There’s an old framed Polytechnic Cable magazine on my desk, behind the clutter of cheap circuitry and unfinished lab reports. From afar, it doesn’t stand out—the only images in the magazine are in monotonous black and white. If you were to walk up close and examine the magazine cover, you would discover that those black and white images were photos of the Lunar Module 5 being designed at NASA’s Resident Apollo Spacecraft Program Office in New York. You would also find a portrait of a landing gear engineer labeled “Robert Zuckerman” with a wide infectious smile—my grandfather. As I looked at worn-out photos of his childhood, building erector sets (metal toy construction sets) and model rockets, I followed suit, designing my own motorized LEGO robots, and pinewood derby cars. When my peers commended me, I laughed and smiled proudly, but underneath I was frustrated—every night, I would flip through the pages of the magazine in admiration, silently yearning to engineer rocket ships just as he did. However, just as I was poised to reach for the stars, my friend Zubin was diagnosed with terminal, undifferentiated small round cell sarcoma (USRCS). Due to the absence of cancer detection technology that can effectively differentiate USRCS’s resemblance to other cancers, such as lymphoma and Ewing's sarcoma, by the time the doctors identified the specific bone and soft tissue sarcoma, the cancer had already reached the point of no return. Upon his passing, I laid flat on my bed, ruminating on the hundreds of hours we spent together throughout elementary school and middle school—what was I to do now? Go to school like nothing happened? That's when I spotted my grandfather's magazine on my desk. In that moment, I remembered his relentless battles against oppressive, anti-Semitic law enforcement officers. He fought back, and so would I. With the support of my friends, I poured sweat and tears into balancing all my schoolwork with the assistance of chemotherapy patients at Banner Gateway Medical Center and the formation of the non-profit organization Plentiful Provisions, funding USRCS research through the Stanford Bass Center for Childhood Cancer and Diseases—the very same hospital Zubin passed away in. Furthermore, instead of merely supporting research, I became the researcher. Combining my love for engineering with the desire to improve cancer detection for children like Zubin, I joined two biomedical engineering research projects. At Arizona State University, by characterizing mutant protein flexibility and thermal stability data, we can produce life-changing noncanonical amino acid luciferases with significant applications in early cancer detection. Then with a team at MIT Solve, I’ve begun to use artificial intelligence to effectively monitor cancer pathogenesis in pregnant women. Zubin may be gone forever, but his legacy still burns brightly within me. The memory of devoting my everything into pursuing a single goal reminds me that I have both the vigor and willpower necessary to give others the opportunity Zubin never had—to make a significant dent in cancer research. Glancing back at my grandfather's dusty Polytechnic magazine, I now imagine my portrait on the front cover—with big teeth and a big smile—except this time, beside an optimized method for cancer detection in bones and soft tissues.

There’s an old framed Polytechnic Cable magazine on my desk, behind the clutter of cheap circuitry and unfinished lab reports. From afar, it doesn’t stand out—the only images in the magazine are in monotonous black and white. If you were to walk up close and examine the magazine cover, you would discover that those black and white images were photos of the Lunar Module 5 being designed at NASA’s Resident Apollo Spacecraft Program Office in New York. You would also find a portrait of a landing gear engineer labeled “Robert Zuckerman” with a wide infectious smile—my grandfather. As I looked at worn-out photos of his childhood, building erector sets (metal toy construction sets) and model rockets, I followed suit, designing my own motorized LEGO robots, and pinewood derby cars. When my peers commended me, I laughed and smiled proudly, but underneath I was frustrated—every night, I would flip through the pages of the magazine in admiration, silently yearning to engineer rocket ships just as he did. However, just as I was poised to reach for the stars, my friend Zubin was diagnosed with terminal, undifferentiated small round cell sarcoma (USRCS). Due to the absence of cancer detection technology that can effectively differentiate USRCS’s resemblance to other cancers, such as lymphoma and Ewing's sarcoma, by the time the doctors identified the specific bone and soft tissue sarcoma, the cancer had already reached the point of no return. Upon his passing, I laid flat on my bed, ruminating on the hundreds of hours we spent together throughout elementary school and middle school—what was I to do now? Go to school like nothing happened? That's when I spotted my grandfather's magazine on my desk. In that moment, I remembered his relentless battles against oppressive, anti-Semitic law enforcement officers. He fought back, and so would I. With the support of my friends, I poured sweat and tears into balancing all my schoolwork with the assistance of chemotherapy patients at Banner Gateway Medical Center and the formation of the non-profit organization Plentiful Provisions, funding USRCS research through the Stanford Bass Center for Childhood Cancer and Diseases—the very same hospital Zubin passed away in. Furthermore, instead of merely supporting research, I became the researcher. Combining my love for engineering with the desire to improve cancer detection for children like Zubin, I joined two biomedical engineering research projects. At Arizona State University, by characterizing mutant protein flexibility and thermal stability data, we can produce life-changing noncanonical amino acid luciferases with significant applications in early cancer detection. Then with a team at MIT Solve, I’ve begun to use artificial intelligence to effectively monitor cancer pathogenesis in pregnant women. Zubin may be gone forever, but his legacy still burns brightly within me. The memory of devoting my everything into pursuing a single goal reminds me that I have both the vigor and willpower necessary to give others the opportunity Zubin never had—to make a significant dent in cancer research. Glancing back at my grandfather's dusty Polytechnic magazine, I now imagine my portrait on the front cover—with big teeth and a big smile—except this time, beside an optimized method for cancer detection in bones and soft tissues.

There’s an old framed Polytechnic Cable magazine on my desk, behind the clutter of cheap circuitry and unfinished lab reports. From afar, it doesn’t stand out—the only images in the magazine are in monotonous black and white. If you were to walk up close and examine the magazine cover, you would discover that those black and white images were photos of the Lunar Module 5 being designed at NASA’s Resident Apollo Spacecraft Program Office in New York. You would also find a portrait of a landing gear engineer labeled “Robert Zuckerman” with a wide infectious smile—my grandfather. As I looked at worn-out photos of his childhood, building erector sets (metal toy construction sets) and model rockets, I followed suit, designing my own motorized LEGO robots, and pinewood derby cars. When my peers commended me, I laughed and smiled proudly, but underneath I was frustrated—every night, I would flip through the pages of the magazine in admiration, silently yearning to engineer rocket ships just as he did. However, just as I was poised to reach for the stars, my friend Zubin was diagnosed with terminal, undifferentiated small round cell sarcoma (USRCS). By the time the doctors identified the specific bone and soft tissue sarcoma, the cancer had already reached the point of no return. Upon his passing, I laid flat on my bed, ruminating on the hundreds of hours we spent together throughout elementary school and middle school—what was I to do now? Go to school like nothing happened? That's when I spotted my grandfather's magazine on my desk. In that moment, I remembered his relentless battles against oppressive, anti-Semitic law enforcement officers. He fought back, and so would I. With the support of my friends, I poured sweat and tears into balancing all my schoolwork with the assistance of chemotherapy patients at Banner Gateway Medical Center and the formation of the non-profit organization Plentiful Provisions, funding USRCS research through the Bass Center for Childhood Cancer and Diseases—the very same hospital Zubin passed away in. Furthermore, instead of merely supporting research, I became the researcher. Combining my love for engineering with the desire to improve cancer detection for children like Zubin, I joined two biomedical engineering research projects. At ASU, by characterizing mutant protein flexibility and thermal stability data, we can produce life-changing noncanonical amino acid luciferases with significant applications in early cancer detection. Then with a team at MIT Solve, I’ve begun to use artificial intelligence to effectively monitor cancer pathogenesis in pregnant women. Zubin may be gone forever, but his legacy still burns brightly within me. The memory of devoting my everything into pursuing a single goal reminds me that I have both the vigor and willpower necessary to give others the opportunity Zubin never had—to make a significant dent in cancer research. Glancing back at my grandfather's Polytechnic magazine, I now imagine my portrait on the front cover—with big teeth and a big smile—except this time, beside an optimized method for cancer detection in bones and soft tissues.

It was love at first sight. 109 pages of pure mathematics. The most famous mathematical advancement of the 20th century. “Modular elliptic curves and Fermat’s Last Theorem” by Andrew Wiles. Despite the signs, it’s much more than a research paper, it’s a story. Out of all the research papers I have deciphered, this was the only one with an acknowledgement, “For Nada, Claire, Kate, and Olivia,” as well as a personal abstract beginning with, “When Andrew John Wiles was 10 years old, he read Eric Temple Bell’s The Last Problem and was so impressed by it that he decided that he would be the first person to prove Fermat’s Last Theorem.” In this increasingly data-driven world, where research is compiled into hundreds of never-ending databases, the emotional connection to his work reminds me of the obvious truth that I seem to have forgotten—the passion and humanity behind all scientific discoveries. It inspires me to learn more about Einstein, Oppenheimer, Jefferson, and Tesla, all those heroes, on a personal level through their hardships and triumphs, rather than their achievements. No matter how complex and unfathomable a topic is, whether he’s discussing Galois representations or Hecke rings, every page of “Modular elliptic curves and Fermat’s Last Theorem” grants me that nostalgic feeling. I used to read his paper every night, but recently I’ve taken a break… because I never want it to end.

Any true anime enthusiast knows these iconic lyrics: Oshiete, oshiete yo sono shikumi wo. In the unlikely chance you don’t know what anime I’m referring to, it’s Tokyo Ghoul. Out of the around 200 or more anime that I’ve watched over the past five years, the first season of Tokyo Ghoul has been a clear winner. The primary reason why I enjoy the show so much, having rewatched it nearly six times, is because it’s delightfully chaotic—it gives off the vibes of a trashy yet creative isekai while actually pulling through with breathtaking battles and soundtracks. You could probably argue that the chaotic nature of the show parallels Kaneki’s state of mind, messily juxtaposing his human side and ghoul side through images of his painful childhood and Rize’s bloodthirst. The reason I believe the show is akin to a trashy yet creative isekai is because the story is so imaginative and unique, while also being extremely difficult to wrap your head around. Like an isekai where the main character begins with being unluckily hit by truck-kun, Kaneki somehow ends up going on a date with Rize, one of the most notorious ghouls in the show, and they randomly get fatally injured by steel beams. In addition, the plot has so many oddities and holes…This is a world where ghouls are forced to drink COFFEE and human flesh, quite the interesting combination right? Remember the steel beams scene we discussed a couple sentences ago? We learn later in the series that Rize had extreme regenerative powers, enough to reform limbs in seconds—it’s difficult to comprehend how someone that powerful could die from falling steel beams. On paper, it’s easy to dislike the show with all its issues, however, actually watching the show, it just works. The sheer craziness of the ghouls’ kagune abilities with swarms of flying centipede-like tails just outcrazies the rest of the show, making the issues with the story seem normal and, somehow, actually complementary overall. Matched with the song, Unravel, with its slow, melancholic piano melody that explodes into fast-paced and energetic rock, the combination of the melodies allow the song to emphasize the emotion of each distinct episode, allowing the audience to really connect with Kaneki’s complex emotional state. For example, at the pinnacle of the show where Kaneki fights Jason, the producers used the intense part of the soundtrack to elevate the tension and excitement of the battle, allowing the viewers to properly comprehend the sense of freedom Kaneki feels in transitioning from both a human to a ghoul, and from a state of acquiescence to the world’s harshness to a state of resilience and empowerment. Thanks for giving me the opportunity to write this essay. It was actually a lot of fun, so much so, that I’m going to rewatch Tokyo Ghoul later!

My time at the Arizona Amateur Radio Club truly showed me how valuable it was to have an amazing teacher. I was mentored by Gary Hammon. He taught me how to mend circuitry with a 1000° soldering iron, how to efficiently and properly salvage headphone audio jacks, and how to connect coaxial cables to antenna feed lines. I was so enthralled by the activities we were doing at the club because not only was it about an extremely niche hobby from the 1900s, but because it allowed me to directly apply the abstract electromagnetic physics concepts I had learned about in school in the real world. One of my most interesting personal projects we worked on together was the creation of my own custom radio from scratch. Gary navigated me through this software called CST Suite where we were able to model electromagnetic currents through three dimensional antenna design. After sketching out our design, we collected thick copper wire and wrapped it around a pole. It was quite difficult because each wire had to be nearly perfectly spaced between each other to prevent interference (static), but nonetheless, Gary had my back. He made sure everything went smoothly, and if I did make a mistake, he always kindly instructed me on what went wrong and how I could do better next time. In the end, these experiences nurtured in me a devout love for hands-on learning. Being involved in hands-on learning at a young age, it inspired me to pursue research, although in the field of biochemistry this time, throughout highschool. I got to carry on Gary’s love for experimentation and tinkering by working on biological projects that could change lives. During my time in research, I actually was so experienced in computational biology that the professor leading the project, Jeremy H. Mills at Arizona State University, allowed me to become a mentor for the other interns. I was able to teach many “junior” researchers (many were older than me) how to collect data, program scripts, and present posters at a collegiate level. It was such a transformative experience being able to pass on the joys of hands-on learning and Gary’s kind demeanor that the Arizona Amateur Radio Club first enamored me with. Now, looking ahead, I want to pass on the torch by becoming an academic professor. At one point, I wanted to become a traditional teacher, however, I believe I can make a bigger impact on students' lives by teaching at higher education. The thing about becoming an academic professor is that I will be able to let my students engage in the epitome of hands-on learning—research. I will be able to kindly handhold students as we tackle incredibly complex scientific literature written by masters of the field, and contribute significantly ourselves to the world of science.

A couple years ago, one of my close friends was diagnosed with terminal undifferentiated small round cell sarcoma (USRCS). Upon his passing, instead of moving on, I decided to be a changemaker. With the support of my friends, I poured sweat and tears into balancing all my schoolwork with the assistance of chemotherapy patients at Banner Gateway Medical Center and the formation of the non-profit organization Plentiful Provisions, funding a thousand dollars for USRCS research through the Stanford Bass Center for Childhood Cancer and Diseases—the very same hospital he passed away in. Furthermore, instead of merely supporting research, I became the researcher. Combining my love for engineering with the desire to improve cancer treatments, I joined two biomedical engineering research projects. At Arizona State University, by characterizing mutant protein flexibility and thermal stability data, we can produce life-changing noncanonical amino acid luciferases with significant applications in early cancer detection. I even had the privilege of mentoring many “junior” researchers (many were older than me) how to collect data, program scripts, and present posters at a collegiate level. Then with a team at Massachusetts Institute of Technology Solve, I’ve begun to use artificial intelligence to effectively monitor cancer pathogenesis in pregnant women. But aside from pursuing cancer, I’ve contributed to my community in battling the economic aftershock of the COVID pandemic. When I was volunteering at St. Mary’s Food Bank, I saw the effect of COVID relief-induced inflation—gargantuous lines of cars stretching out into the road. Every volunteer session was twice as exhausting as those prior to the pandemic. After observing the pandemic’s atrocities firsthand, the wellbeing of my community took precedence over everything else. I shifted my organization Plentiful Provisions’ focus from cancer research to food insecurity. Amazingly, our organization was able to raise ten thousand meals for those in need. Although ten thousand meals is a lot, our biggest impact came in collaborating with other community changemakers all dedicated to combating food insecurity: John Drake, manager, at St. Mary’s Food Bank, Roger Weiss, owner of JJ’s Delicatessen, Lisa Scarpinato, co-founder of Kitchen on the Street, and Tejus Walia, founder of The Caring Backpack. In college, there’s not a single ounce of doubt that I plan to continue contributing to my community. I may be naive in saying this, but I want to take what I’ve been doing to the next level and change the world. Sincerely, Benjamin R. Zuckerman

My time at the Arizona Amateur Radio Club truly showed me how valuable it was to have an amazing teacher. I was mentored by Gary Hammon. He taught me how to mend circuitry with a 1000° soldering iron, how to efficiently and properly salvage headphone audio jacks, and how to connect coaxial cables to antenna feed lines. I was so enthralled by the activities we were doing at the club because not only was it about an extremely niche hobby from the 1900s, but because it allowed me to directly apply the abstract electromagnetic physics concepts I had learned about in school in the real world. One of my most interesting personal projects we worked on together was the creation of my own custom radio from scratch. Gary navigated me through this software called CST Suite where we were able to model electromagnetic currents through three dimensional antenna design. After sketching out our design, we collected thick copper wire and wrapped it around a pole. It was quite difficult because each wire had to be nearly perfectly spaced between each other to prevent interference (static), but nonetheless, Gary had my back. He made sure everything went smoothly, and if I did make a mistake, he always kindly instructed me on what went wrong and how I could do better next time. In the end, these experiences nurtured in me a devout love for hands-on learning. Being involved in hands-on learning at a young age, it inspired me to pursue research, although in the field of biochemistry this time, throughout highschool. I got to carry on Gary’s love for experimentation and tinkering by working on biological projects that could change lives. During my time in research, I actually was so experienced in computational biology that the professor leading the project, Jeremy H. Mills at Arizona State University, allowed me to become a mentor for the other interns. I was able to teach many “junior” researchers (many were older than me) how to collect data, program scripts, and present posters at a collegiate level. It was such a transformative experience being able to pass on the joys of hands-on learning and Gary’s kind demeanor that the Arizona Amateur Radio Club first enamored me with. Now, looking ahead, I want to pass on the torch by becoming an academic professor. At one point, I wanted to become a traditional teacher, however, I believe I can make a bigger impact on students' lives by teaching at higher education. The thing about becoming an academic professor is that I will be able to let my students engage in the epitome of hands-on learning—research. I will be able to kindly handhold students as we tackle incredibly complex scientific literature written by masters of the field, and contribute significantly ourselves to the world of science.

My time at the Arizona Amateur Radio Club truly showed me how valuable it was to have an amazing teacher. I was mentored by Gary Hammon. He taught me how to mend circuitry with a 1000° soldering iron, how to efficiently and properly salvage headphone audio jacks, and how to connect coaxial cables to antenna feed lines. I was so enthralled by the activities we were doing at the club because not only was it about an extremely niche hobby from the 1900s, but because it allowed me to directly apply the abstract electromagnetic physics concepts I had learned about in school in the real world. One of my most interesting personal projects we worked on together was the creation of my own custom radio from scratch. Gary navigated me through this software called CST Suite where we were able to model electromagnetic currents through three dimensional antenna design. After sketching out our design, we collected thick copper wire and wrapped it around a pole. It was quite difficult because each wire had to be nearly perfectly spaced between each other to prevent interference (static), but nonetheless, Gary had my back. He made sure everything went smoothly, and if I did make a mistake, he always kindly instructed me on what went wrong and how I could do better next time. In the end, these experiences nurtured in me a devout love for hands-on learning. Being involved in hands-on learning at a young age, it inspired me to pursue research, although in the field of biochemistry this time, throughout highschool. I got to carry on Gary’s love for experimentation and tinkering by working on biological projects that could change lives. During my time in research, I actually was so experienced in computational biology that the professor leading the project, Jeremy H. Mills at Arizona State University, allowed me to become a mentor for the other interns. I was able to teach many “junior” researchers (many were older than me) how to collect data, program scripts, and present posters at a collegiate level. It was such a transformative experience being able to pass on the joys of hands-on learning and Gary’s kind demeanor that the Arizona Amateur Radio Club first enamored me with. Now, looking ahead, I want to pass on the torch by becoming an academic professor. At one point, I wanted to become a traditional teacher, however, I believe I can make a bigger impact on students' lives by teaching at higher education. The thing about becoming an academic professor is that I will be able to let my students engage in the epitome of hands-on learning—research. I will be able to kindly handhold students as we tackle incredibly complex scientific literature written by masters of the field, and contribute significantly ourselves to the world of science.