As a Haitian American, my heritage is a cornerstone of my identity. It is the foundation of my life built by my values, my ambitions, and my deep sense of gratitude to those who came before me. My mom immigrated from Haiti with heavy faith and a vision for something amazing. She left behind her homeland, culture, and comfort so that I could have access to opportunities she only dreamed of. Growing up, I watched her work long hours, often juggling multiple jobs and making countless sacrifices, all to create a better life for me and my sister. Her struggle is not just a part of my story—it is the foundation of it. And I refuse to let her efforts die in vain. From a young age, I understood that nothing was guaranteed, and that education would be my key to upward mobility. My mother’s perseverance taught me resilience, and her love taught me to lead with a purpose. Her sacrifices taught me that success is not just personal—it’s generational. She is the reason why I am so passionate about attending college. It’s not only a chance to grow intellectually; it’s a way for me to honor my heritage and create meaningful change for myself, my mother, and others. I plan to pursue a degree in Biomedical Engineering because I believe that science and innovation should reflect the diversity of the people it serves. Too often, I’ve seen how healthcare and medical technologies overlook the unique needs of people of color. For example, burn scars can affect melanin-rich skin like mines differently—yet treatments and recovery tools are rarely designed with this in mind. This disparity has sparked a fire in me. I want to help create medical devices and machines that are inclusive—tools that improve the healing process for people of all backgrounds, especially those in underserved communities. My passion for biomedical engineering is rooted in empathy, science, and advocacy. I don’t just want to design for innovation’s sake—I want to engineer solutions that give people back their confidence, dignity, and comfort. For the children like me, who feels ashamed of their scars, or the adult who struggles to afford proper treatment, I want to offer hope through technology. This is my way of giving back—not only to the community I come from, but to communities like mine around the world. The Seymour Philippe Memorial Scholarship represents more than financial support—it symbolizes a recognition of heritage, perseverance, and the pursuit of excellence. Receiving this scholarship would not only help lighten the financial burden of college but also serve as a reminder that my dreams are valid and worth fighting for. My Haitian heritage has shaped me into someone who believes deeply in the power of education, the importance of community, and the promise of progress. I am ready to carry forward the legacy of my mother’s journey by walking boldly into a future where I can help others heal, thrive, and see themselves reflected in the innovations that shape their lives.

I am Nathavia Cherisca, a seventeen-year old student attending Roseville High School in Roseville, Michigan. I am currently in my senior year, soon graduating 12th in my class on June 3rd. I have high aspirations to attend Wayne State University to get a degree in Biomedical Engineering, as it is a field that I have a growing interest in. I desire to increase my knowledge about the medical field and how technology has played such a big role in assisting medical professionals in their careers, along with how technology has helped us know what we do today. I have my fair share of experience when it comes to having a prolonged stay in a hospital, as I am a burn survivor. I remember the days when I had to lay motionless in my bed, bandaged up and passively waited as the seconds ticked past. I observed the various machinery I had to be hooked up to, intrigued by the intricacies of the processes that went behind keeping me alive and well. Once I was no longer immobilized, I had to start physical therapy to regain the strength in my legs, utilizing a walker to slowly walk laps around the inpatient floor. As I walked, I often spoke to all the nurses I ended up walking with, asking them about their jobs and details to keep me entertained as I took each strenuous step. They told me about various cases and kids they took care of, the fun events they held at the hospital and any other fascinating tale they were willing to discuss with me. I continued to grow curious outside of my daily walks, speaking to all of the professionals around me, from the plastic surgeon to the anesthesiologist. I asked them questions about every little thing I grew curious about, such as “How does the gas make people fall asleep to have surgery” or “How do you pick and choose what parts of my skin to use to make a skin graft?” Even now, I am very grateful for all the care and attention each of them gave to my questions, encouraging me to dive deeper into the medical field and its processes. Yet, months after I got discharged, I came to a realization that I feel that I was late to, even at twelve years old. Technology isn’t just what a computer can do, it’s whatever you can make to serve a purpose. I didn’t realize it at first, but even something considerably small such as a piece of silverware is considered technology. I’ve spent a lot of time thinking about what kind of technology I could create to help those who are stuck in hospital beds, in a predicament similar to mine all those years ago. I want to help create a future to help fellow POC burn victims feel comfortable in their scars, whether they are visible to the public or not. Where they would have the option to have laser surgery to bring their skin grafts as close as they can be to their regular skin tone, if they so choose. A future where darker people of color don’t have to worry about medical procedures not working as well as their lighter counterparts. That would be a future I am proud of and a future I want to build for my brothers and sisters.