“And an orator said, Speak to us of Freedom. And he answered: At the city gate and by your fireside I have seen you prostrate yourself and worship your own freedom. Even as slaves humble themselves before a tyrant and praise him though he slays them. Ay, in the grove of the temple and in the shadow of the citadel I have seen the freest among you wear their freedom as a yoke and a handcuff. And my heart bled within me; for you can only be free when even the desire of seeking freedom becomes a harness to you, and when you cease to speak of freedom as a goal and a fulfilment.” - Kahlil Gibran, The Prophet Humans have long chased after the concept of freedom, to be rid of their oppressors and live in peace. But what exactly is freedom? Many interpretations have arisen over the years, and one of the most compelling definitions arises from Kahlil Gibran’s The Prophet, a short story about a prophet who visits the island of Orphalese and advises its people. While discussing freedom, the prophet claims that freedom is not the lack of chains but rather the ownership of them, an assertion that is worth analyzing. In The Prophet, the prophet is asked a number of questions by the various inhabitants of Orphalese. Among them is an orator who asks what freedom truly is. Every questioner has a unique relationship with the topic they ask about, such as a priestess asking about love and a hermit asking about pleasure, and here too is such a connection. Orators are skilled in using flowery language to convey messages, usually about abstract concepts such as love or freedom. For an orator to ask what freedom truly means rather than attempting to define it himself, it demonstrates to the audience that Gibran is not trying to glamorize the concept or appeal to any particular emotion like hope or passion, but rather that he is delivering the truth of the matter through the character of the prophet. Thus, the definition of freedom that he presents may not align with what is commonly heard in social circles, not because he is particularly pessimistic but rather because he has no need to romanticize the concept to make it more palatable to the audience. If they wish to accept it, they may, and if they deny it, then he has told his truth and has no need to convince them further, because unlike an orator, the job of a prophet is merely to convey the message. After establishing that he is only conveying the reality of freedom and not what humans idealize it to be, the prophet describes people’s current understanding of freedom. He states people are worshipping their own freedom even as it holds them back and kills them, both metaphorically and literally. Regarding the former, people pursue the concept of freedom so much that their lives revolve around the idea of ridding themselves of their perceived shackles, whether that be familial obligations like raising children or social rules like maintaining polite mannerisms. In doing so, they isolate themselves from all the characteristics that once defined them, causing the metaphorical death of their previous self. When they examine this change and all its associated issues, they do not blame it on their pursuit of freedom but rather increase their desire for freedom because they think that true freedom will rid them of these issues. In doing so, the concept of freedom becomes a shackle for them. It prevents them from facing reality like a yoke that drags their heads down, and chains them to burdens they cannot break from like handcuffs that prevent them from grasping the future. When they realize they will never be satisfied with the level of freedom in their life, they are drawn to despair, which could result in their literal death. Thus, those who treat the concept of freedom as a goal will forever find it unattainable, and it is most unfortunate that most do not realize this. Once he has illuminated the folly of freedom as most people interpret it, the prophet reveals the true meaning of freedom: to accept the chains that define you. When a person constantly pursues the ideal of freedom, he continues to give up aspects of himself until he is left a hollow shell, and even then he is not satisfied because he can never obtain the level of freedom he idealizes. However, when a person accepts the state he is in, then the things that bind him are no longer chains but rather harnesses through which he can achieve his goals. For example, a mother may reject the job of raising her children in the hopes that it will bring her freedom, but she will then face other struggles like social ostracization which will make her desire a greater freedom, so she will be chained by a continuous pursuit for more freedom to her own detriment. If she instead chooses to accept the job of raising her children, seeing it as a choice she is willingly making, then she will obtain freedom in the sense of seeing her job as a choice rather than an obligation, so she will feel free despite outwardly being shackled down. Hence, it is not when one rejects their binds, but rather when one becomes the owner of their binds, that one is truly free. Thus, from the perspective of Gibran's prophet, the mainstream depiction of freedom is but a pointless pursuit, and only when one accepts their identity with all its associated obligations is freedom achieved. There is much thought given to this claim, and perhaps his point is true. But as there is no universal definition of freedom, you are free to accept or reject his claim as you desire. After all, that is the beauty of freedom.

Fate. It’s a concept hard to understand, and quite a few don’t believe in it, but I find it is the perfect word to describe my motivation. One of the most common ways to define it is as circumstances outside one’s control, events that happen because another wants them to. In that sense, much of my life was fated. I did not choose to be a girl, yet because I lacked a Y chromosome, society deemed that enough justification to undermine me in every room I entered. Moving from Atlanta to Easton to Baltimore, I quickly realized this was not the fault of a few self-absorbed children but of a culture that taught women’s voices mattered less. Still, I refused to be silent. Heroes in the stories I loved often faced impossible odds, yet prevailed. I set out to do the same, speaking louder, pushing harder, and defying expectations. It was not easy, but I began to see that resistance itself was strength. At home, however, the rules were different. In my patriarchal, family-oriented culture, the only expectations of me were to marry, have children, and raise them well. While this did not explicitly prevent me from pursuing education, it did push me toward jobs deemed “appropriate,” such as technology. I was good at it, and for a while, I didn’t feel my options were limited. But then I took an anatomy class in high school, and later began volunteering at a hospital. For the first time, I found something that excited me not just intellectually but emotionally. Unlike IT, where my skills felt detached, medicine allowed me to learn deeply about human health while directly helping people. When I decided to pursue medicine, I was met with discouragement, especially from family. I was told it would take too long, that it would make raising a family impossible, that I should choose something simpler. But my heart is set on it, and I refuse to accept that saving lives and raising lives must be mutually exclusive. As a future physician, I want to prove that women can pursue demanding, meaningful careers in healthcare and still honor other parts of their identity if they choose. I want to serve as proof that women belong in medicine, and that their ideas, research, and voices are just as valuable as their male counterparts. I want to mentor young women who feel pressured to abandon their dreams, and I want to advocate for equity in healthcare, especially for patients and communities too often overlooked. In a way, you could say I was fated to become a doctor. Not fated in the sense of obeying another’s will, but in the sense of inevitability, because every time I defied expectations, I moved closer to this path. Through medicine, I intend not only to heal patients but to challenge the structures that once tried to silence me. My fate is not just to enter healthcare, but to change it for the better.

When I became president of Mu Alpha Theta, our school’s math honor society, I set out to create a peer-to-peer tutoring program that would help students struggling in math. What I didn’t anticipate was just how many obstacles I would face—and how much I would grow in overcoming them. The vision seemed simple: offer tutoring during lunch so students could get help in subjects like Geometry, Algebra II, and even AP Calculus BC. But starting something from scratch proved anything but easy. No infrastructure existed. There was no list of volunteers, no system for scheduling, no method for tracking hours. Worse, there was no student interest—because no one even knew the program existed. So I started building. First, I coordinated with the math department to get permission to run the sessions. I created a shift schedule, personally recruited tutors from our club, and tracked hours using spreadsheets I formatted with conditional color coding for clarity. To spread awareness, I visited every math classroom in the school and gave short presentations about the free lunch tutoring we were offering. I also wrote weekly school-wide announcements and encouraged teachers to recommend students. At first, almost no one came. It was disheartening to have gone through all the planning only to sit alone during lunch with no one to tutor. But I kept showing up. And when my volunteers couldn't attend, I covered their shifts. Slowly, one or two students began coming in for help. Then more. Eventually, we were tutoring two to three students every session. Some came back repeatedly. Teachers began noticing improved performance. Counselors started referring students to us. Now, the administration has even requested that we expand the program to after school. What began as an idea—one that nearly failed in the beginning—grew into one of our school’s most impactful student-led services. This journey was filled with personal and logistical challenges. I had to build confidence in public speaking to present in classes. I had to stay patient and persistent through weeks of low turnout. I had to organize a system that could work even when others dropped the ball. Most importantly, I had to believe in what I was doing even when no one else did—yet. Through it all, I gained invaluable skills in leadership, communication, organization, and empathy. I learned how to adapt to setbacks, motivate others, and create something lasting out of nothing. I also learned how to meet people where they are, especially those who feel discouraged or behind. This experience solidified my passion for service and teaching—and it reaffirmed my goal of becoming a doctor. I want to continue helping others overcome what seems overwhelming, whether it’s a math problem or a medical crisis. I now understand that great things don’t just come from talent—they come from grit, heart, and refusing to give up when things don’t go as planned.

Most children dream of becoming superheroes, saving lives, and making the world a better place. While many outgrow that dream, I never did. As a Muslim, I have always believed that to save a single life is to save all of humanity (Qur’an 5:32). This deeply rooted belief, along with my passion for service, has shaped my educational journey and inspired me to pursue a career in healthcare, where I can dedicate my life to saving others. For as long as I can remember, I aspired to become a doctor, though I wasn’t sure which specialty to pursue. That changed when my mother suddenly fell ill, and doctors struggled to determine the cause. After numerous tests, they discovered she was pregnant—an unexpected and high-risk situation due to her age. Her doctors warned that survival was uncertain, but thanks to the expertise of the obstetricians and her own resilience, both she and my sister survived. Witnessing the impact of these doctors firsthand solidified my passion for medicine and inspired me to pursue obstetrics, so I, too, could safeguard the lives of mothers and their children. My educational journey has been shaped by resilience, ambition, and an eagerness to bridge the gaps in healthcare. To prepare for medical school, I have already begun earning college credits through dual enrollment at my local community college while in high school. I plan to complete my bachelor’s degree in bioinformatics, a field that merges biology, computer science, and data analysis to uncover new medical insights. Through bioinformatics, we can analyze vast amounts of genetic and clinical data to detect disease patterns, improve diagnostics, and personalize treatments. I hope to apply these skills to women’s health, conducting research that addresses gaps in maternal and reproductive care, particularly in underserved communities. With this foundation, I will continue to medical school, where I plan to specialize in gynecology and obstetrics. Combining my medical expertise with my background in bioinformatics, I aspire to advance research in maternal-fetal medicine, improving outcomes for high-risk pregnancies like my mother’s. By leveraging data-driven insights, I hope to develop innovative solutions that enhance prenatal care, reduce maternal mortality, and bridge the gap in women’s healthcare. However, my journey is not just about personal success—it is about paving the way for others like me. While I may wear a hijab instead of a cape, I am determined to be a hero in my own way. Just as doctors saved my mother’s life, I want to be the reason someone else survives to see another day. This scholarship will provide me with the support I need to complete my undergraduate education, but my commitment to serving others extends beyond my own aspirations. In the future, I plan to mentor and support Muslim students in my community by helping them secure internships at the hospital where I hope to work. Additionally, I want to encourage young Muslim girls to pursue careers in medicine while staying true to their faith, proving that they can achieve their dreams in a way that aligns with Shariah and Sunnah. By pursuing gynecology, I am not just following a career path—I am embracing a lifelong mission to uplift others, save lives, and empower the next generation of healthcare professionals. With this scholarship, I will take one step closer to making that vision a reality.

Most children dream of becoming superheroes, saving lives, and making the world a better place. While many outgrow that dream, I never did. I have always believed that to save a single life is to save all of humanity—after all, what is the world without the people in it? My dream of making a difference led me to pursue a career in healthcare, where I could dedicate my life to saving others. For as long as I can remember, I aspired to become a doctor, though I wasn’t sure which specialty to pursue. That changed when my mother suddenly fell ill, and doctors struggled to determine the cause. After numerous tests, they discovered she was pregnant—an unexpected and high-risk situation due to her age. Her doctors warned that survival was uncertain, but thanks to the expertise of the obstetricians and her own resilience, both she and my sister survived. Witnessing the impact of these doctors firsthand inspired me to pursue obstetrics, so I, too, could safeguard the lives of mothers and their children. The first step toward this goal is earning a bachelor’s degree, a journey I have already begun by taking dual enrollment classes at my local community college while in high school. I plan to complete my degree in bioinformatics, a field that merges biology, computer science, and data analysis to uncover new medical insights. Through bioinformatics, we can analyze vast amounts of genetic and clinical data to detect disease patterns, improve diagnostics, and personalize treatments. I hope to apply these skills to women’s health, conducting research that addresses gaps in maternal and reproductive care. With this foundation, I will continue to medical school, where I plan to specialize in gynecology and obstetrics. Combining my medical expertise with my background in bioinformatics, I aspire to advance research in maternal-fetal medicine, improving outcomes for high-risk pregnancies like my mother’s. By leveraging data-driven insights, I hope to develop innovative solutions that enhance prenatal care, reduce maternal mortality, and bridge the gap in women’s healthcare. While I may not wear a cape, I am determined to be a hero in my own way. Just like doctors saved my mother’s life, I want to be the reason someone survives to see another day. Pursuing gynecology is my way of making a lasting impact, and this scholarship will help turn that vision into reality by providing me with some assistance in completing my bachelor’s degree.

Life is an unknown, a variable we are forever trying to solve. Like pi, it goes on forever despite all our attempts to solve it. Those who dedicate their lives to solving pi may certainly benefit that niche of mathematics, but little else, seeing as the working value of pi as the first forty digits and a symbol suffices for most purposes. Similarly, there are numerous aspects of life whose discovery wouldn’t bring much benefit to humanity besides a particular niche, as the working understanding of them suffices most. How do we reach these working understandings that do benefit the masses? Through leaders who parse through the science and reach these conclusions. The nature of science is to question everything, and the well-known postulate of education is that no question is dumb. Scientists embody these principles to their core, researching everything that piques their curiosity. They do not pause for laymen, as their purpose is to satisfy their own curiosity. It is for this reason we need leaders, those who are presented with the data and determine the conclusions needed to benefit humanity. Take for example the calendar, an invention so mundane many take it for granted. When asked how many days are in a year, most of us reply 365, unless it is a leap year where we reply 366. These numbers suffice for the general population, yet astronomers use 365.24219 when solving calculations. The generalization of this number is due to Julius Caesar, who developed the Julian Calendar that was later revised by Pope Gregory into the calendar most countries use today. Caesar tasked his astronomers with developing the calendar and implemented it throughout his empire in a way that everyone could understand. Were there not to be a leader like Caesar who could not only guide astronomers to research what benefits the public as well as their curiosities, but also implement it into society in such a way that future generations have benefited for eons, it’s possible we could still be living in a world divided by calendar systems. Just like the astronomers of ancient Rome, scientists of today have the potential to solve numerous problems in ways we could not dream of. When world leaders urged scientists to develop a vaccine for COVID-19, they were able to create a safe and effective vaccine within a year. The issue is not their lack of intelligence, or even motive, but rather lack of guidance and support from leaders. We need leaders that have the ability to direct scientists and give them the support they need to fulfill their research, whether it be financial aid, physical resources, or societal acceptance. Only then will the science of today benefit the life of tomorrow. I see myself as one of those leaders, ready to guide others in the benefit of humanity. I plan on pursuing computational biology, a newly emerging field that deals with applying the principles of computing to biology. To become a leader in this field, I will need a degree in computational biology. I plan on using this scholarship to assist me in the pursuit of such a degree. With it, I plan to help not a niche of people, but rather that will continue to benefit the future generations that come after me.

9. 10. 11. For a moment, the car seemed to stop, but then it rolled one more inch. Twelve inches. Our prototype mousetrap car had rolled all of one measly foot. The assignment was relatively simple: design a mechanical car powered by a mousetrap able to travel at least thirty feet. We had a week to develop and test the prototype, followed by another week to make improvements before the final test. My partner and I spent the first class researching designs, deciding on a v-shaped car with large wheels in the back and smaller wheels in front. The next class we brought in materials, but neither of us were able to find wheels that matched our design. We resolved to work with what we had: one pair of extremely large wheels out of frisbees and two pairs of CD wheels. We researched again and discovered a design that only used two large wheels with a mousetrap seated in between. We spent the third and last class of the week building our new design. However, it barely rolled a foot in the initial test. It was at that point I knew we were in trouble. I went home worried about the mousetrap car. How were we going to design a new car that moved thirty feet in just one week? Other people’s cars had moved ten, twenty, and even thirty feet, so they did not have to restart like we did. The chance of us earning an A by going over fifty feet was hopeless, but I refused to give up without making the car go at least thirty feet. I spent the weekend researching new types of designs and the principles behind them. I gathered my materials and came to the engineering room before school started, when only my teacher had arrived. Every morning, I would come and work on the project: measuring and cutting balsa wood, drilling holes for dowels, taping CDs, winding up string, and testing the car. Slowly but surely, the car began to move farther and farther. It went from one foot to three feet to eventually twenty eight feet. On the day of the test, I came into the engineering room early to check on the car a final time before class. My teacher told me that regardless of the outcome, he was proud of my effort, and I should be as well. The final testing began. I watched as other cars made it ten, twenty, thirty, even fifty feet. When our turn came, I let it go, the string slipping forward and pulling the dowels that held the wheels with it. The taped CD wheels began to roll, slow but steady. By the time it got to twenty eight feet, it was barely inching along, yet still it moved forward: one inch, then two, three, until it reached twenty nine feet. I thought it was surely going to stop then, but it kept going. I watched in disbelief as it reached thirty feet and stopped. I was shocked, then overcome with extreme joy. Even though a 30/50 is a D, to this day I am more proud of it than I am of my countless As. I have learned that success is relative to what you are willing to sacrifice, and I continue to preserve in spite of all life’s challenges. To all those who are struggling against undefeatable odds, I say this: keep struggling and rolling inch by inch. You may just make it thirty feet, but be proud of those thirty feet. Own them, and you will surely overcome more.