Amid the murmur of the waiting room, a man at the reception desk caught my attention. He was struggling to communicate with the nurse, his halting words failing to bridge a language barrier. I was waiting for my own appointment, but I couldn’t look away as his frustration grew. I stepped forward to translate. As I conveyed his concerns, his shoulders relaxed and the tension in his face eased. That brief exchange stayed with me. Medicine wasn’t just about diagnosis—it was about building trust, creating moments where fear gave way to understanding, and where isolation turned into connection. It made me want to explore how I could help bridge gaps in healthcare. The following summer, I founded a global mental health organization. What started as a small idea grew into a team of over 60 volunteers working to reduce mental health stigma through education and outreach. We led culturally responsive workshops, organized mental health first aid training, and facilitated an anonymous chat platform where individuals could share stories they had carried alone. I wasn’t there to fix everything, but to listen—and to help others feel heard. Empowering my team to support those in need deepened my commitment to service and shaped how I see my role in medicine. That mindset followed me into clinical work. As a medical assistant at a cardiology clinic, I performed electrocardiograms and ultrasounds, helping doctors diagnose heart conditions. What struck me wasn’t just the procedures—it was what came after. Patients returned with a different energy. The anxiety they carried in with them was replaced, sometimes gradually, by relief, strength, and hope. Being part of that recovery process showed me that medicine is not only about treatment. It’s about walking alongside someone as they reclaim their health and their life. In research, I found a different kind of impact. At Temprian Oncology, I worked on synthesizing nanoparticles to target metastatic melanoma. I tested their effects on cancer cells, knowing these experiments could one day contribute to treatments that ease suffering. The trial and error taught me that science moves forward through persistence, not perfection. Progress came in fragments—an adjustment to a protocol, a clearer data set—and each one reminded me that real innovation often grows from uncertainty. What kept me going was the reminder that behind every hypothesis was a patient, a family, a life. My journey as a violinist has shaped my understanding of patience and listening. Leading chamber groups and orchestras taught me that every voice matters—and that good leadership is about creating harmony, not control. One of the most meaningful experiences I’ve had was playing music in a memory care home. I played “Somewhere Over the Rainbow” for a resident who hadn’t spoken all day. Slowly, she began to hum along. A nurse leaned over and said, “That’s the first time she’s responded today.” In that moment, I saw how even simple acts of connection can cut through silence. Whether in a clinic, a lab, or a rehearsal room, I’ve learned that care is about more than knowledge. It’s about presence. It’s about listening deeply, adapting constantly, and remembering that healing takes many forms. These experiences have shown me that medicine is not just about solving problems—it’s about helping people live with strength, dignity, and hope. That’s the kind of doctor I hope to become.

The clinic was busy. Phones were ringing, the waiting room was full, and everyone looked rushed. A man at the front desk said, quietly, “I haven’t eaten all day.” No one else seemed to hear him. I did. I stepped outside, bought a bottle of water and a pack of crackers, and brought them back. He nodded and sat down. We didn’t speak again, but that moment stuck with me. I didn’t think much of it at the time, but later, I kept coming back to how easily small needs get missed—and how simply noticing can make a difference. A few months later, a close friend confided in me about her suicide attempt. She had always seemed steady and involved. No one knew she was struggling. After she started healing, I thought a lot about how many others might be going through the same thing, quietly. I didn’t have a formal plan. I just knew I didn’t want to ignore it. That’s how the Global Mental Health Outreach Program began. It started small—just me and a few friends trying to create space for honest conversations. Over time, it became a student-led initiative with volunteers in seven countries. We’ve hosted webinars, launched outreach campaigns, and sent handwritten letters to hospitalized teens and seniors. We also built a digital platform for people to anonymously share their stories, often for the first time. Some events didn’t go as planned. Some ideas had to be completely reworked. There were times I wasn’t sure if I was doing any of it right. But I kept listening, adjusting, and showing up. I didn’t know where it would lead. I just knew I wasn’t ready to give up on it. I brought that same approach into research. At the Feinberg School of Medicine, I study gene function in glaucoma. I struggled a lot in the beginning—protocols failed, tissues tore, results didn’t make sense. But I kept going. I learned how to troubleshoot, how to be more precise, and how to stay patient when progress felt slow. It taught me that curiosity isn’t about knowing the answer. It’s about being willing to work through what you don’t understand. At NorthShore Hospital, I volunteer by stocking rooms and helping visitors. One afternoon, I noticed a woman sitting alone before a procedure. I asked if she wanted company, and we sat together in silence. Just before she left, she said, “I didn’t realize how much I needed that.” That moment reminded me that care isn’t always complicated. Sometimes it’s just presence. I’ve also seen that through music. I’ve played violin in memory care homes, where words don’t always reach. Once, I played “Somewhere Over the Rainbow” for a woman who hadn’t spoken all day. Slowly, she started to hum along. A nurse leaned over and said, “That’s the first time she’s responded today.” I didn’t say anything. I just kept playing. These moments are what shaped my decision to pursue healthcare. Not titles or big declarations—just moments where I saw that being steady, observant, and present could make a difference. I want to become a physician who holds onto that mindset. Someone who listens carefully, works patiently, and shows up, especially when no one asks me to.

The man at the front desk spoke quietly, almost apologetically. “I haven’t eaten all day,” he said, glancing toward the clock. The clinic was crowded, the phones ringing nonstop, staff moving quickly between patients. I was volunteering in the stocking room of the clinic, yet I stepped outside, bought a pack of crackers and a bottle of water, and brought them back. He gave a small nod and sat down again. We didn’t exchange many words, but that moment stayed with me. At the time, it felt small. It made me realize how often small needs go unnoticed, and how even a simple response can make a difference. A few months later, a close friend confided in me about her suicide attempt. She had always seemed calm and capable, someone people turned to, not someone they worried about. After she began to heal, I couldn’t stop thinking about how many others might be carrying the same weight in silence. I didn’t have a clear plan. I just knew I didn’t want to do nothing. That became the start of the Global Mental Health Outreach Program. It began with a few late-night calls, rough ideas scribbled in notebooks, and slowly turned into something real. Over time, we grew into a student-led organization with volunteers in seven countries. We hosted webinars shaped by cultural context, created outreach campaigns, and sent letters to hospitalized teens and seniors in long-term care. We also built a digital platform where people could anonymously share their experiences—many for the first time. However, some events didn’t go as planned. Some ideas had to be completely reworked. There were times I wasn’t sure if I was doing any of it right. But I kept listening, adjusting, and showing up. I didn’t know where it would lead. I just knew I wasn’t ready to give up on it. That same mindset carried into the lab. At the Feinberg School of Medicine, I joined a team studying glaucoma. I spent weeks struggling with protocols that didn’t work, tissue samples that tore, and imaging results that didn’t make sense. Progress was slow. But I stuck with it, testing, failing, reworking protocols, and slowly learning how to trust the process. I began to see that research wasn’t about having the right answer. It was about staying curious, being flexible, and building understanding piece by piece. That approach shapes how I serve in everyday spaces too. At NorthShore Hospital, I restock rooms and guide nervous patients through unfamiliar hallways. One afternoon, I noticed a woman sitting alone before a procedure. I asked if she’d like company. We chatted together until she was called in. Just before she left, she said, “I didn’t realize how much I needed that.” Her words reminded me that comfort often lives in small moments. As a violinist, I’ve played in orchestras and led chamber groups. But my most meaningful performance was during one of my weekly visits to the elderly home. I played “Somewhere Over the Rainbow” for a resident who hadn’t spoken all day. Slowly, she began to hum along. A nurse leaned over and said, “That’s the first time she’s responded today.” In that moment, music became more than sound. It was a connection, a form of art that allowed me to connect and build relationships with other people. These moments weren’t flashy or perfect. But they taught me to stay present, stay curious, and persistent. That’s the mindset I want to carry forward, into medicine, science, service, and into every space where someone needs to be seen.

It was a long day at the cardiology clinic, and the waiting room felt tense. Patients sat silently, glancing at the clock, shifting in their seats. The staff were stretched thin, answering phones and moving from room to room without pause. I was still getting used to the rhythm of the clinic, mostly handling technical tasks like EKGs and stress tests. But that day, something caught my attention. An elderly man stood up slowly and approached the front desk. He didn’t raise his voice, but I could hear the strain. He said he hadn’t eaten all day and was feeling dizzy. The receptionist nodded, overwhelmed, and motioned for him to sit down again until the doctor could see him. I saw him return to his seat and lower his head, clearly uncomfortable but not wanting to cause trouble. I stepped out of the clinic without saying much and walked to the small store around the corner. I came back with a pack of crackers and a bottle of water and handed them to him. He looked surprised, then quietly said, “I didn’t want to be a bother.” That moment stayed with me. It reminded me that sometimes, helping someone doesn’t require permission or a title. It just requires paying attention and acting. Another time, while volunteering at NorthShore Hospital, I noticed a woman alone in the waiting area. She looked nervous, her fingers fidgeting with the edge of her coat, eyes fixed on the hallway. I asked if she needed anything. She shook her head but then softly said, “Could you stay for a bit?” I sat beside her. We didn’t talk much at first, just sat quietly. After a while, she opened up about how scared she was for her procedure and how her husband might not make it in time. Before being called in, she turned to me and said, “Thank you for not rushing me.” I learned then that presence is powerful. Selflessness sometimes looks like giving someone your full attention, especially when they expect to be ignored. But the experience that changed me most came during my first year of college. A friend called me late at night, her voice quiet and trembling. She was in the middle of a mental health crisis. I didn’t have the answers, but I stayed on the phone with her until morning. We talked, cried, sat in silence. I later helped her connect with campus counseling services. That night stayed with me because I realized how hard it is to ask for help and how important it is to show up when someone finally does. That experience became the reason I started the Global Mental Health Outreach Program. Through it, I’ve led a team of over 60 international volunteers. We’ve hosted webinars, created support campaigns like My Mental Health Story, and written thousands of letters to patients and youth in hospitals. We want people to know they are not alone, even if they are halfway across the world. To me, selflessness means noticing the small moments that others overlook. It means offering help before it is requested and staying present even when it is uncomfortable. Whether I am sitting beside a patient, helping a friend through a crisis, or running a nonprofit, I carry this value with me. It is not about being a hero. It is about being there when it counts.

I didn’t grow up seeing doctors as unreachable figures in white coats. I saw them as the people who cared for my grandpa when his heart failed, who sat beside my mother when we didn’t yet know what was wrong, who let me ask questions even when I was too young to understand the answers. But I also saw the gaps. I saw how rushed visits left worries unspoken. I watched language barriers make symptoms harder to explain. And I saw how the healthcare system, while powerful, often failed to meet people where they were. I want to become a doctor because I’ve felt the power of being heard, and the harm of being overlooked. When I was younger, I often translated medical conversations for relatives whose English was limited. I remember sitting in exam rooms, trying to interpret not just words, but meaning. “It hurts here,” someone would say, and I’d glance at the physician’s furrowed brow, wondering if I had said it right. Those moments taught me how easily fear could fill the space between a patient and provider. But they also taught me how much trust could grow when someone truly listens. Still, my path to medicine hasn’t always felt straightforward. My parents worked tirelessly to support me, but financial uncertainty shaped many of my early decisions. I pieced together scholarships, juggled jobs, and once had to defer an opportunity simply because I couldn’t afford the travel. While my peers attended summer programs, I took on work that helped cover groceries or contributed to rent. I used weekends to teach violin lessons and tutor math, often finishing assignments late at night, my laptop balanced beside lesson plans. But over time, I began to realize that these very challenges were shaping me into the doctor I hope to become. Working through hardship has taught me how to find solutions with limited resources, how to persist when things are unclear, and how to empathize deeply with those who feel they don’t have many options. I know what it’s like to feel the weight of a decision, not just emotionally but financially. I’ve felt the pressure of responsibility, of being someone others count on. And I’ve learned that resilience isn’t about always being strong, it’s about asking for help, adapting when plans shift, and showing up anyway. These lessons stay with me in every clinic I volunteer in, every lab I work in, and every patient I sit beside. I carry them into my research on cardiovascular and ocular health, into the global mental health initiative I founded after a friend’s suicide attempt, and into quiet moments, like holding a patient’s hand in the ER or sharing music with an elderly resident struggling with memory loss at my weekly elderly home visits. I want to become a physician not just to treat illness, but to walk with people through some of their most vulnerable moments. I believe that my experiences, shaped by both privilege and hardship, will allow me to see patients not only through a clinical lens, but through one of empathy, humility, and deep understanding. I’ve learned that healing begins with trust, and I hope to earn that trust, one patient at a time.

Mental health became real to me in a moment I will never forget. A friend called me late one night, her voice shaky. She had hurt herself. My chest tightened as I listened, unsure of what to say, but knowing I couldn’t hang up. I sat with her in silence, occasionally whispering, “I’m here,” because it was all I could think of. The next morning, I walked into school as if nothing had happened, but inside, something had shifted. That night showed me how invisible pain could be and how easily it could stay hidden behind everyday conversations and smiles. In the weeks that followed, I kept thinking: what if more people had someone to talk to, even anonymously? What if young people felt empowered to speak before they reached the edge? That question became the seed for the Global Mental Health Outreach Program, a global non-profit organization that I founded. It didn’t start as a mission or a grand plan. It began with a shared Google Doc and a small group of peers who believed that something had to change. We didn’t know exactly how to fight stigma, but we knew how to listen. Over time, our group grew across countries and time zones. I remember late nights working with students in Nigeria to plan webinars tailored to their cultural concerns around depression, and early mornings editing letters that would be sent to hospitalized teens in Hong Kong. Each conversation, each story shared, made the issue more human. I stopped thinking of “mental health” as a distant cause and started understanding it as a shared, everyday reality. It wasn’t about fixing anyone. It was about creating spaces where people felt less alone. That lesson has carried into every part of my life. At NorthShore Hospital, I once noticed a woman gripping her hands in the waiting room. I asked if she needed anything, and after a pause, she said she just didn’t want to be alone. I sat with her. We didn’t speak much, but after a few minutes, her shoulders relaxed. In a research lab, that same value shows up in a different form. When an experiment fails or staining images blur, I’ve learned to approach the problem patiently, sometimes sitting with uncertainty for days before a clear answer emerges. My experiences with mental health have not just shaped what I want to do, but how I want to live. I want to become a physician who sees people beyond their symptoms, who asks the second question and listens to the answer that takes a little longer to say. I’ve seen how emotional pain can silence people, but I’ve also seen how empathy can bring back their voice. Mental health and suicide prevention matter deeply to my generation because they are about dignity. They are about allowing people to show up as they are, in whatever state they’re in, and still feel worthy of care. That is the kind of world I want to build. And it begins not with a cure, but with a conversation.

Balancing the demands of school, extracurriculars, and personal life often feels like juggling fragile pieces, each one demanding attention at the same time. As a college student pursuing a dual degree, I’ve realized that managing my mental health is key to succeeding academically and maintaining my overall well-being. Running has become one of my most effective ways to manage stress. There’s something about the rhythm of each stride that clears my mind, helping me push aside the noise of everyday pressures. It’s a time when I can process my thoughts and reset emotionally. The act of running challenges me physically, but it also has a profound impact on my mental clarity. After a run, I feel ready to tackle my academic work with renewed focus and energy, able to approach my responsibilities with a clearer perspective. Journaling and planning also play an important role in how I manage my mental health. When the weight of multiple deadlines and tasks becomes overwhelming, I find comfort in writing. Journaling allows me to untangle my thoughts and organize them into clear, actionable goals. It helps me identify the causes of my stress, whether it’s the sheer volume of work or personal matters. By breaking tasks into smaller, manageable steps, I reduce the feeling of being overwhelmed and stay on top of everything that needs attention. Planning my day allows me to stay focused and ensures that I don’t get lost in the bigger picture. Another way I prioritize my mental health is through music. As a violinist, playing the violin has always been a source of joy and relaxation, especially when I play with friends. Music serves as a creative escape, providing me with a space to unwind and reconnect with myself. Performing with others reminds me that I’m not alone in my struggles. The act of collaborating to create music fosters a sense of community and belonging. It allows me to express emotions that words cannot capture, offering a cathartic release. When stress piles up, these musical moments provide a mental break, allowing me to return to my work with a refreshed mindset. Beyond these personal outlets, I’ve also co-founded the Global Mental Health Outreach (GMHO) Program, a nonprofit organization dedicated to creating safe spaces for individuals to share their mental health struggles and find support. The idea for GMHO came from my own experiences with mental health challenges and the desire to help others who might be facing similar obstacles. Through GMHO, I organize initiatives like "Letters for Care," where we deliver messages of encouragement to people experiencing mental health challenges. This program has deepened my understanding of mental health, and I’ve learned that the importance of emotional well-being goes beyond individual struggles—it’s about community support. GMHO has not only helped others but also reinforced the importance of seeking help and raising awareness. Support from my family and friends is also crucial. Having people to turn to for advice and encouragement reminds me that I don’t have to face challenges alone. Whether I’m navigating academic difficulties or personal concerns, my friends provide fresh perspectives and practical advice. My family, always my rock, reassures me when the weight of responsibilities feels too heavy. Their unwavering belief in me strengthens my resilience and fuels my drive to keep pushing forward. These strategies not only help me maintain balance and productivity but also allow me to continue pursuing my academic goals while staying grounded in my well-being. Taking care of my mental health is an ongoing process, but it’s one that has shaped how I navigate both my academic journey and personal life.

I founded the Global Mental Health Outreach (GMHO) Program to address the stigma surrounding mental health and provide a platform for individuals to share their stories. After witnessing a close friend's struggle with mental health, I realized how isolating it can be to navigate these challenges alone. This experience motivated me to create a global network where individuals could access support, resources, and safe spaces to discuss mental health. Through GMHO, I’ve been able to organize workshops, host discussions, and facilitate initiatives like "Letters for Care," which delivers encouraging messages to those facing mental health struggles. The goal of GMHO is to offer individuals a sense of connection and community, helping them realize they are not alone in their journey. I’ve seen firsthand how sharing experiences and providing emotional support can create a ripple effect, empowering others to open up and seek help. In addition to organizing workshops and support initiatives, I also teach mental health classes that focus on topics like mental health first aid, stress management, and coping mechanisms. These classes aim to educate individuals on how to support themselves and others through mental health challenges. One of the most rewarding aspects of these efforts has been hearing from participants who feel more equipped to handle their own struggles or support friends and family members facing similar challenges. Knowing that I’ve helped others gain tools to prioritize their mental health is incredibly fulfilling. In my future career, I plan to continue supporting mental health by using my studies and experiences to promote emotional well-being. As a physician, I hope to incorporate mental health awareness into patient care, offering not just physical treatment but also emotional support. Whether through one-on-one consultations or larger-scale educational efforts, I want to help others understand that mental health is just as important as physical health. I believe that offering emotional care alongside medical care is essential in helping individuals heal and regain a sense of balance in their lives. Ultimately, I am dedicated to using my platform, my future career, and my own experiences to break down mental health stigma and ensure others feel supported in their emotional well-being.

Balancing the demands of school, extracurriculars, and personal life often feels like juggling fragile pieces, each one demanding attention at the same time. As a college student pursuing a dual degree, the pressures of my academic workload and personal responsibilities can be overwhelming, but I’ve developed strategies to stay grounded, focused, and resilient. Running has become one of my most effective ways to manage stress. The rhythm of each stride clears my mind, helping me push aside the noise of everyday pressures. It’s a time when I can process my thoughts and reset emotionally. The act of running challenges me physically, but it also has a profound impact on my mental clarity. After a run, I feel ready to tackle my academic work with renewed focus and energy, able to approach my responsibilities with a clearer perspective. Journaling and planning play an important role in how I manage my mental health. When the weight of multiple deadlines and tasks becomes overwhelming, I find comfort in writing. Journaling allows me to untangle my thoughts and organize them into clear, actionable goals. It helps me identify the causes of my stress, whether it’s the sheer volume of work or personal matters. By breaking tasks into smaller, manageable steps, I reduce the feeling of being overwhelmed and stay on top of everything that needs attention. Planning my day allows me to stay focused and ensures that I don’t get lost in the bigger picture. Another way I prioritize my mental health is through music. As a violinist, playing the violin has always been a source of joy and relaxation, especially when I play with friends. Music serves as a creative escape, providing me with a space to unwind and reconnect with myself. Performing with others reminds me that I’m not alone in my struggles. The act of collaborating to create music fosters a sense of community and belonging. It allows me to express emotions that words cannot capture, offering a cathartic release. When stress piles up, these musical moments provide a mental break, allowing me to return to my work with a refreshed mindset. Beyond these personal outlets, I’ve also co-founded the Global Mental Health Outreach (GMHO) Program, a nonprofit organization dedicated to creating safe spaces for individuals to share their mental health struggles and find support. The idea for GMHO came from my own experiences with mental health challenges and the desire to help others who might be facing similar obstacles. I organize initiatives like "Letters for Care," where I deliver messages of encouragement to people experiencing mental health challenges. This program has deepened my understanding of mental health, and I’ve learned that the importance of emotional well-being goes beyond individual struggles—it’s about community support. GMHO has not only helped others but also reinforced the importance of seeking help and raising awareness. Support from my family and friends is also crucial in maintaining my mental health. Having people to turn to for advice and encouragement reminds me that I don’t have to face challenges alone. Whether I’m navigating academic difficulties or personal concerns, my friends provide fresh perspectives and practical advice. My family, always my rock, reassures me when the weight of responsibilities feels too heavy. Their unwavering belief in me strengthens my resilience and fuels my drive to keep pushing forward. These strategies help me maintain balance and productivity and also allow me to continue pursuing my academic goals while staying grounded in my well-being. Taking care of my mental health is an ongoing process, but it’s one that has shaped how I navigate both my academic journey and personal life.

My name is Cheryl Tang, a third-year student at Northwestern University majoring in biological sciences and violin performance. My life goal is to become a cardiac surgeon, helping patients regain their strength and forming meaningful relationships through long-term care. I believe that healing is not just about physical recovery but also providing emotional support that guides individuals through their struggles. I volunteer weekly at Trulee Senior Living, designing cognitive activities for residents with Alzheimer’s. One day, I worked with a resident who was struggling with a puzzle. Her frustration grew as she couldn’t seem to fit the pieces together, so I sat beside her, offering encouragement. When she finally completed the puzzle, her eyes lit up with pride, and her smile reflected a newfound sense of accomplishment. This moment reminded me of the power of support and how it can help individuals reconnect with their potential. Beyond puzzles, I also play familiar pieces on my violin, providing relaxation and a sense of connection. Even in moments of forgetfulness, familiar melodies evoke memories, offering comfort and a sense of continuity. Alongside my work at Trulee, I founded the Global Mental Health Outreach (GMHO) Program, a nonprofit organization aimed at breaking the stigma surrounding mental health. The inspiration for GMHO came from seeing a friend struggle with mental health, highlighting the isolation many, especially teens and international students, face. GMHO has grown into a global network with chapters in seven countries, creating spaces for sharing stories. I organize workshops on topics like mental health first aid and personality disorders, providing resources to help individuals maintain their mental well-being. One of our most impactful projects, "Letters for Care," delivered over 1,000 messages of encouragement to teens worldwide, reminding them that they are not alone. The emotional responses from participants reaffirmed the importance of fostering an environment where people can freely share their struggles. Through GMHO, I've also taught mental health classes addressing various conditions, coping strategies, and maintaining a healthy lifestyle. One workshop focused on the challenges faced by international students, where participants shared their experiences of navigating a new culture while managing stress. Watching students learn tools to cope and challenge societal stigmas was inspiring. It reinforced the impact of education and awareness on mental health, showing how providing knowledge and resources can empower individuals to care for themselves and others. My experiences as a medical assistant further shaped my commitment to service. I assist patients undergoing treadmill electrocardiograms, and one particular patient stands out. She was recovering from a heart condition, and over time, I saw her progress. At first, she struggled with the treadmill, but her steps became steadier, and her smile brighter. What struck me most was how, despite the physical challenges, she remained determined to regain her strength. This experience reinforced my belief that emotional support, combined with physical care, helps individuals grow stronger. These experiences have taught me that service isn’t just about helping others; it’s about empowering them to discover their potential. By helping people recognize their strengths, I enable them to overcome challenges and move toward recovery. These moments inspire my commitment to continue making a positive impact and serving others as a future physician.

The soft hum of conversations filled the common room as I walked into Trulee Senior Living, violin case in hand. It was a familiar scene—residents gathered around tables, some flipping through old photo albums, others gazing out the windows. But amid the quiet bustle, one resident caught my eye, sitting alone with a jigsaw puzzle in front of them, their hands motionless, their gaze distant. I hesitated for a moment, then approached with a smile. “Mind if I join you?” I asked, pulling up a chair. At first, there was no response, just a slight flicker of recognition. But as we began working on the puzzle together, piece by tentative piece, something shifted. Their focus sharpened, and a faint smile began to form. That small, shared moment of accomplishment—placing the final piece into the puzzle—was a reminder of the transformative power of kindness. It wasn’t just about completing a task; it was about creating a space where someone felt seen, valued, and capable. These moments have become a cornerstone of my weekly visits to Trulee Senior Living, where I design cognitive activities tailored to the residents, many of whom live with Alzheimer’s. Whether it’s guiding someone through a puzzle, hosting a group activity, or simply offering a smile, I’ve learned that kindness doesn’t always need words. It’s about meeting people where they are, offering connection and patience in a world that often rushes past. This commitment to fostering connection also inspired me to found the Global Mental Health Outreach (GMHO) Program, a nonprofit organization, during my freshman year of high school. The idea was born after a friend confided in me about their struggles with mental health, revealing both the depth of their pain and the silence that often surrounds such topics. I realized that many people, especially students, navigate similar challenges in isolation. Determined to create a safe space for open dialogue, I began organizing workshops and support networks to combat stigma and offer resources to those in need. Over time, GMHO grew into a global initiative with chapters spanning seven countries. The organization empowers individuals through its many initiatives, including a podcast series where people share their recovery stories. These narratives not only provide hope but also inspire others to take steps toward their own healing. Additionally, I’ve taught mental health classes on topics like mental health first aid, equipping participants with techniques and lifestyles to maintain their well-being. These sessions also delve into various mental health challenges, addressing societal stigmas, and raising awareness to foster a more understanding community. One of our projects, “Letters for Care,” delivered over 1,000 handwritten notes of encouragement to teens around the world, a simple yet impactful gesture that reminded recipients they weren’t alone. Whether through podcasts, classes, or written messages, GMHO demonstrates how acts of kindness, no matter how small, can ripple outward, creating a profound impact on individuals and communities alike. My commitment to kindness also extends into clinical settings. As a medical assistant, I’ve had the privilege of forming meaningful connections with patients. One patient, recovering from a heart condition, required weekly treadmill electrocardiograms. At first, the tests seemed daunting to her, each step hesitant and filled with uncertainty. Over time, I encouraged her to celebrate small victories—an extra step, a steadier pace, a brighter smile. Week by week, I watched her confidence and strength grow. When she shared stories of her grandchildren, her voice softened with joy. These moments became more than routine checkups; they were reminders of the life she was reclaiming. I cherished our connection, watching her regain confidence. These moments taught me that healing is as much about the care we provide as it is about the trust and empathy we build. Through these experiences, I’ve learned that kindness is not just a fleeting act but a deliberate choice—a way of seeing the world and responding to it with compassion. At Trulee Senior Living, I’ve witnessed how simple activities can rekindle a spark in someone’s day. Through GMHO, I’ve seen how shared stories, education, and encouragement can bring people together, even across continents. And in my clinical work, I’ve understood the importance of walking alongside others in their journeys, no matter how long or difficult the road may seem. These moments have shaped not only my perspective but also my aspirations. They’ve inspired me to pursue medicine, where I can continue to support and uplift others in their most vulnerable moments. Kindness, I’ve found, has the power to transform lives—not just for those who receive it, but also for those who give it. And for me, there’s no greater calling than that.

One of my earliest ventures into leadership and innovation was through music. After years of solitary practice on the violin, the joy I once found in playing had diminished. It was only when I joined the Chordas quartet that I rediscovered my passion. Inspired by the dedication of my fellow musicians, I realized that music is a collaborative art, thriving on shared ideas and collective effort. This experience ignited my entrepreneurial spirit. I founded a 40-person orchestra at my school, assuming the roles of conductor and concertmaster. Our initial rehearsals were chaotic, with individuals struggling to synchronize. Undeterred, I implemented individual lessons and peer collaboration, gradually transforming our disparate group into a cohesive, spirited ensemble. Our second-place finish in a major competition was a testament to our hard work and unity. This endeavor taught me the importance of leadership, innovation, and resilience—qualities integral to any entrepreneurial pursuit. My entrepreneurial journey continued after moving to California when I founded the Global Mental Health Outreach Program to challenge the stigma surrounding mental illness. I was inspired to do so after a friend attempted suicide. Students whispered cruel rumors without taking her plight seriously. Unlike other mental health organizations, mine focuses on teen-to-teen interactions. Many find talking to a peer more relatable, and they are more willing to open up and seek help. In addition to creating hours of webinars and many articles for our website, I established branches in multiple countries to plan events tailored to local needs. I recruited over 60 students worldwide, including Egypt, Bangladesh, and Romania, to assist. This diversity helps bridge cultural gaps on many sensitive topics. For example, personality disorders are considered a weakness in Nigeria, so many people are afraid to discuss them. I organized and helped create online classes on their repercussions with RehabAfrica, designed to teach about personality disorders while alleviating cultural stigmas. This initiative embodies my passion for innovation and my commitment to scholarly engagement, as I continually research and adapt our approach to meet the needs of different communities. Furthermore, my curiosity about the world and dedication to academic excellence are reflected in my co-founding of Biology for Better (BFBThis non-profit organization aims to make STEM education more accessible, particularly in developing countries. By partnering with schools in India, Tanzania, and Malawi, we provided small-group tutorials, worksheets, and video lectures to supplement their biology courses. This project not only addressed educational disparities but also fueled my intellectual curiosity, allowing me to explore diverse educational systems and adapt our resources to fit varied learning environments. The enthusiasm and curiosity of the children we serve inspire me, reinforcing the importance of putting words into action and demonstrating the power of education to bridge global gaps. Each of these experiences has shaped my entrepreneurial spirit, deepened my scholarly engagement, and fueled my curiosity. They have taught me the value of collaboration, the importance of empathy, and the power of innovative thinking. Whether leading an orchestra, addressing mental health stigma, or promoting STEM education, I have sought to create meaningful, lasting impact. These endeavors have not only enriched my academic journey but also instilled in me a profound sense of purpose and responsibility. The qualities of entrepreneurial spirit, innovation, scholarly engagement, curiosity, and academic excellence are not just abstract ideals but lived experiences that continue to shape my path. Through music, mental health advocacy, and educational initiatives, I have strived to embody these attributes, driving positive change and inspiring others to join in this journey of discovery and impact.

My passion for community service and STEM started during my freshman year biology class when I investigated the optimum temperature for human digestive enzymes. When I found the perfect temperature and the sample bubbled into white foam in the test tube, I became fascinated with the hidden intricacies of the human body and how they could go wrong. There is a stereotype that science limits creativity. That is why I sought out scientific experiences that extend beyond knowledge simply found in books. This past summer, I joined the Aspiring Scholars Directed Research Program because I knew I liked scientific thinking and would enthusiastically take on any new challenge. I was paired with an investigator, who assigned me a research topic on the FTO gene, the human gene that causes obesity. I researched inhibition derivatives for the gene by synthesizing 3-Nitrophenypyrazole and curcumin. Working on such research was harder than I anticipated, as there are no solutions on the Internet or in textbooks to the problems I encountered. Once, I needed to evaporate acetic acid from the samples I was studying, but I burned the compounds three times in a row because of the wrong measurements. I wasn’t precise enough, and due to these tiny differences, I had to restart my experiment. After days of trial and error, I finally found the solutions that no one else had discovered and realized how much I enjoy critical thinking and problem-solving, which are valuable pieces of training for a future physician. These experiences were some of the most enjoyable of my life, as I connected with people who shared my drive and enthusiasm. The setbacks I faced in both programs taught me something about myself that I did not know: I love solving complex problems whose answers are not yet known. This research program inspired me, and I became more interested in the STEM field. The following summer, I co-founded Biology for Better (BFB), a non-profit student organization that promotes STEM education through webinars and online classes. Volunteering there, I studied the disparities in STEM education around the world. When I realized that many people lack the opportunities I have had, I was determined to help make science education more accessible, especially in developing countries. I established partnerships with schools in India, Tanzania, and Malawi to assist them with teaching. I coordinated small-group online tutorials for the students. I recruited volunteers and worked with them to create more than 200 worksheets and video lectures for the schools’ biology courses. The children our organization serves are always curious. Their eagerness inspires me because removing educational barriers helps me feel more connected to the world and demonstrates the power of putting words into action. These experiences in both laboratory research and community service have had a crucial impact on my future career. First, I became more driven to discover the mysteries of the biological world. Through experimentation and countless hours of trial and error, I aim to unlock new solutions to current challenges, specifically effective treatments for neurodegenerative disorders that interest me. Besides, I realized I love interacting with and serving people in need. In the future, my goal is to take provide care for patients. The expertise I have gained throughout the years will help me address the healthcare disparities in the world, as a lot of students do not have equitable access to quality medical services. Besides, education disparities in STEM fields are also a rising problem in underdeveloped countries. Currently, I am volunteering with BFB to expand our network so that more communities can be reached and receive small-group STEM classes.

I founded the Global Mental Health Outreach Program to challenge the stigma surrounding mental illness. I was inspired to do so after a friend attempted suicide. Students whispered cruel rumors without taking her plight seriously. Unlike other mental health organizations, mine focuses on teen-to-teen interactions. Many find talking to a peer more relatable, and they are more willing to open up and seek help. In addition to creating hours of webinars and many articles for our website, I established branches in multiple countries to plan events tailored to local needs. I recruited over 60 students worldwide, including Egypt, Bangladesh, and Romania, to assist. This diversity helps bridge cultural gaps on many sensitive topics. For example, personality disorders are considered a weakness in Nigeria, so many people are afraid to discuss them. I organized and helped create online classes on their repercussions with RehabAfrica, designed to teach about personality disorders while alleviating cultural stigmas. I also created non-judgmental platforms for people to inspire one another, gathering stories from people recovering from mental illnesses to give hope to those experiencing similar struggles. We provided them encouragement, sympathy, and understanding, along with practical resources to help, and many mentioned they were blessed to receive our kind words of support. Furthermore, I co-founded Biology for Better (BFB), a non-profit student organization that promotes STEM education through webinars and online classes. Volunteering there, I studied the disparities in STEM education around the world. When I realized that many people lack the opportunities I have had, I was determined to help make science education more accessible, especially in developing countries. I established partnerships with schools in India, Tanzania, and Malawi to assist them with teaching. These schools have large classes, and science teachers have little time for personalized education. I coordinated small-group online tutorials for the students. I recruited volunteers and worked together to create more than 200 worksheets and video lectures for the schools’ biology courses. The children our organization serves are always excited and curious. Their eagerness inspires me because removing educational barriers helps me feel more connected to the world and demonstrates the power of putting words into action. These experiences in community service have had a crucial impact on my future career. First, I became more driven to discover the mysteries of the biological world. Besides, I realized I love interacting with and serving people in need. In the future, my goal is to take advantage of the privilege I have to provide care for patients directly: diagnosing illnesses and providing treatments. The expertise I have gained throughout the years will also help me address the healthcare disparities in the world. I hope to raise awareness of this serious issue, as a lot of students do not have equitable access to quality medical services. In addition to healthcare disparities, education disparities in STEM fields are also a rising problem in underdeveloped countries. Currently, I am volunteering with BFB to expand our network so that more communities can be reached and receive small-group STEM classes. My work with BFB showed me the joy of creating projects that improve the world. Sharing my passion for healthcare helps others and makes these interests more meaningful for me, in a way that studying on my own can never do. Serving others excites me because I feel obliged to create optimism and prosperity in the world. As a pre-medical student, these experiences inspire me to create more opportunities for those in need and give back to the community as a future physician, improving people’s overall well-being.

As a Biology major, I am thrilled to embark on my journey of scientific exploration and helping people in healthcare, specifically as a future physician. I am optimistic that my future career has a strong potential in making significant impacts on the world: by sharing my passion for medicine, and my dedication to serving and improving society. My passion for community service and biology started during my freshman year biology class when I investigated the optimum temperature for human digestive enzymes. When I found the perfect temperature and the sample bubbled into white foam in the test tube, I became fascinated with the hidden intricacies of the human body and how they could go wrong. The following summer, I co-founded Biology for Better (BFB), a non-profit student organization that promotes STEM education through webinars and online classes. Volunteering there, I studied the disparities in STEM education around the world. When I realized that many people lack the opportunities I have had, I was determined to help make science education more accessible, especially in developing countries. I established partnerships with schools in India, Tanzania, and Malawi to assist them with teaching. I coordinated small-group online tutorials for the students. I recruited volunteers and worked with them to create more than 200 worksheets and video lectures for the schools’ biology courses. The children our organization serves are always excited and curious. Their eagerness inspires me because removing educational barriers helps me feel more connected to the world and demonstrates the power of putting words into action. These experiences in both laboratory research and community service have had a crucial impact on my future career. First, I became more driven to discover the mysteries of the biological world. Through experimentation and countless hours of trial and error, I aim to unlock new solutions to current challenges, specifically effective treatments for neurodegenerative disorders that interest me. Besides, I realized I love interacting with and serving people in need. In the future, my goal is to take advantage of the privilege I have to provide care for patients directly: diagnosing illnesses and providing treatments. The expertise I have gained throughout the years will also help me address the healthcare disparities in the world. I hope to raise awareness of this serious issue, as a lot of students do not have equitable access to quality medical services. In addition to healthcare disparities, education disparities in STEM fields are also a rising problem in underdeveloped countries. Currently, I am volunteering with BFB to expand our network so that more communities can be reached and receive small-group STEM classes. My work with BFB showed me the joy of creating projects that improve the world. Sharing my passion for healthcare helps others and makes these interests more meaningful for me, in a way that studying on my own can never do. Serving others excites me because I feel obliged to create optimism and prosperity in the world. As a pre-medical student, these experiences inspire me to create more opportunities for those in need and give back to the community as a future physician, improving people’s overall well-being.

I was five hours into practicing Grieg's Violin Sonata, yet the melody sounded lifeless. I had spent so many hours practicing alone that the joy had disappeared. I was on the verge of quitting altogether‒until I was invited to play in the Chordas quartet. Our first rehearsal was wobbly, our efforts sounding as lifeless as my attempts at Grieg months before. But my fellow musicians’ dedication inspired me to improve. I practiced countless hours, scrutinizing every note, polishing every measure to bring emotions and storytelling into the music. Our different ideas blended to create unique interpretations, and I discovered the true joy of creating music with others. Building on what I had learned from Chordas, and knowing that many other students struggled to find the motivation to play, I founded a 40-person string orchestra at my school, serving as both conductor and concertmaster. Our first few rehearsals were chaotic. I felt helpless. How could I unite these independent players around a single goal? I started with individual lessons, demonstrating techniques and encouraging them to play in pairs, reflect upon their playing, and help one another improve. Soon, we began to think and play as one, and confidence replaced the uncertainty of our first awkward rehearsals. After two months of practice, I led my orchestra in a competition. Thousands of eyes watched as I conducted Grieg’s Holberg Suite and we poured our hearts into the music. A year before, my resentment towards Grieg’s Violin Sonata had nearly extinguished my passion for music, but now his music sounded profoundly meaningful. Our second-place finish among seventeen orchestras gave me goosebumps. I had transformed our group from a bunch of passive individuals into spirited, engaged musicians. After I moved to California, leaving my orchestra behind, I looked for an equal purpose in my new country. I discovered it when I founded the Global Mental Health Outreach Program to challenge the stigma surrounding mental illness. I was inspired to do so after a friend attempted suicide. Students whispered cruel rumors without taking her plight seriously. Unlike other mental health organizations, mine focuses on teen-to-teen interactions. Many find talking to a peer more relatable, and they are more willing to open up and seek help. In addition to creating hours of webinars and many articles for our website, I established branches in multiple countries to plan events tailored to local needs. I recruited over 60 students worldwide, including Egypt, Bangladesh, and Romania, to assist. This diversity helps bridge cultural gaps on many sensitive topics. For example, personality disorders are considered a weakness in Nigeria, so many people are afraid to discuss them. I organized and helped create online classes on their repercussions with RehabAfrica, designed to teach about personality disorders while alleviating cultural stigmas. I also created non-judgmental platforms for people to inspire one another, gathering stories from people recovering from mental illnesses to give hope and encouragement to those experiencing similar struggles. After I launched these events, many teenagers reached out for advice on our website. We provided them encouragement, sympathy, and understanding, along with practical resources to help, and many mentioned they were blessed to receive our kind words of support. My orchestra and my work with GMHO showed me the joy of creating projects that improve the world. Sharing my passion for music and mental health both helps others and makes these interests more meaningful for me, in a way that practicing an instrument or studying on my own can never do. Serving others excites me because I feel obliged to create optimism and prosperity in the world.

I was five hours into practicing Grieg's Violin Sonata, yet the melody sounded lifeless. I had spent so many hours practicing alone that the joy had disappeared. I was on the verge of quitting altogether‒until I was invited to play in the Chordas quartet. Our first rehearsal was wobbly, but my fellow musicians’ dedication inspired me to improve. I practiced countless hours, polishing every measure to bring emotions and storytelling into the music. Our different ideas blended to create unique interpretations, and I discovered the true joy of creating music with others. Building on what I had learned from Chordas, and knowing that many other students struggled to find the motivation to play, I founded a 40-person string orchestra at my school, serving as both conductor and concertmaster. Our first few rehearsals were chaotic. People weren’t working together, and many members questioned my leadership. Why should they listen to a little freshman girl? I felt helpless. How could I unite these independent players around a single goal? I started with individual lessons, demonstrating techniques and encouraging them to play in pairs, reflect upon their playing, and help one another improve. Soon, we began to think and play as one, and confidence replaced the uncertainty of our first awkward rehearsals. After two months of practice, I led my orchestra in a competition. Thousands of eyes watched as I conducted Grieg’s Holberg Suite and we poured our hearts into the music. A year before, my resentment towards Grieg’s Violin Sonata had nearly extinguished my passion for music, but now his music sounded profoundly meaningful. Our second-place finish among seventeen orchestras gave me goosebumps. I had transformed our group from a bunch of passive individuals into spirited, engaged musicians. After I moved to California, leaving my orchestra behind, I looked for an equal purpose in my new country. I discovered it when I founded the Global Mental Health Outreach Program to challenge the stigma surrounding mental illness. I was inspired to do so after a friend attempted suicide. Students whispered cruel rumors without taking her plight seriously. Unlike other mental health organizations, mine focuses on teen-to-teen interactions. Many find talking to a peer more relatable, and they are more willing to open up and seek help. In addition to creating hours of webinars and many articles for our website, I established branches in multiple countries to plan events tailored to local needs. I recruited over 60 students worldwide, including Egypt, Bangladesh, and Romania, to assist. This diversity helps bridge cultural gaps on many sensitive topics. For example, personality disorders are considered a weakness in Nigeria, so many people are afraid to discuss them. I organized and helped create online classes on their repercussions with RehabAfrica, designed to teach about personality disorders while alleviating cultural stigmas. I also created non-judgmental platforms for people to inspire one another, gathering stories from people recovering from mental illnesses to give hope and encouragement to those experiencing similar struggles. After I launched these events, many teenagers reached out for advice on our website. We provided them encouragement, sympathy, and understanding, along with practical resources to help, and many mentioned they were blessed to receive our kind words of support. My orchestra and my work with GMHO showed me the joy of creating projects that improve the world. Sharing my passion for music and mental health both helps others and makes these interests more meaningful for me, in a way that practicing an instrument or studying on my own can never do. Serving others excites me because I feel obliged to create optimism and prosperity in the world.