For the first couple of years of my life, I lived with my mom and her family in Jamaica. Although my memories of Kingston are mostly a blur, I vividly remember the drives from my grandparents' house to school, going to Devon House for patties, and summer trips to YS Falls. If you were to ask me to describe my childhood, I would say I moved around a bit, but ultimately, I do not have any bad memories. That is exactly the view of my childhood that my mom worked tirelessly for, and it is only through pictures and anecdotes that she tells me that I would ever know any differently. Jamaica was not all palm trees and pristine beaches. The ever-increasing crime rate along with better educational opportunities were the primary reasons my mom decided that we should move nearly 3,000 miles away. I remember even less about Canada than I do about Jamaica, but I have pieced timelines together through the hundreds of pictures my mom took. The idea of Canada was paradise for her: polite people, government-promised jobs for immigrants, and great preschools. Unfortunately, Brampton, Canada, was a short-lived experience once reality set in. Although my mom has a graduate degree in architecture, she had difficulty finding any work within that field. Interview after interview, hiring managers would repeat how they could not offer her a job because she was "overqualified." Photos depict us in a cramped one-bedroom apartment filled with baby toys and my mom pushing me around in a stroller on our trips to the mall where she worked. After a year of underemployment, we had to make another 3,000-mile journey back to Jamaica to live with my grandparents again. At this point, many people would have decided that there was nothing more they could do. However, this was just a speed bump for my mom, and soon it was all in her rearview mirror as she moved us to Miami via work visa, securing a position as a project manager in an architecture firm. The sacrifices my mom has made have shaped me into who I am. She provided me with a sense of security, sheltering me from the poverty and racial inequality we faced. She did not accomplish this feat all on her own, however. Close family, donations from shelters, grit, and resilience aided her in our journey. Now, as a college sophomore, I am pursuing a combined Bachelor’s and Master’s degree in economics at the University of Florida. My post-graduation plans include using my degree to find ethical solutions to the poor living conditions my mom sheltered me from through data analysis and sustainable development. My mom will never admit to me that we live paycheck to paycheck, but the anxiety shows on her face when the mortgage gets raised once again or when she hears how much university costs in the United States. With the financial assistance provided via this award, I will be a step closer to graduating debt-free. The time and energy I spend worrying about how I will pay for my housing and classes can be spent studying, volunteering, or applying for internships at international assistance organizations like UNICEF. On top of that, this award would also help me take some of my education's financial burden off my mom’s shoulders. I want to show my appreciation to her through this scholarship because I know she is proud of me, but now it is my turn to show how proud I am of her.

In May 2020, Time learned how to draw. Perhaps, the coronavirus pandemic prompted him to take up this new endeavor. Or maybe, after millennia of being illiterate, Time decided to take a break from tormenting the masses with his passage and do some much-needed self-care. With Time’s newfound ability, he picked up a permanent marker and etched the month of May 2020 into my brain—never to be erased. The illustration of May depicts me sitting at the wooden breakfast nook next to my kitchen. The sun’s rays are spilling through the sheer white curtains, scattering across the table in front of me, and bouncing off the chrome-framed pictures of countryside landscapes to my left. The etching smells like the Korean fire noodles that my best friend would periodically drop off at my house after visits to the local Asian market. Next to the fire noodles is the puzzle I had been working on for a couple of days. The box said the puzzle pieces were supposed to come together to form an image of Sleeping Beauty and Prince Phillip dancing on a terrace underneath the heavenly night sky. However, I was looking at mere fragments of the final result. There is something unexplainable about the pure excitement of finally putting that last piece in the right spot, taking a step back, and looking at the finished product. I want my career to be part of the bigger picture, like the puzzle pieces I spent my days with during the lockdown. My ultimate goal is to be able to look at my work from a different perspective and see how much of a difference it makes in the world. This new outlook I developed during the pandemic helped narrow down my career choices. I began asking myself where I wanted to make a difference and what kind of difference would be most impactful for our generation and generations to come. The answer to this, for me, lies in economics. I would be naive to think I came up with this realization on my own. I’m not saying that my parents knew from the time I was born that I would have an affinity for economics, but why else would they recite times tables to me as bedtime stories? Why else would they play the NPR stock market podcast whenever they dropped me off at school? Why else would they have encouraged me to be my own boss from the moment I could speak? Economics combines my interests in math and business, providing me with a career that I know can make a lasting impact. As a practical thinker, I know that within this profession I will apply theoretical solutions to real-world problems, turning green policies into sustainable realities. I will connect the small details that make a comprehensive picture, like the puzzles I spend my free time with.

My curls and coils were never able to do what their hair did. The way it flowed in the wind, the way it swayed as they walked, and the ease with which they could sweep it into a ponytail were always characteristics subject to my envy. Mine was knotted, untamed, and unpresentable. It rose to the sky as if each strand were filled with helium; theirs fell to the floor, brushing against their backs, allowing people to marvel at the length. Mine was curly and would turn in on itself, creating tangles whenever I had my guard down; theirs could be detangled with a stroke of the brush, which they always conveniently carried around with them. I wanted to be able to run my fingers through my hair, and I wanted other people to do the same without asking when the last time I combed it was. My desire to be like them was not something I conjured up by myself; it was ingrained in the shows I watched, the books I read, and every nook and cranny of the country I call home. I was subjected to the altering of my being to conform to eurocentric beauty standards, and there was no pain reliever to make the complete rejection of my natural self any less excruciating. I tried blow-drying, I tried keratin, I tried braids, but it is not that they have a problem with the state of my hair; they have a problem with the state of my existence. Ignorance is a blindfold, impairing your vision. If you were wearing this blindfold in a field of flowers and butterflies, it would be a lovely experience, and ignorance would be bliss; but no, the world is a tightrope above a sea of lava. Imagine how being blinded by ignorance is going to play out in that situation: someone is going to get burned. I was never afforded the privilege of having a blindfold. I was dropped onto this planet with full knowledge of the lava: discrimination and oppression. Even though every day feels like I am going to fall into the fiery depths that lie below me, I would never exchange it for anything. I was forced to educate myself on what happens in the real world. I was forced to see the brutality my people face: the mass incarceration and gentrification that destroy neighborhoods filled with rich culture. The blindfold never existed for me, and that is something I’m learning to live with. My natural hair will never drop on my shoulders, flow in the wind the way theirs does, be swept into a ponytail, or be detangled with one stroke of a brush. It takes time, it takes patience, and it takes consistency. Just because it does not do those things does not mean it is not beautiful. Accepting that my hair was always going to be different from that of my straight-haired counterparts was the first step in a long journey of self-love. In December 2017, I cut off my permed hair, and with it, I cut off my negative view of who I am. I can now confidently and genuinely say that I love my natural hair. I love how versatile it is, and how every day I choose to not straighten it is a day closer to the full acceptance of my curls, my culture, and ultimately, my blackness.

In May 2020, Time learned how to draw. Perhaps, the coronavirus pandemic prompted him to take up this new endeavor. Maybe after millennia of being illiterate, Time decided to take a break from tormenting the masses with his passage and do some much-needed self-care. With Time’s newfound ability, he picked up a permanent marker and etched the month of May 2020 into my brain. The illustration of May depicts me sitting at the wooden breakfast nook in front of my house. The etching smells like the Korean fire noodles that my best friend would periodically drop off at my house after visits to the local Asian market. Besides the noodles is the puzzle I had been working on for a couple of days. The box said the puzzle pieces were supposed to come together to form an image of Sleeping Beauty and Prince Phillip dancing on a terrace underneath the heavenly night sky. However, I was looking at mere fragments of the final result. There is something unexplainable about the excitement of finally putting that last piece in the right spot, taking a step back, and looking at the finished product. The hundreds of puzzle pieces connect to form a bigger picture which I always look forward to seeing. I want my career to be a part of the bigger picture like the puzzle pieces I spent my days with during the lockdown. I want to look at my work from different perspectives and see how much of a difference it made to the world. I began asking myself where I want to make a difference. The answer to this, for me, lies in economics. I would be naive to think I came up with this realization on my own. I am not saying that my parents knew from the time I was born that I would have an affinity for economics, but why else would they recite times tables to me as bedtime stories? Why else would they play the NPR stock market podcast on the way to school? Why else would they have encouraged me to be my own boss from the moment I could speak? Economics combines my interests in math and business, providing me with a career I know can make a lasting impact. Post-graduation, I will find ethical solutions to the poor living conditions my Mom sheltered me from; and help people in a similar position to the one I grew up within.

My life experiences have shaped how I view community service, and community service has shaped my life. In the latter half of high school, I was the president of the Interact Club, a service organization that aims to help disadvantaged communities and promote international understanding. During Venezuela's ongoing humanitarian crisis, the board and I organized donations of over 500 nonperishable items to people in need in Maracaibo. Community service projects like these carry a heavy weight because I know what it feels like to be on the opposite end of the stick. Unfortunately, Jamaica is not all palm trees and beaches. My Mom made the difficult decision of moving away from her family and friends to provide me with a safe upbringing. She decided to settle nearly 3,000 miles away in Canada. Although she has a graduate degree in architecture, she had trouble finding any work within that field because her degree came from a university in Jamaica. After a year of underemployment, we had to move back to Jamaica. My resilient mother did not give up, and soon we moved to Miami, where she got a job as a project manager in an architecture firm via a work visa. My Mom's sacrifices have shaped me into the person I am today. I am pursuing a degree in economics because I know what it is like to be less fortunate due to a country's economic conditions. Post-graduation, I will find ethical solutions to the poor living conditions my Mom sheltered me from; and help people in a similar position to the one I grew up within.

There is something about the rush, the pressure, and the stress of having to take challenging classes. I always tell myself that I do not like them, but then I get drawn back in like a butterfly to a vibrant flower. Perhaps it is the feeling of fulfillment after I finish the last exam of the quarter or the last essays of the semester. Perhaps I am just crazy and like the anxiety of Advanced Placement classes and full schedules. Nevertheless, I do not see myself slowing down this pace soon, certainly not in college and hopefully not in the career path I choose to follow. Although this was my last year of high school, I took a full course load including APs, dual enrollment, and internship. I wanted to be able to say that I used every opportunity available to me, took nothing for granted, and utilized the tools I had to propel me closer to my ultimate goals. If it weren’t for the global lockdown, I am not sure if I would have been able to develop this mindset. During early quarantine, I found a new hobby: jigsaw puzzles. The pure excitement of finally putting that last piece in the right spot and being able to take a step back and look at the finished product was unexplainable. Hundreds of pieces came together to form a bigger picture which I always looked forward to seeing. Similarly to puzzles, I want my career to be a part of the bigger picture like the puzzle pieces I spent so much time with during the lockdown. I want to be able to look at my work from a different perspective and see how much of a difference it made to the world. This new outlook I developed helped me narrow down my career choices. I began asking myself, where do I want to make a difference and what difference is the most impactful for us and generations to come. The answer to this, for me, lies in nature. It would be naive of me, however, to think I came up with this realization on my own. I’m not saying that my parents knew from the time I was born that I would have an affinity for nature, but why else would they name me after a natural phenomenon (Aurora Borealis). Why else would they get a yearly zoo pass so I could finally see the ever-so-elusive Sumatran tigers at Zoo Miami? Why else would they have encouraged me to pursue veterinary medicine from the moment I could talk? Technically, to become a veterinarian, you can major in anything for your undergraduate. All the articles I have read and people I have talked to have emphasized majoring in a field you find truly fascinating and ensuring you also take the required courses for veterinary school admission. My fascination with animals and the natural world would be best fulfilled by a major in fields like zoology, animal biology, or animal science. Through those programs, I can learn about the anatomy, physiology, and behavior of the animals I have spent hours researching on my own. I will also be able to get the hands-on experience that is vital for entrance to vet school. Following my undergraduate studies would be Veterinary School, a zoological residency, and Board Certification (all of which will be accomplished by my mid-twenties).

There was a time in my educational career when Algebra 2 was my favorite subject. My affinity for this specific math, however, did not lie in the subject matter per say, but rather in it’s fundamentally straightforward nature. All I had to do was memorize a few slope formulas and definitions, and I was able to breeze through the class with quite minimal effort. In fact, prior to junior year, all the classes which were the easiest to me were also my ‘favorite’. Using this logic, I should have absolutely hated AP Calculus AB being that it was the hardest class I have ever taken. I have never had to study harder, go to tutoring for longer, nor pay attention more for a class than I had to with calculus. Truthfully, for the first couple weeks, it felt like my teacher was speaking another language. Calculus was less about memorizing formulas for me; rather, it was more about conceptualization. Once I had that realization, it was as if I was gaining fluency in a language I never thought I would be able to pick up. Despite how challenging it was, I loved every second of it. I loved staying up late solving related-rates problems which took on lives of their own. I loved going to tutoring after school, despite it being optional, just so I could solve some extra practice problems. I loved calling my friends to have virtual study sessions so we could share our different methods to solving the harder problems we would come across. Each question is a new world of opportunities just waiting to be explored. Calculus is such a beautifully complex subject that requires one to take a step back, truly understand what the entire problem is asking, and look for solutions using different perspectives. Being able to fully visualize each topic is vital. If I could not picture how integrals fill up empty space and how you can rotate them around the axes to solve for their volume, then I do not know how I would have made it past the first semester. After I took the AP exam, my heart felt a heaviness it has never experienced before. The heaviness was due to the fear I would never feel the rigor of a subject like calculus again. While I am not taking Calculus in senior year, this class has inspired me to take more higher level courses that combine math and creative thinking such as AP Physics and Qualitative Chemistry. I know I will never feel the emptiness I felt after the exam if I continue to take math-related classes that challenge me and encourage unconventional thinking.