“Choosing the right university is one of the most pivotal decisions in your life.” My guidance counselors would recite this phrase every year during our yearly meetings. As I reflect on my journey through high school, I realize that my dream university isn't just a destination—it's a sanctuary where my passion, drive, and sense of purpose converge to ignite a transformative experience unlike any other. In the halls of my high school, the allure of Ivy League institutions beckoned like a siren's call, enticing me with promises of prestige and recognition. Like many of my peers, I became ensnared in the competitive frenzy, driven by a singular desire to secure a coveted spot in the hallowed halls of academia. But as time passed and I matured as an individual, I began to see beyond the superficial allure of brand names and rankings. I started to envision a university that resonated with my values, aspirations, and ambitions—a place where I could thrive intellectually, culturally, and personally. At the heart of my dream university lies a fervent dedication to academic excellence—a commitment to knowledge that transcends boundaries and embraces the relentless pursuit of truth. It's a place where the thrill of discovery is palpable, where curiosity is celebrated, and where innovation knows no bounds. From the moment I embarked on a study abroad program focused on genetic engineering, I felt an undeniable spark of inspiration ignite within me. Despite the challenges and setbacks I encountered along the way—losing my e.coli plasmid, facing experimental failures—I was driven by an insatiable thirst for knowledge and a burning desire to make a meaningful impact in the world. My passion for genetic engineering isn't just a fleeting interest; it's a calling—a vocation that beckons me to unravel the mysteries of the human genome and pioneer groundbreaking research that could revolutionize medicine. From studying the molecular basis of genetic diseases to conducting research on creating antibodies for rare conditions like Edward's Syndrome, I am driven by a sense of purpose that transcends the confines of the classroom. And it's not just about academic accolades or professional recognition—it's about empowering families with the knowledge they need to make informed decisions about their genetic health, about making a tangible difference in the lives of real people. But my dream university isn't just a place of academic rigor—it's a vibrant tapestry of diversity and inclusion, where every voice is heard and valued. As a Chinese-American navigating the complex terrain of cultural identity, I understand the importance of fostering a sense of belonging and connection within a community. Through my involvement in organizations like Better Chinatown, I've witnessed firsthand the transformative power of cultural celebration in bridging divides and forging bonds of fellowship. Inspired by these experiences, I am committed to creating a United World Culture Club at my dream university—a space where students from all backgrounds can come together to celebrate the rich tapestry of human diversity and cultivate a sense of unity and understanding. Imagine stepping onto a campus brimming with opportunities for personal growth and exploration—a place where students are encouraged to pursue their passions, whether on the court, on the stage, or in the laboratory. For me, this means immersing myself in activities that fuel my passion for volleyball and choir, while also continuing my journey as a bobarista—a role that has brought me joy and fulfillment. Moreover, as I look ahead to study abroad programs, I am eager to expand my horizons and immerse myself in diverse cultural experiences, gaining invaluable insights and perspectives that will shape my personal and academic journey. In essence, my dream university isn't just a destination—it's a transformative experience, a journey of growth, connection, and purpose. As I embark on this odyssey, I am filled with a sense of excitement and anticipation, knowing that the experiences and opportunities that await me will not only shape my academic and professional trajectory but also my identity as a global citizen committed to making a positive impact on the world.

Mo Yong. You’re a failure. My mom would say in Cantonese. My mother grew up the perfect student — the apple of every teacher's eye, ranked number one in the whole grade, class president, and the pride of her family. She even attended the top specialized high school in China. Now it was my turn to carry the mantle of academic perfection. I did my best to win my teachers’ favor. Pencils became my best friend as I strove for the top grades in my classes. And I ran for student council (presidency of course) in elementary school. Mo Yong. She would tell me whenever a teacher complained about me, whenever there was a B on my report card, whenever I wasn’t president. My mother would use this heart-wrenching noun not to describe my temporary state of being but rather to declare my identity. Whenever I wasn’t her reflection. Then, the day came for specialized high school decisions. Will I finally be like my mother? Will I finally be a perfect reflection? My hands shake as I click the ENTER button. I stare at the bright screen in front of me. My mind goes numb. My breathing becomes rapid. Tears blur my vision. It was not the result I had hoped for. I already know what she will say before she even says it. MO YONG. Her catchphrase pierced like a sharp knife to the heart. Then, a surge of fire rushed through my blood. I batted away my tears and screamed in her direction, “WHY AM I NEVER GOOD ENOUGH FOR YOU?” I stormed off to my room, cradled into a ball, and cried myself to sleep. Days after, I heard my mom knocking at my door, “Neui-neui, eat this fresh bowl of fruit.” This was a Cantonese mom’s way of an apology; a peace offering. My mom explained that my grandma used to call her “mo yong.” But, she never took it to heart and viewed it as a term of a motivating rally to be better. And, naturally, my mom found no harm in calling me it. In an unprecedented moment, I told her… how I felt. That I am not her reflection. The term hurts every instance she addresses me by it. The accolades that made her who she is should not be used to define who I am. We shared the bowl of fruit after our breakthrough mother-daughter chat and agreed to always work on our relationship. It was a long journey of self-discovery. I am now curious. Before I broke from my mother’s reflection, I used to study in search of her approval. Now, I take advanced classes, like College Genetics, to learn more about my favorite subjects and study out of curiosity to grow intellectually as a person. I am now free. My weekends used to be spent in a small prep classroom, but now I play basketball with my favorite people and attend key club events whenever I want to. I am now a social butterfly. My friend group used to be carefully curated by my mother, but now I surround myself with people who are full of goals and encourage me to reach my highest potential. “Mo Yong” The phrase has become less burdensome. When I see it now, it’s a reminder that I failed to be a reflection of my mom; I failed to be her. However, I failed in a way that now allows me to discover my individuality. I am not a mirror of my mom. I’m glad because I can finally be myself.

“Neui-neui (daughter), drink this leung-cha.” Whenever my mom called me a lovely daughter in Cantonese, I knew a foul-smelling, bitter brown soup was coming my way. Every time leung-cha (Chinese medicine) even reached a one-feet radius of me, I would start to gag. Despite the taste, all my aches would disappear in an instant. Now, my new perspective of medicine is the function of Advil, Motrin, Tylenol that is now a staple in my backpack. My exposure to different kinds of medicine began to alter my perspective on medicine. My curiosity about the vast world of medicine impels me to learn more, in hopes of one day applying my knowledge to aid other patients and cure their aches. My first exposure to medicine began at Esco Drugs Co. where I worked as a pharmacy technician. Every Saturday, I would stare at countless pills, whether it be for counting pills or making blister packs. Pills were everywhere. Why were there so many pills? Acetaminophen and Tylenol are basically the same, so why did we have both? Some patients preferred taking the brand name, Tylenol, over the generic Acetaminophen. I suspected patients preferred different medications based on cost or efficacy, but I was intrigued by how different medications could be used to cure the same illness. Thus, my curiosity compelled me to work as a medical technician at an OBGYN clinic, so that I could understand the patient's medical needs in hopes of aiding them to my best care. Every weekend, my clinical work would consist of roundings, setting up pap smears, and understanding medical charts to communicate to the doctor how to effectively care for the patient. In one case, a patient came in with endometriosis – which occurs when tissues that develop inside the uterus, develop outside of the uterus instead. The patient was feeling painful periods, cramping, and headaches, which can cause infertility. But I soon realized, there were many different cures for endometriosis – GnRH Antagonists, GnRH Agonists, surgery, birth control pills, and pain medication. The doctor asked the patient which method she was most comfortable with. Watching the doctor patiently understand the patient's medical needs, a spark lit in me. Medicine isn’t just about giving a prescription and telling the patient they will feel better, it is also about catering to the patient's needs to identify the method that best fits to cure them. My exposure to medicine allowed me to grasp a deeper understanding of communication, patience, care, and professionalism. Medicine isn’t just memorizing a biology textbook, it is also an art. An art that has been established for centuries symbolized by the Hippocratic Oath. My experience in the medical field has led me to believe that medicine doesn’t have a clear-cut answer, but is about discovering what the patient needs. I hope to pledge the Hippocratic Oath one day to ensure that my patient comes out with a bright smile.

Mo Yong. You’re a failure. My mom would say in Cantonese. She would tell me whenever a teacher complained about me, whenever there was a B on my report card, whenever I wasn’t president. To sum it up, my mother would use this heart-wrenching noun not to describe my temporary state of being but rather to declare my identity. Then, the day came for specialized high school decisions. MO YONG. Her catchphrase pierced like a sharp knife to the heart. It was not the result she had hoped for. Then, a surge of fire rushed through my blood. I batted away my tears and screamed in her direction, “WHY AM I NEVER GOOD ENOUGH FOR YOU?” I stormed off to my room, cradled into a ball, and cried myself to sleep. Days after, I heard my mom knocking at my door, “Neui-neui, eat this fresh bowl of fruit.” This was a Cantonese mom’s way of an apology; a peace offering. In an unprecedented moment, I told her that the term hurts every instance she addresses me by it. My motivation to learn was not for myself but for my mother. I then realized I did not know what my passion was. It was a long journey of self-discovery. But I began with going on a girl’s day with my mom every Sunday. She always told me stories about how she grew up impoverished, so she couldn’t attend academies that offered rigorous courses like I was able to. Before I broke from my mother’s reflection, I used to study in search of her approval. Now, I take advanced classes, like AP Biology, where I learned about Edward’s Syndrome. After the Edward’s Syndrome lesson, my passion for genetics led me to a three-week study abroad program focused on gene editing to further my interests. Despite setbacks like losing my E. coli plasmid during hands-on CRISPR-Cas9 experimentation, I grew a passion for biology on my own accord, and not to please my mother. Soon, I realized that I could impact other girls who don’t have the same opportunities for education as I did by tutoring learning-impaired girls in STEM subjects. In hopes of inspiring them to pursue a career in STEM and initiate a new era of female scientists. In college, I hope to contribute to the empowerment of women from all different backgrounds by creating a Society of Women in STEM, hosting Panels with other women in STEM to discuss their journey, and creating a safe space for women to discuss their successes and setbacks. This empowering environment is the ideal space to guide me as a STEM major, feminist, and an individual. “Mo Yong” The phrase has become less burdensome. When I see it now, it’s a reminder that I failed to be a reflection of my mom. However, I failed in a way that now allows me to discover my individuality. I’m glad because I can finally be myself.

Until I was six, I would sit on my YeYe’s lap while he meticulously sliced a red Macintosh apple for me. After dinner, I always looked forward to our apple session. One night, when I was nine, he told me it was my turn to learn to cut them myself. But when I tried positioning the knife, my hands slipped, dropping the apple and cutting my finger. “YeYe, I can’t do it!” He told me, “CoCo, life's a slow journey. Be patient to improve,” implying the cut on my finger represented life's struggles. As he spoke of patience, I ignored his warning and instead focused on rushing every task – never peeling an apple again. It wasn’t until I reached high school that I realized the importance of what YeYe had tried to teach me. Until then, I had been rushing through every challenge I faced, which had contributed to an omnipresent middle school anxiety. Junior year of high school, when I received my first C-, my anxiety manifested itself again, as I agonized over sharing my “bad grade” with my parents for fear of critique. As I kept listening to their criticisms, my ego bruised, and in an attempt to escape this, I found comfort in my own bed. I began wishing that I could fix my problems by sleeping through them and fast-forwarding to whatever came next, but that only led me to struggle more. After days of hearing my parents’ criticisms, I threatened to leave home. My YeYe – who witnessed the whole fight – came to my rescue. As I sobbed on the floor, he knelt to give me a plate of sliced apples. When I looked at the plate, I realized that amid these challenges, YeYe’s motto of patience was right. In the same way, I wanted to just eat those apples—foregoing the intricate process of peeling off the skin—I wanted to rush through my problems. But rushing was getting me nowhere. So, I began to embrace the patience YeYe had lauded. I took an apple, slowly peeling the skin off in a circular motion; my technique may not have been as precise as my YeYe’s, but at least I was not dropping the apple anymore. I came to relish the movement of cutting the skin off in a spiral. In everything I do, I have embraced and accepted the same joy my YeYe felt every time he patiently cut a slice. It is the joy that I now bring with me when I tackle a difficult Calculus problem one step at a time as I begin to understand the complexity of derivatives, no longer rushing through the problem. It is the joy that I bring with me when I build Lego sets with my nephew, no longer focusing on the fact that we have not yet finished building by the time he has to leave. And it is the joy that I bring with me when a detail in my paintings is slightly askew, no longer throwing my artwork away because it is “not good enough.” Life is like a game that’ll present you with unexpected obstacles—obstacles that positivity has helped me overcome. In YeYe’s wisdom, he was teaching me to slow down, to accept the beauty of each moment as it came—it was never truly about apples. But, since I’ve found patience, I can finally take pride in the fact that I cut apples in the same meticulous spiral as my YeYe.

My journey is a testament to the transformative power of love, faith, and community service. Inspired by the words of 1 John 4:7, I have embarked on a mission to embody these principles and spread their light throughout the world. As a child of God, I have come to understand the profound importance of love in our lives. Through my experiences and reflections, I have learned that true love stems from God, and it is our divine duty to extend that love to all, even those who are difficult to love. My first retreat was a revelation, showing me the depth of God's love and urging me to share it with others, especially those who have yet to experience the embrace of agape. In fellowship, I have discovered that knowing about God's love is not enough; we must feel it in our hearts and souls. My journey was marked by struggles and doubts, but through prayer and connection with God, I have felt his love envelop me, guiding me to love the world unconditionally, just as he loves me. Embracing my Chinese background has been an integral part of my journey. My involvement with Better Chinatown as a coordinator has allowed me to create spaces where people from all walks of life can come together for cultural festivities through love and community service. Honoring God’s love and gift of community service, I helped organize a parade to highlight the traditional hanfu – Chinese gown – lion dancing, the national Chinese anthem, and Chinese societies that offer a safe space for Chinese immigrants. Through firecrackers, silly spray, and red envelopes, people around Brooklyn, Manhattan, and Queens were exposed to the festivities and enjoyed each aspect, like petting the dragon's head for good luck. It felt rewarding to see people from all different backgrounds coming together to celebrate a Chinese national holiday. Moving forward, I am driven by an unyielding ambition to make a positive impact on the world. Love – as a child of God, I walk through life loving everyone of different backgrounds and I love the ones who are the cruelest in this world the most. Faith – God has saved me in ways I cannot even fathom through love alone. Through his love, I am saved and protected from powers that try to ever undermine his unlimited love and power. Community Service – We must always give back to those in need, spread the Gospel, and share our treasurers with others so that we too can impact people's lives through the power of God. I walk each day with God's love in my heart, knowing that by embracing my identity and spreading His love, I can help others find acceptance, belonging, and the transformative power of faith.

Until I was six, I would sit on my YeYe’s lap while he meticulously sliced a red Macintosh apple for me. After dinner, I always looked forward to our apple session. One night, when I was nine, he told me it was my turn to learn to cut them myself. But when I tried positioning the knife, my hands slipped, dropping the apple and cutting my finger. “YeYe, I can’t do it!” He told me, “CoCo, life's a slow journey. Be patient to improve,” implying the cut on my finger represented life's struggles. As he spoke of patience, I ignored his warning and instead focused on rushing every task – never peeling an apple again. It wasn’t until I reached high school that I realized the importance of what YeYe had tried to teach me. Until then, I had been rushing through every challenge I faced, which had contributed to an omnipresent middle school anxiety. Junior year of high school, when I received my first C-, my anxiety manifested itself again, as I agonized over sharing my “bad grade” with my parents for fear of critique. As I kept listening to their criticisms, my ego bruised, and in an attempt to escape this, I found comfort in my own bed. I began wishing that I could fix my problems by sleeping through them and fast-forwarding to whatever came next, but that only led me to struggle more. After days of hearing my parents’ criticisms, I threatened to leave home. My YeYe – who witnessed the whole fight – came to my rescue. As I sobbed on the floor, he knelt to give me a plate of sliced apples. When I looked at the plate, I realized that amid these challenges, YeYe’s motto of patience was right. In the same way I wanted to just eat those apples—foregoing the intricate process of peeling off the skin—I wanted to rush through my problems. But rushing was getting me nowhere. So, I began to embrace the patience YeYe had lauded. I took an apple, slowly peeling the skin off in a circular motion; my technique may not have been as precise as my YeYe’s, but at least I was not dropping the apple anymore. I came to relish the movement of cutting the skin off in a spiral. In everything I do, I have embraced and accepted the same joy my YeYe felt every time he patiently cut a slice. It is the joy that I now bring with me when I tackle a difficult Calculus problem one step at a time as I begin to understand the complexity of derivatives, no longer rushing through the problem. It is the joy that I bring with me when I build Lego sets with my nephew, no longer focusing on the fact that we have not yet finished building by the time he has to leave. And it is the joy that I bring with me when a detail in my paintings is slightly askew, no longer throwing my artwork away because it is “not good enough.” Life is like a game that’ll present you with unexpected obstacles—obstacles that positivity has helped me overcome. In YeYe’s wisdom, he was teaching me to slow down, to accept the beauty of each moment as it came—it was never truly about apples. But, since I’ve found patience, I can finally take pride in the fact that I cut apples in the same meticulous spiral as my YeYe.

In the lively rhythm of "QHSS KEY CLUB," the question hangs in the air: "HOW DO YOU FEEL?" The room transforms into a joyous symphony, voices harmonizing, declaring in unison, "WE FEEL GOOD, OH WE FEEL SO GOOD, OH!"—a celebration of shared positivity and enthusiasm. This enchanting chant ignited the inception of my Key Club journey, leading to my role as president. As a freshman, the allure of joining the largest club in school was compelling enough to enlist me in Key Club. The virtual landscape of my freshman year deprived my class of the in-person experiences cherished by Key Club members, resulting in a dip in the collective enthusiasm. This circumstance translated into a lackadaisical approach to events like Beanbeanbean. The turning point occurred at the Alley Pond Park Clean Up, my first in-person service event. Witnessing Key Club members joyfully contributing to the community ignited my spirit. Immersing myself in the 2021-2022 board's narratives revealed Key Club's impact on leadership. Inspired, I progressed from a timid sophomore to an active scrapbook committee participant, eventually becoming the editor. In my role as editor, engaging in in-person events uncovered concerns about dwindling participation. Taking these concerns to the 2022-2023 board, I collaborated to reignite the Key Club spirit. Assuming the role of president, I implemented comprehensive plans. Beyond personal milestones, I've come to recognize that the essence of Key Club lies not solely in its board and accolades but in its members. Despite delegating responsibilities, my paramount objective was to instill our Key Club motto, "Caring our way of life," into the ethos of our members. The virtual nature of our meetings over two years had led to a waning Key Club spirit, prompting my board and me to brainstorm innovative event ideas and gauge member interests through a Google form. The volleyball fundraiser, a standout, seamlessly fused enjoyment with service, marking a gradual revival of the service spirit. Orchestrating diverse service events, from book drives to aiding the elderly, we paved a structured path for members to embrace gratitude for service. The impact was palpable as event attendance soared from three to thirty members, and membership witnessed a surge of 20%. In the pursuit of perfection during my service year, I initially overlooked Key Club's true purpose. Witnessing smiles on members' faces allowed me to transcend perfectionism. Key Club significantly influenced our community through impactful events. Throughout my Key Club journey, the interconnectedness of schools from across the city converging at events has created fulfilling moments that define my high school experience. These enduring memories constitute the pinnacle of my time in high school. The four years immersed in this club have solidified my sense of belonging to the NYDKC Family. Witnessing the evolution of the QHSS Key Club Family from initial uncertainty to embracing higher purposes in Key Club roles has been transformative. Observing the growth in passion and attendance, I aspire to witness a similar surge in Key Clubs nationwide, fostering a collective dedication to service.

Until I was six, I would sit on my YeYe’s lap while he meticulously sliced a red Macintosh apple for me. It became something I always looked forward to. One night, when I was nine, he told me it was my turn to learn to cut them myself. But when I tried positioning the knife, my hands slipped, dropping the apple and cutting my finger. “YeYe, I can’t do it!” He told me, “CoCo, life's a slow journey. Be patient to improve,” implying the cut on my finger represented life's struggles. As he spoke of patience, I ignored his warning and instead focused on rushing every task – never peeling an apple again. It wasn’t until I began research at a lab that I realized the importance of what YeYe had tried to teach me. Up until then, I had rushed through every lab and succeeded in my AP Biology class, which had contributed to my ignorance of labs needing patience. However, on the first day of my lab, my professor said “You all better have patience because these labs will take time.” Of course, I didn’t believe her in the beginning, but I soon realized that my ignorance would result in my research’s failures. From losing my e.coli plasmid, failing my experiment countless times, and only culturing six colonies, I was seriously about to give up. My YeYe – who witnessed me crying alone one night– came to my rescue. As I sobbed on the floor, he knelt to give me a plate of sliced apples. When I looked at the plate, I realized that amid these challenges, YeYe’s motto of patience was right. In the same way that I wanted to just eat those apples—foregoing the intricate process of peeling off the skin—I wanted to rush through my problems. But rushing was getting me nowhere. So, I began to embrace the patience YeYe had lauded. I took the apple, slowly peeling the skin off in a circular motion; my technique may not have been as precise as my YeYe’s, but at least I was not dropping the apple anymore. I came to relish the movement of cutting the skin off in a spiral. In everything I do, I have embraced and accepted the same joy my YeYe felt every time he patiently cut a slice. It is the patience that I now bring with me when I can't culture bacteria, learning from mistakes without frustration. It is the patience that accompanies my research and writing, focusing on learning rather than publication timelines. It is the patience that fills me during patient interactions at my OBGYN internship, energizing me even through long shifts. Life is like a game that’ll present you with unexpected obstacles—obstacles that patience has helped me overcome. In YeYe’s wisdom, he was teaching me to slow down, to accept the beauty of each moment as it came—it was never truly about apples. But, since I’ve found patience, I can finally take pride in the fact that I cut apples in the same meticulous spiral as my YeYe.