“Betti, what do you want to be when you grow up,” asked my aunt. “A doctor just like Baba,” I replied without hesitation. Every night when my dad came home from work I’d wait criss-crossed on the couch for him to retell his day. A nephrologist, he’d explain the intricacies of dialysis machines and tell stories about his patients. At times he’d take me down memory lane, sharing his experience practicing medicine in Ethiopia before he immigrated to the US. This is what initially drew me to medicine: the stories my father told and the fascinating nature of his work. Through my experiences, becoming a doctor became my dream; however, through a series of experiences, I began to branch out and have different, more global dreams. I started working at a medical center with a majority Ethiopian staff. In addition to taking vital signs, I was able to rely on my Amharic skills to communicate with patients. I cared for an older Ethiopian woman who was delighted to see we could communicate in her native language. I comforted her and discussed the required blood tests in a way she could fully understand. While working, I saw many immigrant families without insurance, struggling to pay. America’s flawed health care system is not only prohibitively expensive but also discriminatory. Particularly striking is the disparity in maternal mortality rates between white and black women. Black women face a higher death rate during pregnancy because of implicit bias and unequal access to quality healthcare. In my own practice, I want to give women like me representation in a heavily male dominated field. My experiences with the U.S. healthcare system did not prepare me for the even greater disparities in Ethiopia. At a clinic in Addis Ababa, I shadowed an oral surgeon. I met a woman who needed several tooth extractions. Worried about the procedure, she was biting her cheek to keep her mind preoccupied. Oral health is often under prioritized in Ethiopian society, so the steps to resolve these issues often seem mysterious to patients. To comfort her, I reassured her and shared my personal experience with oral surgery. I saw the worry on her face slowly fade. I was delighted that my words and compassion made an impact on her experience. Hoping to understand my father’s specialty, I also followed a nephrologist in Ethiopia. During a patient visit, I heard the hospital's nephrologist say, “Given your financial background, you’ll not be able to get dialysis.” The patient seemed understanding, unfazed by the response. I was disconcerted by his ready acceptance of the situation. When I spoke to the doctor, he explained, “Access to healthcare is difficult in Ethiopia. Typically only wealthier people are able to get the proper care.” Because of these experiences, I am inspired to reform healthcare both in America and Ethiopia even if it’s not on a large scale, but through my own medical practice. I dream that I can not only treat my patients but also adress large-scale global health issues that impact my community. A colleg education is critical to making this happen. College can help further my dreams immensely as a proper undergraduate education can set me up for success in medical school. I hope to attend a university that provides me with ample research opportunities related to global health and equity in healthcare. I also believe a college education can help my self-growth goals, allowing me to be independent and learn how to provide for myself. Overall, college will be a formative experience that prepares me for my future in medicine and global health.

Legs burning and water hitting my face, I row to the finish line. My only thought is to be in sync with my fellow rowers and push myself past my limits. For me, crew is a year round sport with summer weightlifting, fall and spring practice, and winter conditioning. I come home every night exhausted and sore, but even with my blistered hands, I persevere and do my homework. Though it can be draining, my coach and teammates have taught the meaningful lesson of resilience. We worked tirelessly for months to perfect our technique in preparation for our state championships. The day of the race, I was nervous, contemplating how the race could go wrong. “Up over heads and up,” yelled the coxswain, signaling us to get the boat out to the dock. Once we get on the water, my mind is zoned in, thinking about my teammates and how I want to win for not only me, but for them. We line up, and the speaker starts the race. Immediately, we’re head to head with another boat. Our coxswain shouts to motivate and direct us. Once we hit the 500 meter mark, we begin to sprint. My body is on fire, but I hear the roar of the crowd and keep going. We finish the race in first place and burst into tears, so proud of all the work we put in. No words can describe the joy I feel after such a victory. I have three godsiblings, all younger than me. Throughout my life, I've always seen myself as a rolemodel to them. I felt a responsibility to show them the importance of prioritizing your education and comitting yourself to something. During my crew season, they would come to my races and watch my sucesses and also failures. After each race, I'd detail both the amazing and difficult parts of the sport. I aimed to inspire them to devote themselves to a passion and continue pursuing it. I also demonstrate resilence by retelling the times I've been rejected from opportuntities. I make it a point to emphasize that not everything comes easy to me as to not discorage them from trying their hardest. They constantly see me doing schoolwork even when I could be playing with them and continuing studying for a test even when I get bored. I hope that they learn the lesson of pushing through even when the tasks get difficult or unentertaining because it's important in the long-run.

“Betti, what do you want to be when you grow up,” asked my aunt. “A doctor just like Baba,” I replied without hesitation. Every night when my dad came home from work I’d wait criss-crossed on the couch for him to retell his day. A nephrologist, he’d explain the intricacies of dialysis machines and tell stories about his patients. At times he’d take me down memory lane, sharing his experience practicing medicine in Ethiopia before he immigrated to the US. This is what initially drew me to medicine: the stories my father told and the fascinating nature of his work. However, as I grew up, I began to question my interest in medicine. Was it my true passion or just a childhood dream? Determined to experience the environment I had only heard of from my father’s stories, I explored ways to learn more about the subject and volunteer. In addition to diving into my high school science classes, I applied for the Georgetown Medical Academy. For a week, I attended seminars and labs all day. I also participated in suturing and splinting labs and used a patient simulator, performing CPR compressions on its stiff chest. I got to see cadavers and identify body structures. This hands-on experience was nothing like seeing bodies on a computer screen; I understood the fact that these weren’t just cadavers, but real people. Outside of academics, I started working at a medical center with a majority Ethiopian staff. In addition to taking vital signs, I was able to rely on my Amharic skills to communicate with patients. I cared for an older Ethiopian woman who was delighted to see we could communicate in her native language. I comforted her and discussed the required blood tests in a way she could fully understand. While working, I saw many immigrant families without insurance, struggling to pay. America’s flawed health care system is not only prohibitively expensive but also discriminatory. Particularly striking is the disparity in maternal mortality rates between white and black women. Black women face a higher death rate during pregnancy because of implicit bias and unequal access to quality healthcare. In my own practice, I want to give women like me representation in a heavily male dominated field. My experiences with the U.S. healthcare system did not prepare me for the even greater disparities in Ethiopia. I followed a nephrologist in Ethiopia. During a patient visit, I heard the hospital's nephrologist say, “Given your financial background, you’ll not be able to get dialysis.” The patient seemed understanding, unfazed by the response. I was disconcerted by his ready acceptance of the situation. When I spoke to the doctor, he explained, “Access to healthcare is difficult in Ethiopia. Typically only wealthier people are able to get the proper care.” Because of these experiences, I am inspired to reform healthcare both in America and Ethiopia even if it’s not on a large scale, but through my own medical practice. The path to medicine, full of hard work and hardship, is one that I am excited to begin. I have truly come full circle, starting as a girl mesmerized by her father's stories to one impassioned by the desire to help others as a physician.

Legs burning and water hitting my face, I row to the finish line. My only thought is to be in sync with my fellow rowers and push myself past my limits. For me, crew is a year-round sport with summer weightlifting, fall and spring practice, and winter conditioning. I come home every night exhausted and sore, but even with my blistered hands, I persevere and do my homework. Though it can be draining, my coach and teammates have taught me the meaningful lesson of resilience. We worked tirelessly for months to perfect our technique in preparation for our state championships. The day of the race, I was nervous, contemplating how the race could go wrong. “Up overheads and up,” yelled the coxswain, signaling us to get the boat out to the dock. Once we get on the water, my mind is zoned in, thinking about my teammates and how I want to win for not only me, but for them. We line up, and the speaker starts the race. Immediately, we’re head to head with another boat. Our coxswain shouts to motivate and direct us. Once we hit the 500-meter mark, we begin to sprint. My body is on fire, but I hear the roar of the crowd and keep going. We finish the race in first place and burst into tears, so proud of all the work we put in. No words can describe the joy I feel after such a victory. Crew has brought so much joy and passion for working as a team, but it has also made me equipped to deal with a stressful schedule. I work daily to maintain my schoolwork and extracurriculars. As a student, rower, and volunteer, I often split my time and have many responsibilities. At certain times, I’ve become overwhelmed and stressed. I’ve been working on putting everything in perspective and not overemphasizing a single grade, race, or project. I've been learning and implementing time management skills into my daily routine. I have an agenda where I write all my meetings, tests, and other obligations. This helps me prepare for tests days in advance, so I'm not overwhelmed the day before. I also have learned not to procrastinate because of crew. With no time after school, I've had to learn to do all my long tern assignments over the weekend. Overall, crew has impacted me greatly by making me a more resilient and collaborative person.

“Betti, what do you want to be when you grow up,” asked my aunt. “A doctor just like Baba,” I replied without hesitation. Every night when my dad came home from work I’d wait crisscrossed on the couch for him to retell his day. A nephrologist, he’d explain the intricacies of dialysis machines and tell stories about his patients. At times he’d take me down memory lane, sharing his experience practicing medicine in Ethiopia before he immigrated to the US. This is what initially drew me to medicine: the stories my father told and the fascinating nature of his work. However, as I grew up, I began to question my interest in medicine. Was it my true passion or just a childhood dream? Determined to experience the environment I had only heard of from my father’s stories, I explored ways to learn more about the subject and volunteer. In addition to diving into my high school science classes, I applied for the Georgetown Medical Academy. For a week, I attended seminars and labs all day. I also participated in suturing and splinting labs and used a patient simulator, performing CPR compressions on its stiff chest. I got to see cadavers and identify body structures. This hands-on experience was nothing like seeing bodies on a computer screen; I understood the fact that these weren’t just cadavers, but real people. Outside of academics, I started working at a medical center with a majority Ethiopian staff. In addition to taking vital signs, I was able to rely on my Amharic skills to communicate with patients. I cared for an older Ethiopian woman who was delighted to see we could communicate in her native language. I comforted her and discussed the required blood tests in a way she could fully understand. While working, I saw many immigrant families without insurance, struggling to pay. America’s flawed health care system is not only prohibitively expensive but also discriminatory. Particularly striking is the disparity in maternal mortality rates between white and black women. Black women face a higher death rate during pregnancy because of implicit bias and unequal access to quality healthcare. In my own practice, I want to give women like me representation in a heavily male-dominated field. My experiences with the U.S. healthcare system did not prepare me for the even greater disparities in Ethiopia. I followed a nephrologist in Ethiopia. During a patient visit, I heard the hospital's nephrologist say, “Given your financial background, you’ll not be able to get dialysis.” The patient seemed understanding, unfazed by the response. I was disconcerted by his ready acceptance of the situation. When I spoke to the doctor, he explained, “Access to healthcare is difficult in Ethiopia. Typically only wealthier people are able to get the proper care.” Because of these experiences, I am inspired to reform healthcare both in America and Ethiopia even if it’s not on a large scale, but through my own medical practice. I hope to raise awareness of the medical machinery disparities in developing nations like Ethiopia and raise funds to send back. Though this is a big task, I believe every step will make a difference

"Momma, please don't give me the broccoli," my eight-year-old self fusses. Growing up, I was the classic picky eater. At any restaurant, I ordered chicken tenders, refusing to eat more varied, balanced foods. I didn't realize the true impact of the food you eat until I began crew. As a rower, I participated in daily vigorous exercise. However, in my sophomore year, I wasn't supplementing all the hard work in the gym and on the water with a nutritious diet. I noticed my lack of energy compared to my peers, and I was often hungry compared to my peers given I often skipped breakfast. This is where my healthy eating habits truly began. I started researching what a balanced diet looked like for an athlete. I looked into my protein intake and how to raise it. I began implementing foods like salmon, peanut butter, etc. to add to my protein. As a rower, I exerted myself constantly, so a lack of protein could counteract all my workout progress. I've also prioritized drinking enough water. I have a water bottle that marks how much water I've drank to motivate me to meet my daily goal. Due to my religion, I also do two-month-long fasts where I cannot consume any animal products. I used to do these fasts and in general eat less. Now, I've decided to find healthy vegan alternatives, so I can maintain my diet while also devoting myself to my religion. As I've been eating healthier, I've noticed so many improvements in my physical and mental health. Physically, I have much more energy to do my daily tasks and work out. I also think there's been a change in my own due to my increased water intake. I've noticed that my skin is bouncier and less acne-prone. On the mental health side, I have much more peace of mind knowing that I'm taking steps to improve my well-being. Before, I stressed about how unhealthy my food was when I'd eat out many times a week. Now, I feel more secure in my food choices. Eating healthy has also given structure to my daily routine as I know meal-prep and don't stress about what I plan to eat. There are a vast amount of benefits to eating healthy. In general, I'm happy to have adopted a healthier lifestyle and feel much better in many aspects of my life because of it.

“Betti, what do you want to be when you grow up,” asked my aunt. “A doctor just like Baba,” I replied without hesitation. Every night when my dad came home from work I’d wait criss-crossed on the couch for him to retell his day. A nephrologist, he’d explain the intricacies of dialysis machines and tell stories about his patients. At times he’d take me down memory lane, sharing his experience practicing medicine in Ethiopia before he immigrated to the US. This is what initially drew me to medicine: the stories my father told and the fascinating nature of his work. Hoping to understand my father’s specialty, I followed a nephrologist in Ethiopia. During a patient visit, I heard the hospital's nephrologist say, “Given your financial background, you’ll not be able to get dialysis.” The patient seemed understanding, unfazed by the response. I was disconcerted by his ready acceptance of the situation. When I spoke to the doctor, he explained, “Access to healthcare is difficult in Ethiopia. Typically only wealthier people are able to get the proper care.” This experience coupled with volunteering in the the US has made me very passionate about global health. In college, I'm excited to explore the intricacies of the subject. I hope to study how the interactions of race affect patient outcomes. I also am excited to raise awareness about the lack of medical machinery in Ethiopia and other developing countries. I'm also excited to further explore Latin. Through competitions and my school’s honor society, Latin has been integral to my high school experience. Studying classical literature allows me to gain a new perspective on life in ancient Rome. I hope to advance my translating skills in college. Outside of academics, in college, I hope to meet new people with diverse perspectives. I've lived in the same place all my life, so I'm excited to hear about experiences all over the world. I maintain my health through various outlets. For my own body, I exercise. Whether it's rowing or weightlifting, I ensure that I work out at least 5 times a week. It helps me with stress alongside helping me maintain my health. I also eat a balanced diet even if I get busy because of school. I've looked into my protein intake and how to raise it. I've begun implementing foods like salmon, peanut butter, etc. to add to my protein. Outside of nutrition and exercise, I've adopted a healthier lifestyle by moderating my use of social media. I’ve noticed severe mood changes after scrolling through social media, especially TikTok. I would use the app and feel a sense of inadequacy and insecurity while watching the endless achievements of other students who gained admission into colleges I aspired to attend. Social media deceives teens by perpetuating idealized perceptions of teenage life. Trying to avoid this, I set screen time limits on my phone. After school, I aimed to only use my phone for an hour and 30 minutes. This was an amazing decision for my health because I was also able to sleep better with less blue light before I sleep. As an Orthodox Christian, I maintain my spiritual health through my devotion to God by following our religious fasts, attending church, etc. In college, I plan on continuing to go to church and surrounding myself with people who uplift me in my journey to become closer to my father. Overall, I'm excited about college and plan to support myself physically, mentally, and spiritually throughout it all.

"Momma, please don't give me the broccoli," my eight-year-old self fusses. Growing up, I was the classic picky eater. At any restaurant, I ordered chicken tenders, refusing to eat more varied, balanced foods. I didn't realize the true impact of the food you eat until I began crew. As a rower, I particpated in daily vigorous exercise. However, in my sophomore year, I wasn't supplementing all the hard work in the gym and on the water with a nutritious diet. I noticed my lack of energy compared to my peers, and I was often hungry compared to my peers given I often skipped breakfast. This is where my health journey truly began. I started researching what a balanced diet looked like for an athlete. I looked into my protein intake and how to raise it. I began implementing foods like salmon, peanut butter, etc. to add to my protein. As a rower, I exerted myself constantly, so a lack of protein could counteract all my workout progress. I've also prioritized drinking enough water. I have a water bottle that marks how much water I've drank to motivate me to meet my daily goal. Due to my religion, I also do two-month-long fasts where I cannot consume any animal products. I used to do these fasts and in general eat less. Now, I've decided to find healthy vegan alternatives, so I can maintain my diet while also devoting myself to my religion. Outside of nutrition and exercise, I've adopted a healthier lifestyle by moderating my use of social media. I’ve noticed severe mood changes after scrolling through social media, especially TikTok. I would use the app and feel a sense of inadequacy and insecurity while watching the endless achievements of other students who gained admission into colleges I aspired to attend. Social media deceives teens by perpetuating idealized perceptions of teenage life. Trying to avoid this, I set screen time limits on my phone. After school, I aimed to only use my phone for an hour and 30 minutes. This was an amazing decision for my health because I was also able to sleep better. Research suggests that blue light, a form of light emitted from phones, disrupts our circadian rhythms. Circadian rhythm is the internal cycle humans have that regulates sleep. With less blue light before I sleep, I'm able to sleep better and with less interruption. In general, I'm happy to have adopted a healthier lifestyle and still plan to improve it.

“Betti, what do you want to be when you grow up,” asked my aunt. “A doctor just like Baba,” I replied without hesitation. Every night when my dad came home from work I’d wait criss-crossed on the couch for him to retell his day. A nephrologist, he’d explain the intricacies of dialysis machines and tell stories about his patients. At times he’d take me down memory lane, sharing his experience practicing medicine in Ethiopia before he immigrated to the US. This is what initially drew me to medicine: the stories my father told and the fascinating nature of his work. However, as I grew up, I began to question my interest in medicine. Was it my true passion or just a childhood dream? Determined to experience the environment I had only heard of from my father’s stories, I explored ways to learn more about the subject and volunteer. In addition to diving into my high school science classes, I applied for the Georgetown Medical Academy. For a week, I attended seminars and labs all day. I also participated in suturing and splinting labs and used a patient simulator, performing CPR compressions on its stiff chest. I got to see cadavers and identify body structures. This hands-on experience was nothing like seeing bodies on a computer screen; I understood the fact that these weren’t just cadavers, but real people. Outside of academics, I started working at a medical center with a majority Ethiopian staff. In addition to taking vital signs, I was able to rely on my Amharic skills to communicate with patients. I cared for an older Ethiopian woman who was delighted to see we could communicate in her native language. I comforted her and discussed the required blood tests in a way she could fully understand. While working, I saw many immigrant families without insurance, struggling to pay. America’s flawed health care system is not only prohibitively expensive but also discriminatory. Particularly striking is the disparity in maternal mortality rates between white and black women. Black women face a higher death rate during pregnancy because of implicit bias and unequal access to quality healthcare. In my own practice, I want to give women like me representation in a heavily male dominated field. My experiences with the U.S. healthcare system did not prepare me for the even greater disparities in Ethiopia. I followed a nephrologist in Ethiopia. During a patient visit, I heard the hospital's nephrologist say, “Given your financial background, you’ll not be able to get dialysis.” The patient seemed understanding, unfazed by the response. I was disconcerted by his ready acceptance of the situation. When I spoke to the doctor, he explained, “Access to healthcare is difficult in Ethiopia. Typically only wealthier people are able to get the proper care.” Because of these experiences, I am inspired to reform healthcare both in America and Ethiopia even if it’s not on a large scale, but through my own medical practice. Before medical school, I hope to major in global health so that I can understand all its nuances. I plan to take classes that discuss the intersection between race and treatment outcomes as well as how to address the severe disparities in medical machinery in underserved populations.

“Betti, what do you want to be when you grow up,” asked my aunt. “A doctor just like Baba,” I replied without hesitation. Every night when my dad came home from work I’d wait criss-crossed on the couch for him to retell his day. A nephrologist, he’d explain the intricacies of dialysis machines and tell stories about his patients. At times he’d take me down memory lane, sharing his experience practicing medicine in Ethiopia before he immigrated to the US. This is what initially drew me to medicine: the stories my father told and the fascinating nature of his work. However, as I grew up, I began to question my interest in medicine. Was it my true passion or just a childhood dream? Determined to experience the environment I had only heard of from my father’s stories, I explored ways to learn more about the subject and volunteer. In addition to diving into my high school science classes, I applied for the Georgetown Medical Academy. For a week, I attended seminars and labs all day. I also participated in suturing and splinting labs and used a patient simulator, performing CPR compressions on its stiff chest. I got to see cadavers and identify body structures. This hands-on experience was nothing like seeing bodies on a computer screen; I understood the fact that these weren’t just cadavers, but real people. Outside of academics, I started working at a medical center with a majority Ethiopian staff. In addition to taking vital signs, I was able to rely on my Amharic skills to communicate with patients. I cared for an older Ethiopian woman who was delighted to see we could communicate in her native language. I comforted her and discussed the required blood tests in a way she could fully understand. While working, I saw many immigrant families without insurance, struggling to pay. America’s flawed healthcare system is not only prohibitively expensive but also discriminatory. Particularly striking is the disparity in maternal mortality rates between white and black women. Black women face a higher death rate during pregnancy because of implicit bias and unequal access to quality healthcare. In my own practice, I want to give women like me representation in a heavily male-dominated field. My experiences with the U.S. healthcare system did not prepare me for the even greater disparities in Ethiopia. I followed a nephrologist in Ethiopia. During a patient visit, I heard the hospital's nephrologist say, “Given your financial background, you’ll not be able to get dialysis.” The patient seemed understanding, unfazed by the response. I was disconcerted by his ready acceptance of the situation. When I spoke to the doctor, he explained, “Access to healthcare is difficult in Ethiopia. Typically only wealthier people are able to get the proper care.” Because of these experiences, I am inspired to reform healthcare both in America and Ethiopia even if it’s not on a large scale, but through my own medical practice. The path to medicine, full of hard work and hardship, is one that I am excited to begin. I have truly come full circle, starting as a girl mesmerized by her father's stories to one impassioned by the desire to help others as a physician.

As a senior in high school, I’m faced with the transition between adolescence and adulthood. Growing up, I had much support from my parents. They sacrificed their time and efforts to ensure I had enough resources. However, once I reached high school, I realized that I must grow to become more independent. I believe that there are multiple benefits of being able to manage your finances, including independence from your parents, the ability to fund your education, and relief from financial stress. Leaving home and entering adulthood requires a separation from your family. With financial independence, you can lead your life as you want without the constant supervision of parental figures. I’ve gained this perspective due to the nuance behind having immigrant parents. As a culture, there is a notion of not leaving the house until much later. I do believe this is a financially sound idea, but the ability to move out and have your own space to grow and learn is very vital. Another valuable benefit of financial independence is the ability to educate yourself with fewer financial issues. The cost of college is increasing rapidly, so it's much more difficult for students to put themselves through college. If I can manage my finances and set up a good budget, I can have a better time supporting myself and funding my tuition. The last benefit I see is fewer financial stressors. My parents came to America without any money or familial support. I’ve heard many stories about them having trouble finding housing and setting their roots down. As an adult, having financial independence could give me more peace of mind that wasn’t granted to my parents growing up. To manage my finances, I have a spending booklet. In this, I track how much money I have and how much I'll allocate for each category. I limit how much I eat out because that's often a very high area of expenditure for students. In college, I'll also manage my finances by applying for scholarships so that my college costs are continually lower. In college, I also hope to pick up a job whether it's being a teaching assistant, researcher, etc. I think it's increasingly important to find sources of income during college because I can't guarantee my parent's ability to provide for me throughout my school career. In all, I hope to manage my finances to support myself and be more independent.

Sitting in my ninth-grade English, I read "The Book Thief," a novel assigned by my teacher. As I progressed through the book, I unraveled all the subcontext and lessons that are meant to be learned from it. "The Book Thief," written by Markus Zusak, is a historical fiction centered around Liesel, an orphan who begins to live with her foster family. Although Liesel is illiterate, she begins to steal books, soon to know the power they hold. Her foster dad Hans starts to teach her how to read. This is all set during the Holocaust. Max, a Jewish man who escaped from a concentration camp, comes to the foster families' house looking for asylum. Even though it puts their family at risk, Hans and Liesel let Max stay and provide him with the necessities. Max leaves the home, fearing that the Nazis will come and take him, jeopardizing Liesel and her family. At the end of the book, Liesel's foster family dies due to a bomb dropping, and Liesel begins living with the mayor's family. This book was incredibly influential in building the foundation for my knowledge of books and the world. It taught me how to analyze important subcontexts and further analyze novels. However, the most critical part of this book is its lessons. Hans, the foster dad, exemplifies the core value of kindness. I think a core value of Hans Hubermann is kindness. Not only does he believe that everyone should be equal, but he takes action to make that happen. He put himself at risk to at least some extent, to counteract the horrid acts of the Nazis. For example, he helped a Jewish man when his shop was ransacked and damaged and took Max into his home. The book also speaks on the power of books and words. I believe we currently underestimate the power of our words due to the accessibility of communication with social media. Within the Book Thief, Max gifts Liesel a story called the "Word Shaker" to show her that she can use her voice and words to make an impact. The book further underscores that words are the most powerful weapon. Hitler used words to mobilize a group of people toward hatred. This would hopefully help all the readers contextualize their words. Overall, "The Book Thief" is an amazing novel that would help people understand the meaning of words and kindness.

“Betti, what do you want to be when you grow up,” asked my aunt. “A doctor just like Baba,” I replied without hesitation. Every night when my dad came home from work I’d wait criss-crossed on the couch for him to retell his day. A nephrologist, he’d explain the intricacies of dialysis machines and tell stories about his patients. At times he’d take me down memory lane, sharing his experience practicing medicine in Ethiopia before he immigrated to the US. This is what initially drew me to medicine: the stories my father told and the fascinating nature of his work. However, as I grew up, I began to question my interest in medicine. Was it my true passion or just a childhood dream? Determined to experience the environment I had only heard of from my father’s stories, I explored ways to learn more about the subject and volunteer. In addition to diving into my high school science classes, I applied for the Georgetown Medical Academy. For a week, I attended seminars and labs all day. I also participated in suturing and splinting labs and used a patient simulator, performing CPR compressions on its stiff chest. I got to see cadavers and identify body structures. This hands-on experience was nothing like seeing bodies on a computer screen; I understood the fact that these weren’t just cadavers, but real people. Outside of academics, I started working at a medical center with a majority Ethiopian staff. In addition to taking vital signs, I was able to rely on my Amharic skills to communicate with patients. I cared for an older Ethiopian woman who was delighted to see we could communicate in her native language. I comforted her and discussed the required blood tests in a way she could fully understand. While working, I saw many immigrant families without insurance, struggling to pay. America’s flawed health care system is not only prohibitively expensive but also discriminatory. Particularly striking is the disparity in maternal mortality rates between white and black women. Black women face a higher death rate during pregnancy because of implicit bias and unequal access to quality healthcare. In my own practice, I want to give women like me representation in a heavily male dominated field. My experiences with the U.S. healthcare system did not prepare me for the even greater disparities in Ethiopia. I followed a nephrologist in Ethiopia. During a patient visit, I heard the hospital's nephrologist say, “Given your financial background, you’ll not be able to get dialysis.” The patient seemed understanding, unfazed by the response. I was disconcerted by his ready acceptance of the situation. When I spoke to the doctor, he explained, “Access to healthcare is difficult in Ethiopia. Typically only wealthier people are able to get the proper care.” Because of these experiences, I am inspired to reform healthcare both in America and Ethiopia even if it’s not on a large scale, but through my own medical practice. I hope to pursue further education by going to university and then to medical school. With this set of knowledge, I'll be able to practice medicine in a holistic, ethical way

“Betti, what do you want to be when you grow up,” asked my aunt. “A doctor just like Baba,” I replied without hesitation. Every night when my dad came home from work I’d wait crisscrossed on the couch for him to retell his day. A nephrologist, he’d explain the intricacies of dialysis machines and tell stories about his patients. At times he’d take me down memory lane, sharing his experience practicing medicine in Ethiopia before he immigrated to the US. This is what initially drew me to medicine: the stories my father told and the fascinating nature of his work. However, as I grew up, I began to question my interest in medicine. Was it my true passion or just a childhood dream? Determined to experience the environment I had only heard of from my father’s stories, I explored ways to learn more about the subject and volunteer. In addition to diving into my high school science classes, I applied for the Georgetown Medical Academy. For a week, I attended seminars and labs all day. I also participated in suturing and splinting labs and used a patient simulator, performing CPR compressions on its stiff chest. I got to see cadavers and identify body structures. This hands-on experience was nothing like seeing bodies on a computer screen; I understood the fact that these weren’t just cadavers, but real people. Outside of academics, I started working at a medical center with a majority Ethiopian staff. In addition to taking vital signs, I was able to rely on my Amharic skills to communicate with patients. I cared for an older Ethiopian woman who was delighted to see we could communicate in her native language. I comforted her and discussed the required blood tests in a way she could fully understand. While working, I saw many immigrant families without insurance, struggling to pay. America’s flawed healthcare system is not only prohibitively expensive but also discriminatory. Particularly striking is the disparity in maternal mortality rates between white and black women. Black women face a higher death rate during pregnancy because of implicit bias and unequal access to quality healthcare. In my own practice, I want to give women like me representation in a heavily male-dominated field. My experiences with the U.S. healthcare system did not prepare me for the even greater disparities in Ethiopia. At a clinic in Addis Ababa, I shadowed an oral surgeon. I met a woman who needed several tooth extractions. Worried about the procedure, she was biting her cheek to keep her mind preoccupied. Oral health is often under-prioritized in Ethiopian society, so the steps to resolve these issues often seem mysterious to patients. To comfort her, I reassured her and shared my personal experience with oral surgery. I saw the worry on her face slowly fade. I was delighted that my words and compassion made an impact on her experience. Because of these experiences, I am inspired to reform healthcare both in America and Ethiopia even if it’s not on a large scale, but through my own medical practice. The path to medicine, full of hard work and hardship, is one that I am excited to begin hopefully with the help of this scholarship. This scholarship could give me more financial freedom to attend a university that will prepare me for medical school; currently, money is a barrier to my college opportunities. I also would be able to research global health at an established 4-year university with plentiful opportunities. These opportunities could include clinical and lab research about global health or personal advising in difficult hard science courses.

Generational wealth is often not afforded to immigrant and minority populations. Financial assets passed down through one's lineage aren't a guarantee within America. Both my parents immigrated from Ethiopia to America. My mother came here on a Diversity Lottery visa to pursue her undergraduate education, leaving behind all her family. Coming here, she worked in a nursing home to fund her schooling and bare necessities. On the other hand, my father came here in his 20s to do his medical residency, leaving the harsh sociopolitical climate of Ethiopia at the time. I've learned important lessons about building yourself from the ground up through my parents' immigration stories. Generational wealth is a privilege granted to those who have a rooted history in an area, having been able to build connections and secure financial stability and assets. I hope to continue my family's hard work by educating myself in college to seek out a well-paying and satisfying job. My plan for generational wealth is to become a physician. Physicians are awarded amazing salaries and benefits, giving me leeway to invest in ways to build my net worth. However, my main reason for becoming a doctor stems from my love for it. I'm intrigued by the anatomical side of medicine, having worked on a cadaver and explored the many parts of the human body. More importantly, I hope to provide equity within the global health sphere. My home country Ethiopia has an extreme lack of medical machinery and technologically advanced equipment. This is also seen in other developing nations, so I hope to remedy and advocate for a change in this as I become a physician. Outside of the steady salary of becoming a physician, I plan to work to minimize my college costs and debts. Current steps I'm taking are applying for scholarships while also keeping my academic portfolio in the running for school-specific merit-based scholarships. As an adult, I also plan to practice smart spending, so I can have a good credit score and savings to invest in stock market. Becoming knowledgeable in the financial sphere is really important for building generational wealth. Currently, I'm taking AP Government which is teaching me about the inter-workings of the economy. Hopefully, I can use this knowledge and apply it by taking advantage of all resources available to me. In all, generational wealth is a goal of mine given my parents weren't provided with it as newly immigrated people. Through a college education, I can secure a financially stable job that can help me create this wealth and invest in my future.

“Betti, what do you want to be when you grow up,” asked my aunt. “A doctor just like Baba,” I replied without hesitation. Every night when my dad came home from work I’d wait criss-crossed on the couch for him to retell his day. A nephrologist, he’d explain the intricacies of dialysis machines and tell stories about his patients. At times he’d take me down memory lane, sharing his experience practicing medicine in Ethiopia before he immigrated to the US. This is what initially drew me to medicine: the stories my father told and the fascinating nature of his work. However, as I grew up, I began to question my interest in medicine. Was it my true passion or just a childhood dream? Determined to experience the environment I had only heard of from my father’s stories, I explored ways to learn more about the subject and volunteer. In addition to diving into my high school science classes, I applied for the Georgetown Medical Academy. For a week, I attended seminars and labs all day. I also participated in suturing and splinting labs and used a patient simulator, performing CPR compressions on its stiff chest. I got to see cadavers and identify body structures. This hands-on experience was nothing like seeing bodies on a computer screen; I understood the fact that these weren’t just cadavers, but real people. Outside of academics, I started working at a medical center with a majority Ethiopian staff. In addition to taking vital signs, I was able to rely on my Amharic skills to communicate with patients. I cared for an older Ethiopian woman who was delighted to see we could communicate in her native language. I comforted her and discussed the required blood tests in a way she could fully understand. While working, I saw many immigrant families without insurance, struggling to pay. America’s flawed health care system is not only prohibitively expensive but also discriminatory. My experiences with the U.S. healthcare system did not prepare me for the even greater disparities in Ethiopia. I followed a nephrologist in Ethiopia. During a patient visit, I heard the hospital's nephrologist say, “Given your financial background, you’ll not be able to get dialysis.” The patient seemed understanding, unfazed by the response. I was disconcerted by his ready acceptance of the situation. When I spoke to the doctor, he explained, “Access to healthcare is difficult in Ethiopia. Typically only wealthier people are able to get the proper care.” Because of these experiences, I am inspired to reform healthcare both in America and Ethiopia even if it’s not on a large scale, but through my own medical practice. The path to medicine, full of hard work and hardship, is one that I am excited to begin. I have truly come full circle, starting as a girl mesmerized by her father's stories to one impassioned by the desire to help others as a physician. My focus on nutrition stems from the importance of understanding that much of a patient's outcomes are determined by what they do outside of the hospital. Our diets, exercise, and general environment are determinants of our health. I currently I'm vegan due to religious restrictions. As an Orthodox Christian, I'm fasting two months before Fasika, our Easter. I believe this fast is amazing for my commitment to my faith and also for my health. I've noticed a jump in energy and stamina when it comes to my daily exercise.

“Betti, what do you want to be when you grow up,” asked my aunt. “A doctor just like Baba,” I replied without hesitation. Every night when my dad came home from work I’d wait criss-crossed on the couch for him to retell his day. A nephrologist, he’d explain the intricacies of dialysis machines and tell stories about his patients. At times he’d take me down memory lane, sharing his experience practicing medicine in Ethiopia before he immigrated to the US. This is what initially drew me to medicine: the stories my father told and the fascinating nature of his work. However, as I grew up, I began to question my interest in medicine. Was it my true passion or just a childhood dream? Determined to experience the environment I had only heard of from my father’s stories, I explored ways to learn more about the subject and volunteer. In addition to diving into my high school science classes, I applied for the Georgetown Medical Academy. For a week, I attended seminars and labs all day. I also participated in suturing and splinting labs and used a patient simulator, performing CPR compressions on its stiff chest. I got to see cadavers and identify body structures. This hands-on experience was nothing like seeing bodies on a computer screen; I understood the fact that these weren’t just cadavers, but real people. Outside of academics, I started working at a medical center with a majority Ethiopian staff. In addition to taking vital signs, I was able to rely on my Amharic skills to communicate with patients. I cared for an older Ethiopian woman who was delighted to see we could communicate in her native language. I comforted her and discussed the required blood tests in a way she could fully understand. While working, I saw many immigrant families without insurance, struggling to pay. America’s flawed health care system is not only prohibitively expensive but also discriminatory. Particularly striking is the disparity in maternal mortality rates between white and black women. Black women face a higher death rate during pregnancy because of implicit bias and unequal access to quality healthcare. In my own practice, I want to give women like me representation in a heavily male dominated field. My experiences with the U.S. healthcare system did not prepare me for the even greater disparities in Ethiopia. I followed a nephrologist in Ethiopia. During a patient visit, I heard the hospital's nephrologist say, “Given your financial background, you’ll not be able to get dialysis.” The patient seemed understanding, unfazed by the response. I was disconcerted by his ready acceptance of the situation. When I spoke to the doctor, he explained, “Access to healthcare is difficult in Ethiopia. Typically only wealthier people are able to get the proper care.” With this burning passion, I can make an impact on my community by advocating for equity within healthcare and access to the proper wellness resources. I hope to go back to Ethiopia again in college to educate Ethiopian citizens in Amharic about proper nutrition and ways to prevent common illnesses. Within my local community, I hope to promote healthy eating and the balance between eating for fuel and eating for enjoyment. Another aspect of wellness I hope to mitigate is the environmental exposure people have. This means protesting factories near residential areas and other negative environmental factors.

“Betti, what do you want to be when you grow up,” asked my aunt. “A doctor just like Baba,” I replied without hesitation. Every night when my dad came home from work I’d wait criss-crossed on the couch for him to retell his day. A nephrologist, he’d explain the intricacies of dialysis machines and tell stories about his patients. At times he’d take me down memory lane, sharing his experience practicing medicine in Ethiopia before he immigrated to the US. This is what initially drew me to medicine: the stories my father told and the fascinating nature of his work. However, as I grew up, I began to question my interest in medicine. Was it my true passion or just a childhood dream? Determined to experience the environment I had only heard of from my father’s stories, I explored ways to learn more about the subject and volunteer. In addition to diving into my high school science classes, I applied for the Georgetown Medical Academy. For a week, I attended seminars and labs all day. I also participated in suturing and splinting labs and used a patient simulator, performing CPR compressions on its stiff chest. I got to see cadavers and identify body structures. This hands-on experience was nothing like seeing bodies on a computer screen; I understood the fact that these weren’t just cadavers, but real people. Outside of academics, I started working at a medical center with a majority Ethiopian staff. In addition to taking vital signs, I was able to rely on my Amharic skills to communicate with patients. I cared for an older Ethiopian woman who was delighted to see we could communicate in her native language. I comforted her and discussed the required blood tests in a way she could fully understand. While working, I saw many immigrant families without insurance, struggling to pay. America’s flawed health care system is not only prohibitively expensive but also discriminatory. Particularly striking is the disparity in maternal mortality rates between white and black women. Black women face a higher death rate during pregnancy because of implicit bias and unequal access to quality healthcare. In my own practice, I want to give women like me representation in a heavily male-dominated field. My experiences with the U.S. healthcare system did not prepare me for the even greater disparities in Ethiopia. At a clinic in Addis Ababa, I shadowed an oral surgeon. I met a woman who needed several tooth extractions. Worried about the procedure, she was biting her cheek to keep her mind preoccupied, so I comforted her. Oral health is often under-prioritized in Ethiopian society, so the steps to resolve these issues often seem mysterious to patients. Hoping to understand my father’s specialty, I also followed a nephrologist in Ethiopia. During a patient visit, I heard the hospital's nephrologist say, “Given your financial background, you’ll not be able to get dialysis.” The patient seemed understanding, unfazed by the response. I was disconcerted by his ready acceptance of the situation. When I spoke to the doctor, he explained, “Access to healthcare is difficult in Ethiopia. Typically only wealthier people are able to get the proper care.” Because of these experiences, I am inspired to reform healthcare both in America and Ethiopia even if it’s not on a large scale, but through my own medical practice. The path to medicine, full of hard work and hardship, is one that I am excited to begin. I have truly come full circle, starting as a girl mesmerized by her father's stories to one impassioned by the desire to help others as a physician.

“Betti, what do you want to be when you grow up,” asked my aunt. “A doctor just like Baba,” I replied without hesitation. Every night when my dad came home from work I’d wait criss-crossed on the couch for him to retell his day. A nephrologist, he’d explain the intricacies of dialysis machines and tell stories about his patients. At times he’d take me down memory lane, sharing his experience practicing medicine in Ethiopia before he immigrated to the US. This is what initially drew me to medicine: the stories my father told and its fascinating nature. However, as I grew up, I began to question my interest in medicine. Was it my true passion or just a childhood dream? Determined to experience the environment I had only heard of from my father’s stories, I explored ways to learn more about the subject and volunteer. In addition to diving into my high school science classes, I applied for the Georgetown Medical Academy. For a week, I attended seminars and labs all day. I also participated in suturing and splinting labs and used a patient simulator, performing CPR compressions on its stiff chest. I got to see cadavers and identify body structures. This hands-on experience was nothing like seeing bodies on a computer screen; I understood the fact that these weren’t just cadavers, but real people. Outside of academics, I started working at a medical center with a majority Ethiopian staff. In addition to taking vital signs, I was able to rely on my Amharic skills to communicate with patients. I cared for an older Ethiopian woman who was delighted to see we could communicate in her native language. I comforted her and discussed the required blood tests in a way she could fully understand. While working, I saw many immigrant families without insurance, struggling to pay. America’s flawed health care system is not only prohibitively expensive but also discriminatory. Particularly striking is the disparity in maternal mortality rates between white and black women. Black women face a higher death rate during pregnancy because of implicit bias and unequal access to quality healthcare. In my own practice, I want to give women like me representation in a heavily male dominated field. My experiences with the U.S. healthcare system did not prepare me for the even greater disparities in Ethiopia. At a clinic in Addis Ababa, I shadowed an oral surgeon. I met a woman who needed several tooth extractions. Worried about the procedure, she was biting her cheek to keep her mind preoccupied, so I comforted herher. Oral health is often under-prioritized in Ethiopian society, so the steps to resolve these issues often seem mysterious to patients. Hoping to understand my father’s specialty, I also followed a nephrologist in Ethiopia. During a patient visit, I heard the hospital's nephrologist say, “Given your financial background, you’ll not be able to get dialysis.” The patient seemed understanding, unfazed by the response. I was disconcerted by his ready acceptance of the situation. When I spoke to the doctor, he explained, “Access to healthcare is difficult in Ethiopia. Typically only wealthier people are able to get the proper care.” Because of these experiences, I am inspired to reform healthcare both in America and Ethiopia even if it’s not on a large scale, but through my own medical practice. The path to medicine, full of hard work and hardship, is one that I am excited to begin. I have truly come full circle, starting as a girl mesmerized by her father's stories to one impassioned by the desire to help others as a physician.

My family's story has been an influential part of my life. Both of my parents immigrated from Nazret, Ethiopia, bringing their rich traditions. My mother came to the US at eighteen to pursue higher education. Since my mother is the eldest and only daughter, her family felt a loss in their lives without her near them. She felt constant homesickness but understood the reason for her decision. Here, she enrolled in college while working at a senior living home to make ends meet. On the other hand, my father came to America after finishing medical school. As a young child in Ethiopia, my father always dreamed of becoming a physician. After being accepted into medical school, he worked constantly in a school that didn’t care about his or his peers' mental health. After practicing in Ethiopia for several years, he came to America to escape a harsh political climate. Because of this background, my father taught me to always prioritize my academics, knowing it is the best way to overcome any socioeconomic barriers. My heritage as an Ethiopian has also taught me the necessity of understanding diverse voices. Ethiopia has many tribes and cultures within it. I enjoy learning about the sheer number of languages and groups of people in my country. I'm also very connected to the community and furthering the country through global health. Medical services like dialysis that are considered routine in the states are difficult for patients to receive. In the future, I hope to give back by potentially practicing medicine and creating volunteer efforts to even the medical disparities there.

"Betti, how are you supposed to get married and become a doctor," my grandma questions. Coming from Ethiopia, my family has a strong sense of traditionalism, emphasizing gender roles. However, I’ve always been set on my career goals and advancing myself academically before considering creating a family. My journey to medicine has often been questioned by older family members. To me, feminism is the advocacy for and practice of equality and equity regardless of gender. I believe women should be able to make their own choices in their personal and professional lives. This is such an important issue because women have been historically disadvantaged. Before 1920, women weren't able to vote. Even in the 50s and 60s, the idealized version of a nuclear family with a "picture-perfect" housewife was everywhere. While I don't believe this shouldn't be an option for women, I think it's important to promote choice and represent in media a variety of lifestyles for women to pursue. My mother is one of my greatest inspirations as a feminist and person. She immigrated here at only eighteen to pursue higher education. When she got to America, she enrolled in college while working at a senior living home to make ends meet. This drive and passion to educate herself inspire me daily. Growing up, she always taught me to prioritize my passions and not let any societal structures hinder them. My mom always showed me the duality of women. She didn't choose between family and a job. Instead, she balanced working in healthcare while raising me and my brother. Within my school, I contribute to the feminist movement by encouraging young girls to pursue STEM. As President of the Science Olympiad, I set out to show other women, especially black women, that they can handle medical and engineering fields. Within my local community, I raise awareness on the issues of the lack of women's representation in medicine and the preconceived notions about that. Often, there is an automatic bias that a woman in the hospital is either underqualified or a nurse. I'm hoping to combat this issue by providing quality care as a volunteer now and physician in the future. Feminism is such a complex issue, and we must take into account the intersections of identity. Each person's experience is different and cannot be summed up by one path. I hope the future of feminism I contribute to embodies even more open dialogue and inclusion of all people.

“Betti, what do you want to be when you grow up,” asked my aunt. “A doctor just like Baba,” I replied without hesitation. Every night when my dad came home from work I’d wait criss-crossed on the couch for him to retell his day. A nephrologist, he’d explain the intricacies of dialysis machines and tell stories about his patients. At times he’d take me down memory lane, sharing his experience practicing medicine in Ethiopia before he immigrated to the US. This is what initially drew me to medicine: the stories my father told and its fascinating nature. However, as I grew up, I began to question my interest in medicine. Was it my true passion or just a childhood dream? Determined to experience the environment I had only heard of from my father’s stories, I explored ways to learn more about the subject and volunteer. In addition to diving into my high school science classes, I applied for the Georgetown Medical Academy. For a week, I attended seminars and labs all day. I also participated in suturing and splinting labs and used a patient simulator, performing CPR compressions on its stiff chest. I got to see cadavers and identify body structures. This hands-on experience was nothing like seeing bodies on a computer screen; I understood the fact that these weren’t just cadavers, but real people. Outside of academics, I started working at a medical center with a majority Ethiopian staff. In addition to taking vital signs, I was able to rely on my Amharic skills to communicate with patients. I cared for an older Ethiopian woman who was delighted to see we could communicate in her native language. I comforted her and discussed the required blood tests in a way she could fully understand. While working, I saw many immigrant families without insurance, struggling to pay. America’s flawed health care system is not only prohibitively expensive but also discriminatory. Particularly striking is the disparity in maternal mortality rates between white and black women. Black women face a higher death rate during pregnancy because of implicit bias and unequal access to quality healthcare. In my own practice, I want to give women like me representation in a heavily male dominated field. My experiences with the U.S. healthcare system did not prepare me for the even greater disparities in Ethiopia. At a clinic in Addis Ababa, I shadowed an oral surgeon. I met a woman who needed several tooth extractions. Worried about the procedure, she was biting her cheek to keep her mind preoccupied, so I comforted herher. Oral health is often under-prioritized in Ethiopian society, so the steps to resolve these issues often seem mysterious to patients. Hoping to understand my father’s specialty, I also followed a nephrologist in Ethiopia. During a patient visit, I heard the hospital's nephrologist say, “Given your financial background, you’ll not be able to get dialysis.” The patient seemed understanding, unfazed by the response. I was disconcerted by his ready acceptance of the situation. When I spoke to the doctor, he explained, “Access to healthcare is difficult in Ethiopia. Typically only wealthier people are able to get the proper care.” Because of these experiences, I am inspired to reform healthcare both in America and Ethiopia even if it’s not on a large scale, but through my own medical practice. The path to medicine, full of hard work and hardship, is one that I am excited to begin. I have truly come full circle, starting as a girl mesmerized by her father's stories to one impassioned by the desire to help others as a physician.

“Betti, what do you want to be when you grow up,” asked my aunt. “A doctor just like Baba,” I replied without hesitation. Every night when my dad came home from work I’d wait criss-crossed on the couch for him to retell his day. A nephrologist, he’d explain the intricacies of dialysis machines and tell stories about his patients. At times he’d take me down memory lane, sharing his experience practicing medicine in Ethiopia before he immigrated to the US. This is what initially drew me to medicine: the stories my father told and the fascinating nature of his work. However, as I grew up, I began to question my interest in medicine. Was it my true passion or just a childhood dream? Determined to experience the environment I had only heard of from my father’s stories, I explored ways to learn more about the subject and volunteer. In addition to diving into my high school science classes, I applied for the Georgetown Medical Academy. For a week, I attended seminars and labs all day. I also participated in suturing and splinting labs and used a patient simulator, performing CPR compressions on its stiff chest. I got to see cadavers and identify body structures. This hands-on experience was nothing like seeing bodies on a computer screen; I understood the fact that these weren’t just cadavers, but real people. Outside of academics, I started working at a medical center with a majority Ethiopian staff. In addition to taking vital signs, I was able to rely on my Amharic skills to communicate with patients. I cared for an older Ethiopian woman who was delighted to see we could communicate in her native language. I comforted her and discussed the required blood tests in a way she could fully understand. While working, I saw many immigrant families without insurance, struggling to pay. America’s flawed healthcare system is not only prohibitively expensive but also discriminatory. Particularly striking is the disparity in maternal mortality rates between white and black women. Black women face a higher death rate during pregnancy because of implicit bias and unequal access to quality healthcare. In my own practice, I want to give women like me representation in a heavily male-dominated field. My experiences with the U.S. healthcare system did not prepare me for the even greater disparities in Ethiopia. At a clinic in Addis Ababa, I shadowed an oral surgeon. I met a woman who needed several tooth extractions. Worried about the procedure, she was biting her cheek to keep her mind preoccupied, so I comforted her. Oral health is often under-prioritized in Ethiopian society, so the steps to resolve these issues often seem mysterious to patients. Hoping to understand my father’s specialty, I also followed a nephrologist in Ethiopia. During a patient visit, I heard the hospital's nephrologist say, “Given your financial background, you’ll not be able to get dialysis.” The patient seemed understanding, unfazed by the response. I was disconcerted by his ready acceptance of the situation. When I spoke to the doctor, he explained, “Access to healthcare is difficult in Ethiopia. Typically only wealthier people are able to get the proper care.” Because of these experiences, I am inspired to reform healthcare both in America and Ethiopia even if it’s not on a large scale, but through my own medical practice. The path to medicine, full of hard work and hardship, is one that I am excited to begin. I have truly come full circle, starting as a girl mesmerized by her father's stories to one impassioned by the desire to help others as a physician.

“Betti, what do you want to be when you grow up,” asked my aunt. “A doctor just like Baba,” I replied without hesitation. Every night when my dad came home from work I’d wait criss-crossed on the couch for him to retell his day. A nephrologist, he’d explain the intricacies of dialysis machines and tell stories about his patients. At times he’d take me down memory lane, sharing his experience practicing medicine in Ethiopia before he immigrated to the US. This is what initially drew me to medicine: the stories my father told and its fascinating nature. However, as I grew up, I began to question my interest in medicine. Was it my true passion or just a childhood dream? Determined to experience the environment I had only heard of from my father’s stories, I explored ways to learn more about the subject and volunteer. In addition to diving into my high school science classes, I applied for the Georgetown Medical Academy. For a week, I attended seminars and labs all day. I also participated in suturing and splinting labs and used a patient simulator, performing CPR compressions on its stiff chest. I got to see cadavers and identify body structures. This hands-on experience was nothing like seeing bodies on a computer screen; I understood the fact that these weren’t just cadavers, but real people. Outside of academics, I started working at a medical center with a majority Ethiopian staff. In addition to taking vital signs, I was able to rely on my Amharic skills to communicate with patients. I cared for an older Ethiopian woman who was delighted to see we could communicate in her native language. I comforted her and discussed the required blood tests in a way she could fully understand. While working, I saw many immigrant families without insurance, struggling to pay. America’s flawed health care system is not only prohibitively expensive but also discriminatory. Particularly striking is the disparity in maternal mortality rates between white and black women. Black women face a higher death rate during pregnancy because of implicit bias and unequal access to quality healthcare. In my own practice, I want to give women like me representation in a heavily male dominated field. My experiences with the U.S. healthcare system did not prepare me for the even greater disparities in Ethiopia. At a clinic in Addis Ababa, I shadowed an oral surgeon. I met a woman who needed several tooth extractions. Worried about the procedure, she was biting her cheek to keep her mind preoccupied, so I comforted herher. Oral health is often under-prioritized in Ethiopian society, so the steps to resolve these issues often seem mysterious to patients. Hoping to understand my father’s specialty, I also followed a nephrologist in Ethiopia. During a patient visit, I heard the hospital's nephrologist say, “Given your financial background, you’ll not be able to get dialysis.” The patient seemed understanding, unfazed by the response. I was disconcerted by his ready acceptance of the situation. When I spoke to the doctor, he explained, “Access to healthcare is difficult in Ethiopia. Typically only wealthier people are able to get the proper care.” Because of these experiences, I am inspired to reform healthcare both in America and Ethiopia even if it’s not on a large scale, but through my own medical practice. The path to medicine, full of hard work and hardship, is one that I am excited to begin. I have truly come full circle, starting as a girl mesmerized by her father's stories to one impassioned by the desire to help others as a physician.

"There is no way without college," proclaims my mother. Growing up in an immigrant household, I always assumed I'd go to college. My mother had a difficult college experience, adjusting to American culture while studying hard, so I was always taught to value educational opportunities. However, my views on college have expanded from education based to also an experience to grow as a person. College offers an opportunity to explore your academic interests. I hope to expand my knowledge base by pursuing different subjects. For example, I’m incredibly passionate about healthcare and how policy and cultures interact with healthcare. Black people are systematically discriminated against within our healthcare system, so I hope to be an advocate for change. College can teach me the intricacies of this issue and how to most effectively address such inequities in my future endeavors. Another interest of mine I plan to continue is Latin. After taking Latin for five years, I hope to continue my studies of classical languages. I'm excited to further my understanding of the social and religious context that affects the ancient texts; I also am interested in reading Vergil's Aeneid more. College also offers the opportunity to meet diverse people and gain new perspectives from them. I plan to succeed in college by taking advantage of this by joining culture-based clubs like Ethiopian Eritrea Association and International Clubs. I could grow intellectually by hearing the important stories of different cultures across campus. One of the most important ways I plan to succeed in college is through time management. College can become overwhelming because of the increased freedom over your schedule. For this reason, I plan on keeping all my tasks in a Google calendar while staying on top of all my courses. In general, the intended point of a college degree is to offer a way into a job. For me, a college degree sets me up for medical school, giving me knowledge of my prerequisites. Overall, college sets one up for many career opportunities while introducing one to new people and cultures.

The phone blares, getting calls from rooms 334, 342, and 345 simultaneously. It’s my first day at Sentara, a medical center in Northern Virginia, and I’m immediately thrown into the fast-paced environment. This is the moment when I first realized how important collaboration is within the healthcare field. Anytime a patient needed food, I made sure to check with their nurse to ensure it didn't violate any necessary dietary restrictions. I collaborated with the nurses on providing quality patient care by responding to patient calls on time, organizing surgical bags, etc. Outside of my own experiences, healthcare relies on teamwork. The physician, nurse, healthcare manager, and more all work together to create an effective care plan for each patient. Without this collaboration, the healthcare experience wouldn't be as well-rounded for the patient since fewer perspectives are involved. As a physician, I plan to apply collaboration through open discussion with my co-workers. I hope to create an environment where everyone's ideas are heard and acknowledged. Diversity is another vital part of medicine. In 2022, I started working at a medical center with a majority Ethiopian staff. In addition to taking vital signs, I used my Amharic skills to communicate with patients. I cared for an older Ethiopian woman who was delighted to see we could communicate in her native language. I comforted her and discussed the required blood tests in a way she could fully understand. In the future, I hope to help my community with quality care in a way they can understand. I've also noticed the lack of female representation among physicians. In Sentara, a medical center in Northern Virginia, most of the nurses I work alongside were women, but I’ve only seen one female doctor in my year of volunteering there. My pediatrician is a black woman, so I know from firsthand experience the importance of representation. With her as a doctor, I have the peace of mind that she can understand all the layers of my identity. I hope to be that representation for a young girl like me. Outside of healthcare experiences, I have collaborated a lot through Science Olympiad, a science-based competition. My 2021-2022 season was incredibly rewarding. My partners and I had prepared endlessly for months. I competed in events like Codebusters, encrypting and decrypting ciphers. Studying for these events consumed much of my and my partners' time. We had to work around each other's schedules. This experience was incredibly rewarding because I could bond with people I had grown close to through all the hours spent studying. Two weeks after the state competition, our entire team entered a zoom call where Science Olympiad announces awards. Crossing my fingers, I hear the speaker say, “Fifth place medal to South County HS.” My partners and I jumped up in excitement, overcome with joy. Without our collaboration and communication, we wouldn't have suceeded.

“Betti, what do you want to be when you grow up,” asked my aunt. “A doctor just like Baba,” I replied without hesitation. Every night when my dad came home from work I’d wait criss-crossed on the couch for him to retell his day. A nephrologist, he’d explain the intricacies of dialysis machines and tell stories about his patients. At times he’d take me down memory lane, sharing his experience practicing medicine in Ethiopia before he immigrated to the US. This is what initially drew me to medicine: the stories my father told and the fascinating nature of his work. To pursue this passion, I went to the Georgetown Medical Academy. For a week, I attended seminars and labs all day. I also participated in suturing and splinting labs and used a patient simulator, performing CPR compressions on its stiff chest. I got to see cadavers and identify body structures. This hands-on experience was nothing like seeing bodies on a computer screen; I understood the fact that these weren’t just cadavers, but real people. In terms of getting involved within my community, I started working at a medical center with a majority Ethiopian staff. In addition to taking vital signs, I was able to rely on my Amharic skills to communicate with patients. I cared for an older Ethiopian woman who was delighted to see we could communicate in her native language. I comforted her and discussed the required blood tests in a way she could fully understand. While working, I saw many immigrant families without insurance, struggling to pay. America’s flawed health care system is not only prohibitively expensive but also discriminatory. Particularly striking is the disparity in maternal mortality rates between white and black women. Black women face a higher death rate during pregnancy because of implicit bias and unequal access to quality healthcare. In my own practice, I want to give women like me representation in a heavily male-dominated field. My experiences with the U.S. healthcare system did not prepare me for the even greater disparities in Ethiopia. At a clinic in Addis Ababa, I shadowed an oral surgeon. I met a woman who needed several tooth extractions. Worried about the procedure, she was biting her cheek to keep her mind preoccupied. Oral health is often under-prioritized in Ethiopian society, so the steps to resolve these issues often seem mysterious to patients. To comfort her, I reassured her and shared my personal experience with oral surgery. I saw the worry on her face slowly fade. I was delighted that my words and compassion made an impact on her experience. Hoping to understand my father’s specialty, I also followed a nephrologist in Ethiopia. During a patient visit, I heard the hospital's nephrologist say, “Given your financial background, you’ll not be able to get dialysis.” The patient seemed understanding, unfazed by the response. I was disconcerted by his ready acceptance of the situation. When I spoke to the doctor, he explained, “Access to healthcare is difficult in Ethiopia. Typically only wealthier people are able to get the proper care.” I've influenced change through interactions with patients and also by creating open discussions with my peer. As African Student Association Vice President, I orient meetings around these disparities. Because of these experiences, I am inspired to reform healthcare both in America and Ethiopia even if it’s not on a large scale, but through my own medical practice. The path to medicine, full of hard work and hardship, is one that I am excited to begin so that I can give back to my local and global community.

Sitting in my desk chair, I shakily open an email informing me whether I’ve been accepted into the Governor’s School for Medicine. My eyes immediately focus on the word unfortunately, indicating that I haven’t made it past the regional level. My mind goes to all the things I could have written, done, or said better. I ruminate over the missed opportunity. The governor’s school had the resources to teach me how to use case studies to develop diagnoses and conduct standard testing and examinations on patients. I would’ve been able to learn skills like blood typing in a professional setting. I had been excited about this opportunity because it directly related to my passion in medicine and would have assisted me in my future goals. In addition, I had looked forward to the experience of going to a college and staying for a month to expose myself to how it would be to be away from home and surrounded by completely new people. I feared that I would lag compared to my peers without this experience. A few hours after my initial disappointment, I began to research other medical opportunities for high school students. After only a week, I found an internship at Blue Nile medical center in Northern Virginia. Once I started to work there, I was able to connect with patients and was taught valuable skills by the doctors and the staff such as taking vitals and using the information system Epic. I realized that interning at the clinic offered advantages that I would not have had at the Governor’s school, including interacting with the patients. At Blue Nile, I built relationships with patients and bonded over cultural similarities and interests. While waiting for the physician to come, I talked with patients about our favorite cultural foods and celebrations. It eased their minds as they waited for an evaluation of the symptoms that concerned them. My rejection from the Governor’s School challenged me to explore different avenues. At that moment, I had two options: stay stagnant and upset or persist in my search for medical experience. Perseverance will be increasingly important as I advance in my path towards medicine. Inevitably I won’t do well on every test in college, both undergraduate and medical school. If I receive a score I’m not proud of, it must inspire me to do better and invest even more into the subject matter. I’m grateful I learned the lesson of determination and staying resilient.

“Betti, what do you want to be when you grow up,” asked my aunt. “A doctor just like Baba,” I replied without hesitation. Every night when my dad came home from work I’d wait criss-crossed on the couch for him to retell his day. A nephrologist, he’d explain the intricacies of dialysis machines and tell stories about his patients. At times he’d take me down memory lane, sharing his experience practicing medicine in Ethiopia before he immigrated to the US. This is what initially drew me to medicine: the stories my father told and the fascinating nature of his work. However, as I grew up, I began to question my interest in medicine. Was it my true passion or just a childhood dream? Determined to experience the environment I had only heard of from my father’s stories, I explored ways to learn more about the subject and volunteer. In addition to diving into my high school science classes, I applied for the Georgetown Medical Academy. For a week, I attended seminars and labs all day. I also participated in suturing and splinting labs and used a patient simulator, performing CPR compressions on its stiff chest. I got to see cadavers and identify body structures. This hands-on experience was nothing like seeing bodies on a computer screen; I understood the fact that these weren’t just cadavers, but real people. Outside of academics, I started working at a medical center with a majority Ethiopian staff. In addition to taking vital signs, I was able to rely on my Amharic skills to communicate with patients. I cared for an older Ethiopian woman who was delighted to see we could communicate in her native language. I comforted her and discussed the required blood tests in a way she could fully understand. While working, I saw many families without insurance, struggling to pay. America’s flawed health care system is not only prohibitively expensive but also discriminatory. Particularly striking is the disparity in maternal mortality rates between white and black women. Black women face a higher death rate during pregnancy because of implicit bias and unequal access to quality healthcare. In my own practice, I want to give women like me representation in a heavily white male dominated field. Because of these experiences, I am inspired to reform healthcare both in America even if it’s not on a large scale, but through my own medical practice. The path to medicine, full of hard work and hardship, is one that I am excited to begin. I have truly come full circle, starting as a girl mesmerized by her father's stories to one impassioned by the desire to help my community as a physician and practice STEM.

“Betti, what do you want to be when you grow up,” asked my aunt. “A doctor just like Baba,” I replied without hesitation. Every night when my dad came home from work I’d wait criss-crossed on the couch for him to retell his day. A nephrologist, he’d explain the intricacies of dialysis machines and tell stories about his patients. At times he’d take me down memory lane, sharing his experience practicing medicine in Ethiopia before he immigrated to the US. This is what initially drew me to medicine: the stories my father told and the fascinating nature of his work. As a young girl, I was able to envision myself in that role. To pursue this passion, I started working at a medical center with a majority Ethiopian staff. In addition to taking vital signs, I was able to rely on my Amharic skills to communicate with patients. I cared for an older Ethiopian woman who was delighted to see we could communicate in her native language. I comforted her and discussed the required blood tests in a way she could fully understand. This representation is so important because patients often have to assimilate into a culture and language difficult for them. While working, I saw many immigrant families without insurance, struggling to pay. America’s flawed healthcare system is not only prohibitively expensive but also discriminatory. Particularly striking is the disparity in maternal mortality rates between white and black women. Black women face a higher death rate during pregnancy because of implicit bias and unequal access to quality healthcare. In my own practice, I want to give women like me representation in a heavily male-dominated field. STEM careers have historically underrepresented marginalized communities. When people don't see others that look like them, it can create the notion that they can't do the job, thus deterring them. We need these diverse voices to create an equitable environment for STEM. This can create even more innovative and accessible solutions. For example, more black engineers can target solutions for issues that disproportionately impact their communities. Because of these experiences, I am inspired to reform healthcare both in America even if it’s not on a large scale, but through my own medical practice. Without the representation of my father, physician, and the people around me, I wouldn't have felt as empowered and secure in my journey to medicine. I hope that as a STEM community, we can continue initiatives to bring diverse voices to the STEM field.

“Betti, what do you want to be when you grow up,” asked my aunt. “A doctor just like Baba,” I replied without hesitation. Every night when my dad came home from work I’d wait criss-crossed on the couch for him to retell his day. A nephrologist, he’d explain the intricacies of dialysis machines and tell stories about his patients. At times he’d take me down memory lane, sharing his experience practicing medicine in Ethiopia before he immigrated to the US. This is what initially drew me to medicine: the stories my father told and the fascinating nature of his work. However, as I grew up, I began to question my interest in medicine. Was it my true passion or just a childhood dream? Determined to experience the environment I had only heard of from my father’s stories, I explored ways to learn more about the subject and volunteer. In addition to diving into my high school science classes, I applied for the Georgetown Medical Academy. For a week, I attended seminars and labs all day. I also participated in suturing and splinting labs and used a patient simulator, performing CPR compressions on its stiff chest. I got to see cadavers and identify body structures. This hands-on experience was nothing like seeing bodies on a computer screen; I understood the fact that these weren’t just cadavers, but real people. Outside of academics, I started working at a medical center with a majority Ethiopian staff. In addition to taking vital signs, I was able to rely on my Amharic skills to communicate with patients. I cared for an older Ethiopian woman who was delighted to see we could communicate in her native language. I comforted her and discussed the required blood tests in a way she could fully understand. While working, I saw many immigrant families without insurance, struggling to pay. America’s flawed health care system is not only prohibitively expensive but also discriminatory. Particularly striking is the disparity in maternal mortality rates between white and black women. Black women face a higher death rate during pregnancy because of implicit bias and unequal access to quality healthcare. In my own practice, I want to give women like me representation in a heavily male dominated field. My experiences with the U.S. healthcare system did not prepare me for the greater disparities in Ethiopia. At a clinic in Addis Ababa, I shadowed an oral surgeon. I met a woman who needed several tooth extractions. Worried about the procedure, she was biting her cheek to keep her mind preoccupied, so I comforted her. Oral health is often under-prioritized in Ethiopian society, so the steps to resolve these issues often seem mysterious to patients. Hoping to understand my father’s specialty, I also followed a nephrologist in Ethiopia. During a patient visit, I heard the hospital's nephrologist say, “Given your financial background, you’ll not be able to get dialysis.” The patient seemed understanding, unfazed by the response. I was disconcerted by his ready acceptance of the situation. When I spoke to the doctor, he explained, “Access to healthcare is difficult in Ethiopia. Typically only wealthier people are able to get the proper care.” Because of these experiences, I am inspired to reform healthcare both in America and Ethiopia even if it’s not on a large scale, but through my own medical practice. The path to medicine, full of hard work and hardship, is one that I am excited to begin. I have truly come full circle, starting as a girl mesmerized by her father's stories to one impassioned by the desire to help others as a physician.

African Americans have been the victims of systemic issues since the creation of America. While we are progressing toward a more equitable world, the pillar of "Race and Wellness" has been critical in the practice of medicine in the past 100 years. I've always been passionate about medicine and its scientific intricacies, but I wanted to immerse myself in the field more. I started working at a medical center with a majority Ethiopian staff. In addition to taking vital signs, I was able to rely on my Amharic skills to communicate with patients. I cared for an older Ethiopian woman who was delighted to see we could communicate in her native language. I comforted her and discussed the required blood tests in a way she could fully understand. Additionally, while working, I saw many families without insurance, struggling to pay. America’s flawed healthcare system is not only prohibitively expensive but also discriminatory. Particularly striking is the disparity in maternal mortality rates between white and black women. Black women face a higher death rate during pregnancy because of implicit bias and unequal access to quality healthcare. Many physicians unfortunately carry biases about the pain tolerances and anatomy of black people. It has reached the point where some physicians even believe that black people have thicker skin, creating disparities in treatment recieved. In clinics, I've also noticed the lack of black representation among physicians. In Sentara, a medical center in Northern Virginia, most of the nurses I work alongside were white, but I’ve only seen one black female doctor in my year of volunteering there. My pediatrician is a black woman, so I know from firsthand experience the importance of representation. With her as a doctor, I have the peace of mind that she can understand all the layers of my identity. In my own practice, I want to give women like me representation in a heavily male dominated field. Young children view physicians and healthcare professionals as role models, so I hope to encourage younger people to enter these fields and counteract biases. Even with the Coronavirus pandemic, there is a severe difference in the infection rates for African Americans. This can be due to a lack of education about safety precautions and also potential epigenetic differences. Because of these experiences, I am inspired to reform healthcare both in America even if it’s not on a large scale, but through my own medical practice.

Sitting in my desk chair, I shakily open an email informing me whether I’ve been accepted into the Governor’s School for Medicine. My eyes immediately focus on the word unfortunately, indicating that I haven’t made it past the regional level. My mind goes to all the things I could have written, done, or said better. I ruminate over the missed opportunity. The governor’s school had the resources to teach me how to use case studies to develop diagnoses and conduct standard testing and examinations on patients. I would’ve been able to learn skills like blood typing in a professional setting. I had been excited about this opportunity because it directly related to my passion in medicine and would have assisted me in my future goals. In addition, I had looked forward to the experience of going to a college and staying for a month to expose myself to how it would be to be away from home and surrounded by completely new people. I feared that I would lag compared to my peers without this experience. A few hours after my initial disappointment, I began to research other medical opportunities for high school students. After only a week, I found an internship at Blue Nile medical center in Northern Virginia. Once I started to work there, I was able to connect with patients and was taught valuable skills by the doctors and the staff such as taking vitals and using the information system Epic. I realized that interning at the clinic offered advantages that I would not have had at the Governor’s school, including interacting with the patients. At Blue Nile, I built relationships with patients and bonded over cultural similarities and interests. While waiting for the physician to come, I talked with patients about our favorite cultural foods and celebrations. It eased their minds as they waited for an evaluation of the symptoms that concerned them. My rejection from the Governor’s School challenged me to explore different avenues. At that moment, I had two options: stay stagnant and upset or persist in my search for medical experience. Perseverance will be increasingly important as I advance in my path towards medicine. Inevitably I won’t do well on every test in college, both undergraduate and medical school. If I receive a score I’m not proud of, it must inspire me to do better and invest even more into the subject matter. I’m grateful I learned the lesson of determination and staying resilient.

As a senior in high school, I’m faced with the transition between adolescence and adulthood. Growing up, I had much support from my parents. They sacrificed their time and efforts to ensure I had enough resources. However, once I reached high school, I realized that I must grow to become more independent. I believe that there are multiple benefits of being able to support yourself financially, including independence from parents, the ability to explore and travel, and relief from financial stress. Leaving home and entering adulthood requires a separation from your family. With financial independence, you can lead your life as you want without the constant supervision of parental figures. I’ve gained this perspective due to the nuance behind having immigrant parents. As a culture, there is a notion of not leaving the house until much later. I do believe this is a financially sound idea, but the ability to move out and have your own space to grow and learn is very vital. Another valuable benefit of financial independence is the ability to travel. Because my family is in Ethiopia, I’ve experienced meeting new people and cultures. When I went back home, I connected with so many people and learned about different Ethiopian tribes. As an adult, I hope to go to different countries and learn about their customs and traditions. Specifically, I’m interested in going to Japan. I’d like to see the difference in daily life and also the types of food and infrastructure. The last benefit I see is fewer financial stressors. My parents came to America without any money or familial support. I’ve heard many stories about them having trouble finding housing and setting their roots down. As an adult, having financial independence could give me more peace of mind that wasn’t granted to my parents growing up. In general, as a black woman in America, I hope to break both racial and gender stereotypes. I wholeheartedly believe that black women are as equally qualified to support themselves and be independent. Because STEM is such a growing field, the opportunities to grow in your profession are endless. For medicine, specifically, there are so many different specialties that offer amazing financial benefits like insurance packages and income. Currently, I’m hoping to become a pediatrician. This offers a steady income that would allow me to not only pursue one of my greatest passions, helping my community but also provide for myself as I become an adult and gain more responsibilities. A STEM career also encourages an innovative, driven mindset, which can help with staying focused on financial goals like saving.

“Betti, what do you want to be when you grow up,” asked my aunt. “A doctor just like Baba,” I replied without hesitation. Every night when my dad came home from work I’d wait criss-crossed on the couch for him to retell his day. A nephrologist, he’d explain the intricacies of dialysis machines and tell stories about his patients. At times he’d take me down memory lane, sharing his experience practicing medicine in Ethiopia before he immigrated to the US. This is what initially drew me to medicine: the stories my father told and the fascinating nature of his work. However, as I grew up, I began to question my interest in medicine. Was it my true passion or just a childhood dream? Determined to experience the environment I had only heard of from my father’s stories, I explored ways to learn more about the subject and volunteer. In addition to diving into my high school science classes, I applied for the Georgetown Medical Academy. For a week, I attended seminars and labs all day. I also participated in suturing and splinting labs and used a patient simulator, performing CPR compressions on its stiff chest. I got to see cadavers and identify body structures. This hands-on experience was nothing like seeing bodies on a computer screen; I understood the fact that these weren’t just cadavers, but real people. Outside of academics, I started working at a medical center with a majority Ethiopian staff. In addition to taking vital signs, I was able to rely on my Amharic skills to communicate with patients. I cared for an older Ethiopian woman who was delighted to see we could communicate in her native language. I comforted her and discussed the required blood tests in a way she could fully understand. While working, I saw many immigrant families without insurance, struggling to pay. America’s flawed health care system is not only prohibitively expensive but also discriminatory. Particularly striking is the disparity in maternal mortality rates between white and black women. Black women face a higher death rate during pregnancy because of implicit bias and unequal access to quality healthcare. In my own practice, I want to give women like me representation in a heavily male-dominated field. My experiences with the U.S. healthcare system did not prepare me for the even greater disparities in Ethiopia. At a clinic in Addis Ababa, I shadowed an oral surgeon. I met a woman who needed several tooth extractions. Worried about the procedure, she was biting her cheek to keep her mind preoccupied, so I comforted her. Oral health is often under-prioritized in Ethiopian society, so the steps to resolve these issues often seem mysterious to patients. Hoping to understand my father’s specialty, I also followed a nephrologist in Ethiopia. During a patient visit, I heard the hospital's nephrologist say, “Given your financial background, you’ll not be able to get dialysis.” The patient seemed understanding, unfazed by the response. I was disconcerted by his ready acceptance of the situation. When I spoke to the doctor, he explained, “Access to healthcare is difficult in Ethiopia. Typically only wealthier people are able to get the proper care.” Because of these experiences, I am inspired to reform healthcare both in America and Ethiopia even if it’s not on a large scale, but through my own medical practice. The path to medicine, full of hard work and hardship, is one that I am excited to begin. I have truly come full circle, starting as a girl mesmerized by her father's stories to one impassioned by the desire to help others as a physician.

My identity has been curated by my passions and the supportive people around me. My culture has been an influential part of my life. Both of my parents immigrated from Ethiopia, bringing their rich traditions. It’s incredibly important to me that I keep that heritage alive and present within myself and my local community. My family has instilled positive values in me including the importance of hard work and giving back to the community. As a young child in Ethiopia, my father always dreamed of becoming a physician. After being accepted into medical school, he worked constantly in a school that didn’t care about his or his peers' mental health. After practicing in Ethiopia for several years, he came to America to escape a harsh political climate. Because of this background, my father taught me to always prioritize my academics, knowing it is the best way to overcome any socioeconomic barriers. I'm also very invested in my school community, having leadership in Science Olympiad, African Student Association, and more. With these clubs, I can express my interests while leading my peers. One of my most important interests of mine is medicine. In 2021, I started working at a medical center with a majority Ethiopian staff. In addition to taking vital signs, I was able to rely on my Amharic skills to communicate with patients. One time, I cared for an older Ethiopian woman who was delighted to see we could communicate in her native language. I comforted her and discussed the required blood tests in a way she could fully understand. This catapulted my love for medicine and desire to help my community. After shadowing in Ethiopia, I witnessed the extreme disparities in medical supplies and access to healthcare globally. In college, I hope to raise further awareness of these issues by creating panel discussions and fundraising events. I also hope to give back by practicing medicine with the understanding that each culture is different and without biases. In medical school, I plan to learn about the intricacies and needs of each culture. Currently, there is a lack of education about the religious needs of each patient. Therefore, I plan to practice with a full idea of my patient and their identity. Within my own life, I've had many positive influences; however, a notable one is Matheos Mesfin. As a child of immigrant parents, I never understood the college application process. Neither of my parents completed a bachelor’s degree in America, so I didn’t have someone to guide me. After researching programs, I found and applied to IEA, the Institute of East African Councils on Higher Education. This organization, directed by Matheos, sets out to help other first and second-generation immigrants navigate the difficult and complex college admissions process. Matheos has helped me greatly with essay review and breaking down the long college application process into bimonthly meetings. He has also inspired me because he has taken a diaspora of people and united them under the cause of education. He has devoted his life to giving students like me different opportunities like touring colleges and mentorship. Overall, I'm incredibly grateful for the support I've received throughout my life and plan to give back to my community.

My culture has been an influential part of my life. Both of my parents immigrated from Ethiopia, bringing their rich traditions. It’s incredibly important to me that I keep that heritage alive and present within myself and my local community. My family has instilled positive values in me including the importance of hard work and giving back to the community. As a young child in Ethiopia, my father always dreamed of becoming a physician. After being accepted into medical school, he worked constantly in a school that didn’t care about his or his peers' mental health. After practicing in Ethiopia for several years, he came to America to escape a harsh political climate. Because of this background, my father taught me to always prioritize my academics, knowing it is the best way to overcome any socioeconomic barriers. I also have a profound love for music. Growing up, my parents would play Ethiopian music, which has asymmetrical rhythms and jazz elements. As I grew up, my music taste began to evolve from my parent’s music taste to my own. I explored different genres like pop and alternative, but the genre that most drew me in was R&B. My love for music lies in the soulfulness of the lyrics and melody. R & B is such a meaningful genre to me because it stemmed from the expression of African American artists post-WWII. One artist, Lauryn Hill, especially speaks to me. Her lyrics convey the message of the repression and confinement of African American people to stereotypes and how we can overcome them. There's a passion to her voice that resonates with my beliefs. Another important facet of me is my love for the classics. Starting Latin in eighth grade, I’ve studied the social and religious context that affects the ancient texts along with the actual Latin. Though translating interests me, I also enjoy the involved nature of the language’s community. I’ve been able to compete in Latin competitions from site reading Latin to full-on mythological costume contests. I hope to pursue this passion in college. One of my most important interests of mine is medicine. In 2021, I started working at a medical center with a majority Ethiopian staff. In addition to taking vital signs, I was able to rely on my Amharic skills to communicate with patients. One time, I cared for an older Ethiopian woman who was delighted to see we could communicate in her native language. I comforted her and discussed the required blood tests in a way she could fully understand. This catapulted my love for medicine and desire to help my community. After shadowing in Ethiopia, I witnessed the extreme disparities in medical supplies and access to healthcare globally. In college, I hope to raise further awareness of these issues by creating panel discussions and fundraising events. I also hope to give back by practicing medicine with the understanding that each culture is different and without biases.

“Betti, what do you want to be when you grow up,” asked my aunt. “A doctor just like Baba,” I replied without hesitation. Every night when my dad came home from work I’d wait crisscrossed on the couch for him to retell his day. A nephrologist, he’d explain the intricacies of dialysis machines and tell stories about his patients. At times he’d take me down memory lane, sharing his experience practicing medicine in Ethiopia before he immigrated to the US. This is what initially drew me to medicine: the stories my father told and the fascinating nature of his work. However, as I grew up, I began to question my interest in medicine. Was it my true passion or just a childhood dream? Determined to experience the environment I had only heard of from my father’s stories, I explored ways to learn more about the subject and volunteer. In addition to diving into my high school science classes, I applied for the Georgetown Medical Academy. For a week, I attended seminars and labs all day. I also participated in suturing and splinting labs and used a patient simulator, performing CPR compressions on its stiff chest. I got to see cadavers and identify body structures. This hands-on experience was nothing like seeing bodies on a computer screen; I understood the fact that these weren’t just cadavers, but real people. Outside of academics, I started working at a medical center with a majority Ethiopian staff. In addition to taking vital signs, I was able to rely on my Amharic skills to communicate with patients. I cared for an older Ethiopian woman who was delighted to see we could communicate in her native language. I comforted her and discussed the required blood tests in a way she could fully understand. While working, I saw many immigrant families without insurance, struggling to pay. America’s flawed healthcare system is not only prohibitively expensive but also discriminatory. Particularly striking is the disparity in maternal mortality rates between white and black women. Black women face a higher death rate during pregnancy because of implicit bias and unequal access to quality healthcare. In my own practice, I want to give women like me representation in a heavily male-dominated field. My experiences with the U.S. healthcare system did not prepare me for the even greater disparities in Ethiopia. At a clinic in Addis Ababa, I shadowed an oral surgeon. I met a woman who needed several tooth extractions. Worried about the procedure, she was biting her cheek to keep her mind preoccupied. Oral health is often under-prioritized in Ethiopian society, so the steps to resolve these issues often seem mysterious to patients. To comfort her, I reassured her and shared my personal experience with oral surgery. I saw the worry on her face slowly fade. I was delighted that my words and compassion made an impact on her experience. Because of these experiences, I am inspired to reform healthcare both in America and Ethiopia even if it’s not on a large scale, but through my own medical practice. The path to medicine, full of hard work and hardship, is one that I am excited to begin. I have truly come full circle, starting as a girl mesmerized by her father's stories to one impassioned by the desire to help others as a physician. This scholarship could give me more financial freedom to attend a university that will prepare me for medical school; currently, money is a barrier to my college opportunities. I also would be able to research global health at an established 4-year university with plentiful opportunities.