My father passed away from small cell lung cancer in July of 2025, and it has been the most devastating event I have ever had to cope with. My father married my mother after winning his first battle with cancer at the age of twenty-one. Together they had three daughters, and I am the second-born. Throughout our lives, my family faced many medical challenges, including my father’s emergency heart surgery, diabetes, and eventually a second battle with cancer. His fight was admirable, but his cancer had been caught at stage four and had already metastasized. After two weeks in intensive care, he passed away. Since my father’s death, there have been specific moments that truly capture what it means to grieve a parent. Watching his battle was agonizing. Even while he was sick, he faced everything with confidence and strength. To me, he embodied what every little girl means when she says, “My daddy is my superhero.” I still feel that way. Unfortunately, cancer is vicious. When he took his final breath in the hospital room, my hand was resting on his neck, and I felt his pulse disappear. All I could do was stare. In that moment, I was faced with the painful reality of feeling completely helpless while someone you love is suffering. Afterward, a strange sense of calm washed over me. I cried when I needed to, but I also felt grateful that he was no longer in pain. During the planning of his services, my boyfriend constantly drove from his home to be with my family. He had visited my dad many times throughout the summer, and I felt an overwhelming sense of love and appreciation for the support he gave both me and my family. This part of my father’s passing introduced me to some unexpected, yet very real, aspects of grief. I noticed my father’s absence the most during Christmas. My boyfriend came to visit, and as we exchanged gifts, I noticed something strange. He works as a lifeguard during the summer, so he often drove straight from work to visit my dad, usually still in his uniform and covered in sunscreen. That day he had recently shaved, and I smelled his moisturizer, which contained sunscreen. At first, I could not understand the sudden discomfort and fear I felt. I realized I was experiencing my first trauma response related to my father’s passing. The scent of sunscreen had become a trigger for me. It hurt even more because of the love my father and I shared for the beach and the summer sun. While some moments have been painful reminders of my father’s death, others have helped me believe that he is still around in some way. On Thanksgiving this past year, my mother and I decided to share a can of Coke. When I opened it and took a sip, I was suddenly hit with a scent that reminded me of my father. It was so specific that I could picture him walking through our front door in his polo and khakis, carrying his work bag and camera, asking, “Hey guys, how are we doing?” I ran to my mom and quietly told her what I had noticed. Throughout his fight with cancer, my father followed a simple motto: “One day at a time.” But the way he lived his life reflected another belief: “The sun will still come up tomorrow.” When the difficult reminders of my father’s passing surface, I try to remember the subtle signs that he is still with me. Grieving at twenty has been the most humbling—and strangely beautiful—curse.

Throughout my time as a musician and student, I have explored many ideas of career paths. As of now, I am very excited to and interested in pursuing a career in adapted music education or music therapy. Adapted music education is tailored musical instruction designed for students with disabilities. Similarly, music therapy is practice in assisting clients in gaining or regaining life skills by using music as a tool. For many, music is not something to only be heard, but it is something we feel. I routinely remind myself of this concept throughout my journey in college. Music is not inherently an auditory only experience. We can experience music aurally, visually, kinesthetically, and emotionally. It is an everchanging medium–much like education today. Special education was a past career interest of mine. Once music became a bigger part of my life, I realized it was something I could not live without. It was not until college I realized that there was a way to keep the Casey that was an inclusive classroom helper and the Casey that was a band director happy. Advocacy was a big meeting ground between these two choices. Adapted music education and therapy is rooted in advocacy for taking music and fostering a world that is safe and accessible for everyone. The passion I have for my field comes from the ability to create growth in developmental goals for those with differentiated needs. Music is so diverse, meaning it is consistently one of the best resources we have to include and assist everyone. Students and clients can improve motor skills, enhancements in communication, provide non-speaking emotional expression, and boost social interaction. This field provides a wonderful quality of life in learning and healing. During schooling, I needed to make sacrifices. I first sacrificed my comfort zone. While I love public speaking and getting to know others, crowds and loud spaces have been a challenge for me ever since I started in grade school. My mother was always given great reports regarding my grades and performances, but there were usually concerns about my quietness and lack of communication with my peers. My dad and I would go on trips together every few years. One in particular was to the Baseball Hall of Fame. It was amazing to see, but there were just too many people. So, it was very hard to stay calm in that area. In college, I figured I could live that same lifestyle– only going where I needed to go and avoiding uncomfortable areas. I realized that professional conferences and assemblies with students would be a must. I was not willing to give that up to hide from any discomfort. I have been holding myself to a promise of attending at least two large university events a semester. Secondly, I unfortunately had to sacrifice time with my father. He passed away from small cell lung cancer this past July. I would go home every weekend I could, and sometimes I would leave classes early to drive to him. He had so much support in my musical journey both in teaching and performing. He asked me to go back to school one day. He knew what made me happy, and ultimately his daughter being happy, brought him the joy he needed. So, I finished the semester and continued internships and jobs over the summer. Pursuing my degree is not just for me anymore. It is for my father and the people who need music the most. Thank you for taking the time to get to know me and my passion.

In March 2025 my father was diagnosed with stage four non-small cell lung cancer, which evolved into metastatic adenocarcinoma. His battle ended in July 2025. He had been hospitalized for almost two weeks before he passed away, where he fought against numerous failing organs, an undetected heart attack, breathing issues, and sepsis. Watching my father stare death in the eye for months at a time had been grueling. He had the most optimistic outlook on this life-changing diagnosis. The morning he was admitted into the ICU, he was still talking and eating. I had left the room to use the bathroom, not realizing it would be the last time I saw my father in even the smallest kind of normality. He quickly declined due to failing kidneys. His blood pressure was unstable, and eventually his decaying organs were poisoning him, causing sepsis to take over his body. Sepsis displayed a harsh lesson: the least expected should always be expected. His oncologists expressed hope and improvement in his cancer diagnosis. Sepsis' addition to his battle stacked a wall that even the strongest man I know could not climb over. His death was shocking after he had pushed through for so long. I unfortunately had to come to terms with the fact that even when you believe you have accounted for everything, one small nail can get thrown in at any time. For the entirety of those two weeks in July, my phone had marked the city hospital as my home. I spent every hour I could supporting my father. I was told by nurses that while my dad was receiving treatment, I was more than welcome to wait in the "grieving room." He had not passed yet. When we decided that his quality of life was no longer fulfilling, my younger sister cried to my mom, "Why can't they fix him?" I remember screaming, "Let me out!" because I was trapped in the waiting area. It has been almost five months since his passing, and once a week I wake up paralyzed, reliving that night. Paralyzed because I held my father's neck as I slowly felt his pulse disappear. Paralyzed because I will never hear him yell "Spoogie!" at the top of the stairs. Paralyzed because I was communicating with my father in his last days by asking him to stick his tongue out or squint his eyebrows. Paralyzed because at his funeral I saw how he looked, and I told my mom, "Tell them I hate his makeup." Sepsis is a condition that needs to be prioritized in the eyes of medical awareness. It is a rapid response to infection that shows no remorse. My sisters and I have lost the man who raised us. My mother has lost the love of her life. My grandmother has lost her firstborn son. Sepsis needs more systemic recognition and faster intervention to save many from a treatable illness. This illness has altered my life in unimaginable ways, but sharing my family's story is so important to finding other people who have experienced traumatic events because of sepsis. I recently have tried embracing an idea, whether it be sepsis, cancer, or any life-threatening disease. When someone fighting a disease passes away, they did not lose their fight. The disease did not win. Instead, the disease leaves with the person. There is a draw. Sepsis should not define someone's life, and my family and I have decided it shall not define my father's.

As a future educator and close family member/friend of those teaching currently, I notice students going through K-12 in recent years struggle in school. The struggle is mainly with learned helplessness, as well as the ability to be resourceful. Incorporating "Resourceful and Resilient Learning" could be an incredibly beneficial class for students. This class, I imagine, would coincide with most social-emotional learning curriculums. I think it would be beneficial for every student to take this class once a week each year of their K-12 schooling. The goal in mind is to improve and foster students' problem-solving strategies, adaptability, and emotional intelligence. A course like this would address many schooling issues for students that often stem from post-pandemic challenges, rapid advancements in technology, and mental health strains. A curriculum guideline would consist of 5 units: (1) Understanding Resilient Learning (2) Resourcefulness in Practice and Addressing Setbacks (3) Stress Management (4) Social Resilience (5) Adaptive Learning Strategies Throughout the course students will touch on multiple topics that I feel do not receive enough attention in all classrooms. For example, a topic in this course would be growth vs. fixed mindsets. This topic is mainly covered at the middle school level, and most students do not remember much of how to build their confidence and mindset as they approach their teen years and adulthood. Another example is emotional regulation. Not all students can take a psychology course, but those who can may learn about this idea. These topics are crucial in the development of a student. They will be stronger learners with access to understanding coping mechanisms and adaptive learning. Specifically, this class will provide a turnaround for not only students currently but teachers as well. Students often struggle with information overload, causing a quick burnout. With the stress management techniques taught in "Resourceful and Resilient Learning," students sustain motivation and continue focusing on the materials in their classes. Next, fixed mindsets almost always equate to a fear of failure. We can lean towards growth mindsets instead, and we can build up emotional resilience. Two problems facing education today are the lack of self-directed learning and weak problem-solving skills from students. There is an improper use of AI and technology in schools, causing students to rely on them. Many students don’t know how to learn independently, plan effectively, or evaluate their progress because of dependency on technology. This class will help them with real-world problems as well as develop awareness of their abilities as an individual who is going through life. An immense improvement in younger generations' anxiety and social skills will be noticed after these foundations are set. Once these students have graduated, this class can continue to be of help to them. Students will have a high level of social maturity, which will eliminate uncertainty about career paths. As a second-year college student, I believe I and many other students would benefit from a class that is not only going to help us grow academically but also help us grow and understand what it means to be living for the first time. Having some guidance on what that entails could create a generation of resourceful and resilient thinkers.

When I am applying for scholarships, I make sure to keep three ideas in mind: I first think of how the scholarship will impact the lessening of expenses for out-of-state tuition and school materials. Then, I remind myself how applying to scholarships helps me maintain the cost of my education, which is incredibly important to understanding what it means to have the privilege of attending a four-year university. Lastly, I think about what the essay/video/performance prompt means to me. Even if I am not selected as a winner, another goal of mine is to learn something about myself when presenting myself and my thoughts to a scholarship board. Having three concepts in my head allows me to use the mindset of earning a scholarship rather than deserving one. "Deserving" implies that there is an entitlement or right, but when it comes to a scholarship that so many could be great for, I like to think of "earning," which means emphasizing effort and building a new understanding of hard work. My major (music education) does not have a heavy academic writing element; however, writing has always been a strong suit and passion of mine. I have written numerous scholarship essays, most of which have landed me as a winner or finalist. When writing these essays, I love to think outside the box and really pick my own brain. This stems from my interview experience. In 2022 and 2024, I participated in two pageants. I received the award for 'Best Interview' in both. The questions asked in my interviews and the answers I received ultimately helped me respond to scholarship essay prompts once high school graduation approached and my time in undergrad advanced. I am grateful that these experiences provide me with an advantage in competing for a scholarship. With scholarships, I ideally would have enough of my college expenses covered to continue my goal of teaching in a Title 1 district. Teaching Title 1 has been at the top of my list when it comes to a career path. Music education inequities are the most prominent in Title 1 schools because of the lack of ability to fund programs efficiently, causing the opportunities for students to shrink. I hope to be a part of making sure every student has the chance to be exactly what they dream of being. Unfortunately, most Title 1 teaching salaries are low; therefore, having scholarships can make this dream of mine significantly less costly, allowing me to prioritize myself and the future of music education.

Community holds purpose for countless groups across the world. Growing and shaping a particular community for generations is a task that is bestowed upon you the day you are born. We often use volunteerism and community service as a means to fuel our egos and fulfill communal requirements; however, it is imperative that we serve our community with the best intentions in mind for the future of the world. Community service and volunteerism became an active part of my life around the age of thirteen. I had been an assistant to the head dance teachers at my hometown dance studio. The assistants helped teach the classes, ran errands in the studio for the owner, and helped run rehearsal and show days. I was a dancer at my studio for twelve years, which meant I had the same teachers watch me dance from first grade to senior year. They shaped me into the ambitious, hardworking, and ecstatic woman I am today. Being a part of how the studio continued to operate was important to me because I wanted every dancer to experience the same level of love and quality visual arts education I received. Assisting allowed me to thank them while simultaneously continuing a sixty-five-year-long studio legacy. Serving my community is important to my future as an educator as well. I am a second-year music education major, and most of my volunteer work surrounds education in some form. Since 2021, I have been a part of South Jersey's Little League Challenge Division. This division provides players with intellectual or physical disabilities the opportunity to play baseball. Working with this organization has taught me crucial methods of teaching that will be truly impactful on making special needs education more accessible in related arts subjects. Starting where you live is a great way to encourage others to make a positive change or even continue a positive action. These two experiences are only some of what I was able to do in my hometown. I have been able to move on to participating in community service projects in cities surrounding my own, as well as in the area I attend school. We must find genuine care for the well-being of the world. Volunteerism and community service are not about charity or filling in service hours for school. It is about supporting equity and justice, building a sense of purpose, and improving the quality of life. Each community has a job to create a better day for the ones who will be joining the community in the future.

"Why?" has been a question that has followed me close for years. "Why?" changes so intensely when you are a musician and performer. At ten years old my "Why?" was because I thought playing drums would make me look strong and cool like all the boys I went to school with. At eleven and twelve it was because music was rooted in pure fun and interest. At thirteen, fourteen, and fifteen my "Why?" was because my band director showed me DCI's Phantom Regiment 2011 show "Juliet", and I decided I was going to march a DCI corp. At sixteen my motivation turned more toward being in a professional orchestra. At seventeen and eighteen, it was about being the best. At nineteen, it weirdly turned into spite, jealousy, and fear. It is such an odd concept to grapple with; your passion is simultaneously bringing you a world of joy and a world of stress. I have never been a quitter. I always follow through to the end of a commitment, however, if I have met that end and I realize my story there has gone stagnant, I will end that chapter. Regardless of how stressful and difficult being in the music industry can be, I have never wanted to leave. Motivation--"Why?"-- fluctuates. Unfortunately, it can get dark as I mentioned before. The world is competitive. I found this out when I began to understand what it meant to be a big fish in a small pond. I was a tenor drummer for three years in high school. When I committed to West Chester University, I was over the moon about marching with their band. I attended a Title I high school with a very small music program. Marching band culture was quite different where I grew up compared to most musicians I ended up going to college with. Being the only student who planned to continue studying music and marching, I stuck out from my peers in high school. While I worked hard, I did not develop the kind of technique and playing ability required to march tenors in college. I played in a tiny pep band who had a few competitions a season, where we were usually the only school in our category. Who was I to think I would play next to kids who marched professionally? As a first year in college, I marched cymbals. I was heartbroken. My parents were not upset with me, but it seemed weird for their "drummer girl" to not have a drum anymore. My self confidence plummeted. Orientation camp at West Chester was agonizing. I had no interest or fun for those twelve hour days. I figured the entire season would be full of "What if I worked harder?" and "I am not doing this next year." To my surprise, my season was quite the opposite. September 7th, 2024 was my first performance with West Chester. I had never seen stands filled to that extent. The first impact moment of our 2024 show hit and I have never had such a thought: "This is why I do what I do." I am a performer. During my 2024 season, it slowly stopped mattering the instrument I played. The crowd, the energy, the feeling, the sun beating down, the out of breath run throughs, and the applause mattered so much more. In the back of my mind, I still wanted to play tenors at some point during my college marching career. I told my parents that I needed one more year of marching at the collegiate level under my belt before I picked those drums up again. They did not love the idea, but they were supportive of my choice. While I knew my parents loved to watch me perform regardless of the circumstance, there was a part of me that felt guilty for not being their "drummer girl" anymore. "One more year! I'll practice my technique all season! I'll wear those drums again!" My parents became my "Why?" Soon, "Why?" meant running out of time. In April of 2025, my father was diagnosed with stage four non-small cell lung cancer. In July of 2025, he passed. There it was again. There was that funny feeling where you thought you could do it, and then you realize the pond only gets bigger. My father often told me that the hand you are dealt means nothing if you know the right moves to make. He was a journalist and a marvelous writer. While I do love writing, I think I owe it to him to write something not with words. Composition has become an interest of mine since he passed. I plan on writing a three movement sonata entitled "Beautiful World, Where Are You?" which will be dedicated to my father and young musicians who have lost a parent. The life of a musician is a hard and messy one, but I will keep performing and embracing music-- because my father did not only raise his "drummer girl" but he raised a woman who does not quit.

There are so many times as performers where we start to feel like it isn't worth it anymore. The endless hours locked in a practice room become debilitating. Competing to be the best becomes mentally taxing. We start to lose our passion.  Then we stand on that stage. We look at the people sitting wide-eyed and clapping profusely. We hear the gorgeous sound made by so many talented musicians. Now it makes sense: this is why I do what I do.  My "why?" is the euphoric feeling music gives me. To know that beautiful humans are the ones producing it is even better. Throughout the difficult aspects of being an aspiring musician, I keep my "why?" as the north star. It goes beyond the actuality of being a musician. I am currently pursuing a degree in music education. My goal of becoming a music educator is quite personal, and my reasons are what keep me motivated in my passion.  Too often, children are deprived of a proper education in the arts. Art and music teachers fight every day for the work we do to be taken seriously. One particular statement that resonates with me is one from my high school theater director: "I will never understand how they [the administration] can oppose the excellence of our students and accept mediocrity." Growing up in a Title 1 school district gave me a real eye opener to how underappreciated music is in schools. As a student, I saw the benefits. Not only were we creating such amazing sound, but we were having fun in the process. To have a moment of finally getting a song down or learning a new scale on your instrument is a wonderful feeling. Everything I need to know about life, I learned in band. We teach time management, hard work, teamwork, discipline, good character, speaking skills, poise, presence, and I could go on. When I am faced with having to sit through yet another board meeting where our program could be cut and I wonder if I should even keep trying, I think of what my students would be losing. During high school, I built strong bonds with my music teachers. I wondered if they knew that they were not just music teachers to myself and my friends, but therapists, comedians, and tutors. As I mentioned earlier, I attended a Title 1 school district. We were "the ones who wouldn't be going anywhere." My friends and I saw band as a way to escape these preconceived notions. Most students get to believe that can be anything they want; my students will be right about that. I am motivated every day to make sure full access to music education is granted to those who may not be as fortunate. For too long, we have left the world of music only open to those who have unlimited resources.  I practice my instrument not only for myself but for my future students. I involve myself in so many ensembles, so I always get to hear a triumphant sound bounce off the walls of the concert hall I am in. In the future, outside of my teaching and performance career, I plan to create a studio: "Everywhere, Everyone, All the Time." I started mapping out my idea for this studio in 2023. I plan on it being a music studio specifically meant to be a resource for underprivileged students looking to get involved in music; however, all students are welcome. There would also be ensembles within the studio. One of which I plan to have would be an all female percussion ensemble. Encouraging women to engage in percussive arts is an extreme passion of mine. Music is not just heard. It is felt. Teaching is not just for students to listen to. It is to be applied to their lives. My "why?" is to feel.

Music is not to be heard, it is to be felt. Being involved in band has allowed me to know what beauty can come from music. I plan on attending college for Music Education. I have hopes of being a high school band director, and spreading the joy of music to students who may not have full access to it. I am most passionate about proving the point that it doesn't matter where you come from, it matters where you go. Growing up in a Title 1 school district, I saw firsthand what it meant to be underestimated because of your background; I want my students in the future to know that they have just as much an opportunity as anyone else.  Music has also helped me grow my passion for dance. I have been dancing for twelve years, but when I started to take my life as a musician more seriously, it only helped me grow an appreciation for the musicality and emotion that a dancer can bring to music.  When asked about someone I look up to, my mind wanders to Viola Smith. Viola Smith is a female drummer, one of the first, who is known for her orchestra and swing band work. Her and I share similar struggles when it comes to being taken seriously as female percussionists.   Smith wrote an article, “Give Girl Musicians a Break!” where she argued her views on including women in the music industry. She was not only an excellent percussionist, but a tremendous advocate for women as drummers. Smith, amongst many others, was able to prove that women could master their craft and get the job done the same way a man could. She reminds me to not give up on the goals I’ve set for myself simply because of what other people may think. I have always wanted to continue breaking the preconceived notion that percussion is more masculine; the field is dominated by men, but it does not have to be. Across my high school years, I have had plenty of teachers who have encouraged me to work hard just as women like Smith have. I am reminded by my friends and instructors that my instrument of choice is not ruining my femininity, or incorrect for a lady, all of which I have heard in the past.  Thinking about how I can improve on my personal performance as a musician, I admire Viola Smith’s area of expertise in swing rhythms. I have only recently started working on jazz music, but I can see progress. Sometimes, working on a set can be overwhelming for me, but remembering girls before me who are amazing at it encourages me to keep working. Music allows performers to show what they can't say out loud. There is a certain comfort that comes from that. Being a music educator will allow me to reach younger generations and make sure music lives on to be an inspiration for change in our world. During my career, I also plan to participate in ensembles to keep my love for music growing.

When I hear the phrase "One Heart, One Beat" I am immediately drawn to looking at it through a drum major's eyes. I am the drum major of my high school marching band and during the time I have served with my band I have learned quite a lot. I have learned that putting others on the same priority level as yourself is extremely important, especially when you are a leader. On and off the field, we are one. Music has been a staple in my life since I was ten and I am pursuing music education at West Chester University. This decision has much to do with my high school experience in the band. I grew up in a Title 1 district, meaning we did not have much money and our students came from rough backgrounds. This also meant we were underestimated. To hear that we were "the ones who would not be going anywhere" from our own board of education was infuriating. Music was a way for my peers and myself to escape these notions. I can fully relate "One Heart, One Beat" to being on the field during a performance. Our love for music is so incredibly strong, as it is not just something one hears but something to feel deeply. Being on top of a stand in front of my band members conducting to a tempo that everyone makes the decision to follow is rewarding. The trust we have in each other to listen to each other's instrumental sound and to watch each other form beautiful shapes across 120 yards is where we become one musician. Suddenly, nothing else matters but what we left on that field and for the world to see. Looking to my future self, where I am hopefully a band director for a Title 1 school just as the one I cherished so deeply, I see two quotes hanging on signs in my band room: "Where words fail, music speaks" and "We can be the bands we want to hear". "One Heart, One Beat" would be one I would add. It emphasizes the unity and synchronization I have gotten to experience as a drum major. Despite us being a group of students with not the most idealistic lives, we harmonize musically and through our souls. There is no one I can thank more than my directors for the kind of leader I am leaving high school as. Even when we did not get the love and support from our administration, our directors never gave up on pushing for a stronger program. They never gave up on us when we went through the roughest patches in our lives. They are excellent role models to me, not just because of how they teach, but how they have shown us the importance of hard work, time management, and teamwork. As a future teacher, I want my students to feel the same amount of unity I experience in high school and college marching bands. I want them to know where you come from does not determine where you go. Most students get to grow up thinking they can be anything they want; my students will be right about that. (Included is my last concert conducting a broadway arrangement)

This scholarship would help me pursue my future goals because it would allow me to get the best education at my college of choice. I will be attending West Chester University as a music education major under the Wells School of Music. Once I have completed my education, I will be able to use what I have learned to fulfill my dream, which is to become a marching band director for a Title 1 school. Growing up in a Title 1 district myself, I saw how hard it is to be in an underfunded school and what students go through at home. School was the place they escaped. Many of us found an escape through the world of music. Countless times I've heard myself and my friends say that music has saved us. Oftentimes, underfunded performing arts students do not receive the same attention as privileged students. We never had the big and beautiful props for shows or the brand new equipment for concerts. It was tough to see other schools get recognized when we had been doing the same amount of work, but we just did not have the fanciness behind the work.  My directors showed me that music is not something you listen to, but something you feel. It can heal any soul. Some of my friends, who have gone through more than most do by the time they've reached fifty, have been holding on because of the music program. I have a strong desire to do the same and show fellow Title 1 students that they can beat the odds. We are not the ones "who won't be going anywhere." We are the ones who will fight to be taken seriously. Not only do I want to inspire underprivileged students, but I also want to inspire young female percussionists. I grew up with a passion that was dominated by men. The world of percussion is beautiful; however, women still fight to have a seat at the table. I broke these barriers by becoming the first female tenor quad player in my high school’s marching band history. I also achieved a place in high-status ensembles without a private teacher. The directors of my high school worked incredibly hard to help me, even in lieu of our difficulty getting administrative support for our performing arts program. I want to teach young girls that musical instruments do not have assigned genders. Financially, my struggle has been hidden. I am fully aware that being a teacher at a low-income school has its downsides with pay, and it is hard to find inspiration when many do not want to support your students. I see it every day as a student now. This will not stop me from changing this preconceived notion that you can only have big dreams if you start out big or that you cannot have strong femininity in an area where men underestimate you. It does not matter where you come from, but rather where you go. Most students grow up thinking they can do anything; my students will be right about that.