quiet, long lasting, and shaped by intention. That is why legacy matters to me so deeply, it is one of the few things that continues even when circumstances change. My upbringing taught me early that not all cycles are meant to be continued. Growing up amid instability, loss, and limited access to opportunity shaped my understanding of the world and my place within it. Education was not always guaranteed, and long term planning often took a backseat to immediate survival. Still, I grew up surrounded by resilience, people who endured difficult conditions and kept moving forward despite uncertainty. That resilience became the foundation of my own path. At the same time, my upbringing showed me patterns I did not want to repeat. Financial insecurity, lack of access to academic guidance, and the absence of generational stability created barriers that affected not just individuals, but entire families. I saw how limited access to education and resources could restrict choices for years. Recognizing these patterns pushed me to pursue a different future, one grounded in knowledge, structure, and long term thinking. Legacy, for me, means breaking cycles that no longer serve growth while preserving the strength that came from surviving them. I plan to break the cycle of instability by pursuing higher education in a field rooted in analysis, systems, and problem-solving. STEM and related academic disciplines appeal to me because they emphasize logic, planning, and evidence based solutions. These fields offer tools to understand how environments, systems, and decisions shape human lives, knowledge that can be used to design more equitable and sustainable futures. Continuing the cycle of resilience while breaking the cycle of limitation is at the core of my goals. I want my legacy to reflect access instead of restriction, preparation instead of uncertainty, and opportunity instead of survival mode. Education allows me to transform lived experience into insight and action. It gives me the ability to contribute thoughtfully rather than reactively. I also see legacy as responsibility. What I learn does not belong to me alone. I plan to share knowledge, encourage curiosity, and support others who may not initially see themselves reflected in academic or STEM spaces. Representation matters, but guidance and persistence matter just as much. By continuing my education, I hope to become part of a cycle where knowledge is passed forward instead of withheld. Dr. Samuel Attoh’s dedication to academia represents the kind of legacy I admire. One built on commitment to learning and the belief that education shapes futures beyond a single lifetime. Honoring that legacy means carrying forward the values of inquiry, discipline, and service. My goal is not just to succeed academically, but to ensure that the path I walk becomes wider and more accessible for those who follow.

There were moments in my life when continuing my education felt heavier than stopping. Mental health struggles, grief, and the pressure of responsibility often made it hard to see past the present moment. Still, I chose to keep going, not because it was easy, but because giving up would have meant letting adversity decide my future for me. Mental adversity has been one of my greatest challenges. Losing loved ones and navigating major life changes deeply affected my emotional well being. There were periods when anxiety and exhaustion made it difficult to focus, and times when motivation felt out of reach. On some days, simply showing up to class required more strength than anyone around me could see. Instead of ignoring these struggles, I learned to acknowledge them and adjust how I moved forward. One of the most important steps I took was learning how to continue even when I was not at my best. I broke large goals into smaller, manageable one, focusing on completing assignments one step at a time rather than overwhelming myself with the bigger picture. I learned to ask for help when needed, whether that meant reaching out to professors, using academic resources, or leaning on trusted people in my life. These steps helped me stay enrolled and continue progressing toward my career goals. Balancing school with work and personal responsibilities also required bravery. Financial pressure meant I could not pause my education, even when life felt overwhelming. I developed discipline and time-management skills out of necessity, learning how to protect my goals even during difficult periods. Choosing consistency over perfection became a turning point. I reminded myself that progress does not always look impressive, it often looks like persistence. Another step I took was reframing adversity as part of my growth rather than a sign of weakness. Instead of seeing my struggles as barriers, I began to see them as experiences that strengthened my resilience. Mental adversity taught me patience, empathy, and self awareness, qualities that will serve me far beyond the classroom and into my future career. These experiences shaped my determination to build stability and independence through education. Continuing my education has become an act of bravery in itself. Each semester I complete is proof that adversity did not stop me from moving forward. I carry my challenges with me, but they no longer control my direction. I am still pursuing my career aspirations with intention, even when the path feels uncertain. Audra Dominguez’s legacy of bravery reminds me that strength is often quiet and unseen. For me, bravery has meant choosing to continue when stopping felt easier, believing in my future during moments of doubt, and committing to my goals despite mental and emotional hardship. I am still becoming who I am meant to be, but every step forward is one I take with courage.

Education did not enter my life as a straight path toward success. It entered as a lifeline. During moments when everything else felt uncertain, my sense of stability, my future, even my confidence, education became the one thing that gave me direction. It helped me understand not only where I was going, but who I was becoming. When life felt overwhelming, learning gave me something steady to hold onto. I come from a background shaped by displacement, loss, and financial insecurity. These challenges affected my family deeply and shaped how I viewed the world at a young age. For a long time, my focus was simply on adapting and surviving difficult circumstances. Planning for the future felt distant, and sometimes unrealistic. However, when I began pursuing higher education, something shifted. School gave me structure when life felt chaotic, and it gave me a reason to believe that my circumstances did not have to define my ending. Education helped me discover my goals gradually, not all at once. As I progressed through my studies, I realized that learning was more than earning grades. It was about gaining clarity and confidence. I began to understand my strengths, my interests, and my desire to build a stable future not only for myself, but for my family as well. Being in college taught me how to think critically, manage my time, and push through moments of self doubt. It also taught me patience with myself, especially during periods when progress felt slow. The challenges I have overcome while pursuing my education are deeply personal. Mental health struggles, grief from losing loved ones, and the constant pressure of financial responsibility often made balancing school and life overwhelming. There were days when exhaustion made it hard to focus and nights when anxiety made it difficult to rest. At times, I questioned whether continuing my education was realistic given everything else I was managing. Still, I kept showing up, sometimes with confidence, other times with nothing but determination. Balancing work and school became another test of resilience. Supporting myself while staying enrolled required discipline and sacrifice. I learned how to prioritize responsibilities, make difficult choices, and accept that perfection was not always possible. Some semesters were about survival, staying enrolled, passing my classes, and protecting my mental health. Other semesters allowed me to rebuild confidence and rediscover motivation. Through it all, education remained my anchor. It reminded me that setbacks do not erase effort, and that perseverance often matters more than speed. Rather than discouraging me, these obstacles shaped my mindset. I learned that growth does not happen in comfort, and that progress is often quiet and unseen. Education taught me how to keep moving forward even when results were not immediate. It helped me develop resilience, adaptability, and a deeper belief in my ability to overcome challenges without losing hope. Today, my education has given me a clearer sense of direction. I am pursuing a degree that aligns with my desire to create financial stability and independence. Financial insecurity can limit opportunities, strain mental health, and affect entire families for generations. I want to use what I learn to help others avoid the uncertainty and stress that my family experienced. By gaining knowledge and skills, I hope to contribute to solutions that promote long term stability and access to opportunity, especially for underserved communities. My vision for the future is not defined by status or recognition. A better future, to me, means having the ability to support my family with dignity, contribute positively to my community, and create opportunities for people who feel overlooked or underestimated. I want to be someone who proves that perseverance matters, especially for students who begin their journey with fewer resources or guidance. I hope to show that growth is possible even when the path is difficult. Education has also taught me compassion. Struggling alongside others has shown me that many students carry invisible burdens. Because of this, I approach my goals with humility and gratitude. I know that every step forward is built on sacrifice, both my own and those made by people who believed in me when I struggled to believe in myself. I carry those lessons with me in how I treat others and how I define success. The Dream BIG, Rise HIGHER Scholarship represents more than financial support. It represents encouragement, the reminder that effort is seen and that growth matters. This support would allow me to focus more fully on my education and continue building a future rooted in purpose, resilience, and service. I may not know exactly where my path will lead, but education has given me the confidence to keep going. It has taught me that who I am becoming matters just as much as where I am headed. No matter how difficult the journey has been, I continue to rise, step by step, guided by learning, hope, and determination.

I am an Afghan undergraduate student pursuing a degree in Finance, and my path to higher education has been shaped by displacement, loss, and resilience. I did not grow up seeing people who looked like me represented in professional fields like finance or business. Instead, I grew up understanding what financial instability feels like and how deeply it can affect families, especially those impacted by conflict, migration, and systemic barriers. Those experiences are what led me to choose my field of study and shape the impact I hope to make. I chose finance because financial knowledge is power. Coming from a background where survival often came before planning, I saw how a lack of access to financial education limits opportunity. Many immigrant and underrepresented families work endlessly yet remain stuck in cycles of stress due to limited understanding of banking, credit, investing, and business systems in the U.S. I want to change that. Studying finance allows me to learn how money moves, how businesses grow, and how individuals can build long-term security instead of living paycheck to paycheck. As a BIPOC woman from an Afghan background pursuing finance, I represent a very small percentage of the field. Women are already underrepresented in finance, and women of color even more so. Afghan women in U.S. finance are especially rare due to cultural barriers, educational disruption caused by conflict, and limited access to mentorship. In many professional finance spaces, I am often the only person with my background in the room. Rather than seeing that as a disadvantage, I see it as responsibility. I plan to make an impact by using my education to improve financial access and literacy within underserved communities. My long term goal is to work in financial services and eventually build programs or a business focused on helping immigrants, refugees, and first-generation families understand budgeting, credit, and entrepreneurship. When people understand money, they gain confidence, independence, and the ability to plan for the future. That kind of empowerment creates ripple effects across entire communities. Inspiring the next generation starts with visibility. I want young students, especially those from immigrant backgrounds, to see that they belong in finance, business, and leadership roles. I plan to mentor, share my educational journey openly, and advocate for financial education to be introduced earlier and made more accessible. Representation matters, but guidance matters just as much. By showing persistence, discipline, and integrity, I hope to make the path feel more possible for those who come after me. This scholarship would support more than my education. It would affirm the importance of diversifying fields like finance and investing in students who are committed to lifting others as they rise. I am determined to turn opportunity into impact and to help reshape my field into one that is more inclusive, accessible, and representative of the communities it serves.

I did not grow up surrounded by business owners, investors, or safety nets. I grew up learning how quickly stability can disappear and how much strength it takes to rebuild from nothing. Those experiences shaped both my academic path and my decision to pursue entrepreneurship, not as a dream of luxury, but as a mission to create security, independence, and opportunity where none existed before. I am currently pursuing higher education in Finance, a field I chose deliberately. Finance teaches more than numbers; it teaches how systems work, how decisions compound over time, and how risk can be managed rather than feared. Coming from a background affected by displacement, loss, and financial uncertainty, I saw firsthand how a lack of financial knowledge can trap families in cycles of stress and dependence. I chose finance because I want to understand money deeply enough to use it as a tool, for building businesses, supporting families, and creating long-term stability instead of short-term survival. I have planned an entrepreneurial career because I do not want to rely on fragile systems that can fail people during their hardest moments. Entrepreneurship represents control over my future and the ability to create solutions instead of waiting for them. I plan to build a business rooted in financial services and education. One that helps individuals and small businesses, especially those from underrepresented or immigrant backgrounds, gain access to financial clarity and opportunity. I believe businesses should do more than generate profit; they should solve real problems and leave people better than they were before. I will be successful because I understand discipline, adaptability, and persistence. I have learned that failure is not an ending, it is feedback. Balancing college, work, and family responsibilities has taught me time management, resilience, and accountability. I am not afraid of long hours, delayed rewards, or starting small. I am consistent, reflective, and willing to learn from both mistakes and mentors. To me, a successful life is not measured by titles or income alone. Success means waking up without fear of instability, being able to support my family with dignity, and creating opportunities for others who are starting from behind. It means building something lasting, something that reflects both competence and compassion. Higher education is the foundation that will allow me to turn ambition into execution and vision into impact. Jessie Koci’s story reflects initiative, grit, and the courage to carve one’s own path. I see those same values in the future I am building. One decision, one lesson, and one calculated risk at a time.

Some of my earliest memories are shaped by loss. While other children worried about homework or weekend plans, I learned what it meant to grieve before I fully understood what grief was. Losing loved ones at a young age did not just create sadness in my life, it quietly changed the way my mind learned to cope with the world. Mental illness did not arrive suddenly for me; it grew slowly, shaped by trauma, fear, and the constant feeling that stability could be taken away at any moment. Mental illness has deeply affected both me and my family. I watched people I loved struggle silently, carrying pain they did not know how to explain. In my own life, grief turned into anxiety, emotional numbness, and long periods where I felt disconnected from myself. There were days when simply getting out of bed felt overwhelming, and nights when my thoughts would not slow down enough to let me rest. I learned early how isolating mental health struggles can be, especially when you feel pressure to stay strong for others. Coming from a background shaped by conflict, displacement, and loss only intensified these struggles. As an Afghan student who had to rebuild life in a new country, I carried not only my own pain but also the emotional weight of my family’s sacrifices. I often felt guilty for struggling mentally when survival itself had already demanded so much from those around me. This guilt made it harder to ask for help and easier to internalize pain instead of expressing it. Despite these challenges, mental illness did not define the end of my story, it reshaped my purpose. Over time, I learned that acknowledging pain is not weakness. Seeking education became my way of reclaiming control and creating meaning from loss. Studying finance is not just a career goal for me; it represents stability, independence, and the ability to support my family in ways that mental illness once made feel impossible. Education has given me structure during chaos and hope during moments when my mental health felt fragile. Mental illness has also taught me empathy. Because I know what it feels like to struggle silently, I am deeply aware of the unseen battles others carry. I try to show up for people with patience and understanding, knowing how powerful it can be to feel seen. I believe that honoring Elizabeth Schalk’s memory means continuing conversations about mental health with honesty and compassion, especially within families where suffering is often hidden. This scholarship would ease a significant financial burden and allow me to focus more fully on my education and healing. More importantly, it would affirm that my struggles matter and that resilience born from mental illness is worthy of support. I carry my loved ones with me in everything I do, and I am committed to building a future that honors their memory by turning pain into purpose.

I was still a child the first time I learned what fear feels like in the body. The kind that tightens your chest and never fully leaves. In my country, war was not something you heard about on the news. It lived with us. Day and night, it shaped how we slept, how we spoke, and how we imagined our future. From a young age, my mental health began to fracture under the constant pressure of uncertainty, violence, and loss. As the years passed, I lost loved ones, safety, and the sense that the world could ever be predictable. The fear did not disappear when the bombs stopped for a moment; it stayed inside me. I became hyper alert, anxious, and deeply lonely. Even in rooms full of people, I felt isolated, as if no one could truly understand what it means to grow up expecting something bad to happen at any moment. That loneliness slowly became part of who I was, eating away at my peace from the inside. When education for girls was banned, my mental health reached its breaking point. School had been my escape, my hope, and my proof that life could become more than survival. When it was taken away, I felt stripped of my purpose and voice. Depression deepened, and the silence around mental health in my community made it worse. I learned to hide my pain, to survive quietly, because talking about mental health felt shameful, even dangerous. Even now, living in the United States, the fear has not fully left me. My family is finally physically safe, yet my mind refuses to believe it. I live with the constant anxiety that something terrible will happen, that I will lose them the way I lost others before. Trauma does not respect borders. It followed me here. I have accepted that the war broke parts of me that cannot be fully repaired, and that realization itself has been one of the hardest truths to face. These experiences have shaped my relationships profoundly. I love deeply, but I am afraid of loss. I care intensely, yet I guard myself. I have learned to be strong for others while quietly carrying my own pain. At the same time, my struggles have given me empathy and sensitivity toward others who suffer in silence. I notice pain quickly, because I recognize it. My journey with mental health has reshaped my aspirations. Education is no longer just a goal, it is survival, healing, and resistance. I want to build a future rooted in stability, understanding, and compassion. I want to be part of a world where mental health is spoken about openly, especially in communities where silence has caused so much harm. I may never be the person I was before the war, but I am still here. And choosing to keep going, despite the weight of everything I carry, is the bravest thing I have ever done.

Growing up, I learned early that my identity would shape my path in ways I did not choose. As an Afghan woman and a member of a BIPOC community, access to education was never guaranteed. It was something I had to fight for. In a country where girls’ education became unsafe and restricted, my dream of attending college felt fragile, yet it became the very reason I refused to give up. Leaving my home meant leaving behind familiarity, stability, and certainty. Starting over in the United States as an immigrant student was overwhelming. I had to navigate a new language, a new academic system, and a culture where I often felt invisible or misunderstood. Being a racial minority on campus meant constantly proving that I belonged, academically, socially, and professionally. At times, isolation and financial stress made the journey feel unbearable, but they also strengthened my determination. As a first-generation college student, I did not have guidance on how college worked. I began my education at a community college because it was the only financially realistic option. While some view this path as a setback, I see it as proof of resilience. Balancing coursework with part-time work while supporting my family has required discipline, sacrifice, and persistence. I have learned how to advocate for myself in spaces that were not designed with students like me in mind. My identity as an underrepresented minority continues to influence my goals. Studying Finance is not just a career choice, it is a response to instability. I want to build financial security for myself and my family and help others who come from marginalized backgrounds navigate systems that often exclude them. I understand firsthand how lack of financial literacy and access can limit opportunity, especially for immigrant and minority families. In the future, my identity will continue to guide my purpose. I plan to use my education to support underserved communities by promoting financial empowerment and stability. Representation matters, and I want to be someone younger students can look to and think, “If she made it, maybe I can too.” My experiences have taught me that ambition is not about privilege, it is about persistence. Being an underrepresented student has shaped every step of my journey. It has made the road harder, but it has also given me clarity, drive, and purpose. This scholarship would not only ease the financial burden of continuing my education, but it would also affirm that students like me belong in higher education. I am determined to turn the challenges tied to my identity into impact, growth, and opportunity, for myself and for others who are still searching for their place.

Selective mutism has shaped my life in ways most people never see. To others, it often looks like shyness or silence, but for me, it has been an invisible wall that decides when my voice works and when it disappears. I remember sitting in classrooms knowing the answer, my heart racing, my throat tightening, and my hand frozen on the desk while the teacher waited. I wanted to speak so badly, but my body simply would not let me. Growing up, selective mutism affected almost every part of my daily life. In school, I struggled with participation, presentations, and even simple tasks like asking to use the restroom. Group activities were especially difficult. I once spent an entire group project silently nodding while my classmates talked around me, afraid that if I tried to speak, nothing would come out. Teachers sometimes thought I was unprepared or uninterested, when in reality, I was trying to manage overwhelming anxiety just to be present. I was diagnosed after educators and healthcare professionals noticed that my silence was not a choice, but a response to anxiety. Learning that there was a name for what I was experiencing was both painful and relieving. Painful because it confirmed that this was something real and deeply rooted, but relieving because it meant I was not broken or alone. Understanding my diagnosis helped me begin finding ways to cope, communicate differently, and slowly push myself forward. Selective mutism has also shaped my relationships. Social gatherings can still be intimidating, especially in unfamiliar environments. There have been times when I avoided events altogether because the pressure to speak felt unbearable. Yet, living with selective mutism has also taught me empathy, patience, and resilience. I have learned how to listen deeply, observe carefully, and communicate through actions when words fail me. Pursuing higher education is incredibly important to me because it represents more than a degree. It represents growth, independence, and courage. College has challenged me in ways that scare me, but it has also shown me how far I have come. Each class discussion I participate in, each email I send advocating for myself, and each presentation I complete feels like a personal victory. Education gives me structure, purpose, and the confidence to keep stepping outside my comfort zone. Despite selective mutism, I am deeply ambitious. I want to build a future where my voice, spoken or unspoken matters. Higher education gives me the tools to achieve stability, contribute meaningfully to my community, and prove to myself that anxiety does not define my limits. This scholarship would not only support my academic journey, but it would affirm that students like me, who fight silent battles every day, deserve the chance to move forward. Selective mutism may have slowed my voice, but it has never stopped my determination. I am still moving forward, one step, one word, one achievement at a time.

The greatest obstacle I have faced in pursuing higher education was losing my right to learn overnight. When extremist forces took control of my home country, life changed instantly, especially for girls. Schools closed. Universities became forbidden spaces. Dreams that once felt normal suddenly became dangerous to hold. Before the takeover in Afghanistan, I believed education was my path forward. I worked hard, planned for university, and imagined a future shaped by learning. That future was taken away without warning. Girls were told to stay home. Walking outside felt unsafe. Fear became part of daily life. I watched years of effort disappear, not because I lacked ability or motivation, but because I was a girl in a country where education became a threat. Living under those conditions taught me what it means to have resilience forced upon you. Every day required courage, courage to hope quietly, to protect your dreams, and to survive uncertainty. I felt grief not only for myself, but for millions of girls whose voices were silenced. Education, something so basic elsewhere, became an act of defiance. Eventually, I was able to move to the United States with my family. Starting over was both a blessing and a challenge. I arrived carrying trauma, gaps in my education, language barriers, and financial hardship, but also determination. Enrolling in college for the first time felt unreal. Sitting in a classroom without fear, raising my hand, and planning a future again was something I once thought I would never experience. Despite this progress, the journey remains difficult. Financial pressure is constant. As a student rebuilding from displacement, I rely heavily on scholarships and aid to continue my education. I am not running from hardship, I am facing it head on, because education is the one thing that was taken from me, and now reclaimed. In the future, I plan to use my education to give back to my community by supporting individuals affected by displacement, poverty, and lack of access. Through education and service, I want to help others navigate systems that once felt impossible to me. I hope to be a voice for those who are still unheard and to create opportunities for people who were denied them. My journey has taught me that education is not just personal success, it is collective responsibility. This scholarship would help me continue forward, not only to achieve my goals, but to honor those who still cannot. I carry my past with me, but I am building my future with purpose, gratitude, and strength.

My first language is Persian, also known as Farsi. The language of my home, my childhood, and my earliest sense of belonging. It is the language I learned to express love, fear, humor, and hope long before I ever understood English. When I moved into an English speaking academic world, I did not leave Farsi behind; instead, I learned how to carry two languages, two ways of thinking, and two versions of myself at the same time. Learning and studying in English as a second language has been one of the most challenging parts of my education. In classrooms, I often understood the material but struggled to express my thoughts as quickly or confidently as native speakers. I spent extra hours translating assignments in my head, rereading instructions, and double-checking every sentence to make sure it sounded “right.” There were moments when I felt behind, not because I lacked understanding, but because language slowed me down. At times, it was frustrating to know I was capable, yet feel limited by words. Outside of school, being bilingual meant taking on responsibility early. I often acted as a translator for my family, reading documents, explaining systems, and helping navigate life in a new environment. While this role was heavy at times, it taught me maturity, patience, and accountability. I learned that language is not just about vocabulary; it is about trust, clarity, and connection. Despite the challenges, being bilingual is one of my greatest strengths. Speaking Farsi has allowed me to stay deeply connected to my culture, values, and identity. It reminds me where I come from and grounds me during moments of uncertainty. Being bilingual has also sharpened my listening skills and empathy. I pay close attention to tone, context, and meaning, skills that go beyond language and into understanding people. Academically and professionally, being bilingual has shaped my goals. I am pursuing higher education with the intention of building stability and opportunity, not only for myself, but for others who face similar barriers. After graduation, I plan to continue developing my skills in business and finance, where clear communication, cultural understanding, and trust are essential. I hope to work in environments where I can support diverse communities, especially individuals and families who feel overwhelmed by systems because of language barriers. Being bilingual has taught me resilience. It has shown me how to adapt, how to keep learning, and how to turn difficulty into growth. English may not be my first language, but it is a language I fought to master, one essay, one conversation, one brave moment at a time. Farsi remains the language of my heart, and English has become the language of my future. Together, these languages represent who I am. Someone shaped by challenge, strengthened by responsibility, and driven by ambition. I carry both with pride as I move forward in my education and beyond.

The first time I listened to “Defying Gravity,” I didn’t just hear a song, I felt seen. Wicked quickly became more than a musical to me; it became a story that put words and music to feelings I had carried quietly for a long time. The magic of Wicked isn’t only in Oz or its spectacle, but in how deeply human its characters and themes are. What I love most about Wicked is how it challenges the idea of being “good” or “wicked.” Elphaba’s journey especially resonates with me. She is misunderstood, judged for being different, and pushed to fit into a version of herself that others find acceptable. Watching her choose authenticity over approval was powerful. Her decision to stand alone, even when it costs her friendships and safety, reminded me that doing the right thing is not always rewarded, but it is still necessary. Wicked also explores friendship in a beautifully complicated way. Elphaba and Glinda are not perfect friends, yet their relationship feels real. They hurt each other, learn from one another, and grow apart while still being forever changed by their bond. “For Good” captures this perfectly. The idea that someone can change your life simply by being in it, even briefly, means a lot to me. It taught me that not all meaningful relationships last forever, but they still matter deeply. Another reason I love Wicked is how empowering it is. “Defying Gravity” is not just about flying, it’s about refusing to shrink yourself to make others comfortable. It’s about choosing courage when fear would be easier. As someone who has faced moments of doubt, insecurity, and feeling out of place, Wicked reminded me that strength doesn’t always look loud or popular. Sometimes it looks like standing firm in who you are. The excitement surrounding the Wicked movie adaptation only deepened my love for the story. Seeing these characters brought to life again feels like a celebration of everything the musical stands for, individuality, resilience, and hope. Wicked has remained relevant because its message is timeless: being different is not a flaw, and choosing integrity over acceptance is a form of bravery. Ultimately, I am a fan of Wicked because it gave me permission to believe in myself more fully. It taught me that identity is something you grow into, not something you must earn from others. Wicked made me feel less alone in moments when I questioned my place in the world. Wicked doesn’t promise an easy ending, but it offers something better, truth, courage, and the reminder that even if the world misunderstands you, your story still matters. That is why Wicked will always hold a special place in my heart.

My “Pie in the Sky” dream is simple to say, but heavy to carry. I want to make my parents proud of me in a way that brings them peace. Not just momentary happiness, but the deep relief of knowing that all they sacrificed led to something steady, meaningful, and hopeful. This dream was sparked long before I ever put it into words. It began in quiet moments. Watching my parents worry in silence, adjust to a new country, and carry the weight of starting over without complaint. Life did not give them an easy path, and moving to a new place meant learning everything again from the ground up. I saw how hard they worked, how much they gave up, and how often they put my future before their own comfort. Even when things were uncertain, they never stopped believing in me. As a result, my dream grew quietly alongside their sacrifices. I did not dream of instant success. I dreamed of stability. Of becoming someone they could look at and feel calm instead of worried. Someone whose education, resilience, and independence would finally allow them to breathe easier. That dream still feels just out of reach, not because I doubt it, but because the road toward it is long and demanding. Starting life in a new country has been challenging in ways that are hard to explain. Everything, from education systems to finances to social expectations, felt unfamiliar. There were moments when progress felt slow, when balancing school, responsibility, and emotional pressure felt overwhelming. Yet each obstacle strengthened my determination. I realized that my dream was not just about personal success; it was about honoring the people who believed in me even when the future was unclear. To reach this dream, I know I must continue taking courageous steps, even when fear or doubt appears. Continuing my education is the foundation. Each class I complete is a brick laid toward stability. I am learning to advocate for myself, seek opportunities, and stay consistent even when results are not immediate. I am also learning that asking for help is not weakness, it is part of growth. Beyond academics, I believe I must stay rooted in community and accountability. I cannot reach this dream alone. Surrounding myself with people who encourage growth, who remind me why I started, and who believe in long-term effort over quick results is essential. Courage, for me, is continuing forward even when I do not have everything figured out yet. My “Pie in the Sky” dream may not sound grand, but it is deeply powerful to me. I want my parents to look at me one day and feel proud. Not just of what I achieved, but of who I became along the way. I want to give back the security, hope, and belief they gave me when they had so little certainty themselves. This dream is still growing. It is fueled by love, resilience, and quiet determination. And every step I take, no matter how small, brings it closer to reality.

I grew up learning early that love does not always come in simple shapes. My family was not a traditional single-parent household, but a blended one, formed through resilience, adjustment, and quiet sacrifice. Living in a blended family taught me that stability is not something you are handed; it is something you build, piece by piece, through patience, understanding, and effort. Being raised in a blended household meant learning how to adapt constantly. There were moments of emotional tension, financial uncertainty, and responsibilities that felt heavier than my age. I watched my parent navigate challenges with strength, balancing work, emotional care, and the needs of multiple people while still encouraging me to dream bigger than our circumstances. Even when things were difficult, I was never made to feel unsupported. That example shaped the way I approach life: with determination, gratitude, and a strong sense of responsibility. Growing up this way forced me to mature quickly. I learned how to be independent, how to manage uncertainty, and how to stay focused even when life felt unstable. While other students worried only about grades, I also worried about helping my family, being emotionally present, and making sure I did not become another burden. These experiences made me disciplined, resilient, and deeply motivated to succeed. Not just for myself, but for the people who raised me with limited resources and unlimited belief. My blended family experience also taught me empathy. I became sensitive to the struggles people carry quietly, because I lived in a household where strength was often silent. I learned to listen carefully, help without being asked, and offer understanding instead of judgment. These qualities now guide how I interact with classmates, coworkers, and my community. Academically, I have maintained a strong GPA because education represents hope and opportunity to me. It is my path toward stability and independence. More importantly, it is my way of honoring the sacrifices my family made so I could focus on learning and growth. Every achievement I earn feels shared, because it is built on their perseverance. In the future, I want to use my talents to do good by creating stability where there is uncertainty, especially for people from underserved or financially strained backgrounds. Whether through a career in finance, education, or community-focused work, my goal is to help others build secure futures for themselves and their families. I want to support individuals who, like my family, work tirelessly but lack access to resources or guidance. I may not yet know the exact career path I will follow, but I know the values that will guide me: responsibility, compassion, and service. My upbringing in a blended family gave me those values. It taught me that doing good does not always look grand. It often looks like showing up, staying consistent, and lifting others when life feels heavy. This scholarship would support not only my education, but my mission to turn resilience into impact. I carry my family’s lessons with me every step forward, determined to raise myself and others up through purpose, perseverance, and service.

Service, to me, begins with noticing when someone needs help and choosing to step in, even in small ways. As a student who had to rebuild her education and life after displacement, I know how overwhelming it can feel to navigate systems alone. Because of that, giving back has never felt optional to me. It feels like responsibility. Currently, I give back through everyday acts of service rooted in empathy and shared experience. In academic spaces, I regularly help classmates understand coursework, prepare for exams, or navigate unfamiliar processes such as registration, financial aid, or scholarships. Many students, especially those from underrepresented or international backgrounds hesitate to ask for help. I make an effort to be approachable and supportive, knowing how much encouragement can matter when someone feels unsure or overwhelmed. I also give back through my work environments, where teamwork and service are essential. Balancing part-time work with full-time college, I consistently support coworkers, step in when help is needed, and contribute to a positive, respectful atmosphere. I believe service is not limited to formal volunteering; it is reflected in reliability, kindness, and the willingness to uplift others in everyday roles. Learning about Priscilla Shireen Luke deeply resonated with me because her life centered on spreading hope and serving others selflessly. That commitment reflects how I view impact, not as recognition, but as meaningful change created through care and consistency. I strive to lead through action, helping others move forward quietly but intentionally. In the future, I plan to help the world further through my career in finance. I see financial knowledge as a powerful tool for empowerment and long-term stability. Many individuals and families struggle not because they lack ambition, but because they lack access to guidance and resources. Through my career, I hope to support underserved communities by promoting financial literacy, responsible planning, and informed decision-making. Whether through working with nonprofits, community programs, or individuals directly, I want to help people build security and confidence in their futures. Beyond my profession, I plan to remain actively involved in service-oriented initiatives that support education and economic access. I hope to mentor students navigating college for the first time, help others understand scholarship opportunities, and contribute to organizations that focus on equity and opportunity. Priscilla Shireen Luke’s legacy reminds me that service is about leaving the world better than you found it. Through my actions today and my goals for the future, I am committed to spreading hope, creating access, and helping others move forward, one person at a time.

Learning about Kalia D. Davis, I was struck by her work ethic, kindness, and commitment to excellence. She was someone who showed up fully in every part of her life, academics, athletics, leadership, and service, while still encouraging those around her. Those qualities immediately resonated with me because they reflect how I strive to live my own life. Like Kalia, I value discipline, resilience, and leading through action, whether that means giving my best effort, supporting others, or continuing to move forward even when circumstances are difficult. I have always tried to carry those same values in my own life, and sports, especially basketball, played a major role in shaping them. From 2019 to 2021, I played basketball, where being part of a team taught me accountability, focus, and perseverance. Like Kalia, I learned that excellence comes from consistency and showing up even when progress feels slow. Basketball taught me how to stay calm under pressure, trust my teammates, and give my best effort in every situation. Lessons that continue to guide me beyond the court. In 2021, my athletic journey came to an abrupt stop. Due to war and increasing restrictions against girls, continuing both education and sports became unsafe. Stepping away from basketball was difficult, but it forced me to adapt. I learned that resilience is not only about persistence in familiar spaces, but also about finding strength when those spaces are taken away. Today, as an undergraduate student in the United States, I carry the same discipline and sense of responsibility that defined Kalia’s approach to life into my academic and professional journey. I balance full-time college coursework with part-time work, approaching both with consistency, accountability, and care. Like Kalia, I believe in showing up fully, staying focused, and giving my best effort, especially during challenging moments. This mindset continues to guide how I face obstacles, set goals, and move forward with purpose. I am pursuing a degree in finance because I believe financial knowledge is a powerful form of empowerment. Many students and families struggle not because they lack ambition, but because they lack access to guidance and resources. Through my career, I hope to help individuals build stability through financial literacy, responsible planning, and informed decision-making. I want to support others who are working hard to move forward, just as encouragement and opportunity have supported me. This scholarship would make a meaningful difference in my educational journey. Managing tuition and living expenses on my own has often meant choosing between financial survival and academic focus. There are moments when the weight of responsibility feels heavy, especially knowing how much my education represents not just my future, but stability for my family as well. Receiving this support would ease that burden and allow me to devote my full energy to learning, growing, and building a future I have worked hard to reach. Kalia D. Davis lived with purpose, excellence, and heart. Her legacy inspires me to continue striving, supporting others, and giving my best in every area of my life. With this support, I am committed to turning resilience into impact and ambition into meaningful progress.

Community service, to me, means using what I have to help others move forward. Especially when access, guidance, or opportunity is limited. As a student who had to rebuild her education after displacement and financial hardship, I understand how life changing it can be when someone takes the time to support you. Community service is not just about volunteering hours; it is about responsibility, empathy, and lifting others as you climb. Throughout my college journey in Colorado, I have balanced full time coursework with part time work while actively supporting my peers and community. In academic settings, I often help classmates understand assignments, prepare for exams, or navigate unfamiliar systems such as registration, financial aid, or scholarships. Many students, especially first generation or international students feel overwhelmed and unsure where to begin. Being able to guide them, even in small ways, has shown me how meaningful service can be when it comes from shared experience. Working while attending college has also shaped my understanding of service. In fast paced, team based environments, I have learned the importance of reliability, cooperation, and stepping in when others need help. Whether covering shifts, assisting coworkers, or maintaining a positive environment for customers, I see service as showing care through consistent effort. These experiences have reinforced my belief that strong communities are built when people look out for one another, even in everyday roles. I plan to give back to my community through my career in finance. Finance is often seen as numbers and spreadsheets, but I see it as a powerful tool for stability, access, and opportunity. Many individuals and families struggle not because they lack ambition, but because they lack financial knowledge, guidance, or resources. Through my career, I hope to help bridge that gap by supporting financial literacy, responsible planning, and access to opportunities for underserved communities. Specifically, I aim to work in areas of finance that allow me to support individuals, small businesses, or organizations that serve low-income or marginalized populations. I want to help people understand budgeting, credit, saving, and long term planning so they can make informed decisions about their futures. I also hope to remain involved in mentoring students, especially those navigating college for the first time, by helping them understand scholarships, financial aid, and career planning, much like Allison Swanberg did for countless students in her community. Community service is deeply personal to me because I know what it feels like to need support and not know where to find it. My goal is to build a career that allows me to be a source of guidance, stability, and encouragement for others. By combining my passion for finance with a commitment to service, I hope to honor the legacy of helping students and families achieve their goals, no matter where they are starting from.

When I read about Malgorzata “Maggie” Kwiecien moving to the United States alone, without a support system, and refusing to let fear stop her from pursuing education, I felt an instant connection, because I too, know what it means to risk everything for the right to learn. I still remember the fear of walking to school knowing that simply wanting an education could put my life at risk. In Afghanistan, being a girl who wanted to learn was not a quiet dream, it was an act of defiance. While my path and Maggie’s began in different places, the courage it took to keep moving forward despite fear, isolation, and uncertainty is something we deeply share. Like Maggie, my journey to the United States was not easy or safe. My family and I escaped Afghanistan during a time of violence, instability, and extremist control. Schools were shut down, universities were banned, and girls were told their futures no longer mattered. On one occasion, I was stopped on my way to class by armed extremist members simply because I was trying to study. In moments like that, fear becomes constant, but so does determination. Education was never just a goal for me, it was survival. Maggie moved to the U.S. without a support system, relying only on her strength and belief in herself, a reality I relate to deeply. Coming to the United States meant starting over in every sense, new language, new culture, financial instability, and the emotional weight of leaving everything familiar behind. Like Maggie, I had to be brave without knowing what the outcome would be. There was no safety net, only persistence. I also see myself in Maggie’s devotion to learning. She was determined to master whatever she committed to, and I carry that same mindset into my education. As a Finance student, I am determined to master skills that will allow me to rebuild stability after displacement and help create security for my family. Despite trauma, poverty, and displacement, I have continued pursuing my studies because knowledge is the one thing that cannot be taken from me. Maggie’s passion for education reminds me why I refuse to give up, even when the journey feels overwhelming. Financial hardship has been a constant challenge in my life. The collapse of my country and the loss of stability forced my family into poverty, and rebuilding from nothing in a new country has been extremely difficult. I work while attending school, and every opportunity I receive determines whether I can continue my education. Like Maggie, I am ambitious, not because I seek comfort, but because I know what it means to live without opportunity. Maggie’s life represents courage in motion, intellectual and emotional bravery. While my challenges were different, the essence is the same: leaving home, facing fear, and choosing to keep going. I am like Maggie because I refuse to let hardship define my limits. I am determined to build a future through education, no matter how difficult the path. This scholarship would honor Maggie’s legacy by supporting a woman who, like her, crossed borders for education and refused to let hardship define her future. I am deeply in need of support to pursue my education, and this opportunity would help me carry forward Maggie’s legacy by continuing my education with the same determination and courage.